#a professor!wednesday fic would be so...

[the-oblivious-writer]

missin my goth gf...

[covenofagatha]

Any chance you'd write Agatha x reader fic where Agatha is a teacher/professor but reader looks up to her & also has a crush & Agatha notices it. Maybe some slight manipulation, mommy issues etc etc 😂

I'm so sorry this took so long to write 😅 this one's from November and I apologize to everyone else who submitted requests months ago, I promise I am working on them and I will get to them sooner or later

Shoutout to the two teachers who I would do anything for and may have been used as some inspiration for this one (also I have no clue how this one got so long and I really hope it's good)

The power she holds

You're Agatha's TA for her History of Witchcraft class and you're more than happy to help with whatever she needs

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: manipulative Agatha, mommy issues, massive praise kink, fingering, slight mommy kink, oral (barely)

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna

“Good morning,” you say with a knock on the open door to Professor Harkness’s office. She glances up from her seat at the desk and gives you the hint of a polite smile, beckoning you in with a hand. 

You plop down at the desk in the back of the room, the one closest to hers, and your backpack hits the ground with a thud. 

“You’re here early,” she muses, typing something on her computer without looking at you. 

But your cheeks still grow hot. She hasn’t said anything about your punctuality so far, even though you always try to get to her class at least ten minutes before it starts. Not because you want to impress her or get her to notice you or anything. You’re just being a good Teacher’s Assistant. 

Agatha Harkness was your teacher last semester in History of Witchcraft, and when she sent out applications for TA’s for the spring, you had jumped at the chance. You had gotten one of the highest grades in her class and often attended her office hours, so you had gotten pretty close to her, as far as teacher-student relationships go. 

You would never tell her this, but you strived for her approval. You didn’t try half as hard in your other classes, partly because they were easy, but there was also something about getting validation from her that made it all worth it. 

Your relationship with your mother is tense, with you never feeling like you were good enough for her, so you know where it comes from. It’s happened before, with older female teachers, where you would neglect everything else just for a chance for them to tell you that they were proud of you. 

But it’s a little different with Agatha, because of how attractive she is. She’s also incredibly smart, and when she looks at you, it’s like she really sees you, and that makes you warm inside. 

You know that she likes you, at least more than the average student, but you were still surprised when she had picked you to be her TA.  

It’s only a week into the semester and she hasn’t had you do anything yet. Her class is held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and both Monday and Wednesday this week, you’ve just been sitting next to her desk while she lectures. 

You’re thankful that she’s not bogging you down with work, you already have enough of it in your other classes, but you wish she’d give you something to do so you could feel like you’re being useful. Except you know there isn’t really anything she needs help with yet, with it being the start of a new class and the students haven’t had any real assignments for you to help with. Seems like you’ll just have to wait.

She mutters something to herself while moving to flip through papers on her desk and you frown. “Is there anything you need help with?” You ask and she turns to face you finally, but in the process, knocks over her mug of coffee. It spills all over the floor and she jumps up to avoid getting wet. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath just as the door opens and students start to come in. She looks at the mess on the floor and then up at you, and you spring into motion. 

You practically run down the hallway to the bathroom, pump the lever on the paper towel holder about ten times, and rip the bundle off, ignoring the confused looks from the other girls washing their hands. You sprint back and drop to your knees to soak up the coffee. 

“Who knew I could get my assistant to do other things than just help me grade papers?” Agatha asks rhetorically, voice light and teasing, but you blush. 

After you clean the floor and stand back up, you shake your hair out of your face and nod to her now-empty mug. “Do you want me to get you some more coffee?” 

Agatha’s eyes light up and she holds out the cup for you to take. You ignore the electricity that flares up under your skin when your fingers brush against hers. “Black with two sugars,” she says and you nod. 

She smirks before straightening up and walking to the front of the classroom to begin her lecture while you throw the wet paper towels away in the trash and go down to the student union to the coffee machine. 

You tap your foot impatiently while the maker whirrs to life and starts to spit coffee into the mug. Your nose wrinkles; you’ve never been a big coffee drinker, and even the smell gets to you sometimes. 

Finally, the cup is full and you add in two sugars, stirring delicately, and then carefully walking back to Agatha’s classroom. She’s talking about the Valais Witch Trials in Switzerland, the first systematic European Witch Hunt. You make sure the door closes quietly behind you before walking over to place it on the lectern where she’s standing. 

She pauses to watch you before leaning in close and whispering, “Thanks, hon. Appreciate it,” into your ear and you can feel your heart start to pound. Can she see how flustered you get? It’s just a simple thing, barely any praise at all, and yet – you suddenly have lost the ability to think.

“Of course,” you stammer out quickly and then rush to the back of the classroom, back to your desk, where you can breathe without the heat of her body radiating against yours. 

What is wrong with you? Agatha was just being polite, nothing more than that. You’ve seriously got to get your mommy issues under control. 

You pull out your laptop and try to work on stuff for other classes, but you keep getting drawn into Agatha’s lecture. It’s fascinating, the way she talks about historical events, the way she waves her hands around in the air. 

It’s something you didn’t notice last semester while you were in her class, definitely too busy scrambling to write everything that she said down, but now you can appreciate how much she talks with her hands. Her fingers wave around, curling and flexing, adding extra emphasis to what she’s saying, and for some reason, you can’t look away. 

You’re so entranced by her that you’ve completely zoned out, not even comprehending a word of what she’s saying. And then, for some reason, your eyes flick up to meet hers, and you find – much to your surprise – that she’s already looking at you. 

She winks so fast you think you might’ve imagined it. But what you’re not imagining is the rush of heat that floods through your body. You shift in your seat. It’s possible that your appreciation for the professor has grown into more of a crush. 

The class period ends sooner than you think it should, but you haven’t noticed how much time has passed because of how intently you’ve been watching Agatha. You start to slowly pack up your things so that you won’t have to leave before she comes back to her desk. 

And sure enough, you’re just zipping up your backpack when she drops into her chair and heaves a big sigh. 

“You okay?” You ask, repressing a giggle at her theatrics. 

She spins to face you. “Half of those kids are about to turn in god-awful rough drafts for us to look at next week. We’re going to have our work cut out for us, sweetheart.” The pet name turns you to putty and you have to make a conscious effort to regain your thoughts. 

“Well, I’m happy to help in any way you need,” you say before you can think of the innuendo that might be implied, and then inwardly curse. Will she think you’re offering more than what’s professional? 

Agatha just smiles pleasantly and you relax. Of course she wouldn’t. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good weekend, honey. I’ll see you on Monday.” 

You nod in agreement, a bit sad that she’s dismissing you so quickly, but you don’t want to overstay so you leave and go back to your dorm. 

Your thoughts hardly stray from her Saturday and Sunday. 

When the week starts back up again, you’re ten minutes early to her class. She hums a greeting when you open the door but doesn’t look up after, even when you sit next to her. 

“Good weekend?” You ask, trying to make small talk. 

She shrugs. “Just lesson-planning. You?” 

“Oh, yeah, it was all right. Went to the gym, did some homework. Pretty chill.” Agatha does look up at the mention of the gym and runs her eyes over your body, raising an eyebrow in approval. You feel something in your stomach, not entirely unpleasant. 

But she doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to her work and raises her cup to her lips and frowns. She sets down the mug at the edge of the desk closest to you – an invitation. “Be a dear and get me some more coffee?” 

It’s not exactly a question, but there’s no way you’d say no anyway. You jump out of your chair and grab the mug, hurrying to the student union so maybe you can get the drink back to her before class starts. 

“Two sugars?” Agatha asks when you put it down in front of her. She’s still at her desk, only a minute before she has to get up and teach, almost like she was waiting for you. 

“Of course,” you answer and she takes a long sip despite the steam coming off the top. 

She exhales and stands up. “Thanks, hon. You’re the best assistant I could’ve asked for.” And you know she’s just saying that to be nice, an over-exaggeration of course, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. 

On Wednesday, you borrow your roommate’s mug without asking and fill it up with black coffee and two sugars before even getting to Agatha’s class. 

When you place the mug on her desk, her eyes flit up to yours in surprise. “Look at you, sweetheart, bringing me coffee. How thoughtful,” she says, something unrecognizable on her face, and she raises it to her lips to take a drink. When she puts it down, she nods to the mug that’s already sitting there – her mug – which, much to your chagrin, is full. “Why don’t you take that?” 

“Oh, Professor, I couldn’t. I don’t really like coffee anyway,” you say hastily, but she shakes her head, picks it up, and holds it out to you. 

She urges you to take it with a nod. “Try it.” There’s something between the two of you, a thick tension that grows, when you reach out and take it. She watches you slowly lift it up to your mouth and you part your lips around the rim, feeling the hot coffee flood your tastebuds. 

Agatha never breaks eye contact, even when you wince at the bitter taste. You think you’d need at least ten more sugar packets before you’d be able to stomach it. But you swallow it, and her pleased look almost makes up for it. 

“Good girl,” she says in a low voice, and your breath hitches, your mind instantly short-circuiting for a second. She sees it too, but instead of looking disgusted or creeped out by how you react, she looks intrigued, delighted even. 

You open your mouth with absolutely no plan or knowledge of what you’re about to say, but thankfully the door opens and students strew in, taking their seats. Agatha gives you a wink, for sure a wink this time, and stands up, taking the coffee you brought her up to the front of the room with her. 

This time, you force yourself to work on homework for your other classes and don’t allow yourself to get distracted by Agatha or her hands or the way she talks or walks or breathes in your direction –

Agatha says your name and you jump in your chair, almost knocking your laptop off the desk. 

“Yes?” You squeak, completely embarrassed, especially with the thirty-plus undergraduates looking at you. 

Her smirk is gleeful, like she knows what you were thinking about. “I was just telling the class that if they have any questions about the material, that my brilliant TA is more than happy to help them. After all, you did get one of the highest grades in my class, possibly ever. I have no doubt that she can give you exactly what you need.” You’re not sure you could blush any harder, and you hate how you can feel yourself getting wet. 

Is having a praise kink a little too on the nose for a burnt-out gifted child? There’s something about it coming from Agatha that just makes it affect you even more.

“Um, yeah, just send me an email or talk to me after class. I’ll also read your rough drafts for the papers if you want some feedback on them, but they have to be turned in seventy-two hours before the due date,” you add, trying to keep your voice level. You can’t even be sure that she hasn’t already said that information; you haven’t been listening at all. But she nods in approval and you stare at nothing on your computer screen for the rest of the class, willing your brain to work but it just won’t. 

When the period ends, she walks back slowly to where you are and drums her fingers on your desk. You watch with bated breath as she sits in her chair facing you, and her eyes scrutinize you while you try not to squirm. “Thanks for bringing me coffee, honey. I really appreciate it,” Agatha says.  

And so it becomes the routine: you bring her coffee before every class period in a mug that you take from your dorm because you don’t have any, and she praises you each time. You get better at hiding how much it turns you on, which you swear makes her try even harder to get to you. 

She practically purrs one time about how thankful she is that she has an assistant as good as you. Sometimes, it’s all you can do to barely resist going to the bathroom during her class and shoving a hand into your pants because of how worked up she gets you. 

Masturbating after each class also becomes part of your routine. 

But as the semester progresses, so does your workload, both for your classes and hers. Her students flood your inbox with questions asking for clarification on assignments or about the material, and you spend hours on the weekends pouring over essays and giving feedback. Some of them aren’t terrible, while others have you wondering how they even got into college. 

You spend more time after the class talking to Agatha about her pupils, how you watch some of them shop on Amazon the whole time while she teases you about the boys and girls that blatantly check you out inside of taking notes. 

“I’m not really interested in boys,” you say off-handedly one day. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and leans in. “Oh, really?” But something in her tone makes it sound like she already knew that. 

You nod slowly, wondering if she’s going to drag any more details about it out of you. You wonder if she’ll ask about your type, in which case, would you admit that your type is brunettes old enough to be your mother? 

It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together then, especially for someone as smart as Agatha. 

Thankfully she doesn’t ask, and you don’t volunteer that information. But now you’re curious – what about her? There’s no pictures on her desk, and in the little over a semester you’ve known her, she’s never mentioned a partner, kids, anything. 

Not that it matters. You’re a student, you’re her teacher’s assistant. That is definitely against some rules. 

Plus she would never think of you in that way. 

Except there’s the way that she tells you what a good girl you are for bringing her coffee and getting all your work as her TA done. The way she’s gotten more touchy with you; what first started as a brush of her skin against yours every now and then has turned into a hand on your shoulder, dragging her fingertips down your arm when she walks past you. The way her eyes find yours all the way from the front of the classroom when she’s teaching and says something funny. The wink she gives you when she catches you watching her. 

She has to know what she’s doing, right? 

“Ugh, I don’t have time to go to this fucking meeting,” she groans after class one day, dropping her head into her hands. 

You’re just about to get up and go, currently texting one of your friends about lunch plans, but you immediately look up at the older woman. “Everything okay?” 

She shakes her head, her dark, curly hair falling and blocking her face from view. “I have to go to this department meeting right now, but I need to finish inputting these grades and it’s taking forever.” You know along with History of Witchcraft, she also teaches at least one other class, a general one with a lot more students. 

And you also know that as a TA, you’re not technically allowed to help with what she’s doing right now. But that doesn’t stop you from asking: “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Oh, you don’t want to do this,” she says, the corners of her mouth quirking up, like she’s pushing. Like she wants to see if you’ll offer again.

You look at her earnestly. “I can help. I know how stressed you are, let me take some things off your plate.” 

It doesn’t take much convincing and she looks thrilled that you’re insisting. She stands up with her laptop and puts it in front of you on your desk, bending over so her mouth is right next to your ear, her arm firm against yours. 

You forget how to breathe. She is so close. 

“All you have to do,” she murmurs and goosebumps explode all down your body. You keep your eyes trained on the screen so you don’t accidentally do something stupid. “is copy the grade from the spreadsheet into the portal. The names aren’t in alphabetical order which is why it’s taking so long. This is the last time I have them submit anything like this. I thought it would be easier because the form they filled out automatically inputs their score into this, but there’s no order. Make sense?” 

You nod stiffly. You can feel her hot breath on your ear and it’s driving you crazy. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Truly, I don’t know what I would do without you,” she says and it almost makes you melt. “And this has to be our little secret, okay? I’m serious, I could get into serious trouble if anyone found out a TA was putting my grades in for me.” 

There’s a good chance you might combust on the spot. “I won’t say anything, Professor,” you croak and you don’t have to look at her to know she’s smirking. 

“That’s my good girl,” she says and it feels like your entire body is on fire. “And please, call me Agatha.” 

She walks away, but her perfume lingers, vanilla and wood and a hint of something darker. Powerful, even. It makes your mouth water and if you close your eyes, you swear you can still feel her presence next to you. You text your friend that you won’t be able to make it to lunch, and lose yourself in the work. 

You don’t even realize how long it’s been until Agatha comes back from her meeting and is surprised to still find you there. 

“Honey, you’re not finished yet?” She asks. 

You blink and look at her, startled. “Oh — yeah, I’m almost done though.” She puts her hands on either side of your body from behind and her head gently rests atop yours while she looks at her computer. You suddenly lose the ability to move, think, and breathe. 

“God, you’re doing so well,” she says, her hands now moving to stroke up and down your arms. Your mind wishes she was saying that in a different context — you’re on your knees for her, fingers inside her and tongue licking at her while she praises you — but you force yourself to snap out of it. “Think you can finish up for me? I really need to get organized for my next class.” 

You swallow hard and your stomach rumbles. One of Agatha’s eyebrows raise, you can see it in the reflection from the screen, like she’s waiting to see what you’ll do. “Yeah, of course,” you finally agree. You can get food after. 

Her hands squeeze your shoulders. “Thanks, hon, you’re the best.” And you’re only too happy to keep working if it gets her to say more of those things. 

Agatha gets much more comfortable asking you to do things that aren’t specifically in your job description as a TA after that. You start putting in all her final grades. You teach a few classes here and there. She consults you for help with project ideas and lesson plans. 

She knows all she has to do is ask nicely, throw in a bit of praise, and you’ll do anything she wants. 

You know she might be using it to her advantage. But the way you feel when she smiles at you and says “There’s my good girl” makes any reservations you have melt away. 

Halfway through the semester, right after midterms happen, you and Agatha are both in her classroom; you’re already getting a head start on homework for next week while Agatha is tapping a pen against her desk and staring at you. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” She asks. It touches you in a strange way, usually she doesn’t bring up life outside of the classroom unless you do it first. 

Maybe she’s starting to like you, too. You pull up your calendar. “Oh, I’m going out tomorrow night with some friends to celebrate surviving midterms. Probably just go to a bar or a club or something.” You glance at her, expecting to find Agatha nodding in approval at a typical college kid’s night out, but instead she looks pissed. 

“You don’t have work you have to do instead?” She says stiffly, and you wonder what caused this change in her mood. 

You shake your head. “No, we’re just getting back into material in my other classes and I’ve already finished grading my half of your midterms. You saw that I put them into the system, right?” 

“Yes,” Agatha admits and looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t. “Be careful, then.” She gets up out of her chair, your coffee cup in hand, and leaves the room. 

It’s clear she doesn’t want you to be there when she comes back, so you pack your stuff up, feeling completely confused, and start to go back to your dorm. 

You walk through the student union, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and your stomach sinks when you see her laughing with one of her students and you grit your teeth as jealousy gnaws at your stomach. Her eyes flit to yours, somehow knowing that you’re there, and she gently pats the student’s arm with her hand, nothing more than a casual touch, but you think you might throw up. 

Why are you having this much of a reaction? You shouldn’t be storming off, there shouldn’t be tears stinging your eyes, but it feels like everything is crashing and burning around you. 

For some reason, it feels like Agatha is upset with you, disappointed even. It shouldn’t be a big deal – it shouldn’t, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling. 

Should you go back and talk to her? Should you text her? Maybe you can make it up to her somehow, you’ll bring her two cups of coffee or volunteer to grade all her work, whatever it takes to get her to look at you with the same light she always did, with the same light she just gave one of her undergrads just now. You’re supposed to be special. Agatha is supposed to think that you’re special. 

You’re going crazy. The logical part in your brain knows it. You take deep breaths on your walk and try to calm yourself down, convince yourself that Agatha still likes you. She’s allowed to be nice to other people. It’s okay. 

And yet, anxious thoughts plague your mind the rest of the day, and you spend practically all of Saturday obsessing over every little thing that you could have possibly done wrong. It’s almost enough to make you cancel your plans with your friends, but then you realize that getting drunk might be exactly what you need. 

It’ll at least be a way to loosen up. This semester has been taking its toll on you, with the workload from your classes and all the extra stuff Agatha has you doing for her. Not that you’d complain about that or ever say no to her, but you do often end up skipping lunch and staying up late in your attempts to get your work for her done as quickly and as perfectly as possible. 

Yes, you think, a few drinks couldn’t hurt one bit. You fish around your closet until you find an acceptable outfit, feeling the best you have since yesterday morning, and you’re getting ready when your phone buzzes with a call. 

It’s Agatha. 

Immediately, your stomach erupts with butterflies and your heart starts to pound almost painfully in your chest. 

“Hello?” You ask after you raise the phone to your ear, clutching it close to you like you don’t want to miss a thing she says. 

There’s a moment of silence and you’re about to repeat yourself when she starts talking. “Hey, honey, listen, I’m really sorry to bother you right now, but do you think you could come to my room? I really need some help with the last of the midterms and then putting the grades in.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little crestfallen that this is all she’s calling about, and you weigh your options. You really want to go out with your friends, and some part of you thinks that maybe you can get her back after yesterday. Will she be as jealous as you were if you blow her off for your friends? “Can it wait until tomorrow or Monday? I’m about to go out.” 

Agatha gives a little hum. “I would really like all this stuff to be done tonight.” 

“Agatha, I–” You don’t know exactly where you’re going with it, you’re not sure exactly what to say. Why is it so hard to say no to her? You have every right to, you should toughen up and tell her that you can’t, you’ve already done enough for her, you’re not even supposed to be doing what she’s asking you to do.

“Please, honey?” She asks, so sincerely that it turns your insides to mush. “I just, I really need you right now. I really need your help.” 

You know what she’s doing. You know and it makes you really fucking angry, but also it makes you feel more wanted than you have in your entire life. “Will it take long?” You ask and listen to her relieved exhale. 

“An hour tops,” she promises, and you know it’ll take longer, but you tell her you’ll be there in ten minutes anyway. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, sweetheart. You’re my good girl.” She hangs up and you hate yourself a little for letting her control you so easily, but you still text your friends you’ll be late and head across campus. 

You’re still grappling with the conflicted feelings in your head when you push open the door to her classroom. Agatha’s sitting in her normal spot, legs kicked up on her desk, typing on the laptop in her lap. She looks up at you the second she hears you and smiles. Her eyes rake up and down your scantily-clad body in the dress you picked out to wear for the bar. 

“Sorry to drag you away from your plans, but thank you for coming,” she says. “I’m almost done, I just have a few more papers to grade. Thought it would go quicker if it was the two of us.” 

It’s almost enough to make you furious that she called you all the way over here for just a little bit of work that she easily could’ve done herself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, voice taut with frustration. 

She either doesn’t notice, or just ignores it, and she holds out a small stack of completed midterms. You snatch them and sit down at your desk, stealing a pen from the cup of writing utensils near Agatha. You’ve graded enough of the exams that you don’t even need the answer key and you fly through marking them up before handing them back to her and standing up. 

“Is there anything else?” You ask cooly and she raises an eyebrow at you. It’s not that you intend to sound rude, it’s just the general annoyance at yourself and at her that leaks into your tone. 

“Running off so quickly?” She retorts lightly. “I thought you would stay for a bit, maybe we could order some food or something.” The look on her face shows that she’s expecting you to give in. 

But you scoff. “I have plans. You know I have plans. And for some reason, you made me come here and do work that you would have finished in ten minutes. And now you want to just ‘hang out?’ Why?” 

You’re expecting her to give up the ruse, the pretense. What you’re not expecting is for her to slump down in her chair, eyes falling to the ground. 

“Look, honey,” she starts, and panic spikes through you. Is something wrong? “I’ve just been really stressed lately, and you have been helping me with that so much. You’ve been such a valuable assistant to me, and I deeply apologize if I’ve been taking advantage of that in any way.” 

And now you feel like the worst person ever. “No, no, it’s okay,” you rush to say, and if you were paying closer attention, you might have noticed the glint in her eyes. “I’m happy to help, really. Is there anything else I can do to help you feel less stressed?” 

It’s like you’ve said the magic words. Her head springs up, a smirk on her face. “What all are you offering, sweetheart?” 

You gulp, suddenly feeling like you’re in dangerous territory. “Um, well, I could go get us something to eat, or take some work off your plate, something like that?” 

“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, tossing the options around in her head. Even though you’re standing above her sitting in her chair, you feel like she’s looking down at you. “You really are such a good girl for me, aren’t you? You know, I really should reward you for all the things you do for me.” 

Is it possible for all the air to get sucked out of a room just from one sentence? “Oh,” you start, your throat suddenly dryer than it’s ever been in your life. Surely she can’t be implying… 

Agatha stands up so she’s nose to nose with you and she cups your cheek, running her thumb over your bottom lip. You shiver under her intense gaze and your pulse quickens. It’s like every nerve inside you is vibrating with anticipation. 

You never thought in a million years that this would be happening. You had hoped, of course. “Agatha,” you say softly and she smirks, tugging at your lip, eyes burning into yours. You can hardly see the blue in them. 

“You take such good care of me,” she purrs. “Let me return the favor, honey? It’ll be such good stress relief for me, too.” 

Nodding breathlessly, you can feel the fire stoking to life in your stomach and her hands trace down your body to grab onto your hips, pulling you firmly against her. 

“You’re such a good girl for me,” Agatha murmurs and your cheeks heat up. Can she see the flush creeping down your neck too? 

She leans in, ghosting her lips over yours, and you chase when she pulls away, needing to feel her. “Ah ah,” she tuts. “Why don’t you get on my desk?” 

You throb when she says that and she slides her laptop and papers out of the way so you can hop onto it. Her hands find your thighs, stroking up and down, enjoying the warmth of your skin. Your head is already spinning with want and you can feel the mess between your legs. 

Agatha comes back in and you think she’s going to kiss you, but her head drops down and she presses her lips to your chin. Your head rolls back, giving her more access, and your eyes close at the sensation. 

Her fingers inch more up your thighs, getting closer to the heat at the juncture and you wrap your hands around her shoulders to get her closer. You bury your fingers in her hair as her lips move down your neck and she sucks, making your hips jerk. There’s a livewire under your skin, connecting the pulse point she flicks her tongue against to your pussy and you’re dripping. 

“Agatha, please,” you groan and she chuckles, her hot breath on your skin making goosebumps appear. 

She scrapes her teeth against your naked collarbone. “Please what, honey? Use your words like a good girl.” 

Your hips roll to try and get her to touch you where you need her. “Please – I need you, please fuck me,” you splutter and she smirks into your neck. 

Her fingertips stroke up your underwear and she gasps when she feels how wet you are. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so needy. “God, sweetheart, is this what I do to you? I call you a good girl and you’re dripping for me.” 

“Like you don’t know,” you whine, struggling to get more stimulation. 

Agatha barks out a laugh. “Oh, I do know, honey. I see how much I affect you. How you’ll do anything I ask as long as I give you a little praise. I love it, sweetheart.” 

You should be insulted that she thinks you’re easy, that you just got confirmation she’s been taking advantage of your mommy issues, but you can’t find it in you to care when she slides your underwear over and buries two fingers in you up to the hilt. 

A gasp tears itself out of your throat when she drags her fingers out and thrusts back in, filling you deliciously. “Fuck,” you swear and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” she mumbles and starts to set a slow pace. Your walls grip her, trying to pull her in, and she reaches a thumb up to rub your clit. You clench around her fingers and moan obscenely. 

“Agatha, god, please,” you whimper. “I need more.”

Her grin is wolfish as she takes in the mess you’ve become. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” she says, beginning to go faster, scissoring and twisting and curling her fingers, each movement making you sharply inhale. “You look so fucking pretty like this, honey, you’re taking me like such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.” The praise makes you keen, the tension quickly building in your stomach. You know you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast if she keeps that up. “Say it,” she demands and through the fog in your brain, you can just barely understand what she wants. 

“I’m your good girl,” you cry, hips meeting every thrust, fingers scrambling to hold onto her shoulders for leverage and stability. “Fuck, please, Agatha.” 

Her lips kiss down the expanse of your chest and it’s like fireworks lighting up. Each touch only pushes you further and further towards your release, and you need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life. 

“So fucking perfect for me,” Agatha mutters. Your walls pulse around her and she smirks to herself. She has you exactly where she wants you, exactly where she’s been wanting you. “You’re everything I ever wanted. My good girl.” 

“Yes, fuck,” you sob, getting closer, so close you can taste it, you just need a little more. 

Agatha shoves her fingers back inside you as far as they’ll go and curls them so she finds that spot and it makes you moan. She licks up your earlobe, swipes at your clit hard, and whispers, “Mommy’s good girl.” 

And it sends you straight into an orgasm, noises slipping from your lips as you ride through the most explosive one you’ve ever had. She breathes more praises into your ear while still gently moving her fingers inside you and it only prolongs the pleasure you feel. 

How did she know exactly what you needed? 

Once you come down completely, she peppers your face with kisses while you take focus on inhaling and exhaling to slow your racing heart. “You did so good for me, honey, so good,” she says and you smile weakly. 

You examine the professor and see the desire and heat on her face and you know what you have to do. Your fingers release the locks of her hair you were holding onto and fumble with her belt and she helps you undo it and she slides her pants down and kicks them over her shoes. 

Agatha steps back and before you can make a sound of protest, she slinks down into her chair and spreads her legs so you’re able to see the wetness through her underwear, and fuck, she’s almost completely soaked through the fabric. 

As if in a trance, you slide off the desk and drop to your knees in front of her, leaving soft bites up the skin of her inner thigh and getting immense pleasure from the red marks that litter once you’re done. 

You should’ve texted your friends that you weren’t going to make it to the bar at all tonight, but that’s the last thing on your mind when you toy with the hem of her panties and she lifts her ass off the seat so you can take them off. 

“Be a good girl for Mommy,” she says, putting a hand on your head, tangling her fingers in your hair, and leading you to between her legs. 

Your mouth waters at the smell of her and you moan at the taste when you first lick through her folds. Your eyes flick up to watch Agatha’s head loll against the back of the chair. 

“God,” she sighs, looking down appreciatively at you. “You really are the best assistant I could’ve asked for.”

[little-diable]

Meant to be – Prof!Spencer Reid (smut)

I just love writing prof!fics – almost as much as I love priest!fics. Almost. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is a young professor joining the university Spencer works at. Even though he's annoyed about having to share his office with her at first, he can't help but fall for her all too quickly.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, office smut, some possessiveness/jealousy, lots of fluff

Pairing: Prof!Spencer Reid x fem!prof!reader (3k words)

“Professor Reid?” The soft voice filled his office, forcing his eyes off the paper he was currently grading. His gaze wandered over the woman's features as he curiosity studied her for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“My office hours are over, please return on Wednesday for your questions.” His eyes left hers to refocus on his papers, while expecting her to turn around and leave, urged on by the rude tone he hadn’t been able to shake. Spencer hadn’t expected anybody else to turn up this late in the afternoon, he was desperate to squeeze as much work into the remaining time he had alone in his office, already overstimulated by the mere thought of having to share his office with somebody from today on. 

“My name is (y/n), I’ll be sharing this office with you.” Once again he was forced to look at her, unable to swallow his annoyance as it began to dawn on him that she wasn’t a student.

