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reidmotif · 8 months ago

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Between the Books

Summary: Reader is a librarian at the library Spencer frequents while he's finishing one of his degrees. They find themselves in a precarious situation when everyone's left and they're the last two people there.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), themes of exhibitionism, public sex.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

Being observant came naturally to you, almost as if it was a reflex embedded into the core of your nervous system. You’d say “hello” to a new face and as if under command, your eyes would naturally drift to the small pieces of hair on that stranger’s coat.

Dog? Cat? Freakishly large gerbil?

Whatever it was, you couldn’t turn it off. And that’s why when Spencer Reid caught your eye, you simply couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.

And with time, it seemed like his actions mirrored yours.

You’d taken interest in a position at a university library for the summer. The job seemed to be a welcome change of pace from the likes of hectic summer jobs you’d go for typically in the past, a position that would mostly consist of monitoring graduate-level students who were, thankfully, much calmer than their undergrad counterparts.

��For the most part, you were right. Your days were filled with reading in an air-conditioned building, looking up titles of reference books for other students, and of course, the unexpected, yet welcomed, occurrence of Spencer Reid.

The longer you spent at the library, the more you came to learn more about him.

Well, as much as you could learn without actually speaking to the man.

You’d learned his name from the library card he’d brandish when it came time to check out materials. He’d frequent books about Jean-Paul Sarte, Camus, and Nietzsche, opting to stay in the same, well-lit corner by the window every time he visited. While he could come in at any part of the day, he seemed to prefer later hours, when the library would be mostly vacant. His outfits weren’t over-the-top with formality, but he clearly wasn’t in the business of dressing casually.

You found it attractive, honestly, how put-together he seemed.

His return-rate on books was freakishly fast, and at one point, you’d assumed he was checking out books to read a certain page or chapter for research, and would then put it back, until you found yourself properly watching him and realized, no, he actually was just reading that fast. He could finish texts that would take almost a year to cover by seasoned professors and scholars in mere hours.

How? You had no idea. Nevertheless, you desperately wanted to learn- to know him beyond the gazes of a library hall.

You’d decided to try your luck at speaking to the man, noticing the three books he’d chosen all seemed to have one incredibly common theme amongst their authorship.

“Existentialist?” You ask, trying to make your tone seem polite but still friendly.

He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to, and takes a second, his gaze meeting yours. “Sorry, what?”

“Existentialist.” You repeat, motioning to the books you were checking out for him. “Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Kafka. Your books seem to share a commonality.”

He chuckles, realizing the meaning of your words and shakes his head. “No, no. Not an existentialist. I’d like to believe the world is better than what any of them make it out to be.”

You smile, and nod. “I’d hope so.” Your eyebrows furrow, head tilting slightly. “Why the interest then?” There’s genuine fascination in your tone, and he seems to absolutely thrive off that, his eyes lighting up as you continue the conversation.

“I’m completing my Masters in Philosophy.” He responds. “We’ve been doing an assignment on existentialism, hence the ridiculous amount of gloom and doom in my reading.”

There’s a pause, before he cracks a smile, and then asks you, “Romantic?”

You look at him in confusion. It’s your turn to not get the joke. “Sorry?”

“Are you a romantic?” He asks. When you retain that confused look on your face, he continues.

“You’re almost always reading some variation of a romance novel here. So far I’ve counted Austen, Bronte, and I think I saw a copy of Anna Karenina on the counter once.”

You feel a bit of heat rise to your face, realizing that in his own way, he’d been observing you as well. In a second, the tables were turned, and the lens you often used on others was abruptly focused on you instead.

“Well, Anna Karenina is hardly a romance, I’d argue.” You say, before nodding. “But, yeah. I guess I’d say I’m a fan of romance in novels.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you if you’re a fan of romance in novels, I’m asking you if you’re a romantic.” He says, putting emphasis on the last word, as if that was supposed to provide some grand difference to the statement.

“Just as much as anyone else, right?” You respond, still a bit puzzled at his insistence on contrasting the syntax of his statement.

“I see.” He says, nodding, continuing to look at you, as if he was sizing you up. “I’ll have to pick up a copy of Anna Karenina sometime then. See if it’s as much of a love story as I remember.”

“I think you’ll find it’s absolutely not.” You reply, smiling. “I believe we have a copy of it here, as a matter of fact, if you’re actually interested.” There’s a hint of skepticism in your tone, wondering why he seemed to be taking so much regard to your conversation.

“Of course I’m actually interested. You seem passionate about the subject.” He counters, grinning.

“I mean- yeah, I am! It’s a pretty misinterpreted book, I think.” You say. There’s a slight moment of silence, before you find yourself saying your next few words. “I’m also surprised you’re interested. I’m not always sure if it’s up everyone’s lane. Lots of people can’t get through it.”

“I’m sure the least I can do is try.” He says, shrugging.