She was pretty, by far prettier than all the pictures he had searched on the internet the second he had heard about her, about (y/n) joining his personal safe space. Why hadn’t he recognised her? Was his mind already that fed up with the pretty stranger? 

“Of course, I’m sorry.” He didn’t move as she slowly stepped into the big room, letting her eyes wander before finding her way to her space. The old wooden desk had been placed near the big window, drenching her in the light of the slowly setting sun. Spencer would crash and burn if he were forced to see this daily, a sight so ethereal he feared this was just a trick of his tired brain. 

“I’m sorry that you have to share your office with me, I can only imagine how annoying that must be for you.” He wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that he doesn’t mind sharing it with her – polite words any other colleague would have effortlessly spoken. But all Spencer could do was hum and redirect his gaze to the papers, while missing the slight hurt expression (y/n) couldn’t hide. 

……

Her heart was pounding with a faster beat, singing a tale of nervousness in her chest she couldn’t silence just yet. This wasn’t an unusual situation for her, she had taught numerous classes before, but the first class she taught at a new university always had something special to it, something (y/n) couldn’t shake. 

The students were working on the papers she had handed out a minute ago, fully engrossed by the story. She let her eyes wander, taking them all in in hopes of remembering at least a handful of them. But her thoughts were silenced the second her eyes found his. Spencer Reid was leaning against the door and with his arms crossed in front of his chest he intently studied her from his spot.

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as it silently whispered to (y/n). It had been days since she had first crossed paths with him, the annoyed, closed-off man who was more handsome than she liked to admit. Ever since their first awkward run-in she hadn’t tried to make any conversations with him, she had opted to wear her headphones around him, hiding herself from the curious eyes she felt on her frame whenever she let her work swallow her. 

Neither of them dared to break their eye contact first, a silent challenge both were determined to win. (Y/n) allowed herself to take him all in, the locks perfectly framing his handsome face, the slight unfamiliar smile playing on his lips, and those twinkling eyes that seemed to follow her around whenever they crossed paths. 

“Alright, seems like our time is up, if you have any questions about your reading, please email me.” She was forced to break their staring contest first, smiling at her students who smiled back at her before leaving the room. (Y/n) couldn’t help but notice how a few of them wore overly bright smiles as they walked past Spencer, seemingly just as affected by the professor's handsome appearance, just like (y/n) was. 

Only as the last student had left the room did Spencer finally begin to move. Slowly, he walked down the stairs, moving closer to (y/n) with every passing moment. She was glued to her spot, patiently waiting for the man to break their silence, to let her hear the raspy voice that had rang in her ears for the past days. 

“That was a really interesting lecture, (y/n).” He came to a halt only a few steps away from her, keeping a slight distance between them as if he was unsure how to properly approach her. For a moment, (y/n) had to avert her gaze, she began to pack her bag with a slight smile stuck to her lips, hoping that he wouldn’t pick up on the nervousness flushing through her whenever he was close. 

“Thank you, Spencer, that means a lot coming from a beloved professor like you.” Her words drew a gritty laugh from him, while a slight rosy tint began to flush his cheeks. (Y/n) shouldered her bag before she began to walk up to him, wordlessly asking him to follow her up the stairs and back to their office. 

“Listen,” Spencer cleared his throat before he kept speaking, seemingly unsure how to put his thoughts into a coherent sentence. “I am sorry about those first days, I was annoyed and quite unfriendly to you. Would you allow me to make it up to you?”

“Oh, Spencer, that is very kind of you, but I get it, I would be just as annoyed if I had to give up my personal space to share it with a stranger.” Her soft voice left him smiling, unable to look away from (y/n) while stepping back into their own little bubble, the safe haven they found in their spacey office that was filled with books and collected items. 

“Would you want to get some food with me, as an apology? We could also order in, if you want.” He plopped down on his chair the same second (y/n) did, while holding eye contact from their spots. 

“Sure, that would be lovely, thank you, Spencer.”

……

Her phone had buzzed in her pocket a few minutes ago, and even though it had ripped (y/n) out of her thoughts, she was determined to get her search over with before giving into the pull. She had just finished her class and was now combing through their library, in search of new reading material, desperately trying to find her books. 

With a relieved sigh she reached for the book she had looked for these past minutes, pressing it to her side before finally giving into her heart’s silent call. (Y/n)’s hand wandered to her phone, unable to bite down her chuckles as she read Spencer’s all too simple message. 

“Thai or Italian?” 

Ever since that evening in their office, where they had ordered in and started to get to know one another properly, they had begun to form some kind of routine, ordering food at least once a week to spend their evenings together. Spending time with Spencer felt all too easy, too natural, something that made her feel more confused than she liked. 

She was about to type out her reply as she collided with somebody, forcing her eyes off her phone. Hands found her waist to stabilise her frame, keeping the young professor from losing her balance. (Y/n)’s wide eyes found a pair of brown ones, she studied the man for a second before parting her lips to apologise.

“I am so sorry, are you alright?” Her question drew a soft laugh from him. She had seen him from afar a few times, another professor she had yet to properly introduce herself to. He was a handsome man, taller than her and slightly older, and yet he had nothing on the professor she shared her office with.

“Don’t worry, are you alright though?” The man still had his hand placed on her waist, holding onto her while murmuring the question. Just as she wanted to reply, to tell him that nothing had happened, her name was called, forcing her attention towards Spencer, who was approaching the two. An unreadable expression tugged on his features as he studied her and the hand of their colleague which was still glued to her waist. 

“There you are, I was looking for you, sweetheart.” Heat flushed through her at the unfamiliar term of endearment. The second Spencer reached her side, he pulled her from the man’s grasp, straight into his arms. She could only gape up at him, torn between her confusion and the slight twinge of excitement she couldn’t shake as she took in his clear expression of jealousy.  

The man muttered something (y/n) couldn’t pick up, fully focused on Spencer and the way she fit all too perfectly into his grasp. No words were shared between them as they held eye contact, staring at one another as if it was the first time they got to take the other in. Spencer’s thumb stroked soft circles into the fabric of her shirt before he slowly – almost reluctantly – let go of her. 

“I, uhm, you didn’t reply, so I thought I’d go find before you get lost.” Spencer’s whispers drew a soft chuckle from (y/n). She couldn’t stop herself from reaching for his hand to lightly squeeze it as her smile kept growing.

“And what was that whole thing with calling me “sweetheart”?” The blush she was all too familiar with by now returned to his cheeks, while forcing his eyes from her. (Y/n) squeezed his hand again before she began to tug him down the hallway, set on finding their way back to their office.

“Don’t worry, Spence’, I quite liked it.” 

……

“You’re so quiet, what’s going on in that head of yours?” She mumbled the words as she studied Spencer. They were both sitting on the floor, leaning against the small couch placed near their bookshelves, while finishing their food. It had been almost an hour since their situation at the library, but while (y/n) had made some more jokes about the situation, Spencer had grown quiet, deep in thought. 

Spencer’s gaze flickered from his hands to her curious features. He studied her for a few seconds before he placed his plate down and fully turned towards (y/n). No words were shared between them, they were caught in a thick fog of unspoken thoughts, longings, and fears.

“Can I try something?” His husky voice was about to draw a gasp from (y/n). She could only nod her head, not daring to break out of the grasp this situation had on her. Spencer’s hand found her cheek, while his eyes were focusing on her lips. He let a few seconds pass before closing the distance between them. 

Within seconds he had pulled her into his lap, letting (y/n) straddle his thighs as their lips moved in sync. Their hearts were racing, pounding in their chests to beg one another to keep on going, to let their tongues meet while growing comfortable in the new sensation that held their souls hostage. The kiss felt all too perfect, something they had been waiting for ever since crossing paths, something they had longed for and thought of for weeks now. 

“I can’t stop thinking of the way he touched you.” Spencer murmured his words against her lips. A confused expression began to tug on her features as she patiently waited for him to keep on talking. 

“You’re mine to touch, and not his, you’ll never be.” Possessiveness dripped from his words – a possessiveness so strong, it made her feel as if they had been together for years, sharing memories neither could shake. (Y/n) couldn’t speak up, not when she felt Spencer’s hands disappear beneath the fabric of her blouse, softly stroking her sides. 

“Spencer,” she gasped his name, desperate for more, another touch – anything he’d offer to her. His lips began to find their way down her throat, sucking on spots that made her tingle with a biting heat threatening to leave its mark on her forever. (Y/n)’s hands tugged on his curls while trying to shuffle even closer, letting her core grind against his growing bulge. 

“We shouldn’t do this here.” (Y/n) could only whisper the words as his hands pulled her blouse over her head, exposing her bra to his wandering eyes. The groan that left Spencer at the sight made her forget every word she wanted to speak, every warning, nothing but hazy thoughts were left behind. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t, baby.” The raspy command forced her to arch her front into his touch. She felt as if he had set her ablaze, burning for him only, a summer solstice bonfire that left her shaking and trembling in a desperate need to turn every offering into something worthy. 

“People will hear.” His hands kept moving, urged on by the desperate whines leaving (y/n). The cold air teased her now naked chest, the hardening nipples Spencer’s fingers tugged on, drawing the most sinful sounds from her parted lips. 

“And? Let them hear how good I’ll be fucking you.” The words seemed to do something to (y/n) - they forced her hands to move from his hair down his front to slowly undo his trousers. Both knew that there was no way out of this, they were high on the feelings the other pushed through them, desperate for the highs they could already feel creeping closer without being properly touched.  

“How can you be so sure you’ll satisfy me enough?” She was riling him up, teasing him in a desperate attempt to forgo any foreplay to be filled by him, needing to feel Spencer buried deep inside of her. They held eye contact for a second as she finally managed to free his cock, twitching in her grasp as if he felt the same exciting heat burning deep inside of him. 

Spencer didn’t speak another word as he pushed her off his lap to murmur a raspy “Undress”. He stared at her as (y/n) pulled out of her jeans, with her soaked panties following a second later. Her skin was prickling, unsure how to act around the man who was now seeing her completely naked for the first time. 

They kept looking at one another while Spencer fisted his cock, giving himself a few pumps before a smirk tugged on his lips. With his hand finding the back of her head, he pulled her in for a teeth-clashing kiss – a kiss so desperate (y/n) feared he’d rob her of her last breath. 

“Turn around, chest down on the couch.” Slowly, (y/n) turned around to follow his command, only to feel him behind her a few moments later. She heard Spencer shuffle around and rip open a condom, before she felt his slender fingers at her aching heat. A loud moan managed to break through her at the feeling of his digits brushing through her slit, collecting drops of her arousal to spread it on her pulsing bundle. 

(Y/n) had to claw her fingernails into the fabric of the couch to ground herself, to let go of a few deep breaths – all while Spencer slowly pulled his fingers away to push his cock towards her entrance. With one hand placed on her waist, he held onto (y/n) while slowly pushing into her – a sensation so strong, it pulled raspy moans from the both of them. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby.” (Y/n) could only let go of a sob at his praises. She had her eyes squeezed shut, knuckles turning a few shades lighter from the strong grip she had on the couch. Spencer pulled out of her, only to fuck into her with more force, letting his hips meet her behind with every thrust. 

This was neither sweet nor was it slow, it was a desperate fuck, an attempt to get rid of the tension lingering between them, the longings neither of them had managed to shake ever since meeting for the first time. It was a perfect chase that now ended with both of them tumbling to their knees, losing all grip on reality, while being fucked into oblivion. 

“Spencer, fuck, you feel so good.” Tears dripped from her eyes while the words broke through her – words that filled Spencer with pride. His smirk began to widen as her moans grew louder, rumbling through their office like a song both played on repeat.

“Touch yourself, make yourself cum on my cock, baby.” Her fingers blindly followed his command, she circled her pulsing bundle to push herself closer and closer towards the edge, high on the sensation that began to thump through her veins. With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) tried to keep another moan from leaving her, very well knowing that anybody could burst into their office any second now, a risk neither of them should take. And yet they couldn’t care, not when he was buried deep inside of her and about to fuck her through her high. 

(Y/n) began to tremble as her orgasm climbed up her limbs, momentarily robbing her of her sight as black spots appeared in her vision. Spencer kept fucking her from behind, more ferocious with every thrust to chase his own high, set on following her down the edge. Their moans got tangled, ringing in their ears as if fireworks went off in the distance to support them through this long awaited moment. 

Spencer came with a groan of her name, he clung to her as they both rode out their highs with racing hearts and quivering limbs. Heavy pants left them, filling the room with every breath spluttering from their lips. 

“That was,” the rest of her sentence was left hanging in the air. Spencer slowly pulled out of her, he tossed the condom away before finding his way back to her. A slow kiss was shared between them, with his hand cupping her cheek, and hers resting on his shoulders. 

“Perfect, like it was meant to be.”

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ big gym energy (is this my fantasy?) | fushiguro toji

wc: 2.0k

summary: who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday?

contains: gn!reader, non-curse au, college au, appearance of itafushikugi (mostly nobara), reader has a huge and lowkey delusional crush on toji, age gap

a/n: the gym toji fic! tone in this is a bit different from what i write, and it's lowkey a crack fic but i hope it's still enjoyable! listened to: big energy - latto & area codes - kaliii

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: going to the gym for yourself (and totally not for that cute guy who sometimes says hi)

“You’re going to the gym?” Nobara halts smack in the middle of the busy hallway. Groans huff behind her, the rest of your class filing out of the lecture hall. You bow your head apologetically as you pull her to the side. 

“Yes.” 

She squints, skeptical, “You.” 

You nod.

“The gym.” she says it slower this time, tilting her head down. 

You nod again. 

Nobara blinks, shifting her weight as she reaches one hand inside the pocket of her overalls. There’s a long pause, rushed footsteps amplifying the suspense, then—

“Okay, what’s the bet? How much did Maki put out? I want in.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you loop your arm around hers and continue walking. 

There’s good reason for her to doubt you; she knows you best after all. In your little quad, you are the least likely to be found doing any physical activity or sport whatsoever—and that’s saying a lot, considering the other fourth of your group is Megumi. But at least he walks his dogs regularly. 

“Rude,” you scoff jokingly, “there’s no bet, just testing it out because they have a free trial promo.”

It shouldn’t hurt to check it out, you think. One of your resolutions this year is to finally get started on your fitness journey, whatever form it may be. 

“You should come.” 

Nobara snorts, “Wrong person,” you both turn at a corner, “ask Itadori.”

The gym is just a few blocks away from your campus, a good 18-minute walk if you’re counting—which is also part of what makes it so appealing. The ad you’d seen for the free trial is an early bird promo to attract new customers for the gym’s new branch launch. 

And it does make the most sense to ask him; he is the sports science major after all—

“No way,” you step out on the sidewalk, “telling him is practically committing to a membership.” 

—but Yuuji is a bit too eager when it comes to things like this. No doubt he’ll be at your heel, wagging his figurative golden retriever tail at the prospect of being your certified gym buddy. It’s endearing and you know he means well, but that’s way too much pressure for someone who’s just starting out. 

She laughs, readjusting her bag, “He’d know how to use the machines though.” 

“I watched some videos…” you mumble, because Nobara has a point, but if you’re being honest, you feel just a teensy bit embarrassed at the idea of anyone else knowing about your attempts at fitness this early on, lest it fail in the end. “I can probably ask someone there…” 

“Try the most jacked up person in the gym.” 

You shove her jokingly, her laughter echoing down the road. 

. 

The first person you meet at the gym is the lady at the front desk. Her ponytail sways as she greets you, a chirpy smile welcoming you in as she holds an iPad to her chest while touring you around—at the center, the main floor plan is decked out with machines; towards the back sit the squat racks, and to your sides are the private cycling rooms and multifunctional spaces. According to her, they also offer yoga classes every 6:00 p.m. on Wednesdays. 

You’d expected a lot more people to be in here at 7:00 p.m., but you suppose it makes sense others would prefer to spend their Friday nights elsewhere. 

Looking around, you spot a middle-aged lady you swear is Megumi’s English professor; on the treadmills, a couple your age share a laugh as they try to match pace. There are some machines you’ve never even seen in your life, Youtube videos included.

You take a deep breath. You can ask for help. 

After all, the crowd feels friendly enough, not too intimidating—

—until your eyes land on him, on the benches; an absolute tank of a man doing chest presses with what you think are probably the heaviest dumbbells on the rack. 

You try not to stare, catching only a glimpse of the way his biceps flex against the tight sleeves of his black compression shirt. 

Don’t be a creep, you tell yourself, walking towards the leg press machine. You may be new here, but you’ve learned that gym etiquette isn’t so far off from acting like a civilized human being. 

Thank god you never take Nobara seriously, because you can’t even imagine the stuttering mess you’d be if you had to ask him how to work any of these god forsaken machines. 

.

It’s a good thing, then, that help comes to you without you having to say a word. 

This is number four out of five sessions in your free trial promo, and you have no idea how to get the goddamn plates out of the barbell. You pull some out from the other side and the whole barbell comes along with it. When you attempt the other side, it does the same. Then when you finally do manage to get off the plates on one side, the whole barbell drops, clanging loudly against the metal foot of the squat rack set-up. 

(Now that you think about it, maybe it isn’t such a good thing that you’ve been offered help instead of you asking. There must be a reason someone thinks you could need it.)

Someone, who is also the last person you could ever possibly want to embarrass yourself in front of.

Someone, who just so happens to be the jacked up tank of a man you’ve admittedly glanced at a few times in your past few visits here. 

“To make it easier,” he crouches beside you, laying down a smaller plate and rolling the larger ones on the barbell over it. 

He unloads them like they weigh nothing—and with his physique, it isn’t hard to believe that they probably do. His biceps look to be the size of your head, chest popping out in ways you’ve only seen on those Tiktok thirst edits; his one hand is larger than a 2.5 kilogram plate, and his forearms look like they could ch—

Mind out of the gutter, you blink away, focusing instead on the metal bar in front of you. 

God, you don’t even know this man’s name. 

“T-thanks.” you stutter, embarrassed. 

He gives you a half-smile, lips turned on one side, “Sure.” then he walks away, the tightness of his black compression shirt hugging the ridges of his back muscles. 

You gulp. 

So begins your year-long gym membership.

(And maybe, just maybe, the kind-of-meet-cute of a lifetime. Who knows, really?) 

.

“Who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday,” she snorts, fingers grazing over the curved edges of the heart-shaped watermelons in the fruit aisle.

You hush her, scanning the area around you for anyone who might have overhead. 

It’s 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday, so you doubt it, but you can never be too sure.

“He’s nice, you know.” you pout. 

“Yeah, what’s his name?” Nobara gives you a look. 

You glare, touché. 

Maybe you don’t know his name. Yet. 

But he’s always offered to stack on the heavy plates for you, and will oftentimes help in unloading them too. There are times when you aren’t quite sure how to work the machines and he swoops in like the gym buff version of prince charming, teaching you proper form just so you don’t get injured. He’ll wipe down a mat for you to use some days, because—

“Stretching is important,” he never fails to mention.

He’s nice. 

And you have an insanely delusional crush on him, but you don’t care, because why else would he be giving you this much attention if he wasn’t interested in you too? 

.

You find out many things about your gym crush, most of them completely unexpected. 

One: his hair is unusually soft for someone who looks so rough. Or, well, you think it looks soft, you can’t tell for sure; you haven’t actually touched it to be able to tell. The black mop on his head falls flat over his eyes on the few days you assume are right before his next scheduled haircut. It surprises you even more when he walks in the gym with a small hair tie holding his bangs up. 

Two: he does a considerable amount of bodyweight exercises for someone his size—Calisthenics, specifically. 

You watch him pull himself up the bar, biceps and back straining against the movement. The muscles ripple across the fabric of his tee, and it’s impressive how smoothly he’s able to go up and down; as if he isn’t exerting any effort at all. Then, the push-ups and dips. He can do them all, in every variation you never even thought existed, and it’s always done with so much ease. 

It gives you reason to believe that he could be gentle, controlled. In what? Well. You know. 

Three: he likes fruity things. You expected his go-to to be straight black, maybe a chocolate protein shake on other days too. But he shows up one day with a smoothie in the shade of vibrant magenta. Dragonfruit, you assume, from all the black specks floating in it. 

This also happens to be the first time you initiate the conversation with him.  

“Your smoothie looks good,” you mumble, a little hesitant. 

God, so awkward. 

He looks up from adjusting the plate stoppers on your bar. 

A hum rumbles from his throat before he flashes you the same half-smile he always does, “Strawberry, banana, and dragonfruit.” 

You don’t really know what to say after that other than, “Cool.” 

And you mentally facepalm yourself. 

. 

In your fourth month at the gym, you learn a few more unexpected things that change everything. 

You’ve just finished freshening up and you’re on the way out when you bump into— 

“Megumi?” 

He looks up from his phone, dark strands hitting the tips of his eyelashes as he pushes back one side of his headphones. He raises an eyebrow, confused and surprised.  

“You gym?” 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Pink dusts his cheeks as he ducks his head, motioning for you to go first. 

“Sorry,” you chuckle, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, “I started going here a few months ago. You?” 

He looks a little surprised by it, probably more so at the fact that you’ve kept it a secret from him for so long, but he nods, “That’s good. You did mention wanting to work on your fitness more this year.” then, he shifts, adjusting his weight before hanging his headphones by his neck. 

“I’m waiting for my dad.” 

In the past few years you’ve known Megumi, he’s never mentioned his dad. You never bothered to ask because you suspected there was a good reason he never talked about him in the first place. 

And so comes number four, and maybe the last unexpected thing you find out about your gym crush— 

“Megumi!” 

You both turn around to the voice of none other than Nobara’s proclaimed rippest DILF in Japan; the most jacked up tank of a man who also happens to be the man you’ve crushed hard on for the past four months.  

Everything is snapping into place, information forming bridges you would rather not cross right now. 

He walks up to Megumi, duffel bag slung across his chest as he reaches for your friend.

Megumi looks like he wants to wither away, embarrassed at you seeing him tucked under his dad’s arm. But all your brain can really comprehend is that Megumi, your good friend, is currently squished between the bicep and chest you’ve been staring at since your first day at the gym.

You hold your breath, the realization creeping to the forefront of your mind. There had been signs that your gym crush was a dad; apart from being built like one, he’d offhandedly mention ‘son’ a few times. You didn’t think it would be—

“Oh, you two know each other?” your gym crush tilts his head, turning to you, “you didn’t tell me your friend signed up for this gym, Megumi.” 

“I didn’t know,” Megumi grumbles, and the look on his face can rival yours, for sure. Tough competition on ‘who looks like they want to die the most right now?’. 

But he can’t win. 

Because when Megumi begrudgingly introduces your gym crush to you as his dad, you’re pretty sure you’ve buried yourself twelve feet underground. 

(It doesn’t ease the embarrassment when you learn unexpected thing number five: he’s been a trainer at the gym this entire time.)

thank you notes: to @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for encouraging me all the way!! ily ari

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[anto-pops]

Fissured Composure - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: After watching you hold your own against a handsy classmate, Sebastian is feeling particularly needy and steals you away to the Undercroft to show you just how worked up your right hook got him.

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian reverently going down on you after you break Leander's nose

Based on this request I received! Hope you like it anon :)) 

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, minor violence, explicit sexual content, rough sex

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 as always !

Many of your friends would agree that you had the patience of a damn Saint. 

Beyond dealing with Sebastian’s hard-headedness on a regular basis and keeping up appearances with your classmates, it was a wonder you had managed to maintain your cool, collected facade for so long. You could recall losing it once before, shortly after Professor Fig died. But the whole debacle had gone down in the safety and privacy of the Room of Requirement, so no one had been around to witness your indignant anger take root and assist you in trashing two thirds of your sacred space. 

That had been two years ago, so you liked to think you’d gotten better at controlling your emotions since then.

Leander fucking Prewett, however, had seemingly made it his life’s mission to frustrate you to no foreseeable end.

While you had felt bad for him in your fifth-year and entertained his rambling mostly out of pity, somewhere along the way your lack of interest got lost in translation. He was a rather boastful individual, preferring to brag about himself and put down anyone that excelled in areas he wanted to be the best in. His attitude had only worsened with age, and for the last few months he had suddenly taken to attempting to woo you in passing. 

His efforts were too pathetic to take to heart, but you certainly hadn’t told Sebastian about it yet. Not unless you wanted to trigger a fight that you knew you wouldn’t be able to intervene in, because the whole reason Leander was even trying with you was to get under your boyfriend’s skin. 

Today was Wednesday, and you shared Herbology class with Leander, much to your displeasure. Your attempts at escaping out the door quickly had been thwarted when Professor Garlick asked to speak with you after class, and despite hoping against all odds that you would be left alone, Prewett was waiting for you at the top of the steps when you ascended the staircase. 

“Ah, there you are,” he drawled, with far too much familiarity for your liking. “Did Professor Garlick hold you back to scold you for something?” 

You grasped at the fringes of your self-restraint with everything in you. “No, we were just discussing some extra assignments she gave me last week.” 

Wanting to leave the interaction at that, you picked up your pace and strode past him, eager to meet up with Sebastian and Ominis for lunch. At the very least, Sebastian’s presence would act as a safeguard against Leander’s incessant pestering. Unfortunately, the Gryffindor had no qualms about lengthening his stride to match your own, and he fell annoyingly into step beside you. 

He raked one of his hands through his long strands of red hair, trying and failing to raise a brow at you questioningly. Instead he just looked constipated. “Wow, extra assignments? You must be some child genius turned prodigy, I can’t think of anyone who willingly says yes to more homework.” 

“...I’ve been doing it for two years, Leander.” 

Waving you off, he pressed on, “Then you’re way smarter than you let on.” What? “Not that I’ve heard otherwise from anyone, but someone as bright as you likely values intellect and wit, and I can’t help but notice Sebastian is in short supply of both these days–” 

“Leander, now really isn’t the time.” Not this shit again. You pushed through the double doors leading to Central Hall, desperate to put your two Slytherin companions in between yourself the daft idiot tailing you. 

“Oh, come on. I’m only suggesting we take some time to study together. Or maybe we could take a stroll through the Library since you’re so fond of books. Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for sneaking into the Restricted Section, although sometimes I wonder how much reading you actually do when you disappear there with Sallow.” 

By now you had made it beside the fountain in the middle of the room, but your legs halted entirely when you registered the implication hidden in his words. One of your nails broke as you dug your fingers into the cover of your textbook, and you willed the thrum of your blood roaring in your ears to lessen as you finally pivoted to face Leander fully. 

Your expression was stormy when you fixed your eyes on his beady ones, and you allowed yourself a moment to appreciate the nervous bob of his throat. “What is it you think I do then, Leander? What vapid, tasteless thoughts do you have whipping around in that giant head of yours, hm?” 

At least he had the good sense to look sheepish, but he masked the look quickly with that false bravado that made your hands twitch. He raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, “Relax, doll. I’m just connecting the dots out loud. What does your prized boytoy tempt you with to convince you to break the rules so often?” 

Merlin’s bloody balls, if you didn’t leave now, you were going to lose it in the middle of the school. There was no hiding your blatant scowl of disgust, but you found the frayed tethers of your composure and grabbed the ends like a lifeline. You pulled a deep breath into your lungs, exhaling in a way that conveyed your thinning temper, and turned to walk away. 

You saw Sebastian standing on the other side of Central Hall talking to Garreth, and he was spying over the redhead’s shoulder to watch you. His face was contorted into a dark, threatening expression, and you knew he could read your own emotions plainly on your face. He was well aware that you were pissed off, and he jumped into action then, muttering something to Weasley under his breath before he was striding across the foyer to get to you. 

You’d made it roughly three steps away from Leander when you suddenly felt his slimy hand slithering around your waist to haul you back against his chest. The brazen action took you by surprise, which was the only reason the bastard succeeded in squeezing the curve of your hip so generously. The feeling had you tensing all over, and you dimly registered Sebastian’s murderous expression nearing the opposite side of the fountain before your own anger took root. 

“What, you’re not even going to dignify me with a response? That’s awfully cruel–” 

A faceful of your fist cut him off mid sentence, and you watched through your narrowed eyes as Leander’s head flew back, his momentum carrying him to the ground in a sprawled, limp heap. You heard a series of gasps erupt from the students that were seated nearby, but you didn’t care. It took you a second to process the scene as you blinked the rage from your mind, but once you had, you were pleased to find Prewett’s nose hugging his cheek at a very broken angle. 

“There’s your response, you prick,” you swore at him, bending down to snatch up your Herbology textbook that had fallen from your grip. Your knuckles throbbed from the impact still, but you simply flexed your fingers and shook the pain away. It felt good to get that out of your system, and entirely worth the bruises you would surely be sporting in the morning. “Do yourself a favor and stay the hell away from me, or I’ll be happy to show you exactly what I’ve learned from the books in the Restricted Section.” 

As soon as you moved away from Leander, a group of younger students were flocking to his side, wisely giving you a wide berth as you left. Sebastian was frozen still as a statue on the other side of the fountain, looking at you slack-jawed with admiration twinkling in his dark eyes. You smiled softly at him, the look so at odds with the feral energy you had just exhibited twenty seconds prior.  

“I– what the bloody hell was that?” Sebastian asked at the same time you circled your arm around his waist to lead him away from the bleeding Gryffindor. 

“It was well deserved, that’s what it was,” you replied evenly, and then you felt Sebastian’s fingertips digging into the small of your back. “Don’t worry about it, please. He won’t bother me anymore, that’s for damn sure.” 

Sebastian’s laugh sounded breathless, and he shook his head in disbelief, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. “Oh I’ll definitely be needing the backstory to that whole altercation at some point, but I’m more hung up on the fact that you actually punched somebody. You never get physical like that, where in Merlin’s name did that come from?” 

You’d been leading Sebastian towards the Great Hall, having had your mind set on lunch for the better part of a half hour. But then you felt Sebastian take control of steering, and instead of turning down the corridor that led to your destination, he instead appeared to be guiding you in the direction of the Dark Arts Tower. “You’re acting like it’s unheard of for someone to lose their temper. In case you forgot, Prewett is particularly insufferable. Today he crossed one too many lines, so I reeducated him. End of story.” 

“I don’t think you understand,” Sebastian murmured as you came up the staircase leading to a familiar alcove, and things suddenly started to click into place. “That was quite possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”

All the blood in your body seemed to flood into your cheeks then. Sebastian gazed down at you hungrily, whipping his wand out briefly to unlock the latch concealing the entryway behind the large clock. It opened with a clang, and before you could formulate a response to his statement, he was gently pushing you through the opening ahead of him. 

While the two of you descended the narrow stairwell leading into the Undercroft, Sebastian replayed the glorious sight of your wicked right hook in his mind. He didn’t know what the hell Leander had been whispering to you about, but the look on your face had told him it wasn’t anything pleasant. Being the chivalrous and overprotective boyfriend he was, of course he’d bailed on his conversation with Garreth to step in. 

Watching Prewett’s offensive appendage coil around your waist had sealed the deal, however; Sebastian had fully intended on sending the Gryffindor into an early grave. But then you’d dropped your items and spun around so fast– your textbook was still falling when your fist connected with his nose. It wasn’t the most tactful means of defense for a lot of people. After all, in a world of magic, who the hell bothered with brawling? There was no denying the appeal of it though. It was a more personal way of telling someone to go fuck themselves, and watching you set your boundries in such a way had driven Sebastian’s blood supply straight to his cock. 

He liked this unrestrained side of you. He was desperate to see more of it. 

Once you were past the threshold of the gate, you stopped to turn to Sebastian, ready to clarify that seriously– was he this affected by you throwing a punch? But then his larger body slammed against you, stealing the words from your throat as he captured your lips in a frantic, hungry kiss, and you were manhandled into his arms so he could walk the two of you over to the lounge stuffed away in the corner of the room. 

As soon as your ass made contact with the velvet cushions, Sebastian broke away so his hands could get to work on hauling your skirt down your legs. The ferocity of the movement nearly sent you flying to the floor with the attire, but then the freckled man was moving back into your personal space so abruptly, your teeth knocked together before he began biting and sucking at your bottom lip. 

“Fuck– Sebastian, what the hell’s gotten into you?” The pain from his ministrations quickly blurred together with the unmistakable arousal pooling between your legs, and when he pressed the pad of his thumb roughly against your clit through your soaked undergarments, he swallowed your shaky moans with a nefarious kiss. 

“I have to have you,” Sebastian murmured as his hands came up to remove your blouse, exerting a smidge more self-control than he did with your skirt so he didn’t render your uniform unusable afterwards. There was still the matter of school technically being in session, but after watching Leander put his hands on you, Sebastian was feeling especially possessive, and seeing you lay the brute out like it was nothing made his thirst for you seem borderline unquenchable. He asked hurriedly, “Merlin’s balls, let me eat you out– please?” 

You shivered as he undid the last button on your shirt and slipped the material over your shoulders, tossing it to the stone floor alongside the rest of your clothes. Having long since given up on wearing your bras after Sebastian ripped the straps of your last two, you were completely bare– an open invitation for him to begin kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples hard enough to make you arch into his touch.

He took full advantage of your close proximity and latched his lips over your thundering pulse, sinking his teeth into the skin to work a mark there, and you nodded shamelessly when you felt his fingers slip beneath your underwear. 

“O-Okay. Alright– fine, but take this off,” your hands tugged at the collar of his shirt, ardently conveying that if you were going to let him satiate himself, the least he could do was let you look at him.

Sebastian was obliging you in a heartbeat, pulling away from your spread legs to wriggle his tie loose. It hung messily around his neck– just enough for him to swiftly begin undoing his button up– and the entire time he worked to shed the clothing, his dark, penetrating gaze never left your flushed body. Once the front of his shirt fell open and he’d discarded it, you were met with the tantalizing sight of Sebastian’s toned, freckled chest. The mouth watering trail of hair running below his navel paved a path to the tenting fabric of his trousers, and as soon as Sebastian caught you staring, his brown eyes were darkening impossibly further. 

Prowling forward with feline grace, Sebastian smirked as he lifted his tie off of his shoulders to drape over your head. He didn’t bother tightening it, instead letting it hang in a disheveled heap between your breasts, and the sight did more for him than he cared to admit, his cock straining uncomfortably in his trousers. But right now wasn’t about him– not really– it was about you, and Sebastian’s reverent need to please you. 

“Hold that for me,” he purred down at you before he was dropping to his knees in front of you. 

A brilliant flush swept up your torso as his warm, broad hands came to finally slip your drenched panties away from your aching heat, gliding the material down your outstretched legs without tearing his eyes away from you. Goosebumps broke out all over your skin when the chill of the Undercroft passed over you, and your breath caught in your throat when he eagerly licked his lips and sidled up to the edge of the couch. 

Sebastian looped his arms under your thighs, tugging you closer to him so that your ass dangled precariously off the cushions, causing you to shiver under his unyielding stare. He nudged your legs up onto his shoulders, casting a mischievous look your way before he was nuzzling his face into the sensitive skin of your legs, and the adoring kisses he peppered up the apex of your thighs had your stomach tensing in anticipation. 

“Do you think we could try sparring one day?” Sebastian asked randomly, teasing his fingers closer to your dripping folds before pulling them away entirely. The dejected sigh that slipped from your lips made him chuckle darkly, and you narrowed your eyes at him as his question finally processed. 

“Sparring? What the hell for?” 

He shrugged, jostling your raised legs as his fingers dug firmly into your hips for a modicum of restraint. “I think I’d enjoy getting thrown around by you. Do you think you could?” 

Merlin– he had officially lost his mind. “Maybe? I wouldn’t want to hurt you, though.” 

Something wild sparked behind his irises then, and he began placing lingering kisses in the hollow of your leg. “I would love it if you did,” another soft press of his lips, this time right beside your aching center. “Seriously, when we do, promise me you won’t hold back.”

“You’re actually insane,” you wheezed out as his next kiss fell directly against your clit, and your nails dug fitfully into the padding of the lounge at the featherlight feeling.  

“Only for you, darling.” Sebastian’s grip on your hips tightened as he mercifully sealed his mouth over your cunt, and your head kicked back against the sofa with an audible whack as your shrill voice suddenly echoed off the walls of the cavernous room. Your next breath was stolen from you as you felt Sebastian’s tongue circle over your clit, pressing and dragging the muscle down your heat to lap up as much of you as you could– and you swore you’d never been so wet in your fucking life. 

By some miracle, you didn’t pass out from the overwhelming bliss, but you sure as hell saw stars dancing in the corners of your vision when Sebastian tongued at your tight entrance. The sordid sounds coming from the brunet between your legs was enough to have you clenching your thighs on either side of his head, and the blatantly aroused groan it pulled from his throat reverberated against you perfectly. 

“Fuck, Sebastian,” you whimpered, snapping your hands up from the seat to fist in his curly, brown locs, and when you pulled him against you harder, he moaned at the sensation of your nails scraping against his scalp. He switched tactics then, shaking his head from side to side softly to rub his lips sinfully over your bundle of nerves. The friction was dizzying, and you brazenly bucked your hips against his chin to chase your steadily mounting pleasure. “Merlin–” 

Sebastian was utterly transfixed by you. Through hooded eyes, he watched rapaciously as you crumbled above him; your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, and the ever darkening flush that decorated your skin made the green of his tie around your neck stand out even more, acting like a proprietary flag that claimed you as his. You cracked open your eyes to stare down at him, and your stomach flipped at his unbridled, lust-filled gaze boring into you. 

Sitting forward more, Sebastian wound one of his arms over the angular curve of your hip bones, simultaneously pressing you harder into him while preventing you from shifting around. He mouthed sloppily against you, and you were left to balance your leg over his shoulder when he dropped his other hand to begin teasing at your soaked hole. He pressed the tip of his finger in slowly before withdrawing it completely, and he repeated the same motion a few more times until you were on the verge of tearing a fistfull of his hair out. 

A keening sound ripped from your chest when he removed the digit slower than before, and you could feel Sebastian smirk against you. “S-Stop teasing,” you stuttered, your voice strained and airy.

Sebastian pulled away with a conniving chuckle, and the sight of your slick coating the entirety of his lower face damn near killed you on the spot. “I’m trying to take my time here– you taste so fucking sweet.” 

His finger was back, sliding into you once again– only this time he spared you further torment by burying the appendage inside of you to the knuckle and curling it deliciously upwards. You gasped, arching off the back of the lounge in some vain attempt to feel more of him, but his strength pressing into your hips held you firmly in place, and a legitimate whine tumbled from your swollen lips. 

He set an achingly slow pace, focusing more on wiggling his finger inside of you before pulling it back to thrust in again, and your throaty groan was cut short when Sebastian’s mouth reappeared on your cunt. He lapped at you furiously, working your brain into a tizzy with the rapid flicks of his tongue against your clit, and the cord in your gut was wrought tight as your climax roared to life in the far reaches of your mind. The wanton moans that slipped from Sebastian were electrifying, and the intensity of his ministrations increased when he added a second finger to the mix. Any pain or discomfort was nonexistent; all you could focus on was the sheer exhilaration his efforts brought you, and your hands tightened in his hair to silently warn him that you were close. 

Leaning sideways for a better angle, Sebastian rolled his head against your inner thigh to peer up at you. Once your glazed over eyes landed on him, he let his mouth hang open in an obscene manner to lewdly flick his tongue over your nub at the same time he stroked your inner walls, and that was as much as you could take before you were crying out for Sebastian loud. Your orgasm hit you with the force of a train, stealing your breath and making your muscles tense so hard that your boyfriend’s face was effectively crushed between your trembling legs. 

Sebastian took everything that you inflicted upon him in stride; the stinging drag of your nails through his hair, as well as the suffocating squeeze of your thighs on either side of his head. He relished in it– and he positively lived for how he could make you fall apart in such a way. His cock concurred with his thoughts, twitching enthusiastically against the confines of his trousers. 

The freckled, Adonis incarnate before you rose to his full height after you had the good grace to release him from the stifling confines of your legs, groaning softly when his fingers slipped out of you. Sebastian regarded you with a predatory look that promised more, and you swallowed thickly as you watched his hands languidly work to undo the catch of his pants.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Sebastian’s brows pinched together with blatant need as he scanned your prone form against the sofa. “Fuck, do you have any idea what you do to me?” His imposing stature over you– shirtless and flushed, with his chest rising and falling from the strained breaths he pulled into his lungs– it had your heart hammering wildly against your sternum. You shook your head. “Then I’ll show you,” he vowed, and the timbre to his voice seemed to reignite the fire burning in your veins. 

Working quickly, Sebastian shoved his trousers down to his thighs, pulling himself out of his briefs with a needy groan. He gave himself a few testing pumps, tipping his head back slightly when his fist squeezed around the bright red tip, and then he was zeroing in on you like you were the only thing in the room he cared to pay attention to. You were still quivering in your spot on the lounge when Sebastian stepped forward, hauling you upright by the tie around your bare neck to spin you around so you were kneeling on the cushions with your front pressed into the backrest of the couch. 

It took everything in you not to sink back down on your wobbly legs, but then you felt Sebastian’s hands running down your back towards the shapely curve of your ass, and he squeezed at the skin there greedily before lining himself up with your spit-slick cunt. Far too eager to feel his cock inside of you, you watched over your shoulder as Sebastian gingerly pressed into you with a low, raspy moan, and your fingers dug into the backrest so hard, your knuckles blanched white. 

Despite his urgency, Sebastian took his time rocking his hips into you, drinking in your sweet little sounds as he filled you up and slid home. “Fuck,” he breathed, leaning forward to rest his head between your shoulder blades as he buried himself to the hilt. His hands moved from your ass to your waist, holding you still with bruising strength as he got used to the sensation of your hypersensitive walls contracting around him. Your breaths were coming out fast and shallow, completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of him compared to his fingers. Having already come, you were like putty in Sebastian’s hands as he ground his cock into you firmly, and you felt him twitch inside you when your head fell forward against the upholstery of the seat with a gasp. “Fuck– you’re so wet still– feels so fucking perfect.” 

When Sebastian pulled back to torturously thrust into you slowly, your hips rocked in tandem against him, and he redirected his eyes up from where the two of you were connected so he could drink in the expression on your face. Your lips were parted around a choked moan as he moved inside of you, those beautiful, luminescent eyes of yours sparkling with rampant affection and arousal, and his tie swayed around your neck in sync with his movements.

Sebastian hunched forward, lifting one of his hands to rake through your disheveled hair and pull your head back towards his shoulder, and you cried out suddenly before the sound transformed into a filthy moan that only served to spur Sebastian forward faster. His hold on you was unrelenting, effectively bending you backwards against his sweaty chest as he increased his pace and began spearing his cock into you with brutal efficiency. 

It didn’t take long for him to start hitting the deepest parts of you, the thick head of his shaft curving up to graze deliciously over your sweet spot with every rough thrust. Your eyes rolled back in your skull, shameless noises spilling from your lips as Sebastian folded you backwards onto his cock to satiate himself. That familiar feeling blossomed low in your gut, and one of your hands flew back to dig your nails into the bare skin of Sebastian’s thigh behind you. 

“Fuck, fuck, Sebastian–” your warbled voice was like music to his ears, pulling the corners of his mouth up into a devilish smile. His next thrust was particularly forceful, and the incriminating sound of skin slapping against skin filled the Undercroft, seemingly harmonizing with the cacophony of noises that the two of you created together. “Merlin–” 

Sebastian growled, releasing your hair to trail his hand across your front and curl around your throat. He tightened his hold there, squeezing just enough so that your walls clenched around his cock as he upped his tempo. You were completely enveloped by him, held fast to his damp chest as he ruthlessly pounded into you, and the lack of oxygen to your brain numbed everything else as your second orgasm loomed threateningly overhead. 

Overcome with telltale urgency, Sebastian chased his own pleasure desperately, bucking his cock deep into your clenching heat, wringing choked gasps and stuttered cries of his name from your open mouth, and he was fucking dizzy from how good it felt to be pressed against you, holding you tight in his arms. Sebastian tugged you closer to him to latch his lips over the sweaty skin below your ear, biting and sucking a mark there as he propelled his hips upwards inside of you. 

There really wasn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from frantically rutting back in search of that building euphoria. You rode back onto Sebastian with as much give as you were allowed, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure and your thighs shaking from how good Sebastian was fucking you, filling you up deep and hard and fast, just how you liked it. The way he slammed you back down onto his rough thrusts by your throat only added fuel to the fire, leaving you a sloppy, gasping, pleading mess in his arms. 

Sebastian released his ironclad grip around your waist to snake his hand lower to your sensitive clit, and your head fell back against his shoulder as he started rubbing firm circles over the overstimulated nub. Your voice strained against his uncompromising hold on your throat, “Fuck– Sebastian, please–” 

“Come, darling, come on my cock. Let me hear your pretty noises, I’m so close,” he muttered the command against the shell of your ear, railing his cock into you so fast and so harshly, you had no choice but to oblige him. 

Sebastian watched as you crumbled against him for the second time, utterly in love with the way your spine rounded as you sank into him, every part of your body trembling. Your walls tightened impossibly further around him, causing him to gasp into the crook of your neck, and Sebastian slammed his cock into your incredible cunt— nearly mindless from how you shook against him— and he fucked you clean through your orgasm until your sounds and body yanked him right over the edge with you. His dark eyes rolled shut, growling your name through his clenched teeth as his pace faltered before he was burying himself deep in you with a heady gasp. 

The feeling of Sebastian emptying inside of you rendered you boneless, leaving your boyfriend with the task of keeping you upright as he ground his hips against your ass, milking himself dry with broken whimpers before halting his movements entirely. His hold around your throat loosened, and the rush of blood returning to your brain was akin to pure bliss alongside the remnants of your climax. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned after a few heated seconds, relaxing his grip on you so that he could slide himself out before gingerly lowering the two of you down onto the cushions together. Your hands slipped from the back of the couch and fell into your lap as Sebastian maneuvered you into a sitting position, your body too limp to even bother moving yourself. “Are you okay?” 

You gave him a nonplussed blink as you willed your brain to function properly again, and then you nodded shakily. “Shit, yeah. I had no idea your bloodlust would turn you into such a lunatic, though,” you muttered, and Sebastian’s bellowing laugh roused you further from your post-coital state. 

“It’s not bloodlust, darling. It’s you,” he countered easily, a smug smile playing on his freckled lips. He tucked his softening cock back into his briefs and tugged his pants back up over his hips before moving away from you to retrieve the scattered pieces of your uniform. When he reappeared with the ball of clothing, you took it graciously, staying seated on the couch as you worked your underwear up your unsteady legs. “I was serious about the sparring thing, too. I think it would be fun watching you let loose.” 

You shot him a hesitant look, not particularly keen on his eagerness to get bloodied up at your hands, but his excitement at the thought was palpable, and you found yourself relenting to his ludicrous idea with a sigh after a few beats of silence. “Fine,” you conceded. “But only once. I don’t care how horny it makes you– I don’t like the thought of hurting you, no matter how easy it is to fix broken bones here.” 

He had bent down to snatch his button up off the floor, but paused on his way up to glance at you with a pleased expression on his face. The shirt was momentarily forgotten as Sebastian fell to his knees once again, only this time it was to cradle your face in his warm hands and pull you in for a toe curling kiss. His thumbs traced along your cheekbones as his tongue delved deep in your mouth, and you sighed contentedly. The gentleness that always followed these heated moments between the two of you was, without a doubt, one of your favorite things. 

Sebastian broke away to pepper a quick succession of lighter kisses all over your face, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his reverence. “Hell yes, whatever you want. I’ll do it wearing a damn ball gown if that’s what it takes.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re barking mad?” 

He smirked, far too pleased to be hearing you say so. “From time to time, yes. Don’t lie, you love it.” 

Your eyes twinkled with amusement, and fighting your smile proved to be easier said than done. “I love you. Your crazy ideas, however, I take with a grain of salt.” 

From there, he stood fully to throw his shirt over his shoulders, and you mirrored his actions, redressing yourself as quickly as your shaky legs would allow. Once finished, you slipped Sebastian’s tie off of your neck, draping it over his shoulders with a coy smile, and you felt his arm coil around your waist to tug you flush against his front, stealing your lips in another steamy, doting kiss. You returned the gesture with equal fervor, rising to your tip-toes to trail your hands up into his hair to scratch shiver-inducing stripes down the nape of his neck. 

The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before the screeching gears of the metal gate drew your attention, and you pulled apart at the same time Ominis strode into the Undercroft. His face was contorted in concentration, his wand sweeping across the room until he seemed to sense that yes, his two best friends had indeed abandoned him in the Great Hall to disappear into their shared space. 

“Where the hell have you two been?” He asked, not even bothering to confirm that you were truly there. His outstretched wand pointed towards you both as he made his way to the back of the room. “I thought we were meeting for lunch, I’ve been entertaining idle gossip for the better part of a half hour. What is it that I keep hearing about Leander getting punched in the face?” 

At that, you stepped away from Sebastian, adjusting your skirt slightly before bashfully rubbing the back of your neck. “Ah, yeah. That was me,” you confessed. “Word travels fast. What exactly is being said?” 

Ominis cocked a brow at you as he came to halt a few feet away, a strange look passing over his features as his wand pulsed in your direction. “Rumor has it you broke his nose. Please tell me this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence– I can hardly keep up with Sebastian coming to blows with students as it is.” 

“It won’t, don’t worry. I doubt he’ll even come around me anymore after this.” 

Sebastian snickered under his breath, eyeing you with a proud look that reminded you of your recent escapades, and you blushed under his knowing stare. “If Leander knows what’s good for him, he won’t so much as glance in your direction for the rest of the year. But on that note, I’m famished. Anyone up for food?” 

“I’ve been ‘up for food’ for thirty minutes,” Ominis muttered as he turned on his heel to head for the gate. The three of you fell into step alongside one another, Sebastian’s hand brushing against yours as you walked towards the exit, but then Ominis was pausing mid step, tilting his head up to… sniff the air? How odd. “Merlin’s beard, it smells like sex in here.” 

You snatched your hand away from Sebastian’s to slap your palms over your eyes in embarrassment, every ounce of blood in your body rushing to your head and heating your cheeks as you willed the floor to open up underfoot and swallow you whole. Your boyfriend, however, only laughed. 

“We had to work up an appetite before finding you,” Sebastian mused, unashamed at having been caught by the blond man. “Sorry, Ominis. I’ll send an owl next time.” 

“Please stop fucking in the Undercroft. I’m too scared to sit down here anymore– I can’t tell whether I’m avoiding your cum stains or not.” 

“You’ll want to steer clear of the lounge for the foreseeable future, then.” Sebastian fired back instantly, not a lick of chagrin to be detected in his voice. “That’s a mess you’ll want to avoid.” 

“Please stop talking,” you grit through your teeth, and the coquettish expression on the brunet’s face warranted a sharp look from you. “Or I can’t promise I won’t punch you in the face next.” 

“Didn’t we just establish that I want you to go that route? Don’t threaten me with a good time.” 

Ominis threw his hands up in utter exasperation, shaking his head in disbelief at Sebastian’s gall before damn near sprinting to leave the Undercroft, and the two of you were forced to skip after him as he ascended the staircase to head for the Great Hall. Even after sitting down and piling food on his plate, Sebastian continued to oggle you from his seat across the table. Every so often you would feel his foot nudge your calf, trailing the appendage up your leg to play with the hem of your skirt. 

Despite your earlier mortification, he did a stellar job of brightening your mood, and when Ominis groused over his mug that the two of you should just get fucking married already, Sebastian looked at you wonderstruck, and he seemed to seriously consider it. 

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

i can see you (miguel o'hara's version)

pairing: professor/mentor!miguel o’hara x graduate assistant!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4.5k

summary:

As Dr. Miguel O’Hara’s graduate teaching and research assistant, you’ve spent years pushing down the inappropriate thoughts you’ve had about the brilliant, gorgeous man.

But what happens when a late night at the lab and a scientific breakthrough leads to a breakthrough of a different kind?

author's note:

my first (but probably not my last) miguel o'hara fic based on taylor swift's song "i can see you" from speak now tv. if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or commenting and letting me know your thoughts!

content warnings/tags:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), explicit language, no use of y/n, alternate universe - no powers, age gap (undefined), presence of power dynamics (teacher/student), author took scientific liberties (forgive her, its been 10 years since bio II lab), pineapple on pizza, potentially bad spanish translations, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), miguel picking reader up, unprotected p in v, size kink, choking, pet names, praise kink, competency kink, dirty talk. let me know if i've missed anything!

Translations you may need:

Universidad Estatal de Nueva York - State University of New York

Sí - Yes

Dios mío - My god

El Origen de la Genética Mutante - The Origen of Mutant Genetics

Mierda - Shit

Te lo prometo - I promise you

Lo juro por Dios - I swear to god

Arañita - little spider

Cállate - be quiet

Mirame - look at me

te sientes tan bien - you feel so good

Perfecto - perfect

________

You’re sitting in the front row, in the seat you’ve claimed as your spot, watching Dr. O’Hara pace in front of the projector screen that displays today’s lesson notes. 

“And what is the hallmark of this mutant gene that demonstrates its incompatibility for transmutation?” He asks the silent room of undergraduates that have found themselves on the roster for his Mutation Genomics III course at Universidad Estatal de Nueva York. 

A few hands go up around the room and Dr. O’Hara points to a student in the back who says, “Uh, it’s got a spiked protein arrangement that can’t be modified?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Dr. O’Hara asks. There’s a sprinkle of laughter in the room and a smirk tilts his lips briefly. 

“An answer,” the student says more confidently. Dr. O’Hara nods.

“Correct, but that’s not the whole picture,” he says. His eyes catch yours and he gestures for you to join him. Your eyes go wide as you stand and walk to his side at the front of the class. “I’m sure some of you that actually use your available resources to pass my class recognize my teaching assistant. And if you don’t, I recommend visiting her office hours during this section because this is her area of research.”

Your cheeks feel warm as everyone’s attention falls to you. Dr. O’Hara hands you the data pad and steps back, giving you an encouraging nod. You tap the screen, bringing the diagram up on the holo projector and making it larger.

“You’re correct that the spiked protein arrangement can’t be modified, but there’s something more limiting in this particular model. If you look at it from this angle—,” you spin the DNA diagram, “you’ll see something else hindering the modification process. What do you see?”

Hands go up. Dr. O’Hara points to another student who says, “There’s a gap jump. The spike protein would continue to travel across the gap jump and avoid any inserts.”

“Exactly. So, what’s the potential alternative?” 

“Fill the gap. Target the spike protein in your modification cycle,” Dr. O’Hara finishes. “That’s all for today. Your exam next Wednesday will include this presentation, so don’t act surprised when you see the questions.”

A few students stop to speak with Dr. O’Hara as you gather your bag from your desk. His low voice calls your name, the timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine as you step up to his desk.

“You’re running a sequence right now, sí?” He asks, shuffling a stack of papers into order. 

“Yes, it should finish around seven tonight. Sorry, I know that it's late for a Friday,” you reply. He waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll see you in the lab.” His brown eyes flick to yours and your stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat, same as it always does when he looks at you. 

Dr. Miguel O’Hara makes you nervous. Not only because he’s one of the most notable researchers in the field of mutant genomics, but also because he’s so handsome he leaves you breathless. He’s tall, towering over most men you’ve met, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist that are always covered by a suit and tie in the classroom or a lab coat in the research lab. His tan skin is complemented by dark hair and brown eyes that make you lose your train of thought when you stare into them for too long.

Which…is exactly what you’re doing now.

You clear your throat, stepping back from his desk. Had you been leaning closer? Christ, you hope not. You give him a brief smile before responding, “Yeah, see you tonight. Thank you, Dr. O’Hara!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Miguel?” He calls after you. 

“Maybe when I’ve cracked the sequence!”

________

Miguel watches your hips sway in the jeans you wore to class today, the denim hugging your curves so well he has to bite back a groan. The door to the lecture hall slams shut behind you and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw in frustration.

You drive him crazy. Every class period you’re sitting in the front row, watching him as you tap your pen to your lips or leaning over your desk just enough to give him a glimpse down your blouse or dress. Or you’re in the lab, delicately handling samples and extractions with a level of competency beyond your years, your lip caught between your teeth as you analyze a sequencing output. 

He looks forward to and dreads your impending graduation in equal measure, being free from the constant temptation but losing the greatest researcher he’s met in years. 

Miguel finishes gathering his belongings as the door opens and the next lecturer comes in, nodding at him in greeting. As he steps out into the warm Nueva York air, he has a weird sense that something big is coming. 

He just doesn’t know what.

________

Miguel is waiting for you outside of his double locked research lab that evening, suit jacket hung over his arm and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal tan forearms dusted with dark hair. Your brain nearly short circuits at the sight, conjuring up images of those arms wrapped around your—

No, you think. He’s your mentor. Your handsome, intelligent, and very serious mentor. 

He looks up as you approach, corners of his lips tilting the slightest bit. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, you can’t be sure, but he presses his palm to the biometric lock and the heavy metal doors slide open. He steps inside ahead of you, putting his face in the frame of the security camera. A red laser scans his face and a light above the second locked door goes from red to green, the click of the lock disengaging echoing in the anteroom. 

You follow him through the door and into his research lab. The fluorescent lights glimmer off the chrome equipment and pristine bench surfaces. A machine whirs, running the sequence analysis you’ve been waiting on. 

“LYLA, what’s the status?” Dr. O’Hara says as he sets his belongings on the desk in the corner.

“Sequence will complete on schedule. Also, your specimen delivery is available in the ultra low freezer,” Dr. O’Hara’s AI assistant, LYLA, announces, feminine voice carrying through the room. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Dr. O’Hara says, tugging on his lab coat as he walks towards the ultra low freezer. 

“A surprise?” You ask, setting your stuff down at the assistant’s work space. 

There’s the beep of a passcode being entered and the heavy freezer door being opened and shut. He’s holding a tray of cryovials, the contents varying in color. He sets the tray on a bench top near your desk and pulls one out, holding it up to the light.

“Isolated arachnoid mutagen,” he says. Your mouth drops open in shock. You rush forward, pressing in close to stare up at the vial with him. 

“You’re kidding,” you whisper. He hands the vial to you, fingers brushing yours. You hold it between your thumb and index finger to inspect the suspension, red in color with tiny flecks of black. “Dr. O’Hara, this is insane. How did you even get this?”

“A guy owed me a favor,” he says. You glance up at his face and you’re suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. One deep breath and your chest would probably graze his, and did you just imagine his eyes dropping to your lips? 

“That’s one hell of a favor,” you murmur, stepping back. “You want me to work on the extraction?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“You say that like I’m not your research assistant. You can tell me to do anything.” Dr. O’Hara’s eyes go wide and you cough. “I mean, you know, lab related. Research stuff. Yeah. I’ll get started on this. LYLA? Power up the centrifuge and thermocycler, please.”

“Centrifuge is online. Thermocycler will reach optimal processing temperature in t-minus five minutes,” LYLA replies.

You set up all the necessary supplies and prepare the sample for the thermocycler, going through the motions that are now part of your muscle memory - extract, vortex, centrifuge, extract, wash, set in ice. You set your tray of samples into the thermocycler and remove your gloves to hit the start button.

________

Miguel watches you run the PCR test, fixated on the confidence with which you complete each step and your words from earlier continue to echo in his head.