You check out the last of his books, placing them in his outstretched hands. “Honestly, I’m even more surprised you noticed. You seem pretty into it in your corner over there.” You say, half-jokingly, but with a hint of seriousness mixed into it.

He gives a softer smile, almost boyish, as he replies.

“You’re pretty hard not to notice.”

He keeps the smile on his face, giving you a slight nod of his head, before leaving you to deal with the sudden heat that had risen to your cheeks as a result of his words. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond to his quick wit in the moment, your heartbeat still racing long after he’d left.

Over that summer, the two of you get continually closer. To your absolute delight, he does end up reading Anna Karenina and better yet, he agrees with you. You immediately take an even stronger liking to him than before. Thus starts your tradition of recommending books to each other, the two of you discussing them when he’d come to the library, almost like a secret, private book club that only you two were privy to.

You come to learn more about him. His doctorates, his job. The secret of his inhumanely fast reading was revealed to you later down the road, when he explained the abilities of an unconscious mind.. or something. While you wanted to give your undivided attention to him, there was an unspoken part of you that couldn’t help but find it ridiculously attractive when he explained things to you. He never seemed to notice that enduring part of your psyche, and you were grateful for that.

Overall though, he made quite the friend. He shared your love of literature, and could be a wonderful listener at times. Your previous days of solitude in the library were long forgotten, and you found yourself looking forward to his daily visits, ready to share your thoughts on some book he’d last asked you to read.

You find that his visits become less and less about the actual establishment, and more and more about you, especially when he opts to visit you at the front desk first, as opposed to over at his usual spot by the window. Somedays, he makes it obvious, not even bothering to peruse the selection of books he was previously accustomed to, and merely opts to talk to you the entire time, right up to the point where you’re locking the doors of the library and heading to your own place for the night.

There’s a part of you that wonders why he hasn’t asked you out. You wonder why you hadn’t asked him out. It only seems natural, given how much time the two of you were spending- a date seemed like an obvious byproduct of the lingering gazes you’d catch him throw at you, the absolute joy that would bubble in your chest everytime the two of you shared an afternoon.

You shrug it off. All in good time, right?

It’s another night at the library, and you found yourself a bit frustrated. You’d asked your manager if there was any way she could take on the later shift of the day, increasingly tired with the hours of the job and simply needing a break from it all. She refused, and tonight, that refusal seemed to be on the forefront of your mind.

“I just- I don’t get it, Spencer. I know she can take on this shift.” You say, wheeling around a cart of books to be reshelved, talking openly since the library was empty at this point in the day, all patrons packed up and soundly at home– while you were stuck here.

He stayed, of course, following you around diligently as you completed the task, listening to every word.

“I get that this is the worst shift to have, but come on. I’m a good employee, you know? I feel like I deserve a break here and there.” You come to a stop, picking up a stack of books with a huffy sigh. “But no. I’m the one who has to go home late. I’m the one who’s on closing every single night. I’m sick of it.”

He nods sympathetically, and you continue to grovel, deeply appreciative that he was allowing you to vent to him like this. You stand on the provided step-stool on the ground, allowing you to have the height necessary to shelve some books that belonged further up than normal.

“Like, is it really that hard?” You grumble, your face turned away from Spencer as you find each book’s proper place. “God forbid she sleeps at a later time than normal- or I don’t know, hires someone else.” The last book is reshelved, and you turn around, about to dismount the stool. “And another thing-”

In the midst of your rant, you find yourself distracted, missing the step on the stool that would’ve allowed a safe dismount, and you quickly realize you’re falling off, letting out a small yelp before a stronger force keeps you upright- a force that happened to be Spencer’s arms catching you.

“You alright?” He asks with heavy concern, trying to look into your eyes or your legs, attempting to discern for signs where you might’ve hurt yourself on your descent.

It takes a second for you to process that you are insanely close to Spencer. His features are almost enhanced by the low-lighting of the dark library, his eyes entirely dilated as he stares at you, his lips soft and perfect– and those cheekbones, god. You could practically cut yourself on them.

You quickly return to your senses, trying to go back to a more suitable position that wouldn’t leave you so absolutely tongue tied. “No, no. I’m fine, honestly.” You step back, wiggling your leg a little. “See? Entirely fine.”

He smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I just get worried. I’m a doctor, you know.” He says, a teasing quality in his tone as he steps closer.

“Not an actual doctor.” You say, rolling your eyes fondly.

“Come on.” He says, letting his hand drift over back to your arm, which had taken most of the shock of falling onto him. “Humor me.”

There’s that grin again, and you can’t help but relent.

And so you humor him like he asked, letting his fingertips trail over the skin to properly check for any injuries, the action much more sensual than it should’ve been for a friend checking up on another friend.

“You know.” He murmurs, his voice a bit lower than before. “I don’t actually think this is the worst shift to take on.”