“You can tell me to do anything.”

Dios mío, he thinks. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to will away the possibilities that anything could entail. 

“Sequence results are available. Would you like to review now?” LYLA asks. 

“Display,” Miguel says. You spin on your stool to view the hologram of the spliced DNA you prepared. He notices an issue immediately.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stepping up to the control screen and spinning the model. “There’s a deletion.”

“You knew there was a risk of that.” 

You zoom in on the model DNA strand, a broken gap shown in the mutation. “I know there was a risk, but it should have worked.”

Miguel crosses his arms and watches as you bring up the transillumination image of the DNA you had attempted to merge with a human sample. “You wanted it to work. Science is finite. There is no room for should.”

You glance at him. You look like you’re about to say something when the thermocycler beeps and he’s left to wonder what you would have said as you busy yourself with removing your tray of DNA samples. He leans against the bench as you assemble the agarose gel for electrophoresis. 

“Tell me, why do you think there was a deletion?” He asks. 

“The mutagen was incompatible with the human strand,” you murmur, adding dye to your vials. “Just the same as it has been the last dozen times.”

You’ve loaded the wells of the gel with your sample and set it in the tank, closing the lid and turning on the power supply. Miguel takes the remaining tray of arachnid samples to the freezer while your procedure runs. He understands your frustration, he’s run his fair share of failed experiments after all.

After about an hour, the hum of the electrical current from the electrophoresis tank shuts off. Miguel, who had been reviewing a journal submission for El Origen de la Genética Mutante, joins you at the bench as you remove your gel and set it on the UV transilluminator.

“LYLA, scan and project,” you ask the AI assistant. Miguel stands behind you, looking at the DNA bands you’ve generated. He’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he’s so close he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, something citrusy that reminds him of summer.

You jump suddenly, back colliding with his chest. His hands come up to grip your waist, steadying you as you turn to face him, face lit up in the brightest grin.

“Miguel, look. This arachnid mutagen. It’s a potential match for insertion!” You say excitedly. “It has the same length as the deletion seen with the scorpion mutagen.”

“LYLA, show the current projection against the scorpion scan,” he says. The two images appear side by side and it’s clear that the band of arachnid mutagen fits definitively in a space that appears void in the scorpion samples. “Mierda.”

“You see it, right?” You ask. It’s then that Miguel realizes he’s still got his hands on your waist. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching as your eyes go the slightest bit darker at the pressure.

“I can see it,” he murmurs. He wants so desperately to lean in closer, to back your body up until you’re pressed between the wall and his body, nowhere to go as his lips explore yours.

But he doesn’t. He drops his hands and puts much needed space between your bodies. He clears his throat.

“Prepare a combined sample,” Miguel says. You blink, checking your watch.

“It’s almost nine. Running a new combined sample would mean we’re here until close to midnight.”

“I’m familiar with how time passes, sí.”

“Are you sure you want—“

Miguel sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re on the verge of one of the greatest scientific discoveries in the last decade. Do you think I give a shit about having to stay late? What kind of mentor would I be if I told you, ‘Oh just wait until Monday to change the scientific world’?”

“One with a work-life balance, probably,” you reply with a giggle. Miguel raises his eyebrows at you. “Okay, okay, combined sample. I’m on it.”

As you rush around the lab, it hits him that you called him Miguel. Not Dr. O’Hara. He’s not sure what that means but he’s certain he wants to hear his name from your lips again.

_______

Dr. O’Hara orders food while your new combined sequence runs, begrudgingly agreeing to a half pineapple and half sausage pizza to split. You’re sitting outside of the lab in the empty hallway, pizza box between you as you eat the slices over grease stained napkins. 

“What are your plans for after graduation?” Dr. O’Hara asks. You shrug.

“Probably get my doctorate. No one takes you seriously in this field without one.”

He frowns. “You’re on the cusp of a major breakthrough, one that could change our understanding of genetic modifications and mutants as we know it.”

“Yeah, and it’s coming from your lab. You’ll get listed as the first author, that’s how this goes.” You pick at your pizza crust, tearing the bread into tiny pieces that you sweep back into the box. 

“I won’t let that happen. If this works, you’ll be the first name on that paper,” Dr. O’Hara says vehemently. “Te lo prometo.”

You smile, caught in his gaze for a brief moment before an alarm rings from his watch. LYLA announces, “Sequencing complete.”

Dr. O’Hara stands, holding a hand out to you. You grasp his broad palm and he pulls you up with ease, the force of it making you stumble slightly. You press a hand to his chest to steady yourself, marveling at how solid he feels beneath your palm. 

“Sorry. Slipped,” you murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a crease between his brow and storms in his eyes. His watch beeps again and he releases your hand to silence it, the spell broken between you. 

He unlocks the lab doors and you join him at the holoprojector, taking a deep breath. Dr. O’Hara brings up the sequence analysis, the hologram coming to life in the space between you. Your eyes scan the model, checking for gaps, deletions, frayed nucleotides, anything that could mean your procedure didn’t work.

You turn the projection this way and that, looking at it from every angle. You scan the result output reading, eyes jumping to the green SEQUENCING SUCCESSFUL text at the bottom. 

You turn to face Dr. O’Hara, eyes wide with surprise. “It worked.”

“It did,” he replies. 

“It worked,” you say again. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, your grin so wide it hurts your cheeks as you rush forward shouting, “It worked!”

Dr. O’Hara’s arms open to catch you, wrapping around your waist as he lifts you from the ground and spins you. He’s smiling, a rare sight for such a serious man, and it makes your heart pound in your chest as you stare up into his face.

“Dr. O’Hara?” You ask as he sets you down, his arms still wrapped tight around your back. “What—“

His lips collide with yours, stealing your breath from your lungs and your words from your brain as you melt against his broad body. The kiss is anything but gentle, with Miguel acting like a man starved as his tongue sweeps into your mouth.

“Dr. O’Hara—“

“Lo juro por Dios, if you call me that one more time,” he growls, lips trailing down your neck with wet kisses, “Miguel. Say it.”

“M-Miguel,” you whimper. He smiles against your neck before sinking his teeth against your pulse point, making you gasp. 

“That’s right,” he says, lifting his head. His brown eyes have gone dark and he’s smirking as his hands find the hem of your blouse, fingertips ghosting across the skin of your abdomen and dipping beneath the waist of your jeans. “Tell me what you want, arañita.”

Rather than trust your voice, you bring your own hands to his shirt collar, working at the buttons of his dress shirt as he opens the fly of your pants. He slips his hand lower just as you reach the last button of his shirt, revealing the tight white t-shirt that outlines his impressive chest.

His fingers rub you over your panties and you feel your knees buckle at the delicious friction. Miguel chuckles, removing his hand to grip the backs of your thighs and lift you against him, your legs wrapping around his trim waist and your hands holding onto his shoulders. He sets you down by his desk, reaching around you to sweep the surface clean, pens and paper falling to the floor.

“In a rush are we?” You say with a laugh. Miguel raises an eyebrow at you.

“Cállate.” He kneels before you, lifting each foot to remove your shoes before turning you to face the desk with his hands on your hips. He grasps the waist of your jeans and shimmies the material down over your hips. When they’re pooled around your ankles, his warm palms grip each ass cheek roughly, spreading you open. “This pussy is even prettier than I imagined,” he groans.

“You think about my pussy a lot, Dr. O’Hara?” You ask innocently. A palm lands a smack to your ass cheek, heat blooming across your skin as you gasp.

“Don’t play dumb, baby, I know you’ve thought about this just as much. You think I can’t see it. Trust me, I can see you watching me in class with those pretty little lips wrapped around your pen, wishing it was something else. Isn’t that right?”

You gasp as he runs his thick fingers through your soaked folds, reaching forward only enough to graze your clit without giving it the attention you desperately want. He leans himself over you, his chest pressed to your back and his lips grazing your ear as he says, “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, the confession earning you that delicious friction, his fingers drawing messy circles around the sensitive nub. He withdraws too soon for your liking, a whine falling from your lips that he shushes, his warm breath on your pussy. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, surprised to find him on his knees.

As you watch, he spreads your cheeks once more before leaning in, licking from your clit to your entrance with a rough groan. Your head drops down, hitting the surface of the desk with a thump as he eats you out like a man who’s found water in a desert. The sounds echoing in the lab are downright indecent, deep groans of appreciation against your cunt and desperate whines from your lips.

“Miguel,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still as his tongue drives you closer to the cliff’s edge of release. “Miguel, I’m gonna cum!”

The man only grips your hips harder, fingers digging deep as he holds you still and doubles his efforts. The thread you’re hanging on by snaps, sending you falling into ecstasy as your muscles go tight and your breath leaves you in a shout of his name as you unravel. 

He pulls away only long enough to stand and turn you to face him, lifting you so that you’re sitting on the edge of the desk, legs spread by his body. He wastes no time slipping two thick fingers inside of your still fluttering cunt, his grin sharp as he sets a pace that has you trying to wiggle away to escape the overstimulation.

“Ah, Miguel!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs. His free hand shoves one thigh wide, pressing it to the desk. “What–”

“Cum for me again, I need to see your face this time,” he demands. He curls his fingers, pressing against your front wall with each drag of his hand from your body. 

“I can’t!”

“What was it you said to me earlier? I can tell you to do anything?” He curls his fingers harder, focusing his efforts on a spot that has you squirming, desperate to get away and to cum in equal measure. “I’m telling you to cum again, arañita, so be a good girl and do as I say.”

Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, the tightness in your abdomen unraveling as you clench around his fingers. His movements slow as you try to catch your breath until he’s withdrawing, leaving you feeling disparagingly empty.

“Mirame,” Miguel says. You lift your head, pushing yourself up on your elbows and watching as he unbuckles his belt. “You made a mess, baby.”

You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you notice the wet stains on the front of his gray slacks. The feeling is short lived, however, as Miguel unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his thighs along with his boxers, kicking them to the side as he reaches behind his head and pulls his t-shirt off. You’re blown away by how stunning he is, broad shoulders and chest that lead to sculpted abs and a defined adonis belt that draws your eyes to his thick and intimidatingly long cock.

“There’s no way that’s going to fit,” you tell him nervously.

“Why don’t we test that hypothesis?” He asks, taking himself in hand. You blink at him.

“Did…did you just make a joke?” Laughter bubbles up your chest until it’s spilling into the room, your shoulders shaking with the force of it. Miguel takes himself in hand, notching the broad head of his length to your dripping entrance and sliding inside the barest amount, just the tip, but it has your laughter morphing into gasps.

“Mierda,” he murmurs, gaze fixed where your bodies connect. “So fucking tight, arañita.”

You feel like he’s splitting you apart, the stretch deep and all consuming as he fits himself inside of you, drawing back after each inch and slowly thrusting back in and giving you more of his cock in the process.

“You’re so close,” he tells you. “You’re doing so good for me. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good, Miguel,” you answer honestly. “I’m so full.”

“Fucking right you are,” he growls. His hands shove your blouse up, bunching the fabric under your armpits to expose your breasts. He tugs the cups of your bra down before leaning forward, the last bit of his length slipping inside of you as his lips wrap around a pert nipple and his hand gropes the opposite breast. 

Your back arches at all the sensation - the fullness and stretch of him inside of you, the warmth of his mouth and the pinch of his fingers. He moves his mouth to your other breast and looks up at you through dark lashes with darker eyes as he licks the taut peak while holding your gaze.

His hips draw back, the drag of each inch from your body exquisite torture until he slams into you, the force of it sliding you up the desk. You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders and your fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents as you cling to him.

Miguel stands, his arms looping beneath your thighs so that the backs of your knees rest across his forearms, spreading you open as he picks up his pace. He looks down at your body like it’s his greatest discovery.

“Fuck, fuck, te sientes tan bien,” he growls. 

“Miguel,” you moan, “please, please, please!”

“What are you begging for, arañita? Tell me.” 

“Wanna cum, please, Miguel,” you beg. He drops your legs, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of your neck, urging you to sit up. You keep one hand planted on the desk behind you, the other diving into his thick, dark hair, pulling at the strands.

He drags his strong nose along your jaw as he murmurs, “Greedy girl, but I’ll give you what you need. Won’t I?”

“Uh huh,” you moan in response. His other hand settles at the base of your throat and his eyes hold a question that has your pussy clenching around him in anticipation.

His palm creeps up, strong fingers wrapping around your delicate throat, squeezing the sides the slightest bit. Your eyes roll back at the pressure.

“Look at me,” Miguel demands, “look at me while I make you cum again with my hand around your pretty throat.”

You gasp for air as he pounds into you, your release sparkling at the edges of your vision. It explodes like a supernova across your nerves, your muscles tightening around him and making him moan, a deep rumble that you echo as his movements grow erratic.

He slams deep inside of you, cock pulsing and filling you with warmth as he groans your name, head dropped to your shoulder. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as the sweat on your skin cools and you run your fingers through his hair.

“That was—“

“Perfecto,” he finishes, lifting his head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, one that has your heart pounding even harder than the lust filled ones from earlier. “It’s late. Let’s get this cleaned up and get you home. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you argue. He scowls at you as you continue to say, “No, seriously, you don’t need to go out of your way—“

“Will you shut up for a minute?” Miguel asks. He holds your face in his hands as he says, “Get dressed. I’m driving you home.”

He steps back, the absence of him making you feel empty as you carefully stand from the desk on shaky legs. He hands you your jeans and you look around in confusion.

“Have you seen my underwear?” You ask.

“Hm? No, I don’t see them,” he hums, buttoning his slacks. The stain from earlier has blessedly faded. 

You shrug, pulling your jeans on and fixing your blouse. Miguel cleans up the stuff he’d knocked from the desk, putting it all back in haphazard piles and grabbing his bag. He holds his hand out to you.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. He must sense the hesitation you’re feeling when you don’t immediately grab his hand because he steps close, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “No one will see us. It’ll be our secret.”

You nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. “Just this once?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, arañita.”

The most fantastic fanart by narutoss.ramen on insta that fits the vibe of professor! miguel:

[apollo-likes-writing]

LAPIS LAZULI - 1. Reality

Character(s): Kakavasha/Aventurine

Tags: Long fic, no other tags apply tbf

Word Count: 2651 words

Summary: University seminars, philosophical discussions, and over-the-top ornate letters. What could go wrong?

Author’s note: I’d like to state for the record that I am currently not in university so have no idea how it works, so excuse any inaccuracies you may find here. Also, I had to dig around the Archives in game to make sure the lore is right lmao. Once again this is inspired by the ever wonderful @havanillas and their role swap!au. Check it out!

Account Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Prologue

8.45am - Wednesday

“Doctor? I have a letter addressed to you. Would you like me to leave it on your desk?”

“Yes please, Cassandra. I’ll have a look at it after today’s seminar. Thank you.”

”No problem, Doctor. It will be there when you arrive.”

Kakavasha takes his finger off the call button and leans back in his spinny chair, fingers interlocked on his stomach as he stares at the ceiling of his classroom. One hand reaches for a bottle of water on an oaken desk and he takes a swig, the liquid wonderfully tasteless as it slides down his throat. His students were to arrive within the next five minutes or so, so he makes himself busy by writing up a few diagrams on the whiteboard adjacent to his desk. To his annoyance, the marker pen runs out of ink halfway through, so goes on a hunt through his drawers to find another.

He roots through them for a few minutes, grumbling to himself and making a mental note to buy more with the university budget when he has free time. He finds another and grabs it triumphantly, lifting it to eye level with a grin before promptly realising two of his students have entered the classroom and sat down; now staring at him with poorly withheld amusement. At the sight of one of them giving him a cheeky wave and a “Good morning, Professor-“, he clears his throat and pivots on his heel before continuing his task. Next time he hears the chatter of the entering students before the door opens. The sound of backpacks being chucked under tables and laptops being opened fills the air as the majority enter and Kakavasha can’t prevent his quiet pleased sigh. These kids are here to learn and there is a strange form of pride that wells within him at the idea. With a few brief strokes of the marker, he finishes what he was doing and turns to the few dozen pupils in front of him.

”Morning folks,” he begins, twizzling the pen between his fingers artistically. “Today we’ll be continuing from where we left off on Monday’s lecture. Did anyone have the forethought to read through those notes before today?” A surprising majority of the room murmur their affirmative. He nods. “Good. What do you remember?” he asks, pointing the marker in the direction of redhead two rows from the front.

“We were learning about the different Aeons and the effect they have on THEIR Pathstriders and Emanators, Professor,” he replies meekly. Kakavasha gives a small smile.

”Correct, yes. Monday was about Lan the Hunt and THEIR endorsement of the Xianshou Alliance, as well as the Galaxy Rangers,” he states, now pointing at a shoddily drawn picture of a three-headed being on the whiteboard. “Today we’ll be talking about Xipe the Harmony. What do you already know about THEM and the people who follow THEIR path?”

A few students lift their hands. Kakavasha points to another to answer. A silver-haired foxian. “Xipe is a plural Aeon from lots of worlds. THEY wish for the strong to help the weak.” At the professor’s silent smile, she stutters, “Uh- I think.”

”You’re right. Glad to see you’ve done your research. Xipe is the embodiment of philosophies concerning equal rights and singularity. From what THEIR followers have preached, Xipe the Harmony believes that-“ Kakavasha takes the cap off his marker and begins to ascribe a quote on the whiteboard, “-‘Intellient life forms must discard their cowardly selfishness and the differences between individuals, fusing into one singular melody.’ In simpler terms, THEY believe that no-one is above anyone else, and everyone deserves the same chances in life.” The clicking of several keyboards follow as he circles the finished quote.

”Seems to be too far-fetched a dream, if you ask me,” a student near the back grouches in response. He is slouched back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking poignantly at Kakavasha.

”Why do you say that?” the Sigonian questions, curious.

”The universe does not treat people equally,” the student replies simply.

Ain't that the truth.

”Elaborate.”

The student pushes himself upright with his hands. “I’m all for equal rights, Professor, don’t get me wrong, but the reality of life is that not everyone is born equal. Nepotism is a big reason, but also because there are a lot of shitty people in the universe who don't hesitate to stomp on the backs of others in order to get a step up for themselves.” That is clearly directed at someone specific (or rather a specific organisation), but Kakavasha doesn’t voice that. That organisation is probably funding this pupil’s degree.

”Go on,” he urges, face some kind of welcoming. The student fiddles with the edges of his open laptop for a few moments, unsure, but eventually decides to say what is on his mind.

”There is a level of social and economical class a person needs to have if they want to be taken seriously in this life. I completely agree with the Harmony’s path, but it just isn’t realistic. I mean, what rights does a slave have next to their master?”

And isn’t that the million-credit question? There’s a clear taken aback look on Kakavasha’s face that is concealed as quickly as it appears. His chest tightens slightly and a small lump settles in his throat. It’s a figure of speech, Kakavasha. A figure of speech used to help elaborate a very valid and interesting point of view. He’s sure the kid isn’t aware of the connotations of saying such a thing. He fights the urge to lift his hand to his neck and rub the branding so forcibly put there all those years ago. The habit itches at him, making his fingers twitch.

”Professor?”

Right, he has a class to teach.

He clears his throat and swallows. “You’re very right. Equality is non-existent at this point in time. People less fortunate are facing more and more hardships each day, while those born being fed from silver spoons have it easier. I don't disagree with you. One thing you need to realise, however, is that Aeons’ beliefs are based on ideals, not rules.” The student looks at him with a raised brow, not quite understanding. Kakavasha continues. “Aeons are the embodiment of philosophical concepts. That is all they are: concepts. It's all well and good preaching them but the reality is, like you said, unlikely to take place. Xipe the Harmony has influence all over the cosmos in thousands of worlds but that doesn't mean they are omnipresent. Some Aeons have more influence than others. Qlipoth the Preservation, for example, practically dominates the universe with the IPC. Compare that to Nous the Erudition and THEIR 84 members of the Genius Society and few dozen thousand members of the Intelligentsia Guild and you can see the quantifiable difference.”

Kakavasha needs another sip of his water. The students are hastily writing down notes on computers and notebooks. The original student who started the discussion nods slowly before doing the same. The professor withholds a tired sigh.

This is going to be a long seminar.

10:17am - Wednesday

When the scholar arrives in his office an hour later, he practically collapses into his chair. He drags a hand down his face with a groan and uses the other to take his hair out of its ponytail. The sigh of relief he lets out after the tension is released is audible and warm. His eyes closed, he recalls his lecture timetable and is quietly grateful that the rest of his day is free. Regardless, he keeps his door unlocked in case any of his students need assistance with their work.

He likes what he does at Veritas Prime. It gives him a well-needed break from the tireless nights in this very office spent researching. It also allows him to witness the growth of bright minds. He has a direct effect on the future of these kids (he says “kids” despite the fact that they are all in their twenties and only a few years younger than him) and he is not about to throw their future down the drain. So he tries. He genuinely tries, and the work he puts in makes a difference. If he can give someone with an upbringing as similar as his the chance to grow, then he will take every opportunity he can to do so. No one should be uneducated purely because of where and how they were raised. The ignorant should choose to be ignorant, not be forced into it because they happened to be born into less fortunate circumstances. Kakavasha knows what that's like and he refuses to let others suffer as he did.

Wow. Look at him being all motivational. He should write a speech. The IPC would eat that up. Not that they’d listen to a word he would actually say: they look at the sole survivor of a dead race and they see money bags, not a human being. The thought reminds him of another Intelligentsia Guild scholar. Or rather, a former Intelligentsia Guild member. Veritas Ratio: the man idolised by all. Everyone in the Guild compares Kakavasha to him. They see a young scholar with “promise and potential” and it’s an immediate link. He can’t blame them - the esteemed Doctor Ratio is a legend after all. He feels honoured. Really, he does! He’s simply irked by the fact that he’s compared to such a genius and has yet to meet him. If the Guild’s hapless musings are true, then the potential prospects of their work together would be boundless.

He knows that’s not possible now. Anyone with half a brain cell and access to the Internet knows of the exploits of the former doctor (Well, he’s still a doctor. He still has all eight of those pHDs). A quick search shows a smiling face and his new pseudonym: Lapis Lazuli. Kakavasha doesn’t know him well enough to feel pride for the man, but he does understand the feeling of patriotism at the idea of a former member of the Guild reaching so high that he became one of the Ten Stonehearts. Most people who have worked tirelessly in the IPC all their lives don’t come anywhere close to that level, yet Lapis Lazuli did it in less than half a decade. How did he do it? Status? Money? Luck? Kakavasha inwardly recoils at that last one.

Luck. Most see it as a blessing. For Kakavasha, it’s nothing but a curse. It is his rediculous luck that made him the one that survived the genocide of his people. He was the one who managed to escape that hellhole of a planet (which then resulted in him being thrown into the slave trade, just his luck). It was then just his luck that he was sold, again, to that detestable man in the Guild who found it in himself to strip away Kakavasha’s autonomy (not that he had any at that point anyway) to test on him in hopes of accessing, manipulating, and stealing the only thing that had kept him alive: his luck. Luck bestowed upon him by a god that clearly has a sick sense of humour. Luckily for him, that man couldn’t keep a secret, so he was promptly found and thrown in prison for his unethical practices for a very, very long time.

Now that he's thinking about it, Kakavasha supposes he's doing the same thing. Sort of. Technically the opposite if you squint? He wishes to rid himself of this unbridled luck, yes, but not to manipulate it. He just wants it gone. At least now, in the Intelligentsia Guild, he has the ability and the resources to research such a thing.

Maybe a legend like Veritas Ratio could give a little of his wisdom for his cause.

Yeah, right. Funny joke.

The Sigonian leans forwards and rests his elbows on his desk, head in his hands. He sulks. That's right. A grown man sulks. He stares at the mahogany wood and slips of paper below him and unfocuses his eyes, staying like that for a good twenty minutes or so before noticing a particularly eye-catching envelope addressed directly to him with an elaborate IPC-esque seal on the front. Ah right, the letter. This must have been what Cassandra was talking about earlier. He sits up straight and sorts out his posture. Opening his desk drawer, he hunts around for a bit until he finds the blade of a letter opener. He uses it to open the envelope and fishes out the letter within. It's written in printed cursive on crisp and pure white paper with an ornate golden border around the edge. Gold leaves creep up the sides and dance around the corners, making Kakavasha feel as if it’s addressed to the wrong person at first. His name plastered on the back of the envelope and the top of the paper says otherwise.

It's an invitation.

To the wise and honourable Doctor Kakavasha,

The Interastral Peace Corporation invites you and several other esteemed members of the Intelligentsia Guild to a business party at 8pm on Friday the [xx] of [xxxx] at Pier Point. This is a black-tie event, so please dress applicably. Transport will be provided for you, so please RSVP as soon as possible if you wish to attend. This is a party hosted in hopes of forging positive relations between the IPC and its allied organisations, as well as fostering camaraderie and healthy business. We look forward to hearing from you.

Kind regards,

D, P47

Kakavasha rereads the letter several times, frown deepening more and more as his comprehension of it improves. His immediate thought is to rip it up and throw the remains in his paper bin. Kakavasha hates parties. He has done for years. They're always full of demeaning pricks trying to get into either his research papers or his pants. The Avgin has always refused both.

A business party connecting the Intelligentsia Guild and the IPC. The two organisations already have connections with each other, the latter funding a lot of the projects within the former, so what gives? Why have this party? Granted, it states several reasons within the letter, but the IPC is nothing without their ulterior motives. It could be as simple as the rich and powerful wanting to rub elbows with the other rich and powerful (knowing this universe, this is probably the case), but there is always the possibility of more menacing reasons.

Kakavasha is a scholar at heart. Scholars have always been beings of curiosity. He reads the letter again and sees another thing that catches his eye.

D: an initial that implies that this is an invite by Diamond, founder of the Ten Stonehearts. Will this Diamond, rumoured Emanator of Qlipoth the Preservation, actually be present during this party? Absolutely not. He's far too important for that. Will other Stonehearts be present, though? Almost definitely. Kakavasha's mind flicks back to the rabbit hole he fell down in the wee hours of the morning one night, surfing the Internet and scrounging the web for information on a certain grape-haired executive he's so closely compared to.

Veritas Ratio. Lapis Lazuli. Maybe he will be there. Maybe they can have a discussion about how to cure his dastardly luck.

Kakavasha picks up his phone and dials for his secretary. She answers almost immediately.

“Yes, Doctor?” she begins.

“Hiya, Cassandra. Please may you contact the IPC with a RSVP? I've been asked to attend a party of theirs.”

“Doctor Kakavasha? At a party? Willingly? I must be going mad,” she jokes.

“You and I both,” he chuckles in response. “Thanks Cassandra.”

“Of course.”

Kakavasha puts the phone down and leans back in his chair, calculating in his mind quietly at what in Gaiathra’s great name he’s doing.

He's going to need a suit.

-

Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs appreciated Next Chapter

[faeryarchives]

loved by the moon (riddle, leona, and azul x f!reader)

requested by @lydiacallas: Can i ask for a Moon Goddess like!Fem!Reader? Like they have magic linked to the moon, they have like- this ethereal, pure and calm vibe of the moon itself and their voice is calm too. Maybe their hair is a bit glow in the dark? With Malleus, Azul, Lilia, Riddle and Leona, please and thank you very much! 🥺✨ warning: minor spoilers to book 6 + somewhat long imagine note: reader uses she / they pronouns + is in the same grade as the boys !! this is very overdue im sorry 😣 and i based some characteristic and abilities to moonlight cookie and princess luna guilty as charged 😔 + malleus and lilia part will be in another post! recent fics: happy birthday (malleus x reader) & when your hopeless streamer gets a girlfriend (ace x reader) & its you, it always had been you

·˚ ༘ riddle rosehearts (2nd year ramshackle dorm leader)

"the decision of all professors and staffs of night raven college falls in favor for miss (name) (last name) to enroll here - exempting them from the all-boys rule. she will be in charge of the ramshackle dorm during her stay here."

riddle does not understand how on earth were you able to stay in the school and always hold yourself with such grace, he couldn't explain why your presence seems to be similar to vil like you were oozing of calm vibes

you were the total opposites - he is more accustomed to fire while you specialize in water magic*. he lose his rationality quickly while he had never see you even falter during the time you two were classmates + he always abides by the rules while you do what ever you want 

"you are not allowed to sleep in class!" "it's not sleeping, i am just resting my eyes..." "you must not pick flowers from the garden on wednesdays." "riddle, i am not under the queen of hearts rules."

and riddle actually holds a one sided grudge against you for that + makes it his mission always to remind you of the rules, going on about mini rants to which you nodded to while reading your books

typically, riddle would've mention something about the rule of the queen of hearts but he was strangely quiet. you see him looking down at his notebook, lost in his world. and that surprised you because never you would've thought you would know this side of him. "no rule trivia for today?" "...huh?" "there is something on your mind, no? why don't we talk about that instead our usual trivias."

as time passed by, you and riddle gradually close friends to the point that heartslabyul treats you like their saving grace whenever riddle goes on a rampage, even more when you became second years

when the first overblot happened, it was the first time he saw your face, usually so calm, crumbled like dust when the blot manifested into a large phantom

"hahaha! the law in this world is me! not even you, (name), can stop me!" "i'm not letting you go so easily, riddle. rules are meant to protect your people, but you don't realize you are using them to suffocate them. you even hurt my dorm mates, enough of this!"

riddle was sure you wouldn't speak to him again because you weren't there the moment he woke up. he tried asking trey and cater if you were avoiding him, but they could not answer him. the next few days, he didn't even get to talk to you.

then he found himself admiring nrc at night time, breaking his own rules, maybe it's okay to let is slide for now. as he needs some time to think

absentmindedly wandering around the school grounds, letting the cool breeze feel his skin, riddle had his hand brushing through the thick bushes until they got pricked by a stray thorn "ah-" he hissed, holding up his pricked finger. it was just a tiny injury that's nothing to worry about. the injury was nothing compared to what he saw next "riddle? what are you doing this here at this hour?"

riddle spotted you sitting under the tree where silver usually takes his naps, surrounded by bunnies as they piled around your lap.

after days of not seeing each other, riddle thought he was going crazy because the last time he saw you, he knew pretty sure that your eyes and hair do not have that silver glow - it was like you were the moon itself

"is it my fault that your eyes and hair changed?" "oh, this is awkward... " you look at the bunnies trying to hide behind you, being scared of riddle's sudden appearance, contemplating about something before sighing in defeat. "i think i owe you an explanation. but first, can you keep a secret?" this confused riddle very much. what do you mean explanation? did something happen while he was out? before he could even think of it, you were already in front of him - your point and middle finger placed on his forehead. 'the moon has come out to play, now bid your worries away.' a comfortable feeling of cold wrapped around riddle's body, feeling the fatigue from his overblotting disappear, the weight on his shoulder being gone and his pricked finger healed. while riddle stared at you in shock, you finally reveal your true appearance and float around him like a curious child. "would you believe me if i told you i am the descendant of the moon goddess?"

... oh. OH !!

prepare for him because this little goldfish right here is most likely a fan of reading books about your kind + cue the sparkling eyes

and oh my god are those butterflies he can feel in his stomach? or maybe he is just hungry but he only feel that way around you though. oh well !!

** okay so i think reader will be compatible with water magic because the moon has this gravitaional pull right which cause the high tides and low tides... and riddle is fire!

·˚ ༘ leona kingscholar (3rd year transfer student)

"kingscholar, think of this as your punishment for the spelldrive incident. i would gladly take miss (name) for a tour but alas, there are countless of papers that needs my attention."

leona knew that there is something like a cloak of mysteriousness around you the moment you appeared in the college mid-year as a transfer student from rsa

just you don't interfere with his plans and he will also stay out of yours but it turns out he was assigned by the crow to take you around

"... wow, do i look like a punishment worthy chore?" you sigh, shaking your head in disappointment before turning to leona and he could swear he could see your eyes glowing for a moment when you stare at him. "i take it that the dorm leader of savannaclaw will be my tour guide?" "just don't lag behind." giving you a shrug before he started walking ahead of you. despite his short descriptions and tour around the school, leona is thankful that you didn't seem to be a nosy type of person, just a little on the calm and reserve type than most people he knew.

doesn't understand how people seems to look starstruck whenever you walk by them i mean you are attractive yes but not being able to move? that's different

it also turns out you share most of your classes! maybe crowley was really punishing him for the incident as he was stuck with you, being your babysitter.

but you almost look like his babysitter + quickly became one of the most tolerable people in the school and he doesn't mind having you around

"leona? let me bother you for a moment, can you help me with this problem?" "oh that?" the lion lifted his head and stared at the paper you were holding before waving his hand in dismissal. "remember the activity we did as partners? that's the one." "..." you squinted your eyes and leona could see them literally glow in purple light causing him to blink several times if he was seeing it right but it disappeared quickly. "oh i get it now, thanks." "do your eyes really glow like that?" "huh? i don't know what you are talking about."

you were not the nagging type - letting him hide and snooze off behind you during class and surprisingly, you were fun to spar with during practical exams + too smart for your own good

he had never seen any kind of fighting similar to yours like your fighting style is only yours to begin with - not only you excel in defending, you never seem to get tired despite being a speedy defender.

you and the savanaclaw dorm leader spent the whole afternoon sparring with each other and by the time you notice it, the sun was already setting. "aren't you tired yet, leona?" "you better tell me how you manage to keep up with me all this time." you did say to keep up with you the first time we met." you twirl your spear around you before stabbing it on the ground, leaning on it and grinned at leona. "i'm just keeping my promise."

now leona was pretty sure you are not a normal transfer student + especially after fighting with you in the island of woe and it was pretty interesting how you unexpectedly exposed yourself in front him and jamil.

the moment you, who was assigned to be in the front of the group due to you having the most capable defensive powers, entered the room on the current sector, leona and jamil look at your back in surprise. "(name)-senpai?" "what's up, jamil?" "... is that a normal thing for you?" the room was oozing with the presence of phantoms everywhere and there was no source of light - aside from your hair locks that are now shining like a billowing night sky of twinkling stardust, borne in a void of black and fading in an indigo moonset "oh that's normal, we can just use it as source of light. save your magic for now." "no wonder your magic feels different from everyone else - you are a moon goddess, right?"

leona is not blind, he just need a solid evidence to confirm his gut feeling. unique magic spells + signature spear + glowing eyes and your hair locks literally looking like that?

while fighting along side each other, leona could literally leave his back open because heknew and trust that you always have his back and vice versa

"leona-senpai, watch out-" before jamil could jump in between the incoming attack and leona, you pulled the second year by his hood deflected the attack with your spear so effortlessly. "it's fine, moon fairy here got our backs." you hear leona said proudly before landing a critical hit on the phantom. "aren't you glad you're stuck with us?"

everyone in school knows how two of you would make an unbeatable duo when it comes to strategies and games

and not going to lie, leona thinks so too! you are strong, smart and everything above + treats you life his closest friend and respects you a lot but you do things sometimes that are not really necessary

"are you done yet?" he couldn't help but ask, his tail thumping on the floor with annoyance while you tried braiding some parts of his hair.

you peek over his should and smiled, trying to show him the small braid that you did on the side. "yeah, it's fun braiding your hair!" after your identity being revealed, you let yourself relax more around him - when you express happiness, your hair starts glowing as it did before and small crescent like moon thingy start appearing around you

... leona find that cute + now he understand why people become starstruck when it comes to you

**you know how moonlight cookie's hair color looks like? yeah that's the one!

·˚ ༘ azul ashengrotto (2nd year ramshackle vice dorm leader)

"did you hear about the rumors? recently, students are saying that when you go to the botanical garden at night and stand under the moonlight - all your questions will be answered!"

the fact that rumors like that exists made azul irritated because it means he got competition. and having competition in the thing he do best is not fun.

so he and the twins went to investigate - how and where the rumors first started and who are most likely to be involved in the case

surprisingly enough, it all leads to a certain ramshackle vice dorm leader aka you + azul already knew you due to being the same year and his 'rival'

he considers you as his rival because you two always seem to fight for the top 2 and 3 spot every exam but for you... i think he would be hurt if you say that you like to aim for the top spot because it's fun 🤩

it was during lunch time and you were planning to eat with yuu, grim and the others when all of a sudden, someone blocked your way out by leaning on the door. "(last name) can i ask a bit of your time? i would like to ask you regarding an important matter." the ever so charismatic azul asked, his usual charming smile on as if he wants to do business with you. "oh, hi azul. what is it about?" "how delightful! do you happen to know the rumor about your unanswered questions will be answered as you stand under the moonlight?" "there is a rumor like that? under the moonlight? why the specifics?" one thing that azul observed about you is that your emotion reflects on your eyes. call it his gut feel but just one look and he already knew you were telling the truth "a pity... it seems like i am back to square one." "... maybe i can go help you out? i am not that busy these upcoming days."

and so azul's little group grew in numbers consisting of him, you, yuu, grim and the twins. oddly enough, it was actually fun to hang out with you

azul never got to interact with you that much before and only knew information about your through papers and from what he heard from people but being with you right now exceeds his expectations

"if headmaster crowley is similar to crow... do you think he likes to hoard shiny things?" you suddenly whispered it to azul one day in class, your mind clearly wandering and not paying attention to what professor trein is writing on the board. "what is with the random thought?" what is we leave a trail of shiny things and create a trap, that would be really funny."

you were an oddball. sometimes you will joke around with him and trying to make him laugh during class. there are also times where he couldn't explain the calming feeling he had whenever you are around + he could never even feel any other intentions from your actions as if you genuinely want to become his friend

it took him a while to notice how you always seem to stand out and become the embodiment of grace and elegance - a confident yet modest person who knows what you want

you always help him out in solving the rumor mystery but there is something that made you look suspicious → you always go back to your dorm before sunset

it's not that he wants to take up all your time but the way you stand firm of not being able to join them during night time and saying how dangerous it is made him suspect you of something

so he went alone wearing his ceremonial robes (the twins are taking over his duties for a while i know very unbelievable but imagine) to investigate the botanical garden and there he saw you run inside - a trail of silver light following you behind

and when azul went inside to stand in the spot, trying to think of what to wish until he hears a familiar voice ringing in the building

"say your wish out loud and the moon will light its way to you." "well, now this is marvelous. can i see one guiding my wish for me?" azul looked up, trying to call out for you, even looking around to see signs of you. there was a moment of silence before he heard you sigh and in an instance, you appeared before him, avoiding his look. "i thought i told you to let it go?"

after finding out you were his competitor - he didn't really feel annoyed at all! rather he was intrigued on how you were able to do it ...? you help the students find the answers on their own in their dreams?!

seeing your hair glow in silver light in the dark reminds him of himself as some octopus also glow in the dark just like him!

"azul, do you know that i really admire you?" "me? what is there to admire about me? i do nknow i have a remarkable potential but compared to y-" "no, seriously. you don't need to compare yourself to me. having to do all these business related work AND studying at the same time? you should appreciate yourself more."

... do you want to make him cry on the spot? hearing such words makes him happy but hearing it from you aka one of the people he really admire and yes he admits he admire you as a rival - his emotions are going haywire.

even if he is smart, it will take time for azul to realize that his admiration is just growing stronger and stronger each day and bloom into something else

[itsmemuffy]

When I published my first post, wanted to keep the momentum going. It was my goal to post weekly and well.... it's been two weeks ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I abandoned all my little drabbles to focus on a full-length fic that is becoming waaay longer than I anticipated. Thought I'd post a little WIP Wednesday to make sure I don't go back into the ether. Can't wait to have this one finished, I've been having a lot of fun writing it.

Contents: Original Trilogy! Logan x fem reader, naive reader, obsessive Logan, suggestive content, Charles makes an appearance

Summary: You keep everything running as smooth as possible in the background while Professor Xavier keeps a very full plate of locating mutants, running the school, and leading the X-Men. A steady stream of mutants come and go through the mansion, but a certain one in particular makes it his mission to nestle his way into your life.

The past few days had been a whirlwind for Logan. He's the type of man that goes where he wants to go- and waking up in an infirmary on a small hospital cot after being round up like some sort of animal was not on his list of things to do that week, to say the least.

For all intents and purposes, his next plan of action was to get away from here as soon as he possibly could and get back to the life he lived on his own terms. His only home and form of transportation was totalled somewhere in the Alberta wilderness, sure, but he already had experience starting over from nothing.

When he first met you, a cute little thing diligently running errands to what was perhaps the one man who could have his answers, you immediately piqued Logan's interest. So sweet and so kind, and Charles put his trust in you?

He had barged in like he owned the place on you and the professor scheduling out the upcoming semester in his office. Charles appeared to have already gotten used to this type behavior from him. "This, my dear, is Logan. He will hopefully be joining us now."

Oh... so is he planning to stick around? You ponder as you bite the inside of your cheek, leaning onto Charles' desk with your hip. Logan immediately came off as brooding and dismissive, and he didn't seem like the type to settle into a place beaming with so much activity. Regardless, you extended your hand out to him as you told him your name.

It took him a second to register the gesture. He only now noticed how lost in thought he was, eyes caught below your neckline. With a clearing of his throat, Logan reached a hand back to you to shake it. The most formal of ways to greet someone, yet the feeling of your delicate fingers grasping his rough palm caused his mind to wander again. He forced himself back to reality.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around" Logan remained aloof in speech, hoping you didn't notice the way he devoured you with his gaze. He decided to promptly remove himself from the room, searching for the privacy to be alone with his thoughts.

A few interactions after your initial introduction, Logan started to feel something beyond sexual curiosity. You made his heart race, you made him nervous.

Not a single detail went unnoticed by Logan. The way your hips would sway, how you parted your hair, the lipstick you wore, the softness in your voice whenever you greeted him, your scent.

Life kept throwing change in Logan's way, morphing his way of living into something unrecognizable to him. For the last however many years (boy, is he ever bad at keeping track of time) he had filled them with isolation and taking whatever cheap pleasures he could find. Now he finds himself surrendering the space in his mind to a woman he barely knew. You brought warmth and light into a cold, dark place.

No, this wont fly, he thought to himself. The fact that he was losing control over the dynamic between you made him very uncomfortable. Logan made it his mission to learn more about you. If he could just figure you out, he could take the reins over again.

The two of you would always acknowledge eachother in a group setting. The tiny smile Logan would throw your way whenever you caught eyes made you weak. You couldn't help but to want to know more about him too. A rugged man who was a stranger not too long ago was showing you consideration? A man who nobody knows where he's been, what he's done, how old he is? It kind of racked your brain, but you tried not to let it trip you up.

Oh, but he would catch you trip up. It wasn't lost on Logan the times you entered a space with him in it, seemingly to forget what you came in there for. Maybe you were a little ditzy- your mind often racing too fast that you couldn't catch up with yourself, but it had happened too many times for it to be a coincidence. At least, that's what he told himself.

He replicated your behavior, scouting you out amongst the mansion. It wasn't hard for him to find you. Your trail had become so much bolder to his senses, overshadowing anybody else that could be in vicinity.

Logan always found what he was looking for. Excuse after excuse slipped easily from his lips. Obvious to everyone else what he was doing, you earnestly took the bait every time without fail. He marked the first time he had a conversation with you alone as a significant victory.

"Hey, didn't see you there. Have you seen Charles around? I need to talk to him." He had cornered you in the library, watching you read for a minute or two before making his presence known.

You flinched up in your chair, "Jesus Logan, don't sneak up on me like that!" The yelp that initially left your lips was definitely a sound he would remember next time he's alone.

"Sorry, doll. Didn't mean to scare ya," he chuckled.

The upset you felt towards him for breaking your flow state lasted but half a second. You couldn't be mad. After all, whatever he needed Charles for must of been important.

"No, Jean and him are off chaperoning a field trip in the city. He should be back sometime this evening."

Logan let out a little "hmph", trying his best sound to sound disappointed. Inside he was estatic he finally caught up to you again. Now with no one else around, his mind flooded with possibilities on how this could go. The odds of you immediately throwing yourself at him weren't zero, were they? If he were to take you and bend you over the table right this very second, there was a possiblility you'd let him... right? God, am I really this desperate? he thought.

After letting a moment hang in the air, he sat down next to you in the ajacet seat. "So, what are you doing here all by yourself? Got nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, huh?" Good idea, Logan, change the subject.

"You're one to talk," your focus was now one hundred percent on him. Thighs spread as he lazily leaned back in the chair, rolling his head ro the side. To say he wasn't beautiful like this would be a lie. You've rarely seen him this relaxed. "Aren't you here too?"

"Huh." Logan did not anticipate you to call him out like that, "I guess you've got a point."

An awkward silence sat between the two of you. You pretended to divert your attention back to your book, not letting him escape the corner of your eye. Logan lit up a cigar he fished from his pocket. He desperately needed something to do with his hands.

"This is a library, you know that right?" You chide him after an annoyed sigh.

"Oh, is it now? I thought all these books were just for decoration." His lips sucked in another drag.

"Very expensive books, Logan. There's plenty of perfecly fine places to smoke around here if you just look."

He got up from his seat, "Then why don't you show me around, darlin'? Open my eyes a little." You couldn't quite tell if the pet name was to belittle you or to be affectionate. A hand reached out to bring you to stand. "I'll let you lead the way."

[fangweaver2099]

𝐅 𝐀 𝐖 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐓 𝐇 - CH 1 - YOUR GPA

MINORS DNI 18+ FIC

You’ve always liked the idea of having a dominant partner - BDSM was something you’ve read about, watched videos about.

Something you made Pinterest boards and aesthetic tumblr posts about when you were 18 and curious, the idea always sounded nice, but you’ve never done it in practice, not really. Sure you bought fuzzy handcuffs at a gag gift store once, but that didn’t really count.

You’re still a virgin.

You’ve always had that chronically awkward, workaholic type of vibe that made typical dating near impossible at worst and frustrating at best. Normal dating apps have proven fruitless and agitating. So poor curious little you talked yourself into making a fetlife account. You weren’t looking for true love, but at least you could get laid.

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.”

College was for new experiences after all.

CW: BDSM heavy/centric fic. Safe, Sane & Consensual. Miguel is your professor, but you both don't know that. Age Gap (Y/N is 23, Miguel is mid 30's)

TAG: @slut4oscarissac23 @iamtheprincess227 @haveclayeveryday @sphynxfoxslut69 @junehasnotbeenfound @thedevaxer @bunnibitez

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

This semester had proven to be your most challenging yet - mostly, because of your second-choice, genuinely miserable, truly terrible genetics class.

You, Babs and Taylor had literally stayed up all night, desperate to get into Professor Parker’s class. After all, you all had heard that he was awesome .

He played movies on Fridays, he did hands-on experiments, hell he brought his adorable baby to class regularly. You had him last semester and he dressed up as Ted from Curious George for Halloween and his daughter was George. 

It was adorable.

The problem was that there was only one other professor teaching that same level and subject - Dr. O’Hara . 

You never heard or seen him before, but it seemed he only taught a class or two a semester. Still, just in case, you checked his rate on my professor page and... 

Well, it was a bloodbath . 

You had honestly never seen a score so low. Apparently, he was strict - serious, rarely offered office hours, and graded so harshly that needing to retake the class was common.

He treated his students like they were stupid , one person remarked. The guy’s a massive dick, another said. 

The amount of people who made accounts specifically to rate him was hilarious, if not shocking.

Why your college kept him employed, you had no idea. It seemed like every student that had taken his class had hated him so viscerally that the school had to be aware of just how pissed off everybody was. 

Tenure, probably. It was probably tenure. 

You all agreed that you had to get into Prof. Parker’s class. 

The three of you camped out in your living room the night class sign-up went live. Even if Taylor fell asleep halfway through the most recent season of Demon Slayers, you just tried to sign them up on their laptop. You swore you’d be successful, ready the moment they opened….

You… were not. 

The three of you settled with the knowledge that, unfortunately, you would be stuck with Dr. O’Hara, whether you liked it or not. At least you’d have each other, and it’s not like you weren’t experienced in learning on your own. 

See, you were a shining example of a woman in STEM. You hadn’t entirely picked if you were going for genetics or bioengineering yet, but you were convinced that you’d succeed wherever you went, and that included Dr. O’Hara’s class, no matter what his reviews said. 

The very first thing Dr. O’Hara said instantly made you decide that you hated him.

“You’re in an introductory class, you shouldn’t be getting A’s. If you’re getting A’s, you don’t need to be in this class.” 

That, of course, was a lie. Beginner’s principles of genetics - despite the name - had prerequisites. You were here to learn about Proteomics, not what the fuck ever he was trying to explain to you at nine in the morning on a Wednesday. 

More than once, you considered joining Babette and Taylor in their weekly ritual invoking him to get hit by a bus. 

O’Hara’s only saving grace was that he treated everyone equally like stupid children. You’d heard horror stories about old professors being sexist pieces of shit in any male dominated field. No, to you he was just a regular piece of shit. Egotistical, dismissive - uninterested. 

Who hands out four assignments on the first day of class? Dr. O’Hara sure did. You were convinced he didn’t know his students took other classes. 

Taylor, for all their faults, took shit from no one, but even they had met their match in this man. You remembered all too well your third class.

It was the very first time he paused, turning to the room of exhausted, caffeine fueled college students. 

“Any questions?” Dr. O’Hara asked the room… for the very first time. You could barely see the protein structure he drew on the board and almost didn’t catch it. 

“Yes, have you considered you’re bad at teaching?” Taylor didn’t even raise their hand - just leaned forwards in their seat to demand it of them. You were too far back to really see his expression, but you decided it was a grumpy indifference. 

“No. Next question,”

Your only saving grace was on the commute you always got coffee. You tried dressing normally for class - ‘elegant’, or… whatever clean girl tiktok label you found people assumed you were. Now you started dressing like you were homeless. Baggy sweatshirts, pants. You wore your glasses so you could actually see what the fuck he was writing. You sure were living the college student life. 

Your other classes were easier - so much easier. Most of your free time was consumed with Dr. Asshole and his stupid ten chapter readings and essays. 

When classes started, you became more scarce to Web, but he seemed mostly the same. When you did talk, it was flirtatious. Sometimes, you wondered if he was getting bored of you - but it wasn’t like he had collared you. You were just... cyber…sex…friends. 

Sure. Cyber sex friends. 

About a week into adjusting to your classes he finally brought it up.

 5:00 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Settling into things?”

“ Trying my best. Tired, 1 hr commute. ” - Fawnteeth - 5:18 PM

 5:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Isn’t everything an hour away here in NY?”  

“ Haha seems like it. ” - Fawnteeth - 5:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Things are finally settling in on my end. We should discuss when we’re finally meeting up.”  

“ Oh gosh. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Nervous?”  

“ Yes, kind of. I need to think about it - classes are more overwhelming than I expected this semester. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Not a problem. I’m very patient.”  

“ Not eager to see me? ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Twisting my words against me, pet. Naughty.”  

“ It’s okay. This is a lot, honesty - not that I’m not excited too. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “If it’s too much to meet in private we can always find somewhere to have coffee before we take things further. It has helped other submissives take the edge off before.”  

“ Let me think about it. I really do like you, Web. Don’t think I’m going to ghost you or anything. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I like you too, Fawn. Think carefully though, if meeting in person is too much I don’t want to hold either of us back if we have different priorities. No hard feelings.”  

“ I do, probably in public, especially since I’ve never seen you. I’d like to not lose you. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You may not have the same level of experience as others I’ve met, but I would be lying if I said you weren’t special. Teaching and guiding you has been a privilege.”  

“ So you’re saying you like my naivety? ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Yes. Is that a bad thing?”  

“ No. Like I’ve always said, I do appreciate the honesty. Let me get over this week and… We’ll figure it out, I promise. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Alright, pet.”  

You were instantly smacked by the reality of the situation. The fact he wasn’t just some handsome anonymous guy online who made you feel good - but a real living person who could have his hands on you.

For the first time in a long time you felt… nervous, no -

You were terrified .

Him being pushy made you nervous. You convinced yourself he had the right to be - after all, he established his needs on day one. You just… hadn’t been entirely open about your own experiences. You needed a plan - you needed time.

So, you managed to smooth it into a “ I’m really busy and still don’t feel ready right now ”, which Web thankfully accepted. 

Instead, he put the little pink lovense to use. Especially when you mentioned in passing a movie night with your roomies. 

 8:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Let me know when you start. Last chance to back out, Fawn. You sure you want to have me tease you while you’re with all your friends?

“ I’m sure. It can’t be… That bad. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:43 PM

You were wrong. It was bad .

You were practically shivering, a blanket bundled around you and pillow gripped tight that you had to bite to keep quiet as everyone else cackled about the movie in front of you. There was a new movie everyone demanded to watch. It was all childish fun, perfectly normal until you stuck a vibrator up your pussy. You would rather die than let them know you did this.

(it felt especially fucked up that you were on the verge of cumming while watching My Little Pony.)

He knew how to torture you. It was like he was there watching with you, choosing the perfect times to increase the settings. He had let the first twenty minutes go by without a touch, letting you adjust to the feeling of the egg inside you. Only when you had almost forgotten its presence did he turn it on, forcing you to make a startled gasp that you had to play off as a reaction to the movie, your cheeks beet-red and tingling.

It was turned off more than on, sometimes letting it buzz gently inside you for minutes at a time only to shock you with an intense burst of waves that had your toes curling. Half way through the movie you looked down to see a message ping you.

 9:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “How are you doing? Color?

“ Is that the best you’ve got? Green .” - Fawnteeth - 9:21 PM

The regret you had for sending the message was instant, but you really were a glutton for punishment.

You damn near came then and there, power maxed out as he set a cruel rhythm that simulated a thrusting insertion. It only took you two minutes to have to excuse yourself into the next room. Sweat stuck your hair to your neck and you were so glad you decided to sit away from everyone else wrapped in your duvet. 

“ yellow yellow yellow oh my god ” - Fawnteeth - 9:23 PM

The buzzing stopped in an instant and you saw him typing.

9:23 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Go somewhere private and show me what I’ve done to you while you take a break, pet.”

“Yes sir” - Fawnteeth - 9:23 PM

You snuck back into your bedroom, leaning on the door in effort to keep it closed while you pulled your sweatshirt up and sleep shorts down. 

Your panties were soaked, even your shorts stained dark with your arousal. With one hand keeping your shirt up to show off the matching bra and panties he bought you at once, you sheepishly snapped a picture in front of your bathroom mirror, a dark mark on display for him. 

9:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Such a good girl. So wet for me. I don’t think I could resist tasting you if you were in front of me. I bet your cunt would be delicious.”

As agonizing as some of the games he played with you were, you couldn’t deny his compliments weren’t worth the potential shame.

He let you go after that, leaving you to try and scramble for the plot of the movie you had hardly paid attention to the past hour. You brushed off any comments of your forgetfulness as exhaustion. 

After all, you had class early the next day.

Your first assignment back from O’Hara was a fucking D. 

The entire sheet was smothered in red, making it apparent how inept at the work you “should” know. It was humiliating. You really didn’t enjoy being humiliated by that stupid old man. Revisions raised your 67 to a 72. 

(You had never gotten a C  in your whole god damn life, let alone a fucking D.)

You cried. Pathetically, sitting in the middle of your room, you cried . 

Your GPA was single-handedly going to be ruined by this one fucking professor

You’d given up everything for this chance to do what you actually loved and one egotistical asshole might ruin it. Maybe your estranged father was right - you should have stayed in nursing school. You’d be an RN by now, not a college freshman. At least being a geneticist (or biomedical engineer) made good money. Student loans weren’t a problem yet .. 

Your only saving grace was he did everything via the student portal and you sat with Taylor and Babs at the back of the classroom so you never really had to look at him, just hear his voice and watch the whiteboard. 

He wasn’t very good at explaining literally anything, often rambling on about the semantics of a lesson or discussing the practical use of certain proteins and DNA structures. You wanted to rip your hair out when he would say “the thing” practically twice a class. 

Who the fuck let this man teach? 

He knew what he was talking about - to himself. His diagrams and concepts on genomes were correct. He was a doctor of genetics - so it wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was talking about… but it didn’t mean he could teach others what it was.

You’d had bad teachers and were no newbie to learning on your own, but even still. 

A part of you wanted to cry to Web about it, but you didn’t. You’d rather him be that relief from your frustrations and commute than another person to complain to about it. You two had a very specific relationship and it was best to keep it that way. 

On Sunday Aurora put it upon herself to improve everyone’s mood. Beach trip to the shore tomorrow, so Princess Carebear declared.

You did want to show Web the new swimsuit you got, it was August and plenty warm enough to go swimming on the Jersey shore… you bought a strappy bikini with him in mind. 

It was pink and cheap. It made you feel girly. You even shaved your upper legs, ignoring old memories of your mother telling you only whores did that.

You were not a whore, just a girl with… a… master? Dominant? 

(he said you two were exclusive. that meant something.)

You had gotten so casual with photos you included your tattoo more than once, not knowing the disaster about to be unleashed on your life. The teary eyed fawn smothered in roses on your upper arm was your prized possession and your biggest identifier. 

Web never commented on it, you forgot it existed more often than not. After all, it was a gift to yourself. You told the tattoo artist you wanted your innermost self on your sleeve. So…a terrified fawn with big droopy eyes. 

Prey.

You didn’t think about your tattoo when you sat down in front of your mirror and snapped a few pictures trying on your new bikini. Your self confidence issues flared, but part of you knew Web’s words would fix it. He always said the sweetest things. He made you feel pretty. 

You didn’t need to improve your own self esteem if he could drill it into you, which he seemed more than happy to provide. 

It was something you two had talked at length - he wanted to build you up. Some submissives needed to be torn down, released, allowed to be an object or a hole. You wanted to feel special, like a prized… pet. 

You were a white hart; a dove, a unicorn. Something to be molded and groomed. You played at princesses as a little girl. Beauty and the Beast had been your favorite, it still was. 

Web was happy to oblige, he made it clear he enjoyed seeing you flustered and being the one to covet you like a prized pet. He however made it clear that he had high expectations for you.  

(It was your responsibility to tend to what he owned after all.)

You picked your favorite picture, it put emphasis on your cleavage, pushed together ever so slightly using your arm. You even tugged the bottom straps up to make your hips and thighs look bigger. You adjusted everything back to normal once you took the pics, biting your lower lip as you sent them to Web with a flirtatious heart emoji. 

7:05 AM - WebRigger2099 - “Look at you, little Fawn; So delicious. You make me want to hunt you down like a wolf and tear that cute outfit off of you.”

Mission completed, you tossed your beach clothes over your swimsuit, a tight white sleeveless tee and jean shorts. You threw flip flops in your knapsack and put on your sneakers. You forwent your typical homeless chic and your messy hair in favor of something more appropriate for the beach. 

Instead, you styled your hair cute. You put a pink scrunchie your baby sister Franny had gotten you when you were 17 in your hair. You missed her, soon she’d be out of high school and then maybe you could try reaching out. You didn’t want her to get punished.

Truth be told, you missed your whole family, shitty dad and pushover mom included.

You didn’t text Web in class. After all, he had a tendency to shift conversations to the suggestive -  you didn’t exactly talk about the weather, nor did you have that much in common. 

It felt nice to always have an idea of what your talks would be. It was such a contrast to navigating the rest of your life.

It was nearly 8:20 when you were finally out the door with Taylor and Babette for class. You three took the subway then caught a bus, then two city blocks and then across your college campus. 