Your throat is dry, a physical reaction being drawn out of you as he touches you, and there’s a conscious reminder you actually have to respond to his words.

“Oh? Why is that?” You force out.

“It’s so quiet.” He mumbles out, immediately, his fingertips now tracing down to your waist, as the two of you made eye contact. “Nobody’s even in here at this point.”

You swallow, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“I like the quiet.” He says, continuing on. The previously feather-like touch on your waist becomes more grasping than anything else. “There’s just so much more you can get done when it’s quiet.”

You nod and half heartedly mumble. “Mhm.” You’re far more focused on your growing proximity than his actual words, the act rendering you entirely breathless until he’s standing face to face with you, your breaths mingling due to the closeness.

“I can feel your heart beating.” He mumbles. “So fast. Do I make you nervous?”

You lick your lips and nod out of instinct, before squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. “No, no. It’s just the closeness. I’m not used to it.” You whisper, eyes opening– and his gaze is as intense as ever.

One of his hands goes to cup your face. “Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to kiss you now.”

You don’t move a single muscle.

And then all of a sudden, he’s everywhere. He’s pulling you closer, absolutely devouring you like he’s been starved for your touch all along. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you respond in approval, humming with a deep content against his lips, your hands going to wrap around his neck, pulling your bodies flush together. You don’t want space– not now, or ever again.

“Fuck. Wanted this for so long.” He mumbles, as soon as he breaks off the kiss, finding the pulse point on your neck, and going at it with his lips, causing you to quietly moan out in pleasure. You’d never heard him curse before, and the act only served to add to the steadily growing throb in between your legs.

He pushes you even more insistently up against the counter attached to the bookshelves, your weight slightly more supported by the wood, as opposed to his body like before.

“You’re so pretty.” He breathes out in between his assault on your neck, his mouth finding every inch of your nape, and marking it as his own. It’s almost like he’s hellbent on mapping out every plane of skin there, committing every spot that makes you whine or let out his name to memory.

You’re breathing so heavily, and you think it can’t possibly get any better than this, but he proves you wrong when he abruptly gets to his knees, your eyes widening.

“Need to taste you. Please.”

He’s begging, like, on-his-knees, doe-eyes, broken voice- begging to eat you out.

And how could you ever say no, what, with those pretty eyes of his, and that expression on his face that made you practically weak with need?

“Yes.” You whisper out, and in record time, he’s undoing your jeans and underwear in one clean swoop, not even bothering to fully remove the material before his tongue is all over your cunt, lapping up the wetness that had accumulated in the past few minutes. You’re half surprised he didn’t just rip your clothing off, given the enthusiasm he was showing at this moment.

You’re suddenly incredibly aware of where you are- your place of work, a fucking library, and Spencer Reid was buried in your thighs like a man parched, lapping up wherever he possibly can. You can hear the obscene noises of your passion, his tongue lavishing over you, before he pays special attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking softly. You cover your mouth with your free hand- grateful that the wood behind you was supporting you, because without it, you truly think you’d topple over from the sheer pleasure of it all.

“Fuck.” You whisper, voice high-pitched as you try to hold back your noises. “Fuck. Gonna come.” You warn, legs shaking as you barreled towards your release.

Without warning, his fingers enter your cunt, and you’re fighting back a scream.

How long had you stared at his fingers before this? How many times had you watched them run up and down the spines of the books he read, or gestured with them constantly whilst speaking? How long had such a simple part of his body captivated you?

How many times had you secretly wondered to yourself how they’d feel inside you?

It didn’t matter anymore. You had your answer now. Fucking amazing.

“Spencer!” You whine out, his fingers naturally reaching that soft spot inside that you often struggled to even brush against. His lips find your clit again, sucking softly and you know you’re an absolute goner.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Before you can even voice in coherent terms how good this feels, you’re coming, the walls of your cunt spasming around his fingers as he relishes in the reaction, using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit, and slowing his fingers down as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm. He slips the digits out of you as he rises to his knees, and sucks on his fingers, one by one, practically moaning as he tastes your release.

The sight is downright sinful.

“You taste so good.” He whispers, crashing his lips against yours again, and you’re already needy again when you can taste yourself on his tongue.

His hands drift down to his own slacks, undoing them and pulling his cock out, already dripping with precum.

“You ready, pretty girl?” He murmurs, guiding his tip to your waiting cunt. You’ve situated yourself on the wood of the desk entirely now, needing the support for what happens next.

You nod, and without even realizing he was already mostly there, he pushes into you entirely, and your jaw drops. Your head rests against his shoulder, trying to accustom to feeling of him stretching you out so fucking perfectly.

How could you ever fuck anyone else again, when he just felt so perfect for you?

It seemed that he agreed with the sentiment, moaning softly as his free hand steadied himself by gripping onto the shelf. “You feel so fucking good.” He murmurs. “Can I move? Are you okay?” He asks, softly.

His other hand rubs soothing circles into your hip bone, and you’re nodding, touched by his concern for you, even during such a salacious act.

His thrusts are slow at first, still allowing you to get used to the feeling of him inside of you, before he’s truly going at it, his thick cock rubbing against your wet walls in a way that makes you feel light and full all at once. It's delectable, and you never want it to end.

You whine, holding onto his neck, your head thrown back as you take it, feeling the books rattle around you with every hump he deals into you. You can’t even find it in yourself to care– all that matters right now is you, and him, and how fucking amazing it feels when he’s fucking you like this.

You can feel yourself building towards another pleasurable release, before you hear the telltale click of the library door opening, effectively removing you from the moment. Fuck. The janitor.

“Spencer, Spencer!” You whisper-shout, biting your lip. His cock doesn’t once slow inside you, and you find it hard to think when it feels that good.

“We’re gonna be caught!” You whine out, dizzied by how you were simultaneously turned on and utterly panicked.

“No, we won’t.” He whispers, gruffly. With your hands now around his neck, he lets his hand drop from the shelf and covers your mouth. He leans in even closer, if that’s possible, eyes dark.

The sight makes a shiver go up your spine.

“Stay quiet.” He murmurs, as he begins to deal slower, more deliberate thrusts into your cunt.

“Feel that? Feel how I’m filling you up, nice and slow?” He whispers, the words barely audible, but with how close he’s standing to you, they overtake every one of your senses, and you nod desperately, eyes glistening as you feel yourself dancing on the precipice of release.

“Shh. I know.” He murmurs. “Come for me, yeah? I know you want to. Show me how much you like my cock inside of you.”

It's a combination of his tone, of the risk you two were facing, and the sensation of him that has you responding exactly the way he wants, and in an instant, you’re coming with a shuddering breath, holding back a loud whine, just like he asked you to.

The feeling of your walls spasming has him releasing as well, a warmth flooding in your deepest point. His head drops into your shoulder as he attempts to muffle his moans the best he can, and you both bask in the afterglow for a second, trying to pant as quietly as you could.

Spencer immediately springs into action, redressing you with precision and care, guiding your underwear and jeans back up, buttoning them up for you. You’re still in a slight haze from the two orgasms he’d just given you, and when you properly come to, his slacks are back on, and he leans in for a much more chaste kiss. It leaves you with butterflies, despite everything, and you find yourself smiling softly at him. The fondness reflected in his expression is undeniable.

“Let’s get out of here.” He murmurs, grabbing your hand and guiding you in between the shadows of the shelves, effectively keeping you both from being caught. The janitor remains clueless, as you two sneak out, giggling like teenagers as you find yourselves outside, the summer night warm and cool all at once.

“That was..” You mumble, laughing a bit, surprised that had even happened.

“I know. I- uh. Might’ve gotten carried away?” He says. “I usually like to do that after a date. I just-” He steps closer, cupping your cheek. “I couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay.” He whispers.

“More than okay.” You whisper back.

His thumb slowly strokes over the expanse of your cheek, and he bites his lip. “Could we? Date? Try this out?” He murmurs. “I know I didn’t get much of a chance to say it back there, but I really like you.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. This man had just been inside you, and now he was blushing and stuttering whilst he attempted to ask you out.

“Yes.” You nod. “Let’s try this.”

He’s got the most genuine smile on his face, and a sigh of relief can be heard as he leans in again to kiss you, and you can’t help the smile on your face as your lips meet his, the elation in both of your bodies absolutely radiating inside and out.

You recount your first conversation and know now, there was a difference between liking romance, and being a romantic.

You reckon Spencer Reid could make quite a romantic out of you.

this is uploading an hour later than i wanted it to :( but whatever. i hope you guys like this one <3 i'm trying something new! not first person pov, but "you" ? pleaseee let me know how this works for you guys! i love experimenting out with new fic methods but if it's clear this isn't working TELL MEEE so i can go back to what did work. anyway, any likes, reblogs, comments are so so so genuinely appreciated. thank you thank you thank you for reading either way <3

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missarchive · 1 month ago

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guys my age - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? professor spencer reid x student fem!reader

category: slow burn, forbidden love.

content warnings: NSFW MDNI! age gap! (spencer is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s). dubious content. freakish obsessed reader, freakish obsessed spencer. dom!spencer, but reader is pretty controlling. borderline stalking. unprotected p in v. forbidden love. power dynamics. smut. spencer cums inside :]

word count: around 8k

a/n: hi all!! this is my first post, i used to write wayyy back in the day but after a long three years and finally finishing my degree, i now have all the time in the world to write again. feedback is greatly appreciated <3

The lecture hall was alive with murmurs, but you couldn’t hear them. All you could focus on was the moment that door would open, the instant he would walk in. Dr. Spencer Reid. His name consumed you, whispered endlessly in the back of your mind, an invocation that made your pulse quicken. You had done your research long before the semester began—his credentials, his publications, the infamous cases he’d worked. He wasn’t just brilliant. He was untouchable. But not to you.