It was Monday. So your first class… was beginner’s principles of genetics. Now Taylor’s slow walk of exhaustion made sense. You considered trying to talk to Dr. O’Hara about your grade. Taking 4 points off because you didn’t “fully” explain something was fucking ridiculous. You explained your reasoning but kept it succinct. You could only explain biochemicals for so long. 

How much could someone write on the components of a DNA molecule? 

Apparently more than you did, according to Dr. Asshole O’Hara.

You tried to not think about it as you scrolled instagram on your phone. Your feed was mostly summer vibes at this point of the year, but cottagecore was coming back in style. You often followed too many Japanese dog instagrams… but they were so much cuter than regular dog instagrams. 

You found yourself pausing to reply to the roommate group chat text about where on campus you all were meeting up as you strode into the classroom ten minutes earlier than usual. You often came in with like seven other people - but you, Babette, and Taylor were the only students in the classroom. 

You didn’t notice Dr. O’Hara, or how he was staring at your bare arm and your little teary eyed doe. You just reassured Aurora that driving in the city wasn’t that bad as you resumed walking to your seat.

Taylor groaned as they sat down, tossing the book bag they’d been using since the sixth grade on the floor and pulling their sticker-smothered laptop out. Babette sat down next to you, her jansport on her lap as she pulled out her tablet. Your own laptop was a second-hand Dell that you had taped the edges of to keep it from falling apart - it was easier for you to take digital notes. 

When you sat, you considered actually approaching Dr. O'Hara - you wanted to know what his expectations actually were, but when you glanced at the podium… he was missing.

You swore he was just there, standing, brooding like always. You shrugged and went to retrieve your own laptop. You weren’t often this early to class, maybe he came and left till 9:00 on the dot. He seemed like the kind of person to do that.

[pseudowho]

Hi so I spent the better part of my Wednesday reading Infiltration. I really loved it and thank you for making it. I actually shared it with a friend to also read. I’m writing this ask because that’s probably the most I’ve read this year. I’ve been trying to get back into reading but my attention span just hasn’t been right, so I’ve been doing various things to get it back to a good place. Anyways, I just wanted to let you know your work has helped me reach a real milestone in my head and has made me feel like I’ll be able to pick up a book real soon. Thank you again for your work.

I'm honestly delighted that it's helped you to get into a good headspace. Sometimes a novel can seem really daunting, but a longer fic seems less intimidating. Thank you ever so much for enjoying Infiltration, it was great fun to write.

With how good some of the writing is on Tumblr, I really think you're spoilt for choice. Might I also recommend @delirious-donna 's "Your Best Friend's Brother" Nanami fic, another amazing 'forced proximity' series, which is reaching its exciting finale very soon!

@bunny584 is writing a Priest!Suguru series which is blowing my mind, and she also has a longer SatoSugu fic on AO3 which I'm going to read soon, but I think my vibrator will need to charge for about three weeks in advance.

@gojonanami has written the exquisite and very well loved (and for good reason) Professor Geto fic, which I think?? is finished. I've only had the time to read the first chapter but it was so wonderfully written, and I need need need the time to finish it, because I know I'm going to have my mind blown. I have absolute faith that I'm going to devour it while, and that you would too.

Also: don't beat yourself up. You haven't failed, by not reading a book in a while. Your time will come again. The fact is, you're reading and enjoying something and there's no shame in that.

Thank you again for reading Infiltration. It means a lot to me.

If anyone else wants to read Infiltration, my completed "pretend to be married" fic with Nanami and Reader infiltrating a Curse User cult, please enjoy here.

-- Haitch xxx

[gerec]

Hello! Your fic recs have brought me so much joy and they were one of the things that made me really into cherik! Like I'm crazy about them now.

And I don't know if you're accepting request if not I'm sorry for disturbing please disregard this part of the message or this entire ask

But I wanted to ask what fics do you read whenever you need a pick-me-up or when you need a laugh.

Because I just watched this YouTube video about this horror novel penpal by dathan auerbach and it was really sad and disturbing but mostly tragically sad and I really wanted to read something sweet or funny as a pick-me-up.

Sorry for the long ask (I can't help but yap) and if its incoherent (English isn't my first language 😅). And thank you so much for your contribution to the x-men Fandom. Both your fic recs and fics brought me so much joy and made it really exciting for me when I was just starting to get into x-men and cherik ❤️💖

Hi Anon,

I'm sorry for the wait, but here's a (very long!) list of fics I go back to over and over whenever I need a laugh or I want to feel the warm fuzzies :D I hope this serves you as well it has served me all these years!!!

Protect, Serve, Troll by keire_ke

Erik’s fire department has a special relationship with the local university. They visit often. Sometimes, there even is a fire.

Erik Lehnsherr’s Guide to Parenting by keire_ke (series)

Alex disapproves of school car washes, despite the abundance of wet bikinis on pretty girls. Erik doesn’t approve of his son shirking money-making duties.

Humane Society by smilebackwards

Once Erik finally allows himself to decide that Charles is pretty much the best thing since sliced bread, he spends the next week being incredibly bitter that he’s Charles’ cat and not his boyfriend.

Other Life Challenges by professor (series)

“Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Wednesday by Red

Getting confined to a nursing facility for a six-week course of iv antibiotics would have been dreadfully dull, had Charles not found a way to “occupy his time.”

In which Erik Lehnsherr, retired nazi hunter, becomes the latest victim of Charles Xavier’s charms.

drastic measures by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

Erik glowers.

“I can’t believe we’re back to this,” Charles says, like he wants to throw his hands in the air. He’s pouting a little bit. “Years of progress, and we’ve returned to you brooding. Don’t tell me I have to break out the terrible flirting again.”

Erik glowers a little less. “Flirting,” he repeats, bland but also maybe just very, very, very slightly, faintly, vaguely hopeful.

“Oh, yes,” Charles says absently, until something seems to strike him. “Don’t tell me you don’t…” He raises his left hand and brandishes the ring. “We promised ourselves to each other last week.”

–

Alternatively: Erik’s memory is swiped clean of his and Charles’s relationship.

One Hundred One Night Stands. by Sophia_Bee

Charles has a rule. Never fuck the same guy twice. When he refuses to see Erik again after a one night stand, Erik goes about trying to get Charles to violate that rule using accents and disguises.

Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let It Snow Remix) by kianspo

Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn’t seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

All We Are We Are by kianspo 

Charles’s boyfriend breaks up with him days before the holidays. Not willing to ruin anyone else’s festive mood, Charles hides this fact from his sister and his friends, and retreats into the family mansion, letting the world move on without him. He’s flirting with depression when a one-time ex and a long-term friend surprises him. Long-kept secrets are revealed, and it turns out, Charles hasn’t been paying attention to the right things.

Your Heart Just Couldn't Wait by Pookaseraph

Charles and his BFF Tony Stark have the life - they're co-valedictorians at the most prestigious high school in the city, they have their own condo in Manhattan, and they get to go to all the awesome parties. Charles just wished he understood relationships and sex as well as Tony does. His theoretical bisexuality starts to feel a lot less theoretical when he and Tony end up in Professor Lehnsherr's Physics III course at Columbia University, but Charles' decision to take their relationship further leaves both student and professor with more than they bargained for.

this is only now (where do we go from here) by thebodyeclectic From this prompt on the 1stclass_kink meme: Modern AU, where an older Alex (in his mid twenties?) somehow figures out/recieves the news that, no, his younger brother didn't die in the crash like he'd been told, and then sets out to find him. The catch is, Scott's been adopted and adores his 'dad', who is incidentally the adorkable Hank McCoy.

Not So Much the Teacup by thehoyden

“Charles is basically the bride whisperer. It’s like he can read their minds.” (wedding planner AU)

Math Reasons by pearl_o, pocky_slash (series)

"Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

On a Beach, With You (The Tel Aviv Remix) by niniblack

Charles Xavier meets Erik Lehnsherr on a beach in Israel.

Growing Up Lehnsherr by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee (series)

For someone who hates feelings, Erik gets dragged into an alarming number of conversations about them. In which there are confessions, declarations, awkward first meetings, accidents, explanations, endings and beginnings.

Otherwise know as Five Conversations Erik Didn't Want to Have and One That He Did.

Got You Locked Down Like Police by brawlingdiscontent

Mob AU. Logan’s straightforward ‘retrieval’ job gets complicated. 

One big family by ximeria

There is a house in New York (no, only Charles calls it a house, and his perception of such is a little warped, so let's try that again)...

... There's a building in New York, owned by XavierMedCorp that caters to mutant tenants, their families and a handful of humans. You need to know someone who knows someone who knows someone to get an apartment there. Or maybe just be very lucky. Or have a mutant son who has the tenacity of a pit bull. Anyway, Edie Lehnsherr has moved in and she is slowly getting to know the other tenants, the superintendent and the owner.

Making perfect by aesc

As is the case with most trials in Erik's life, this one starts with Charles gazing beseechingly at him and asking him for a favor. Not that their going-on-three years relationship is a trial, even though it started with Charles giving Erik the full benefit of sad blue eyes and asking him if he wouldn't mind opening his car door since he'd locked his keys inside, but still.

love like toy trucks crashing by midrashic

Charles Xavier may be young, but he knows what it means to love.

Love Runs Out by ikeracity

Hammer Bay, one of the most mutant-friendly apartment buildings in all of Manhattan and affectionately nicknamed the Hub by its residents, is home to an eclectic mix of families, broke college students, scientists, artists, and high school dropouts. Charles Xavier, new arrival to apartment 3K, catches the attention of everyone on the third floor but he only has eyes for one: cranky author Erik Lehnsherr who lives directly across the hall in 3B.

A Nice Boy (The Family Matters Edition) by pocky_slash

Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

soul of my soul by ikeracity 

You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Charles and Erik imprint on each other just in time for the holidays.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland by TurtleTotem 

Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.

[flowerui]

♫ we both like apple cider, pgw

fluff & light angst, 4.1k words ୨୧ first fic on this blog! feedback is appreciated!! ^_^ i've had awful writer's block for MONTHS so i hope i havent gotten too rusty,,,

wherein dancing is your favorite way to destress, until a certain gunwook park goes and spoils it all.

꒰ requested. gender neutral reader (no pronouns or gendered terms used), reader is a year older than gw, dancer reader, bff hanbin, one-sided enemies to friends to lovers, college au, misunderstandings, set in the us, does this count as forced proximity? light angst, fluff (it gets so cheesy idk what happened to me), drinking/underage drinking ꒱

Dancing had always been your favorite way to unwind. After a long day of classes, practice is like a treat; the mental toll of having to listen to your professors drone on all day, and procrastinating assignments until the night they’re due is easily unraveled by dancing until you can’t feel your limbs—it’s unmatched.

That’s why, despite it being Wednesday (the second worst day of the week), you walk out of your last class with a skip in your step, like nothing could ruin your day.

Nothing except a man named Hanbin, that is.

After changing, you enter the practice room, ready to forget your worries. But before you can begin, you see a paper stuck on the wall beside the door—Hanbin must’ve finally put together the choreo for the solo and duet performances for an upcoming recital for some event on campus (truthfully, you can't be bothered to remember all the details, that's Hanbin's job), and decided on who’d best fit the roles. You’re a little late, so it’s just you who curiously shuffles over to take a look.

Seeing your name under Duet makes you smile until you read your counterpart's name. Gunwook Park.

You find a spot to sink to the floor in the back of the room. Suddenly, you’ve changed your perspective on dancing; it’s the worst thing to happen to you. You regret ever discovering this useless passion of yours, who even needs passions in this economy?!

Hanbin would tell you otherwise, but you believe that you have pretty good ideas.

You’d tried to take an easier route and complain to Hanbin that you absolutely could not work with Gunwook for a duet. But he was adamant about not making any alterations at this point, at least not just because you don’t like Gunwook—what a traitor, what happened to friendship?

Since complaining about your unfair working conditions did fuck all, you came up with a wonderful solution. You get paired with the number one person on your shit list? Just don’t show up to rehearsals. Boom, problem solved. Though it’s easier said than done; you’re a creature of habit, and the disappointment of remembering you can’t destress with dance is depressing.

And, of course, avoiding both Hanbin and Gunwook is a chore.

It’s on day four that you consider, maybe Hanbin is right sometimes. You were only successful in avoiding everything except schoolwork because college kicks everyone’s ass, and finding free time starts to feel like finding a needle in a haystack. But, maybe ditching practice when you live with the leader of your dance team wasn’t your best idea. On Sundays, both you and Hanbin usually end up being home at the same time.

And like an idiot, you forget this detail and trudge out of your room at two in the afternoon (no, you certainly did not just wake up, thank you very much) to find something acceptable to eat.

As you’re rummaging through the pantry, you hear your name called in that tone. The one where Hanbin’s voice sounds mildly shrill and a bit patronizing, the one that lets you know you’re in trouble.

Yeah, not your brightest idea—it might take over the number two spot of your top three worst ideas, followed by trying to gaslight a random group of people into believing that Play-doh is edible after you’d had a drink too many at your first college party at number one. (To be fair, you did not expect a twenty-something-year-old man to have Play-Doh on hand and tell you to prove it. Yes, you tried. You vomited on the guy’s shoes.)

Rigidly, you slowly turn to face Hanbin, who has a terse smile on his face.

“...Yes?”

“I thought maybe you hadn’t shown up to rehearsals because you weren’t feeling well, but yesterday, Gunwook told me every time he spotted you on campus, you naruto-ran away.”

“Uh,” you fake cough into your elbow, “Must’ve been someone that looks like me? ‘Cause I have been feeling kind of under the we—”

You shriek and make a run for it when Hanbin stomps over with that creepy hamster puppet you’d given him as a gag gift last year in hand. Eventually, you get cornered and get a creepy hamster puppet thrown in your face. “You can’t just ditch practice because you have some petty one-sided rivalry—or whatever it is—with Gunwook. You’re risking embarrassing the whole team! What are you planning to do, just not learn the choreography?”

“You know it's not a rivalry...” You grumble.

“You’re being childish,” Hanbin sighs, “I’ve already told you that whatever your deal is with Gunwook is some misunderstanding, he’s a sweet guy.”

“Yeah, whatever.” You huff, probably not helping the childish accusation. You’re tired of hearing that about what a good guy Gunwook appears to be because you know what you heard.

Without another word, you stomp off to your room.

If you had any hopes of getting out of going to rehearsal again, they’re promptly stomped on by Hanbin waiting outside of your class when you trudge out.

“Really?” You groan, and walk over to your supposed friend, “You don’t need to escort me.”

“I think I do,” Hanbin crosses his arms, fixing you with a look, like he knows you better than yourself… okay, he does ninety percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean he can act like it. “I’m pretty sure I saw you ready to head in the wrong direction before you saw me.” He says before grabbing your arm and pulling you down the hall.

“I don’t even get what your deal is with Gunwook,” Hanbin finally says when you’re about halfway to the studio, “I know you said you heard him say something… unsavory, but that just doesn’t sound like him at all. I think you should talk to him, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

“I know what I heard, Bin…”

“I’m not saying you didn’t hear what you heard, but maybe there’s some missing context.”

You try to consider Hanbin’s words, even as you absentmindedly head into the changing rooms, and reluctantly shuffle into the practice room afterward, you truly do. 

But all the rational thinking and breathing techniques in the world cannot quell your ire when you see Gunwook. Calmly walking over and refraining from saying anything uncouth is a true test of mental strength—one that you are quite afraid of failing.

“Hey—” Gunwook rises from his spot in the corner of the practice room to greet you.

“Let’s get started.” You blurt out, aware of how cold and biting your dismissal comes off. To be fair, Hanbin didn’t tell you to be particularly nice, he just insisted you show up.

“Oh, right,” Gunwook’s expression wilts, but he clears his throat and plasters a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure Hanbin already let you know he wouldn’t be here to help us out today—he’s helping Natty with her solo. I’ve got the choreo down, so I should be able to guide you if needed.”

“I practiced at home.”  You did. A little bit, it wasn’t easy with the limited space in your cramped—ahem, homey apartment. But practicing a duet by yourself, then giving up after stubbing your toe on every fucking piece of furniture in your home, and practicing it with your duet partner are two different things.

“Oh, that’s good… um, I’ll start the music.”

Your name is followed by an exasperated sigh. With reluctance—because your phone’s home screen is just that interesting—you glance up from your phone, to see Gunwook eyeing you through the mirror. 

“Could we try to get through the routine? Maybe without you scratching me this time?” Gunwook gnaws at his bottom lip, sweat beading at his temple. He’s actually been hard at work, practicing while you sat in the corner of the room—essentially sentenced to a time-out after accidentally scratching Gunwook every time you tried to run through the routine with him. Accidentally.

You can’t help the frown that sets on your lips. Only to you, it seems, Gunwook Park is an enigma. When he first joined the team, he seemed nice, and he wasn’t much younger than you, you just never got the chance to properly talk to him. However, now you never want to speak to him, the fact that you have to work so closely with him is nauseating.

Tampering down all the ugly word vomit bubbling in your throat, you mentally repeat Hanbin’s words from yesterday to yourself, ‘You’re risking embarrassing the whole team’. Not only do you find most of your teammates to be more than bearable, but you also you can’t bomb a performance because you were too petty to practice the choreography, so, even though the thought of being so close to Gunwook—having to touch him makes you full body cringe, you suck it up.

“Sure.”

Begrudgingly, you get into position and wait for your cue. As the music starts up for what feels like the billionth time that evening, you miss the many nervous glances cast your way.

Succeedingly, you manage to not cause any more bodily harm, even when you have no choice but to get close enough to Gunwook to the point you cannot look anywhere but into his eyes. The urge to flee strikes, as unease among other odd emotions you will not address churn in your gut, but you deal with it (read: ignore it).

You manage to run through the routine once, then again, and again, and again, until your limbs feel like gelatin and you have no option but to sprawl out on the floor. It occurs to you how much you missed this feeling, you can barely believe you let your pettiness get in the way of it.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Turning your head to the side, there’s Gunwook, also sprawled out beside you. Huh, you don’t even have the negative energy within you to loathe his presence in the moment.

“You just did. But you can ask one more thing.”

A goofy grin splits Gunwook’s lips before he turns his head back to face the ceiling, expression shifting a little more seriously. “Did I… was there something that I like did? Or said to upset you?”

Oh. Right. So, you haven’t forgotten your distaste for Gunwook. You feel your good mood sour, as you scoff, and force yourself to finally sit up—your limbs are very much protesting, screaming at you, matter of fact, but fuck them. And fuck Gunwook Park. “Seriously?”

You glance over your shoulder, Gunwook, who sat up shortly after you, only blinks at you curiously, as though he hasn’t got a clue.

“You really don’t know? Do you just talk shit about everyone and that’s why you can’t seem to remember me?”

“What…?” Gunwook’s brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you." You push yourself up off the ground, fixing Gunwook with an exasperated look, "After our performance at orientation in August, you had a lot to say about my skill, and how ridiculous I looked.”

“I don't…?” You watch as the confusion and then the recognition passes over Gunwook’s features, “No, I—shit,” he hangs his head with a groan, which doesn’t serve to dissipate any of your arising confusion. “That wasn’t about you.”

“I heard you say my name, don’t bullshit me.”

“I—okay, I definitely said your name, but it seriously wasn’t about you. There was this, um, character in a film my roommate watched for some project; they were supposed to be a dancer, but they were godawful. I was talking about the character, and I didn’t even think about how they had the same name as you, or about how loudly I was talking about that.”

“Oh,” you say, rather intelligently. You consider the thought that he could be lying, but he looks at you with such earnestness, remorse practically pooling in his eyes, you can’t even entertain the thought for more than a moment.

“Yeah, oh. I’m sorry you thought I was talking about you…”

“No, I’m sorry,” you quietly sit back down, anger gone as quick as it arose, and flop back on the floor with a sigh. Having your entire view of Gunwook Park debunked in a mere minute was not on tonight’s bingo card.

“I should’ve—Hanbin kept telling me it was probably a misunderstanding and to confront you, but I just stewed in my misguided hatred. God, Hanbin’s going to be insufferable once I tell him he was right all along.”

Gunwook huffs a laugh, “I’m glad we sorted this out, finally. Um, I guess we should wrap up for tonight since it’s getting late. Can I walk you home?”

“Don’t you live on campus? You don’t have to walk me home if you just have to walk back here…”

“It’s fine!” Gunwook smiles, oddly enthusiastic. Weird, personally, you dread having to walk home after practice. “I want to, and I guess now we can get to know each other? Now that you don’t hate me.”

“Yeah… okay, I’ll grab my stuff.” You sit back up again, as much as you’d like to become one with the floor.

“Okay, cool.”

“Cool.” you can’t help but smile, seeing the wide grin on Gunwook’s face. You’re going to choose to believe the warmth in your cheeks is because you’re still cooling off from rehearsing.

The idea of rehearsing is a lot more palatable now that you don’t despise your duet partner. The actual rehearsals aren’t too bad either… they’re actually kind of enjoyable.

Hanbin was, in fact, very insufferable when you spilled everything that’d happened that day to him. He’d been waiting up for you, sitting on the armchair in your living room, and nearly gave you a heart attack when he flicked on the lamp beside him; like he was your mother and he’d caught you sneaking back in the house.

“Hey, how was class?” Gunwook has taken to waiting for you outside your classes on rehearsal days, you even say hi to each other when you see the other on campus, and maybe talk if you’re not busy.

“Don’t get me started…” you groan, “I have no idea what my professor was on about today, but I thought his jaw was going to unhinge before he finally stopped talking.”

Gunwook chuckles, and grabs your bag from you, cradling it to his chest. “I thought I told you I could carry my bag myself?”

“And I told you that you could try to take it back.” 

You did try, and you decided you do not like freakishly strong guys. “Whatever… what about you? How was your class?”

“Didn’t go today…” Gunwook trails off, glancing down at your linked arms. A habit after losing Hanbin in crowds one too many times. It feels nice with Gunwook, though. “Um, my roommate—” he clears his throat before he continues looking forward, revealing his red ears. Oh, that’s cute.

“He kept me up late ‘cause he needed help with his film project that he’s been procrastinating. I ended up waking up at like one-thirty…”

“Really? So, you just came straight here after waking up?” You tsk, choosing to look away from his pouted lips for your sake. “Did you even eat? Let’s stop by this café a few blocks away before we rehearse. It opened last month, Hanbin and I were supposed to check it out, but I think he forgot.”

You’re not blind, of course, Gunwook is, well, objectively attractive (subjectively as well, perchance). With much coaxing, you might’ve been able to admit it a week ago when you hated him. But, his attractiveness is far too illuminated when you’re a mere inches from his face; faced with his distractingly pretty brown eyes, and rosy cheeks. Oh God, he’s cute. He’s so fucking cute, and you are so fucking screwed.

Before you can say something so embarrassing you’d have to migrate to another country and assume another identity, you take the initiative to part from Gunwook, carefully backing away, and clearing your throat, “Should we take a break?”

Except that doesn’t even help, because when you sink to the floor to watch YouTube, Gunwook is beside you, smushed at your side to watch whatever you’re watching. You can’t even remember what video you tapped on, but apparently, you’re seven minutes into a video when Gunwook reaches over to pause it.

“Hey, um, one of my friends—his name’s Junhyeon, his frat, Zeta Rho Xi is having a party this weekend. He kinda roped me into going, and I was just wondering if you were free…? I would, um, it’d be cool if you could stop by.”

Parties haven’t been your thing for a long time; you tried to party freshman year, since people seemed to go on about the college parties. You just couldn’t get super into it, plus only things like the Play-Doh incident came from parties… and that’s why you’re not sure why you say, “Yeah, no, I should be free. I’ll check it out.”

You aren't even free, you have an essay you’ve written approximately two sentences for that happens to be due Monday. But the smile on Gunwook’s face makes agreeing feel like the right choice.

Immediately upon stepping inside, you remember why you hate parties. One, you lose Hanbin instantly. Two, trying to push through a bunch of sweaty, drunk people (who are surprisingly sturdy) is a pain in the ass. And three, it’s loud, you already feel like you need a drink. Or maybe three.

You manage to make it to a mostly empty kitchen, and at that point, you’ve lost any motivation to go search for Hanbin or even Gunwook. For the most part, you’ve given up caring about being ‘lame’, so, you’re perfectly content sitting in the kitchen on your phone at a party while sipping on possibly the worst quality beer you’ve tasted in your twenty years of life.

It’s maybe thirty minutes until you finally look up from your phone at the call of your name over the ear-damaging volume of music.

Hanbin stumbles into the kitchen, using Gunwook as support. You can make out your friend’s flushed cheeks, even in the dim lighting, you have no idea how he’s gotten drunk so fast. “There you are! I found Gunwookie, it looked like he was waitin’ around for you, ‘cause he was just in a corner lookin’ around… didn’t you guys exchange numbers?”

“I already told you I forgot to ask…” Gunwook mumbles.

“Oh,” Hanbin lets go of Gunwook to slide up beside you, “Hey, did you know that, um—” Gunwook rushes over to slap a hand over Hanbin’s mouth, are they both drunk? It’s more difficult to tell with Gunwook, his cheeks always look pink…

Hanbin removes Gunwook’s hand with a glare, “Don’t interrupt me,” he chides, as sternly as he can while drunk. “Anyway, ‘m so glad you two figured things out. I hope Gunwook tells you about his massive heart boner for you.”

Hanbin makes it probably ten times worse by continuing, “He’s—he’s had such a big crush on you since like, um, since like the millisecond he joined the team. But this whole time you thought he was mean to you, isn’t that silly?”

What isn’t silly is the look on Gunwook’s face, he looks positively mortified.

“...Okay, Bin, I think you’re ready to go home already,” you smile tersely, side-stepping the topic for now, maybe forever actually. “Gunwook, can you help me with him?” You ignore Hanbin’s slurred protests. It must take a moment for Gunwook to recoup before he’s at Hanbin’s other side, helping you pull the drunkard up.

You avoid looking in Gunwook’s direction, despite the fact you can feel him burning holes into the side of your head. Of course, there’s no avoiding the conversation—inevitably, you’re going to have to talk to Gunwook about what Hanbin said, but maybe you can get out of it tonight…?

It’s not that you’re particularly afraid… okay, well, you are, except it’s just unnecessary anxiety. Now you feel better about admitting to yourself that you’re interested in Gunwook. But what if Hanbin’s drunk rambling was just drunk rambling, and it was all nonsense? Well, Gunwook probably wouldn’t seem so nervous if that were the case, but maybe he’s nervous because he just doesn’t want you to be under the impression that he—

“Oh, hey, I’ve been looking everywhere for Hanbin…”

“Oh, Hao, hey.” you mentally thank Hao for unknowingly rescuing you from spiraling into your annoyingly irrational train of thought.

“Do you want me to take him off your hands? We were planning to ditch before he disappeared.”

Okay, time to put on your big person pants and be an adult. “Yeah, thanks.” Handing Hanbin off is pretty easy, the man completely unbothered that he’s thrown two of his protégés for a loop (he’ll probably feel a lot worse about it tomorrow, especially when he’s hungover). What’s less easy, is being left with Gunwook.

“Well, since Hanbin aired everything out…”

“Right, yeah. We should talk, maybe outside?”

Gunwook nods, leading the way to the back door, you follow closely behind him. As not to lose him in the clusters of people, and maybe just because you want to, you grab onto his arm.

Outside, your eardrums thank you for finally getting out of there, though your nervous heart is another story, rattling against your ribcage incessantly. Warily, you avoid looking at Gunwook, distancing yourself a good few feet away from him, “So…”

“I like you,” Gunwook blurts as if he won’t get another chance to say so, “like a lot. I initially joined the team ‘cause of you actually, I hadn’t even danced since middle school. But you were so—watching you on stage at orientation felt so… enchanting.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at Gunwook’s flattery, and he only continues, “I thought you were perfect, so obviously I immediately signed up for the dance team, even though I wasn’t even sure if I was any good at it anymore, just so I could have an excuse to see you. Only for me to never gain the courage to even talk to you…” Staring at the wooden planks of the porch beneath your feet, you see Gunwook’s beaten-up Converse come into view, urging you to look up again.

“Gunwook, I—”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel anything like that for me, I just can’t let the what-ifs get in the way of me trying anymore.” Oh, how could you not feel something for him? Surely anyone could fall for him just by staring into his pretty brown eyes.

The weird feeling in your gut, which must be those butterflies people talk about, amplifies, you think you’d have to be a fool if you didn’t feel something for Gunwook Park. “I don’t… not feel something,” you hastily avert your gaze, “I guess I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I am interested in you. I, um, would be open to exploring that.”

“I understand—wait, you… really?”

You look up in time to see the overjoyed grin split Gunwook’s lips. It’s infectious, you can’t help but mirror his smile, laugh tumbling past your lips, “Yes, you dork. You better sweep me off my feet.”  You playfully shove at his shoulder.

“I will,” Gunwook grabs your wrist before you drop your arm, thumbing at the inside of it, “are you free tomorrow?”

“I…” You aren’t free, remember that pesky essay of yours? “Yeah, I am.” Oh, well, you suppose it can wait; likely until tomorrow night, when you finally open your laptop at eleven-thirty at night, when it happens to be due at midnight. You happen to work great under pressure!

“Perfect, can I pick you up at your place at two?”

“Sure, are you gonna remember to ask for my number this time, though?” You tease, making a ‘give me’ motion with your free hand.

Gunwook’s cheeks somehow get pinker, as he finally lets go of your wrist and retrieves his phone from his pocket, handing it over with the new contact screen open. Quickly, you type in your number and then your name, cheekily adding a heart beside it.

“Can I walk you home? Or, uh, if you wanted to go back to the party, that’s fine too…”

“Nah,” you’d rather do just about anything else than go back into that mess, you’ve had enough parties for the rest of your college life, “I’m pretty tired, and I have a super important date with a great guy tomorrow.”