You sat deliberately in the middle row, far enough back to observe him fully, close enough to feel like he was speaking directly to you. The moment he entered, time seemed to slow. His presence was overwhelming, his voice a melody that wrapped around you, dragging you under. Every movement he made—the way his fingers toyed with the edge of his lecture notes, the slight adjustment of his glasses—was a spectacle.

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to Advanced Criminology. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” His voice was smooth and confident, with an underlying warmth that immediately put you at ease.

For the next hour, you sat transfixed as he delved into the complexities of criminal behavior, weaving together case studies and theories with an ease that only someone with his expertise could manage. He had a way of making even the most intricate concepts accessible, his passion for the subject evident in every word. By the end of the lecture, you were utterly captivated—not just by the material, but by the man who delivered it.

Perfectly ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms. The same black suit pants you’d seen countless times when you closed your eyes. Unruly curls lay in a perfect mess, somehow each strand just fit. His eyes held knowledge, they commanded attention. They looked at you with such an intensity, you wondered if he could see right through you. Sure, he wasn’t blind. Dr. Spencer Reid was a genius, after all. But, as he walks around his classic oak desk, fingers grazing against the wood as he leans up against it, you wonder if he knows the effect he has on you… On everyone.

Your old professor had resigned, much to your dismay. However, that was quickly resolved once you learnt of the new, much younger professor who was assigned to take his place. Spencer Reid, a name that seemed like a curse every time it was spoken. You’d just have to settle for admiring from afar, for now.

He was perfect. No, he was more than that. He was yours.

In those first weeks, it became routine to linger after class, pretending to ask questions about criminological theories when all you wanted was his attention. You started tracking his habits: the exact time he arrived on campus, where he grabbed his coffee, the path he took to his office. It wasn’t enough to listen to him during lectures. You needed to know him. Needed to understand every nuance of his life.

Your notebooks filled slowly. Not just with his words, but with sketches of his hands, his profile, even the way the light hit his hair during evening lectures. You memorized his mannerisms and read every book he recommended—not just to excel but to mirror his thoughts, to create a bond he couldn’t ignore.

Each interaction became a drug, a fleeting high that left you craving more. The way his eyes lingered on yours during class wasn’t a coincidence. You were sure of it. The moments his voice softened when addressing you were evidence of something deeper. He felt it too—he had to.

Dr. Reid, for his part, seemed to enjoy your curiosity. He would patiently answer your questions, occasionally sharing anecdotes from his time in the field. There was a depth to him that intrigued you, a sense of vulnerability hidden beneath his intellect. You couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration for him—one that you knew was dangerous to entertain.

It happened on a rainy Friday afternoon. You had stayed behind after class to discuss a particularly challenging case study, and the conversation had spilled into his office. The rain pattered against the window as you sat across from him, your notes spread out on the desk between you.

“I’m impressed with your analysis,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “You have a natural aptitude for this field.”

The compliment sent a flush of warmth through you, but you quickly pushed it aside. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, the air between you shifted, the professional boundary wavering ever so slightly. He seemed to sense it too, clearing his throat and looking away. “Well, uh, keep up the good work. I’m looking forward to seeing your perspective on the next assignment.”

As you gathered your things and prepared to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something unspoken lingered between you. It was subtle, like the faintest trace of electricity in the air, but it was there. And it terrified you.

The weeks turned into months, and the connection between you and Dr. Reid continued to deepen. It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You simply couldn’t help the way your conversations seemed to flow effortlessly or the way his insights resonated with you on a level that felt personal.

There were moments when you caught him watching you during lectures, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary. And then there were the times when his praise felt almost... intimate, as if he saw something in you that went beyond your academic abilities.

You knew it was wrong. He was your professor, and the power dynamic alone made any kind of relationship inappropriate. But the more you tried to suppress your feelings, the stronger they seemed to grow. You found yourself yearning for his company, for the way his mind worked, for the rare glimpses of vulnerability he shared.

And you weren’t entirely sure he was immune to it, either.

It was during a late-night office visit that everything came to a head. You had been working on your final paper and were struggling with a particular section. Dr. Reid had offered to review it, and you had jumped at the chance, grateful for his guidance.

As you sat across from him, discussing your ideas, the tension that had been building between you finally reached its breaking point. There was a moment of silence as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours.

“You’re incredibly talented,” he said softly. “I hope you know that.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could stop yourself, you replied, “It’s easy to feel that way when someone like you believes in me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He looked at you, his expression a mixture of conflict and longing. “This...” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “This can’t happen. I won’t elaborate further, but you’re a smart girl… I know you know what I'm talking about.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I know.”