With a coy smile to match Gunwook’s shy one, you cozy up to his side and link arms with him, “Let’s go?”

You’d still consider dancing to be a great way to unwind—still one of your favorites, it's just been demoted to second place.

Nothing ebbs away your stress like Gunwook popping into your room with your favorite food after you’ve been staring at your laptop screen for hours as if you were hoping your assignments would finish themselves. Or his hugs—always so warm, it’s like hugging an oversized stuffed bear. Or just… him.

Unrivaled after several years, dancing has finally met its match: Gunwook Park.

[uhmprobablynot]

I know I’m late asf,, but part 2 of the bully fic was so good😫😫

I need part 3 rn!!💥💳💥💳💥

(But fr, your writing was so so good and I’ve read it like 5 times now lmfao)

As you wish my friends,,, Bully!Schlatt Part three (sorry this was late. I was sick than had to finish finals,,,) neway

Part One > Part Two > Part Three

The next day, you expected a text from Schlatt. He had texted you good morning on Sunday, then following the library situation he texted you, then after practice he texted you, when he went to bed he texted you. You thought he would have texted you good morning today, too. You brushed it off. He’s only had your number for 48 hours, and it’s not like you were dating or anything. Plus, you were headed to the class you shared with him. Maybe that’s why he didn’t text. He knew he would see you.

Yeah. That’s what you went with.

Schlatt wasn’t at the table when you walked in. Usually, he sits there waiting for you. Shrugging it off, you sit down at the table, pulling out all of your things and checking your phone to see if he sent anything, even though you knew it hadn’t buzzed yet. You sigh and as you look up; you see Schlatt walk past your table, going to sit somewhere in the back. You watch him settle down as you feel your heart settle down into your stomach. He doesn’t look at you, he just focuses on the smart board in the front of the room. You smoother the pain before also focusing on the board and blinking away the tears filling your eyes. The lesson goes on forever. You swear you can feel him staring at the back of your head, but you’re too afraid to let yourself hope. The moment the professor calls class, you are out of your seat and rushing home. When the front door closes behind you, you let yourself cry.

Classes for the rest of the day can wait.

You say the same thing on Tuesday, on Wednesday you justify not going so you don’t have to see him again. Every time your phone buzzes, your heart breaks a little more because it’s still not Schlatt.

There is a knock on your front door and your heart jumps with hope. You wipe your eyes and take a deep breath before opening the door. On the other side is Ash.

“Zach told me Schlatt has been weird at practice so he sent me here to see-” She looks up at you from digging in her purse. “What’s wrong?” Her simple question sets you off again. You feel your eyes fill up once again and she asks if she can come in. You nod, turning to sit back on the couch. She puts her bag down and sits next to you. “Y/n, what happened?”

“It shouldn’t matter,” you sob. “We weren’t even dating.” Ash makes a sad sound of understanding.

“It’s hurting you like this. It fucking matters.” She says firmly. She grabs tissues from her purse and hands you the pack. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I- I don’t,” you stutter. “I don’t know if I can. Some stuff happened.” Ash flashes you a look of pure anger and you quickly correct. “Some very consensual stuff happened.” She sighs with relief.

“I am an adult. I’ve probably read worse, done worse.” She nudges your shoulder and you laugh lightly.

You explain to her everything that happened. The drive from the game, dinner, the drive home, how he kissed you in front of your door, the library (she made an amusing squeal as you told her the story before she whispered ‘we’re supposed to be mad at him shush’ to herself). How he pretended you didn’t exist this morning.

“What a dick. What the fuck.” Ash was angry, and you envied the fact that she could be. You wanted to be angry with him, but all you felt was hurt and embarrassment. She is silent for a moment, clearly pondering something. “I’ve decided you’re coming with me on tomorrow.” You look at her, confused. She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Sport guy parties are always on Thursday and the baseball team is going to be there.” You shake your head, disagreeing with her, and she only smiles wide and nods. “You are going to look hot, and show that fucker what he missed out on.”

“Ash, I can barely think of him without sobbing, let alone going to a party and trying to pretend I’m doing better than I am.”

“You will, because you are.” She stood up. “Here is my number just in case you need. I’ll be here at 9P.” She leans down and kisses your forehead. “You are beautiful, you are kind, you are better.” She picks up her bag and walks to the door. She blows you a kiss and walks out. You smile genuinely for the first time in a few days.

Thursday night comes faster than you expected it to. You feel great and, according to Ash’s reaction when she saw you, you look great too.

She leads you to the kitchen, where she pours you a drink. The music is pounding against your skull and the already small enough house is crowded with too many people. Ash taps your shoulder and leans to your ear.

“Zach just texted me he is here. Are you good if I go find him fast?” You smile and nod, telling her it’s fine even though you’re dreading being alone here. She kisses your check and leaves to find her boyfriend. Not knowing if Schlatt is here or going to be is driving you crazy. You think you see him every time a tall brunette moves in the corner of your eye. Your fingers itch to text him, your heart agreeing, saying that it’s the perfect opportunity to try, but you ignore them both and move through the crowd. You hope that in your aimless crowd managing you find the bathroom, or just a quiet enough space to take a breath.

You spot a hallway with little people and make your way that way. As you turn the corner, your heart sinks. A white blonde girl has Schlatt pushed against a wall with her lips kissing at his neck. Schlatt is mumbling something to her with one hand on her shoulder and another at her waist. You stand there and stare without meaning to. The girl spots you first, saying something you can’t make out between the heartbeat rushing in your ears, the music pounding into your skull, and battling to not let yourself throw up. You push your way back through the crowd, this time not caring to be polite, just wanting to get out.

You eventually find the front door and push out, letting the cooler outside air soothe you. You send a text to Ash letting her know you left and not to wait for you. Holding your arms against your stomach, you walk a direction you think is towards your house. Someone is calling after you, but the noise gets lost chaos of your head.

“Y/n!” the voice yells as a car pulls up beside you, rolling slowly to keep up with your pace. “Please get in the car.” It’s Schlatt. You glance at him, watching as he shifts his focus from you to the road, then back to you. You shake your head and keep walking, looking straight in front of you. He calls your name again. “Where are you even going?”

“Home.”

“Well, your place is in the opposite direction.” You stop walking and take a deep breath. Then turn on your toe and start walking the aforementioned direction. “Jesus Christ.” You hear him yell. His car makes a U-turn on the street. “Come on,” he says harshly. “Get in the damn car.”

“No.” You yell, quickening your pace. Maybe if he acted like he cared half of this much earlier this week, none of this would have happened, maybe. You walk past the house party again with Schlatt still trailing you and calling your name. He is getting more and more frustrated the more you ignore him, but every time you look at him, you only see that blonde girl.

“Fuck!” you hear him yell as you walk into the nearby quad; you knew it was slightly dangerous to cut through here but you just needed to get away from him, and it was well lit enough. A car door slams and you hear his calling of your name continue. “Please, just listen to me for one goddamn minute?” He continues to yell.

“No,” You turn to face him. “No, I won’t you know why?” Schlatt is silent as you yell at him. “You ignored me all week. Which, yeah, would hurt either way but after-” Your voice cracked as the sadness you pushed down finally came rushing back to the surface. “After what we did, you ignored me.” Schlatt flinches and tries to say something, but you hold up a finger. “Then when I finally get myself together enough to go out into the public,” You point somewhere in the general direction of the party house. “One of the first things I see is a girl all over you, and now I feel crazy because we weren’t together, so it shouldn’t bother me.” You sob and Schlatt is just staring at you, but you keep going, glad to finally say this. “I feel crazy. I feel cheap. I feel used.” Your voice is hoarse and your throat is sore from the yelling. And Schlatt is just staring at you. The quad is silent, even the crickets and cicadas listening.

“I’m sorry.” Schlatt’s voice cracks as tears flood to his eyes. “I didn’t mean-” He rubs his face and runs his hands through his hair. “I never meant to make you feel that way, any of those ways.” He takes a step towards you and you take a step back. “And Nic- And she I didn’t want that,” he rubs his neck as if trying to wipe her away. “She has been after me months and I’ve been telling her I was interested in someone else.” His eyes lock with yours. “I am interested in someone else, and that was me trying to get her off.”

“Then why?” You plead. “Why ignore me like that?” Schlatt presses his lips together and runs his hands through his hair again.

“Because I thought that if I ignored it, it would go away. That if I acted like it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t.” You scoff and turn to walk away again, but Schlatt quickly adds, “I thought that if I pretended I wasn’t falling in love with you, I could convince myself that was the truth.”

You stop walking and let his words sink into your brain. You looked back towards him.

“Please don’t say anything.” Schlatt closes his eyes and inhales. “Just please let me take you back home.” You nod. He reaches for your hand and you grab it. He leads you back to his car and opens the door for you when you get there. You climb in and take a deep breath. The smell of him completely envelops you. Tears come to your eyes as you let yourself realize how much you missed him. As he enters the car, he sees the tears.

“Oh sweetheart,” Schlatt grabs your cheeks and wipes the tears away with his thumbs. “I’m so sorry.” You silently nod and he drives to your place.

When you get to your apartment, he walks you to your door. It is a bittersweet reminder of that very first night. You insert the key to your door and push it open. Schlatt puts his hand on your shoulder and calls your name.

“I really am sorry.” His eyes have tears in them again. You grab his hand and pull him lightly through your door. Schlatt resists for a minute before letting you bring him inside.

“Sit,” You point to the couch. “I missed you or whatever.” He smiles lightly, rubs his eyes, and sits down. “Can I get you a drink?” Schlatt nods and clears his throat.

“Water, please?”

“Coming right up, make yourself comfy.” You make your way to the kitchen and grab a glass of water for him. You take a deep breath before moving back near the couch and handing him the glass before sitting next to him. Schlatt takes a sip and hums thankfully.

“I know it’s my fault,” he puts the glass down on the table in front of him. “But I really, really missed you this week.” His arm drapes against the back of the couch resting behind your head. You let a breath that mimics a sarcastic laugh. You pinch his side and he yelps before rubbing it with the hand not behind you.

“There now we’re even.” You say through giggles. Schlatt laughs and smiles widely; you feel your heart thump against your ribs. He meets your eyes once he calms down.

“One more time, I am sor-”

Your lips against his cuts him off. He kisses back almost instantly, the hand on the back of the couch moving to rest on the back of your head. You pull away slightly.

“No more of that. I said we were even.” Schlatt smirks at your comment before pulling you back into a kiss. You both lose yourselves in the kiss, completely enveloped in each other. You bite his lip lightly and he groans as he does you move down to his neck. Kissing and nipping it, making sure that in the morning if that girl came near, Schlatt would know who he wanted there, who got to be there. Schlatt pulled you over into his lap, but as you brought your leg to straddle him, you knocked the glass of water on to the floor.

Both Schlatt and you stare at it for a moment before bursting into laughter. You lean your head on Schlatt’s shoulder before standing up.

“I’ll clean this up.” He stands up from the couch. “Where are the towels?” You point to the linen closet as you pick the glass up and put it into the sink. Schlatt had moved back to the puddle in the meantime, laying the towel down and trying to mop up the water.

“Schlatt,” You call to him. He hums in response, still focused on cleaning up. You call his name again and he looks up at you. “The floor can wait.” You reach out your hand and he grabs it. Schlatt looks at you, confused, before you walk backwards to your bedroom. You watch as a smile comes to his face as he understands where you’re leading him.

As you both cross the door into your bedroom, he kisses you again. Except this time it’s harder and messier, his teeth biting at your lip and his hands in a bruising grasp at your hips. His thumbs dip under the hem of your shirt, grazing the skin there.

“May I?” He asks, pulling at the shirt. You whisper a ‘yes’ and he pulls the shirt over your head and throws it towards some corner of your room. His hands explore the new skin as his lips explore down to the skin of your neck. You moan lightly as his lips and hands meet near your collar bone. He thumbs at the front edge of your bra.

“This too?” he asks and you nod. He kisses your lips again as his hands move behind to your and he unlocks it and lets it drop. “Holy fucking christ,” He mumbles something before his hands move to grab them.

Schlatt walks the both of backwards until you hit the edge of the bed. You sit and he kneels down in front of you and his hands drag up to meet the waistband of your bottoms. He asks for permission again and you grant it before he pulls everything down, leaving you bare in front of him.

He uses his big hands to grab your knees and pull them apart and cursing under his breath as he looks at you. His lips replace his hands as slowly he kisses up your left thigh all the way to your hip before moving back down and repeating it on the other side. You quickly get impatient as he keeps getting close to your apex but never touching it.

“Schlatt please,” you plead and he looks up at you from between your thighs.

“Yes ma’am,” He smirks before diving nose first into you. He licks from your slit before moving his tongue to your clit. He moves slowly but speeds up as he hears you moan. As his tongue laps at you, one of his fingers enters you slowly. He thrusts it in and out a few times before adding a second one. With his finger messaging your walls and his tongue on your clit, you cum fast and hard. Schlatt works you through it, letting you come down before he removes his fingers and face leaves you.

“I have been dreaming of that since the library.” He licks his fingers before using the inside of his elbow to wipe the rest of you off his mouth. His face is red and his eyes are dark and glistening. You grab his cheeks and pull him up to you, kissing him. His lips taste slightly bitter as your slick still sticks to his mouth. As you kiss him, you reach your hands under his shirt, pushing it up. Understanding the silent command, he breaks from the kiss to pull it off, adding it to the pile of discarded clothing. You drag your hands down his chest, admiring him before your hands dip down to palm him through his pants. Schlatt groans at the euphoric relief of pressure. You undo his belt and pants button, pushing down his pants and underwear as far as you could, then letting him pull the rest of his pants off. You move your hands down to his cock, beginning to jerk him off, but he stops you.

“No, no, this is me making up for everything.” He says, “move up and lay back. Let me take care of you.” You smile gently and push yourself up on the bed. Schlatt moves on top of you, using one of his arms to hold his weight and the other to rub circles on your hip. “You’re so beautiful,” he kisses you quickly. “You know that, right? You know I think you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?” You turned your head away from him, embarrassed, but he used the hand on your hip to turn your face back to him. “Look at me, I’m serious.” You only can nod at the sudden sternness in his voice. “I’ll repeat it well past the point that you believe it, too.” He kisses you as he moves his cock towards your entrance. “You sure?”

“Yes. Schlatt, please, fuck.”

“That is the anticipated point, yes.” He smirks before pushing into you slowly. You moan and wince at the intrusion. He stops as he fully enters you, letting you adjust.

“Move, fuck, please move.” You beg. He groans and thrusts in and out of you. You moan as his thumb rubs circles against your clit. As he brings you closer to your edge, your walls vise around him, causing his pace to falter.

“Baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re gripping me so tight I can’t-”

“Then don’t.” You moan, causing Schlatt to pull out of you and cum all over your stomach. His thumb, however, quickly gets back to work on your clit, making you cum again. You both just lay there panting for a moment, catching your breaths. He stands up and pulls his underwear on before leaving the room quickly to grab and wet a towel. When he reenters the room, he wipes you down and cleans his cum off of your stomach. Once you’re cleaned up, Schlatt grabs his shirt off the floor and pulls it over your head and climbs into bed next yo you.

He lifts an arm up, inviting you to come lay on his chest, and you happily do. Schlatt kisses the top of your head as comfortable, homely, and tired silence fills your bedroom. You play with his fingers as your brain shuts down for the night.

“You know,” you say, he sleepily hums into your hair. “I think i’m falling in love with you too.”

[smehur]

WIP Wednesday

Just feel like sharing (read: I fucking love this bit). It's from "The Bubo" (a 4th year mostly canon-compliant Drarry fic yet to be posted, and a sequel to A Ferret's Sensibility). Current word count: 21k. ETA: 🤪

Leaning on the wall next to the serpent door to the Slytherin dungeons was Potter, his brow low, his lips pressed into a line, and his arms crossed so tight over his chest it was a wonder his ribs hadn’t cracked.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Draco barked. After their adventure in the greenhouse, perhaps he would’ve tried to be civil, had they been alone. But with Vince and Greg following a step behind, it was important to project the correct image.

“Relax, Malfoy,” Potter said, trying for something between bored and annoyed, but the nerves made his voice strained. “I’m not here to fight. Can we have a word?”

Draco crossed his own arms, angling his hips and shoulders for maximum mockery. “Just the one?”

Vince and Greg dutifully sniggered. Potter rolled his eyes. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I doubt that very much, Potter. But alright. I’ll entertain the whims of our Great Champion on the eve of his extremely likely demise. What is it?”

“Send your goons away first.”

This was followed by a shuffling of robes behind Draco’s back and he could just picture Vince and Greg widening their stance and crossing their arms as well.

“That’s highly irregular,” Draco drawled. “People of standing far superior to yours make bookings months ahead for a one-on-one with me. I’m so very busy, you see.”

“Oh, for…” Potter sighed and stared beseechingly at the ceiling. The apple of his throat bobbed up and down and something wriggled in Draco’s stomach in response. Then there was a mutter that sounded suspiciously like…

“What was that, Potter?” Draco demanded. “Speak up.”

Muscles danced in Potter’s jaw. “Please.”

Draco put on his most vulpine grin to hide the genuine elation that raced through him like a shot of Thunderbrew. For a sweet, hot moment, he considered making Potter get down on his knees, but he knew it’d be too much. Instead, he turned his head and gestured at Greg with his chin.

“You sure, boss?” whispered Greg.

“Yes. Go on.”

“We need to use the password,” whispered Vince.

“Right. Come along, then, Potter.”

Draco turned around with a dramatic swipe of his robes (a trick he’d picked up from Professor Snape), and started back the way he had come, not bothering to check if Potter was following. He felt half a foot taller than usual, proportionally stronger and several times more handsome. Potter had begged him. In front of witnesses. For what, it remained to be seen, but it had happened and Draco would cherish the memory forever.

Another snip from the same story here.

No-pressure-tagging some new friends and anyone else who might wanna share any kind of WIP! @garagepaperback @sweet-s0rr0w @citrusses @slyssnakes @faiell 🥰

[vampiricstoryteller]

I Only Have Eyes 42

Hey! Omg y’all I’m so nervous about this fic. It’s finally time for me to start this Richter x Annette x Alucard journey I’ve been wanting to go on. Here is the first of three chapters, I really hope y’all like it.

Summary: Annette does not want to be paired with Richter Belmont for this philosophy project. She would rather sweep the ocean floor. Richter has no real opinion on philosophy but Annette has captured his attention in a way no one has in a long time. Adrian, just loves making pizza and wants his friend to be happy. The three of them together brings about a love none of them were truly prepared for.

Read story on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warnings: cursing, smut thoughts, implications, polyamory

Chapter One: Double the Fun, Triple the Time for Love

Annette is vaguely aware of Richter Belmont, because they have Philosophy of Humanity together on Mondays, Wednesdays and alternating Fridays. It’s a year long class worth double the credits with less than twenty students. How could she not at the very least, know his name?

He sits two rows behind her, in the same spot, to the left and usually wears a royal blue hoodie with an emblem on it she had to ask a friend for clarification on.

“Oh, thats his family’s legacy.” Edouard told her right around Halloween. The two of them knee deep in alterations for a costume party they were going to.

“Richter’s family can be traced back centuries over in Europe. London specifically.” Edouard explained further. “They provided a lot of weapons during the wars, then his great great grandfather pivoted towards politics and they’ve been untouchable since.”

Annette took the clump of information in stride. Old British Money was not something she ever wanted to get mixed up with. She’d rather sweep the ocean floor than ever have to be in the same room as a Prime Minister.

She must sit with what her friend tells her for too long because he smirks later that night when they part ways, and gives her one final bit of information.

“Rumor that went around for a while was that Richter and his grandfather Juste basically hate each other, but they both love Richter’s mother Julia, Juste’s daughter, so they comprised by giving him space over here in America but paying the way for it.”

Besides what Edouard tells her, and she seriously wonders how deeply her friends web of information runs, Annette knows next to nothing about The Belmont Family line and as an exchange student, she has no real interest in learning about families with old money. It’s not like they were going to give any of that money to her.

So Annette brushes him from her mind. She’s trying to earn back to back degrees with no break while pay half the tuition out of pocket, there’s barely enough hours in the day for herself; her thoughts about Richter are nonexistent.

Until they’re paired together for a project thats worth their entire grade.

It’s the second day back from winter vacation when their Philosophy professor hands out a thick packet and explains that after covering the basics during first semester, it’s now time to learn how to apply the information in real life.

“You’ll find your partners name on the inside flap, please use today’s class time to introduce yourselves and compare schedules.” Dr. Higsmen says, his stubby hands folded on the podium. “You should be meeting three times or more a week. We’ll start presentations on May 1st.”

Annette flips her packet open and stares down at the name listed underneath hers.

Richter Belmont

Her left eye twitches, she can feel the headache forming underneath her temples already and Annette has just started contemplating if it’ll look bad for her to ask to a new partner when a shadow appears over her shoulder. She closes her eyes for a second, takes a deep breath then turns and tilts her head up.

He is, quite possibly, the most handsome man she’s ever seen. Tall and lean, pretty blue eyes, dark hair that he actually knew how to comb and long fingers that are tapping rhythmically on his packet; Richter smiles down at her nervously.

“Hi, you’re Annette, right?”

She blinks then nods slowly, lifting her backpack from the seat next to her. “That’s me.”

“Cool,” he flashes her a smile as he pulls the chair out a bit and sits next to her. “I’m Richter, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

He extends one of his hands to her, his blue eyes searching over her and her desk while she eyes him warily before she puts down her pen and lets her hand slide into his.

His skin is softer than Annette could have ever expected it to be. There are callouses, of course, and a lot of them but his long boney fingers are soft to the touch and she barely keeps her thumb from stroking the back of his hand.

“Nice to meet you too.” She murmurs, ducking her head when he lets go of her.

“You’re new here aren’t you?”

He sounds genuinely curious so Annette nods, keeping her eyes from rolling. “Yes, I was accepted into the exchange program.”

“Oh nice,” Richter smiles, his face turning thoughtful as he adds on. “Your accent sounds very island based, maybe Dominican or Haitian?”

Annette blinks in surprise, ever since arriving at the end of last summer she has heard the same misplacement of her accent over and over. They all automatically assumed she was from Jamaica, which was ridiculous when one actually thought about it. But if Annette was learning anything in America it was that most people don’t put real thought into anything that doesn’t directly benefit them.

Her accent was just a placeholder in small talk, a tidbit of trivia they all wanted to tuck away and use later when they thought it would come in handy. It didn’t actually matter where she was from, just her not being American was enough for most of them to decide if she was useful or not.

And Annette made sure that she was not.

It’s Richter’s tone, however, that keeps the warning bells from ringing through her mind. He sounds……pensive, like he’s truly thinking about where she’s from. And not for any means to an end, just to know. Which was, new…..

Annette clears her throat, mentally shaking herself.

“I’m from Haiti, yes.” She narrows her eyes a bit, trying to remain playful. “You’ve been there before?”

Richter nods, “Once when I was a kid. My grandfather took me when he had a business trip there.” He tilts his head as if remembering.

“And?” Annette prompts, letting one hand rest against her cheek. “What did you think of it?”

“It was beautiful, I was only ten so I couldn’t leave the hotel a lot but I remember the food being amazing.” Richter taps one finger on top of his packet, his blue eyes flickering over to her. “I remember the people were very nice and everywhere smelled amazing, like the earth and warm clay.”

Annette watches him reminisce, a very clear memory playing in his mind judging by the way he subtly jerks and then his cheeks tinge pink.

“Sorry.” Richter reaches back and scratches at his neck. “That must sound weird as hell.”

Annette laughs, surprised at both herself and him.

“No, no it’s alright. I understand what you mean. It does have a very earthy aroma.” She picks at her fingers. “I think it’s one of the things I miss most.”

A beat passes between them, not uncomfortable exactly but there’s definitely a shift from the casual pleasantries. Annette clears her throat and taps on her packet,

“So, uhm, when’s a good time for you for us to start meeting up?”

Richter shrugs, leaning back in the chair until the front legs come off the ground. “Whenever is good for me honestly, do you have a busy schedule?”

“Kinda?” Annette glances at him. “I work a lot but I’m pretty sure I can talk to my boss about it,”

At his curious look; Annette waves dismissively. “I work in the school library, most the time it’s just me sitting there studying and doing nothing. They always tell me I can take time for school work but this is my first actual project so,”

Richter nods, “okay good to know, do you think it’ll be cool for me to join in the library sometimes?”

“I don’t see why not.” She replied.

He reaches into the pocket pouch of his hoodie, pulling out a phone. “Wanna swap numbers? Or instas?”

Annette grabs her own phone from the front zipper on her backpack. “I’m not on social media.” She says unlocking the screen and pulling up the numbers keypad. “So number, if you don’t mind.”

They trade phones, Annette feeling heat rise in her cheeks at how sleek and new his is compared to her cracked screen, duct tapped to hell one. Richter doesn’t seemed bothered by it at all, he taps his number in and makes his own contact. She does the same, unsure if putting her full name is presumptuous or leaving it with just her first is vain.

She decides on her full name, quickly typing it out and hitting save. Annette hands the phone back to its owner, taking hers and putting it back in her bag without even looking at the screen.

Richter taps at his phone for a second, seemingly texting someone back before he puts the device away and turns his blue eyes back to her.

“Do you have any other classes today?” He asks, flipping through the first few pages of his packet. He produces a pen, seemingly out of nowhere, and begins underlining things on the pages before him.

“No but I’ve got to work from 2pm til 8 tonight.” Annette sighs, already exhausted by the long hours she’ll be sitting in that backless chair at the checkout counter.

“Wanna get lunch together then?” Richter asks casually. “We can start brainstorming for our project, get ahead of everyone else.”

Annette blinks and says uncertainly, “Sure, that sounds good.”

He glances at her, “I know a place, has great pizza. It’ll be my treat.”

“Oh you don’t have to—.” Annette starts, shaking her head but Richter only looks to the clock on the wall and nods to himself.

“Come on, we can get there early and be first in line.” He swings his backpack up into his lap and puts his packet inside.

Annette tilts her head at all the different pins that are hooked into the sturdy fabric of his bag. She sees his family emblem immediately but there’s numerous others, different causes, brands, pop culture references and though she can’t place them all she finds the display of individualism somewhat endearing.

Richter looks down at his bag, chuckling a bit. “Oh yeah, I always forget I have so many pins on here.”

Annette smiles. “They’re cool, where’d you get them?”

“My sister got a button maker for Christmas like three years ago and hasn’t stopped since.” Richter says, shaking his head. “She gives them out like candy now.”

Annette nods, putting her packet away as well. She glances around the room, noticing that most of the other pairs have already left. She stands when Richter does, putting on her coat, hiking her backpack up over her shoulder and looking at him expectantly.

He grins at her, “Let’s get outta here.”

Dr. Higsmen bids them a good day as they pass him, packing away his papers into his briefcase.

“Off to Alucard’s then?” The hefty man asks.

Richter nods, opening the classroom door for Annette. Over her head he smiles at their professor and says,

“I always try to get the first slice of the day at least three times a week.” He puffs his chest out proudly. “It’s basically my job at this point.”

Dr. Higsmen laughs, something Annette’s not sure she’s ever heard him do, and waves them on.

“Be sure to tell him hello.”

Richter calls out a goodbye over his shoulder but as they walk down the hall he turns his attention to Annette.

“You like pizza right? I should have asked. Although he does offer other stuff too.” Richter taps his chin. “There are these stuffed garlic knots that will really blow your mind.”

Annette raises both eyebrows, “Pizza is good, as are garlic knots but I’m not that hungry.”

Richter glances at her, at the end of the hall he pulls open the door that leads to the buildings parking lot and motions for her to go first.

“It’s alright, whatever you don’t eat I definitely will.”

It’s a nice day outside, the sun has managed to break up the winter clouds and shines down on the left over snow that remains on the grass from days ago. Annette’s still not exactly used to the snow, it is very pretty but the novelty of it wore off after the second time she slipped on ice.

“Come on, we can take my car.” Richter says stepping into the wet slush of ice that awaits them.

Annette chuckles, “good cause mind doesn’t arrive for a good forty minutes or so.”

When Richter looks back at her in confusion, Annette pointedly stares at the bus stop where a few other students stand waiting for it.

“Right, sorry, dumb of me to assume everyone has a car.” He says shaking his head.

Annette chuckles, raising her hands. “Don’t worry about it.”

When they reach his car, a grey Ford Ranger, she blinks at the sheer size of it. One wheel alone is almost as tall as she is.

“Here, one second I gotta move some stuff around.” Richter says quickly fishing the keys from his jeans.

The truck chirps and he yanks the passenger door open. Annette wakings patiently, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat as Richter tossed a duffel bag, gym shoes and two more hoodies in the back. He pats the dark colored seat then steps back and offers a hand to her.

“It’s a bit of a up step.” He explains when she raises her eyebrows. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first person to fall out of my truck. Maria does all the time.”

Annette chuckles, letting her hand slide into his again. She keeps her eyes on her feet as she climbs into the imposing vehicle. The step up is pretty large, enough to throw her off balance about halfway; Richter’s hand tightens around hers though and he lifts her when her legs fail her.

“All good?” He asks once she’s slid into the seat and their hands disconnect.

“Why is it so high off the ground?” Annette asks exasperated.

Richter chuckles, “Tall people problems, don’t worry you’ll get used to it.”

He shuts the door before Annette can reply, leaving her to force a blush down while he casually walks around the front of the truck to the drivers side. Her eyes track him the entire way, searching his face for any kind of break in his cool demeanor.