But even as you said it, neither of you moved to leave. All you received was a curt nod. The pull between you was undeniable, and in that moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

The night of the gala was your chance. You spent hours perfecting your appearance, knowing he would notice you in a way he never had before. And when he did, when his eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression, it was like the entire world fell away.

When he led you to the corner of the room, your heart pounded, not with fear, but with anticipation. His frustration, his struggle to maintain control, only proved how deeply you had affected him.

“What are you doing?” He demanded, his voice low and sharp.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Reid.”

His jaw clenched, his composure slipping. “You know exactly what I mean. You’ve been crossing lines all semester.”

You stepped closer, the scent of his cologne intoxicating. “And what if I have?”

His gaze burned into yours, his control fraying with each passing second. “This has to stop.” He said, though his tone lacked conviction.

But you knew better. You had studied him, unraveled him piece by piece. He wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be. And neither were you.

“Maybe I don’t want it to.” You whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and desire.

For a moment, his eyes softened, as if seeing the truth of your obsession for the first time. “Obsession is a dangerous game.” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him close.

The world outside of Dr. Reid’s orbit ceased to matter. Friends became an afterthought. Classes, even the ones you’d once excelled in, were nothing more than obligations. Every moment not spent in his presence felt wasted. His words were etched into your memory, his voice a constant echo in your mind.

You found excuses to linger near his office, pretending to read in the hallway or jotting down notes on topics that had long ceased to matter. Sometimes you’d see him through the small window of his door, head bowed over papers, fingers absently running through his tousled hair. Those moments were sacred.

And then there were the nights.

Your dreams became a battleground, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring. You would see him, hear him, feel the phantom weight of his gaze. Waking up was a cruel joke, pulling you from a world where he was already yours. More than once, you had the fleeting urge to knock on his door late at night, under the pretense of needing help.

But you stopped yourself. Barely.

For now.

When he praised you in class, it felt personal, intimate. You lived for those moments. The way he would say your name, how his eyes would flicker with something unreadable—those seconds were your lifeline. But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You needed more.

You started keeping track of the little details. The brand of pens he used. The scuff on his leather satchel. The faint hint of lavender in his cologne. You’d bought the same scent, spraying it on your pillow just to feel closer to him at night.

One evening, you followed him. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He left the lecture hall as you lingered, and without thinking, you gathered your things and trailed behind him. He walked briskly, head down, weaving through the near-empty campus. You stayed far enough back to avoid suspicion but close enough to study him.

He stopped at the local bookstore, his long fingers running over the spines of books with a reverence that made your chest tighten. You hid behind a display, watching him as he browsed. When he left, you waited a few moments before approaching the same section. He had lingered near the true crime section, and you traced the path of his fingers, touching the same books he had touched.

It became a ritual after that. You discovered his favorite haunts: the coffee shop where he always ordered black coffee with two sugars, the quiet corner of the library where he would sometimes sit and read, the park where he walked on Sunday mornings. You were careful, meticulous, ensuring he never saw you. But you saw him.

Every time you caught a glimpse of him, it felt like a secret, a moment that belonged solely to you.

The gala had been your boldest move yet, and the way his gaze lingered on you that night had only fueled the fire. His warning echoed in your mind, but you dismissed it. He said you were crossing boundaries, but you knew better. He was simply scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of what you meant.

You decided to leave him something. A token, something small enough to avoid suspicion but personal enough that he would know it was from you. A first edition of one of the books he had mentioned in class. You placed it on his desk after everyone had left, your heart racing as you imagined his reaction.

The next day, you waited, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a serpent. When he walked into class, the book was in his hand. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on you for a moment too long before he placed it in his bag without a word.

It was a victory.

But victories, you realized, were fleeting.

One evening, as you left the library, you spotted him walking toward his car. The parking lot was empty, save for the two of you, and for the first time, you didn’t bother to stay hidden. You followed him openly, your footsteps echoing against the pavement.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“Why are you following me?” He asked, his voice sharp but not unkind. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something darker, something you couldn’t quite place.

Your breath caught, but you forced a smile. “I wasn’t following you, Dr. Reid. I just happened to be walking this way.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought about denying it. But then, something inside you snapped.

“No.” You admitted, your voice trembling. “It’s not.”

His expression shifted—confusion, disbelief, and something else flickered across his face. “Why?”

The word was a whisper, barely audible, but it was enough to unravel you.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep—I can’t focus on anything but you. You’re brilliant, and kind, and perfect, and I—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “This isn’t healthy.”

You took a step closer, desperation clawing at your chest. “But it’s real. You know it is. I see the way you look at me. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. “This has to end…now. Do you understand me?”

But you didn’t believe him. Not really. Because you had seen the way his hands trembled when you were near, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. He was scared, yes, but not of you. He was scared of himself.

And that, you realized, was all the encouragement you needed.

Dr. Reid’s words echoed in your mind for days after the encounter in the parking lot. This has to end. But the way he said it, the way his voice wavered ever so slightly, betrayed him. It wasn’t conviction; it was fear. Fear of what you had awakened in him.

You were sure of it now. He wasn’t immune to you. Not entirely.

The proof came in small, fleeting moments—too subtle for anyone else to notice, but to you, they were glaring signs. The way his eyes lingered on you during lectures, his gaze softening before he quickly looked away. The way he adjusted his tie when you walked into the room, as if suddenly self-conscious. And then there were the compliments, so carefully worded that they might seem innocent to others, but to you, they felt personal. Intimate.

Still, he kept his distance. Even when you sought him out after class, he kept the conversations brief, his tone polite but clipped. It was maddening, the way he seemed to hold himself back.

But then, there were cracks.

One afternoon, you arrived at his office under the guise of needing help with a research topic. He hesitated before letting you in, his hand lingering on the doorknob as if debating whether this was a mistake.

Once inside, the air between you was charged. He sat across from you, his hands folded on the desk, but his gaze flickered to your lips more than once as you spoke.

When you handed him a stack of notes, your fingers brushed, and he pulled back quickly, too quickly.

“Sorry.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you. “It’s okay.”

For a moment, his composure faltered. His eyes locked onto yours, and the tension was unbearable. You could see it in his face—the war he was waging within himself.

Then, just as quickly, he stood, turning his back to you as he busied himself with a stack of papers on the shelf. “Your analysis is impressive,” he said, his tone suddenly distant. “You’re clearly passionate about the subject.”

The shift was jarring, but it only solidified your resolve. He wasn’t rejecting you. He was protecting himself.

That evening, you stayed late in the library, poring over the materials he had assigned. As you packed up to leave, you noticed a familiar figure in the far corner. He was seated at a table, his long fingers flipping through a thick volume, his expression distant.

You froze, your heart pounding. He hadn’t noticed you yet. For a moment, you considered leaving, but the pull was too strong.

You approached slowly, the sound of your footsteps drawing his attention. When he looked up, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face before he composed himself.

“Staying late?” He asked, his voice calm, but his fingers tightened on the edge of the book.

You nodded, setting your bag down on the table. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He gave a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I find the library... peaceful.”

“Me too.” You said softly, taking a seat across from him.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that had been building for months. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, as if he couldn’t decide whether to meet your gaze or avoid it entirely.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “You should be careful, you know. Spending so much time in my office, lingering after class—it’s not... appropriate.”

Your heart twisted at the words, but his tone was anything but stern. It sounded like a warning, but it felt like a confession.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked down at his hands, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for something—or someone.

“It’s not about what I want.” He said finally, his voice strained.

But it was. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He was just better at pretending otherwise.

The next day, during his lecture, you felt his eyes on you more than usual. He paced the room as he spoke, his hands gesturing animatedly, but every so often, his gaze would drift to you, his words faltering for the briefest moment before he recovered.

It was intoxicating, knowing you could unravel him like this.

After class, as the other students filtered out, you stayed behind, your heart racing as you approached his desk.

“Dr. Reid,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words, but before you could speak, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re relentless.” He said softly, almost to himself.

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

“I just want to understand you.” You said, stepping closer.

He shook his head, a faint, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. “You already understand too much.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought to maintain control, but you also saw the flicker of something darker, something he couldn’t quite suppress.

And in that moment, you knew: this wasn’t over.

It was only just beginning.

It started innocently enough—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The male student, a classmate you barely knew, had approached you after lecture to ask about the upcoming project. His name was Ethan, and while he was polite and charming, you couldn’t muster much interest in the conversation. Still, you smiled and nodded at his jokes, your polite laughter echoing in the near-empty hall.

Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Reid had lingered behind, tidying up his desk and organizing his papers. His sharp ears caught the sound of your laughter, a melody he had grown far too familiar with—and possessive of.

He looked up to see you standing near the doorway, your body language relaxed as Ethan leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. Spencer’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened.

Ethan’s laugh was loud, too loud, as if he wanted to broadcast how much he enjoyed your company. Spencer’s jaw clenched. He knew this was ridiculous. He was your professor, and it wasn’t his place to interfere with your social life. But the sight of another man so close to you, taking liberties he couldn’t, made his blood boil.

When you glanced back into the classroom, likely to gather your things, your eyes met Spencer’s. For a fleeting moment, his mask slipped, and you saw something dark and raw flicker across his face. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual calm demeanor, but the image stayed with you.

“Everything alright, Dr. Reid?” You asked, stepping inside and leaving Ethan to wait by the door.