When he gets into the truck, Annette rolls her eyes at him not having to jump or or climb; his legs are long enough that he doesn’t even seem to need the step assistance already at the bottom of the door.

“You ready to try the best pizza you’ll ever have?” Richters excitedly, starting the truck and throwing it into reverse.

Annette laughs softly, relaxing back against the dark seats. “I will be the judge of that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It only take about 10 minutes to reach Richter’s destination. He takes her through the back streets, telling her about how much he hates Main Street because it’s full of nothing but tourist attractions and showing her little connecting alleys that she can always use if she’s running late.

Annette finds that she enjoys hearing about the town from the perspective of someone who was basically a local.

“When did you move here?” She asks when they come to the last stop light before the plaza they’re going to.

“Officially four years ago but, my family came to this town for vacation every summer since before I was born.” Richter shrugs, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “My great grandmother was born and raised here, so my family always tried to come back.”

Annette nods, filing the information away under the mental folder she’d created tilted ‘The Belmonts’ and turning her attention to the plaza he’s turning into.

The plaza is fairly small, there’s only seven places of business in total and a small play area for children that only has a jungle gym and two swings. Richter turns into the second section of parking spaces and Annette sits forward a bit to look up at the restaurant.

It’s sign is elegant and in neat cursive, braced on awning of the plaza to look as if the name is double outlined.

‘Alucard’s Pizzería and Wines.’

Annette tilts her head to the side, her nose scrunching a bit as she eyes the outdoor patio and the dark interior design thats visible from the storefront window.

“You don’t like wine?” Richter asks curiously, shutting the truck off and popping open the middle console.

“I have no real opinion on it.” Annette shrugs.

“Oh he’ll love that.” Richter snickers, he stuffs a simple black wallet into his jean pocket and turns his bright blue eyes to her. “You have your passport, right?”

Annette nods, patting her backpack between her feet. “I am not from here; of course I have my passport with me.”

Richter grins, “Let’s go then, im starving.”

Annette has to literally leap from the truck but she manages to land squarely on her feet; her combat boots kicking up a bit of slush at the impact. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, Annette shuts the stupidly heavy truck door and joins Richter at the front.

“So, you and this Alucard are friends?” She asks as they walk towards the glass doors, their steps in sync.

Richter laughs, “Yes. He is a friend of my family. His dad and my grandfather were army friends.” He pulls open the glass doors for her, smiling down at her when her shoulder brushes his chest. “And Alucard is a nickname; his actual name is—“

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Annette startles slightly, blinking her eyes rapidly to adjust in the sudden dimness of the restaurant. About few feet away stands a man, his hands on his hips as he awaits an answer from Richter.

He steps towards them and Annette feels her eyes widen, her breath disappearing from her lungs. If she’d thought Richter was handsome beyond belief, his friend of the family is an angel from above. Long straw yellow hair that’s currently tied up into a bun at the crown of his head, his golden eyes flicker between the two of them curiously despite the disapproving frown on his very very pale face.

“I did go to class! We got our project partners and Mr. Higsmen told us to go get acquainted with each other.” Richter says defensively. “He says to tell you hi by the way.”

He steps behind Annette and puts both hands on her shoulders, guiding her closer to his friend.

“This is my philosophy projects partner, Annette.” Richter sounds proud, though she can’t even begin to ponder what for. “Annette, this is my best friend, Adrian.”

She watches as the blonde rolls his eyes before he steps to them and bows his head deeply to her. He offers a hand, holding Annette’s one in both of his once she reaches out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Annette.” He says with a smile that could melt iron. “I’m sorry for your unfortunate luck in project partners.”

Annette lets out a laugh, a real one, while Richter squeezes her shoulders and sticks out his tongue.

“Now is that any way to treat your first paying customers of the day?” He steers Annette towards one of the booths near the kitchen door.

“I never make you pay Richter.” Adrian calls after them.

He lets Annette choose which side of the booth she wants to sit on, sliding into the seat across from her with practiced ease. She puts her backpack between herself and the wall, folding her hands on top of the table as she looks around.

“First impressions?” Richter asks, his tone light but Annette can see the genuine worry in his eyes.

She smiles, shrugging one shoulder. “They’re good so far, he owns this place? He seems kind of young to already have his own restaurant.”

“Adrian’s going to be thirty this year.” Richter snickers. “He’s practically an old man.”

“Ah yes, thirty the year of mortality rate, in the stone ages.” The blond deadpans as he approaches the table and lays out two menus, he rests his hip against the back of the bench Richter’s sat in. “So much older compared to your baby like wonder of twenty four.”

Annette watches the two of them over the top of her menu as they descend into a battle of banter. She can see immediate fondness between them, Richter looks up at Adrian with adoration in his gaze despite the jokes flying from his mouth. And Adrian, gives as good as he gets, verbally baiting Richter with little quips until he ends their conversation by tugging on the tuffs of hair around the younger man’s ear.

“What’s your favorite kind of pizza, Miss Annette?” He asks turning his golden gaze to her.

“Ugh please, it’s just Annette.” She scrunches her nose. “I’m twenty three, not thirty three.”

Richter bursts into laughter while Adrian blinks in momentary surprise. He reaches up and pulls hard on Richter’s hair again. “You’re so hyena like today, Richter. Shut up.”

He looks back towards the dark skinned woman and nods, “Annette then, favorite kind of pizza?”

“Pepperoni and black olives.” Annette shrugs. “Weird I know, but I love it.”

“No weirder than this nut job.” Adrian shrugs and tilts his chin at Richter. “When he was a kid he would only eat pizza with macaroni as the topping.”

“Hey!” Richter protests when Annette sticks out her tongue in disgust. “I was a growing boy and needed the nourishment!”

Adrian pats the top of his head. “It’s okay Richter, we’re not judging you.”

“Oh I definitely am.” Annette grins.

Adrian laughs, “you’re going to fit right in Annette.” He pushes away from the booth, the bell above the front door jingling to signal the arrival of new customers. “I’ll bring out some cheese garlic knots, and start your pizzas.”

~~~~~~~~~

Richter hadn’t been lying. Adrian’s pizza was the best Annette had ever had. Hot, thick and gooey with extra cheese; Annette devours the personal one he sits in front of her about twenty minutes after he brings them garlic knots and Arnold Palmer’s.

She’s never had a pizza so deeply rich yet not greasy at all. Even the cheese stuffed garlic knots, slathered with butter, don’t leave much of a stain on the napkin she uses throughout the meal.

It’s very impressive.

As she and Richter eat, they decide to try and meet up twice during each week and once over the weekends up until it’s time to present their project.

“I can always pick you up from work and stuff,” Richter offers. “Do you stay in the student dorms?”

“Yes, but the ones not on campus.” Annette says, “you know the ones that are supposed to replicate real adult life.”

“Except for the RA’s are constantly prowling the halls like vigilantes.” Richter chuckles. “Yes I do know those dorms.”

“They’re the worst.” She sighs shaking her head.

“It’s okay, we can always hang at my place or here. Adrian won’t mind.” Richter says with a firm nod.

As if summoned by Richter’s thoughts alone, the blond appears at their table momentarily.

“Do you guys want dessert?” He asks, a sizzling pizza balanced over his shoulder.

Richter motions towards Annette. “You want a slice of cake?”

She shakes her head, pulling her phone from her backpack. “My shift is gonna start soon.” Glancing at the digital clock on the screen she relaxes at bit when she realizes it’s only 1:15. “Maybe next time?”

Adrian smiles at her, “I have the feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other Annette, so I’ll hold you to that.”

He excuses himself to go drop off the pizza to the family of four waiting. Across from Annette, Richter stuffs the last bit of crust from his own pizza into his mouth. It puffs his cheeks out exaggeratedly and she can’t help the smile the creeps onto her lips.

In her hand, her phone vibrates and the screen lights up to show that Edouard has texted her.

Edouard: still need a ride to work?

Annette blinks, she’d forgotten that originally her plan was to go back to the dorm after philosophy and take a much needed nap. Obviously those plans had been completely derailed.

Annette: yes but I’m not at the dorms. I’m at Alucard’s pizza place. is that too out of the way?

Edouard texts back before she can even close their messages out.

Edouard: I’ll be there in 15 :)

Annette hearts his message in thanks before locking the screen and pulling her attention back to Richter. He’s munching on a left over garlic knot, trying not to watch her but clearly failing as their eyes meet the moment she raises hers.

“Everything okay?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah, my friend was just asking if I still needed a ride. He’s on his way,” Annette explains, sipping at the watered down left overs of her drink. “We work the same shift on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Richter nods, “That’s cool, I wouldn’t have minded dropping you back off.”

Annette waves dismissively. “It’s out of your way, I’m sure you’d rather hang out with Adrian.”

Richter snorts, glances around the restaurant. “I see him all the time.”

She smiles, “I’ll let you take me back next time.”

Richter grins at her, nodding in agreement. They clean up their table for Adrian, stacking the plates and wiping the surface down. The blond looks incredibly grateful when he passes by them next, snagging the stacked plates with one hand and carding the other hand through Richter’s hair.

Annette catches the faint blush spread across Richter’s cheek and she glances over her shoulder towards the kitchen doors that Adrian disappeared behind. Her mind attempting to fit together the puzzle pieces that have fallen into her lap today.

In her lap, Edouard’s text alerts her to the fact that he’s pulling up and Annette begins shrugging her coat back on. Richter stands when she does, insisting on walking her out of the restaurant.

The smile on her friends face is blinding when he sees her exist the pizzeria.

“Oh,” Richter says happily. “I didn’t know you and Edouard knew each other.”

“Heeeeyyyyy Richter!”

He bends at the waist and waves to the other boy. “Hey Edouard, long time no see.”

Annette rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she sighs out dramatically. “Why am I not surprised, how do you know him?”

“We had three classes together freshman year.” Richter shrugs. “He’s a good dude.”

She hikes her bag up higher on her shoulder, “He is, when I got here last semester I didn’t have any friends and he went out of his way to hang out with me.”

“Yeah that sounds like him.” Richter chuckles, he gently bumps her arm with his own. “Well I hope I can be added to your exclusive friends list this semester.”

Annette blinks, heat burning her cheeks. She’s unsure what to say, should she confirm that she already thinks of them as friends after only one study session where they got basically no studying done? Or would that be too weird?

A beat of silence passes between them and Annette steps back, chewing on her lip. “I’ll uh, text you later I guess?”

“Yeah definitely! Ha—Have a good shift at work.” Richter steps back too. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Annette.”

She nods, waving to him. “See you, Richter.”

They turn from each other, Richter going back inside the pizzeria and Annette ducks into Edouard’s car. To his credit, her friend has kept relatively silent but the moment she closes the door, he reaches over and smacks her arm twice before grabbing the sleeve of her coat and shaking her in excitement.

“Bitch! Not you getting an invite to Richter’s safe space! Bitch!” His voice fills the inside of the car. “Ahhhhhhh! Bitch!”

“Edouard!” Annette laughs, trying to break away from his grip and failing. “Stop! He could still be watching! Go!”

Her friend complies with her wishes, pulling out of the parking space he parked crookedly in and turning in the direction of the college; his laughter and enthusiasm lasting long after they’d clocked in at the library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your new friend is very pretty.” Adrian comments to Richter later that night as the two men close up the pizza shop.

“Yeah, noticed did you?” Richter teases, placing the last few chairs upside down on their assigned tables.

“How could I not? You’ve never brought any girl here before.” Adrian says, watching Richter from the corner of his eye. He counts out the days profits slowly, making sure to not miss a single cent.

“There’s a first time for everything.” The younger man replies, making his way over to Adrian and hugging him from behind.

“Yes, there is.” Adrian pats Richter’s forearm across his stomach. “And I’m sure there are plenty more brewing in that chaotic mind of yours.”

“She’s different, not superficial and doesn’t care that my last name is Belmont.” Richter says defensively. “I want to be her friend.”

Adrian smirks, folding the days money into the bank envelope for the morning and waiting. Belmonts, very rarely had friends.

“And eventually I want to fuck her.”

The blond snorts. “There it is.”

Richter pinches his hip bone. “I saw you staring at her too, you want her just as much as I do.”

“Why are we having this conversation, Richter?” Adrian asks, twisting his torso so they can look at each other. “What’s your endgame here?”

“I thought you might like to join.”

Adrian blinks, pale eyebrows climbing up his even paler forehead.

“And what gave that impression?”

Richter smirks. “You hate olives on pizza.”

Adrian rolls his eyes. “It’s rude to comment on a customers food choices.”

“Never stopped you before.” Richter laughs, he reaches up and grips Adrian’s chin. “It could be a lot of fun.”

Their lips come together slowly, Richter’s slotting over Adrian’s and his tongue flicking out to run over the bottom lip he’d come to know so well.

It’d taken Richter a long time to convince the older man that he wanted to be affectionate towards him and it was genuine. They’d grown up together, went to school together, Adrian had been there when the problems with his grandfather started and he’d been waiting in America with open arms when Richter couldn’t take being a Belmont anymore. How could he have ever thought that Richter wouldn’t be somewhat seriously in love with him?

They’ve been trying out this friend’s with benefits thing for a little over a year and Richter always made sure that Adrian knew what he was thinking when it came to them. There were no secrets between. He’d never communicated with anyone as much as he did with Adrian. But he’d also never cherished the friendship of someone the way he did his with Adrian.

Neither of them expected it to last long, especially not after Richter has to take over the family business. But that’s at least another three years away, they have time.

“You cannot lie to her, about anything.” Adrian says firmly, the moment they pull apart. “Not about me, not about this, not about your intentions with her.”

“I won’t.” Richter promises. “She’s observant, I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t already thought something’s going on between us.”

“Still, I don’t want you hurting people just for the sake of experience.” Adrian reaches up and cups Richter’s face. “She could be really good for you, don’t ruin it with something stupid.”

“For us.” Richter corrects kissing the inside of Adrian’s wrist. “She could be really good, for us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s uncanny, the way Richter slips seamlessly into Annette’s life. As if he’d always been around and always been her friend. They text all the time, Richter quickly becoming the first person she speaks to in the morning and the last one to wish her sweet dreams at night. They text so much in fact that her phone graduates from backpack zipper pocket to her pant or jacket pockets at all time.

Richter rarely lets more than an hour pass between conversations and Annette, well, she looks forward to talking with him. Her heart beats faster every time she gets a notification with his name on it; he’s great at making her feel like she’s the only person in the world worth his attention.

After that first lunch at Alucard’s, Annette found more often than not she ended up tucked away in the same booth most days of the week. Between classes, work, homework and Edouard, she’s grateful to have the small space to escape to. Adrian had even been nice enough to extend an invitation to her stating that she could always come into his restaurant, even when Richter wasn’t there.

“Your seemingly never ending calm is always a nice change of pace from Richter’s constant energy.” He’d told her when she’d double checked if it was alright for her to hang out one lunch break while Richter met with his counselor.

He’d given her free refills and a slice of cake for the road when she finally packed up her stuff later that day.

Her best friend, is over the moon about the entire situation. Edouard has become not only an even closer friend, he’ll be addicted to the stuffed garlic knots before the month is over, but Annette’s biggest cheerleader in what he calls:

“The Pursuit of Belmont……And Friend”

No matter how hard she tried to emphasize that they are partners on an educational project, Edouard has already begun to plan her outfits for her and Richter’s first few dates. He sends Annette videos on different ways to do her makeup, helps her learn to thread her eyebrows and even started reading the relationship horoscopes for her sign, Richter’s and Adrian’s.

Annette would kill him if she didn’t appreciate his friendship so much.

It’s been three weeks since they got their philosophy packets, and the first Friday that Richter’s asked to meet up on. He’d texted her after his last class, knowing she still had close to an hour left in her lab and Annette responded like she usually did; insisting that she could catch the bus to meet him and that he didn’t have to wait.

She doesn’t even try to be upset when, an hour later, she steps out into the buildings parking lot and sees Richter relaxed in the driver seat of his ranger; waiting for her.

“How was class?” He asks when she approaches the driver side window.

“Good, learned a module while dissecting a rat.” Annette shrugs though she doesn’t move to walk around the truck like she usually would.

“What? Did something happen?” Richter asks, his blue eyes looking over her frame a few times. “You okay?”

“I just, need to go home and change.” Annette looks down at herself. “I smell like lab equipment and sterilized rat.”

Richter chuckles, starting up the truck. “Yeah I figured, come on I’ll take you to your dorm.”

Annette bites at her lip, the same question as always rising on her tongue.

“Are you—.”

“Yes, Annette.” Richter smiles, his eyes determined. “I’m sure, now get in. We can stop by the store on the way back and pick up a few things to make our study session more exciting tonight.”

She sighs dramatically, “alright fine, if you insist.”

He smirks at her, watching her as she makes her way around the front of the car to the passenger side. When she pulls open the door, Richter leans across the middle console and offers his hand.

“Up you get.” He teases with a handsome smile.

She takes his hand, throwing him an unimpressed look as Richter easily pulls her into the truck.

“Do you have to pull everyone into this damn thing?” She grumbles, wiggling in the seat to be more comfortable.

“Just you,” Richter chuckled, starting the truck and backing out of the parking space. “And Maria but she doesn’t count, other than you two I don’t really let anyone in my truck.”

“Right, you haven’t told me much about your sister.” Annette says. “How come I haven’t met her yet?”

“She’s only sixteen, still in high school. She’s not really my sister but we’ve always been close like siblings.” Richter shrugs. “My aunt Tera, her mum and my mum, Julia, are second cousins. So we are related, just distantly. Tera and my mum are the same age and spent every break from school together.”

Annette nods, “Tera and Maria are…”

“In the next town over, directly across the highway. I spend most holidays there but I got my apartment here when I was accepted into the college.” Richter smiles. “You’ll meet Maria soon, she’s obsessed with Adrian teaching her to make pizza. She’s just very popular at school. Head of the debate team, class president, in yearbook club and plays volleyball.”

“A true go getter then.” Annette chuckles.

“She really is, she has big plans for her future and I know she’ll achieve them all.” Richter says proudly. “But she’ll be here for the week of spring break, I know you two will love each other.”

Annette smiles, enjoying seeing Richter talk about his family. She’d been subtly trying to find out more about the Belmonts but so far Richter was willing to admit two things about the people he was related to.

One: He loved his mother, his aunt Tera and Maria.

Two: He hated every other single person he shared blood with. All of them. There was no love lost and he didn’t want to talk about it.

So Annette didn’t push. It wasn’t her place. Not yet anyways.

She doesn’t have long to think about it because soon Richter pulls into the parking garage of her dorm.

“I would invite you up but the RA on today can get pretty mad about coed’s being in each other’s dorms.” Annette says apologetically.

“No worries,” Richter says still unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the door handle. “It’s Greta working today right? She used to always take Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.”

Annette laughs, opening the truck door and sliding out of the seat.

“Why am I not surprised that you know Greta.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Do you know everyone in this town?”

Richter grins at her when they meet in front of the truck and walk together towards the lobby front doors.

“Mostly everyone yeah,”

His words have never proved more true than when they entire the dorm lobby and suddenly everyone turns to stare at them.

“Richter! Hi!”

A brunette bounds over to them, she can’t be much older than them judging by the backpack she has strapped over one shoulder. Her green eyes only flicker to Annette once before she turns her full attention to Richter.

“Hi Stella, nice to see you again.” He says with a pleasant smile. “Where’s Loretta?”

Stella rolls her eyes, “She’s at the gym, she’s obsessed with taking off the ten pounds she gained over Christmas.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Anyways, she’s not important. How are you, Richter? What are you doing here?”

Annette grips the inside of her coat pockets, it’s very clear that Stella intends to ignore her this entire conversation and if it’s one thing Annette refuses to do, it’s stay someplace she’s unwanted. She shifts her backpack, and her nerves and prepares to quietly step to the side when Richter lifts the arm closest to her and drapes it over her shoulders; ruining her plans for escape.

“Annette has to change, she just got done dissecting rats with Professor Stiensworth, you know how that goes.” He says, a different smile on his face. “We’re going to grab some pizza and work on our philosophy project.”

Stella’s entire body goes still, and her green eyes finally look to Annette and take her in completely. Her eyes zigzag over Annette’s clothes, her mind clearly calculating whatever she thinks she’s discovered.

“Oh, you’re going to Alucard’s then?” Stella asks.

“Yeah, I basically work there now anyways.” Richter’s fingers tap rhythmically on Annette’s shoulder and she fights the urge to lean into his side.

“Alucard’s such a nice man,” Stella says dreamily. “Greta really fucked up letting him go.”

Richter nods, pointing to the ceiling. “Is Greta upstairs?”

“Yeah! She’ll be happy to see you.” Stella says excitedly.

“Thanks Stella,” Richter nods, his fingers squeeze Annette’s shoulder and she takes that as a cue to start walking.

They step around Stella together, the brunette trying not to pout as she says cheerfully. “You’re welcome Richter! It was good to see you, message me on Facebook sometime. We should hang out.”

“Yeah maybe.” Richter replies, guiding Annette into the elevator thats thankfully opened up right when they need it to. “See you Stella, tell Loretta I said hello.”

She waves at them until the doors of the elevator ding closed and they start rising up towards the third floor.

“What the hell was that all about?” Annette asks, looking up at Richter with raised eyebrows.

Richter shrugs. “Stella’s nice, just a bit too opportunistic. Her family is old like mine.”

Annette tilts her head back in understanding.

“Her twin, Loretta, is much more fun to be around.” Richter says, his eyes watching the numbers at the top of the elevator.

Before Annette can reply, the doors ding open to signal their arrival to the third floor. They step off together, Richter’s arm still resting across her shoulders. To the left of the elevator sits a small desk and chair, the allotted space for the RA’s who unfortunately get stuck on night duty from time to time.

Tonight, it’s Greta who sits at the desk. A thick tomb of a book in her lap. She looks up when they step into the carpeted hallway, her gaze curious.

“Annette you’re back early.” She says. “How was—“

“Hi Greta.” Richter says over Annette’s head.

She stands, placing her book on the desk and coming to stand in front of them, her hands on her hips.

“What are you doing here, Richter?” She asks flatly.

“Damn, I just said hi.” He chuckles. “Annette and I have a class together and we’re paired for the semester. She needs to change and then we’re going to go study.”

“At Adrian’s?” Greta narrows her eyes.

Richter blows out a breath through his nose. “Of course there, he’s my best friend.”

Greta snorts, rolling her eyes before she turns her attention to Annette. “You know he’s nothing but trouble, right?”

“Uh…everything’s been fine so far…” Annette says slowly, unsure what the best response would be. “It’s just a philosophy project, Greta.”

The woman hums disapprovingly, her eyes take in the sight of Richter’s arm over Annette’s shoulders. She presses her lips into a fine line then says,

“Leave the door open while you’re in your room.”

Annette’s face flushes and she nods quickly. “I’m just changing, it won’t even take five minutes.”

“I trust you, Annette.” Greta says sighing. “It’s your new friend that needs to be watched though.”

Richter raises both hands in surrender. “I’m starving, I’m just trying to get to pizza.”

Greta clicks her tongue but accepts his answer, stepping from in front of them with a nod. “Five minutes you two.”

Annette practically runs down the hall to her door, slipping from under Richter’s arm in the process. She misses the heat of him immediately but shoves the thoughts from her mind as she unlocks the door and pushes inside.

Her dorm is always clean, because Annette is not a heathen thank you very much, but she still snatches her pajamas out of sight and kicks a few socks underneath her bed.

“Here, you can sit.” She says motioning to the lone chair in her room. “I’ll be right back,”

Richter does as she says, flopping down in the chair which makes his long legs seem even longer. Annette has to step over them to be able to get to her tiny closet.

She pulls out the latest outfit Edouard has arranged on a hanger for her; a pink mini skirt and a black high neck halter tank and pretty much sprints into her bathroom.

The main reason Annette chose to live in the off campus dorms was because each room had its own shower. They were small, the water pressure nonexistent and the sink barely more than a basin but it was a private bathroom all the same. Communal showers disgusted her on a deeply personal level.

She works quick. The shower water barely warming up before she’s already lathered her body with soap, washed her face and brushed her teeth. She’s out of the half closet of a shower stall just as fast as she got in, drying her body, applying her favorite lotion and massaging some oil into her locs. She needs to retwist them but there’s no time, the new growth will just have to wait.

She pairs the black tank with a simple golden chain to give it a bit of personality and smooths her hands down the front of her mini skirt. It’s cute, Edouard somehow knowing her size perfectly. It hugs her hips tightly and Annette does several mirror checks, bending at the waist and looking to make sure the skirt still covers her. Not that she has plans to be bending over at a pizza place but…..

An imagine flashes in Annette’s mind, Richter standing behind her and pressing up against her. His huge hands hold her hips, run over her stomach and lift her chin with one long finger so that their lips are centimeters apart. His hand on her hip travels down, the rough pads of his fingers making contact with her bare thigh the moment their lips meet and Annette aches, already dripping for him—

A knock on the bathroom door startles Annette to the point she drops the deodorant she was applying.

“Hey not to rush you but Adrian texted me and said he’s gonna put our pizzas in the oven soon.” Richter calls out to her.

Annette tries to steady her breathing, crouching to pick up the deodorant stick and return it to the medicine cabinet.

“Okay, I’m ready, here I come.” She calls back, grimacing at how her voice shakes.

She heard Richter step away from the bathroom door and Annette sucks in a deep breath. In the back of her mind, her most recent conversation with Edouard replays for the hundredth time.

“Girl you have got to text me when he finally makes a move. We’re getting close I can feel it.”

“Edouard, you can’t possibly know that. We’re friends! Richter’s given no indication that—“

“Oh bitch boo, you’re literally his passenger Princess now. Every time I see you where are you? In the front seat of his truck that he doesn’t let anyone ride in!”

“We have to put effort into our philosophy project! It’s worth the whole year’s grade!”

“And what about Alucard? You probably owe him close to a thousand dollars in all the pizza he’s just been supplying you with.”

“That’s different—-he and Richter—“

“Are lovers and they want to put some of that love down on you! And if you don’t let them I’ll lose my shit because girl they have never—.”

Annette shakes her head hard, shooing the memory away and squaring her shoulders. She was going to studying and eat pizza, it didn’t mean anything.

“Girl that mini skirt definitely means something.” Edouard’s voice teases in her head.

“Shut up,” Annette mumbles both to herself and the imaginary Edouard.

She turns, yanking open the bathroom door and stepping out into the chilly air of her dorm.

Richter stands in the doorway leading out into the hall. He’s leaning against the frame, looking down to text and whistling an off key tune.

“You ready?” Annette asks softly, throwing her towel onto her bed and pulling the only pair of flats she’s owns out of the shoe rack she keeps hooked on the end of her bed frame.

Richter turns, a smile on his face. “Great, I was just telling Adrian—oh! Oh….wow..”

The smile slips away, a look of awe spreading across Richter’s face as he watches Annette step into her shoes. His blue eyes widen as his gaze travels up her legs, to the mini skirt and then her halter top and finally rest on her face.

“What?” She asks self consciously. “Is my outfit too much? Adrian said that on Friday nights most people come a little dressed up. Did I over do—“

“No!” Richter practically yells, making them both jump.

He clears his throat, “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell.” He offers her a smile. “No you look great, I—I love your skirt.”

Annette smiles shyly. “Thank you, Edouard picked it out.”

Richter chuckles, “he has good taste, it looks perfect on you.”

They smile at each other for a second, then Richter’s phone buzzes in his hand and the moment between them breaks.

Annette puts her coat on, zipping it all the way closed and wondering how strange she must look with her legs bare but her winter coat bundled.

“You ready?” Richter asks. “Adrian says our table just opened up and he’s going to save it for us, but we gotta hurry.”

Annette nods, motioning for him to lead the way. “Just let me lock the door.”

She grabs her phone, wallet, chapstick and keys, following Richter out of the dorm and to the elevator. They bid goodbye to Greta, who waves to them without looking up from her book. And soon Annette is back in the passenger seat of Richter’s truck.

Your seat. Edouard’s voice reminds her.

The conversation flows easily between her and Richter, she really likes that he always seems ready to discuss anything she wants. But her eyes, which usually find the most interesting things outside of the car window, keep falling down to the console between them.

Richter’s forearm rests casually on the black leather, his limb so long that his hand dangles over the edge; his fingers naturally dipping down on her side, close to her bare knee.

Annette chews on her freshly moisturized lips, eating away the chapstick she just put on as she debates with the idea that just popped into her head.

If Richter wanted to touch her, he would right? That’s why he hasn’t yet because he’s not interested in her. He and Adrian very clearly have something going on between them. But Annette knows Edouard isn’t completely delusional. Both Richter and Adrian do treat her differently than they treat everyone else. They’re mindful of her and her thoughts and her emotions. Richter usually starts every day by asking her how she feels. Adrian, so far, is always ready to lend an open ear to her problems; even the incredibly stupid ones.

There was something there, even if she couldn’t figure out what yet. And deep down, Annette wanted to find out. She wanted to put herself between these two men and make sure that she wasn’t reading too much into things.

She could start right now….

Annette gathers her nerves, shoving them out of her body as she clears her throat, shifts in her seat and pushes her knee into Richter’s fingers.

He sucks in a sharp breath, freezing for a moment and Annette waits; her gaze firmly on the world passing them by. The pause only lasts a moment, it’s not even a full minute before Richter’s fingers brush against her skin. Testing to see her reaction.

Annette sighs softly, pushing up onto the toes of that leg so that there’s even more skin for him to touch. Richter takes the offer, his fingers stroking long lines from her knee cap to the middle of her thigh.

“Is this okay?” He asks lowly, his voice rough.

“Yeah,” Annette nods, “It’s good.”

She tries not to think about the way Richter smiles the entire rest of the way to Adrian’s.

To Be Continued……