Spencer straightened, clearing his throat. “Yes. Just... finishing up.”

Ethan peeked his head in. “Ready to go?” He asked, his tone casual but his presence invasive.

Spencer’s eyes darted to Ethan, then back to you. “You should be careful with your time,” he said, his voice quiet but pointed. “The project deadline isn’t as far off as it seems.”

You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. “I’ll make sure to stay on top of it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if debating whether to say more. Instead, he turned his attention back to his desk, his movements stiff and deliberate.

The next few days were marked by a subtle shift in Spencer’s behavior. During lectures, his eyes seemed to find you more often, but they were no longer soft or conflicted. There was an intensity to his gaze now, a quiet possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

When Ethan approached you again after class, Spencer’s reaction was immediate.

“Miss L/N.” He called out, his voice carrying across the room.

You turned, surprised to see him still at his desk. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

“Could you stay for a moment? I’d like to discuss your recent paper.”

Ethan hesitated, clearly waiting for you, but Spencer’s sharp gaze left no room for argument. “I won’t keep her long.” He said smoothly, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Ethan nodded reluctantly. “I’ll catch you later.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Spencer’s demeanor shifted. He stood, his tall frame looming as he approached you.

“Is he bothering you?” He asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

“Ethan? No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He seems... persistent. I just want to make sure you’re not feeling pressured.”

You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his sudden protectiveness. “I’m fine, Dr. Reid. Really.”

He nodded, but his expression didn’t soften. “Good. I’d hate to see someone distract you from your potential.”

The words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the way his eyes lingered on yours—made your breath catch.

It wasn’t long before his jealousy became harder to hide.

During a group discussion, Ethan made a point of sitting next to you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over to share his notes. Spencer’s gaze locked onto the interaction, his hand tightening around the marker in his grip until his knuckles turned white.

When Ethan made a joke and you laughed, Spencer interrupted sharply. “Let’s stay on topic, please. This isn’t a social hour.”

The class fell silent, startled by his uncharacteristic tone. You glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. He avoided your gaze, turning back to the whiteboard with rigid movements.

After class, as students filtered out, he called your name again.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, his voice softer now. “I was... out of line earlier.”

“It’s okay.” You replied, though you couldn’t hide your confusion.

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. “You have to understand,” he began, his voice dropping lower, “that I only want what’s best for you. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

“Are you talking about Ethan?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer directly. “Just... be careful who you trust.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and for the first time, you wondered if his concern was more than professional.

Later that evening, you found yourself thinking about him again, replaying the moments when his composure slipped, when his obsession peeked through the cracks. You didn’t know whether to be scared or thrilled.

But one thing was certain: Spencer Reid was unraveling, and you were the one pulling the thread.

The days that followed were an intricate dance of tension, each interaction with Dr. Reid pulling you closer to a dangerous edge. His jealousy, once simmering beneath the surface, began to bleed into every corner of your academic life, coloring the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, the way he made his presence impossible to ignore.

It started small.

Ethan asked you to partner up for a case study project, and though you agreed, the arrangement didn’t go unnoticed. During the next lecture, Spencer called on you repeatedly, his questions increasingly challenging, as if testing your limits. The rest of the class shifted uncomfortably, sensing the deliberate scrutiny, but you met his gaze head-on, refusing to falter.

Afterward, he lingered at the podium, watching as Ethan hovered near your seat, leaning down to talk to you. The sight made his stomach churn. He didn’t like how Ethan’s hand rested casually on the back of your chair, how his laughter seemed designed to draw your attention.

“Miss L/N, a word?” Spencer’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

“What’s this about?” You asked, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, his gaze piercing. “I noticed you and Ethan are working together.”

“We are,” you said carefully. “Is there a problem?”

His jaw clenched. “No... as long as you’re confident he’ll contribute equally. He strikes me as the type to let others carry the weight of the work.”

You frowned. “That’s not fair. He’s been helpful so far.”

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “Helpful isn’t always the same as trustworthy. Just keep that in mind.”

You stared at him, the intensity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just warning you—he was staking a claim, subtle but unmistakable.

The breaking point came during a departmental mixer, an event meant to encourage networking among students and faculty.

You had hesitated to attend, but Ethan insisted, offering to walk you there. Spencer spotted you as soon as you entered, his sharp eyes narrowing when he saw Ethan’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

He approached you moments later, his movements precise and deliberate. “Miss L/N, a pleasure to see you here.”

“Dr. Reid.” You greeted, your smile nervous under the weight of his gaze.

“And Ethan,” Spencer added, his tone clipped. “Enjoying the event?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Ethan replied, oblivious to the tension. “I was just telling Y/N about a conference coming up in D.C. She’s thinking about attending.”

“Is she?” Spencer asked, his eyes locking on yours.

Ethan nodded. “I might go too. We could share accommodations to save on costs.”

The suggestion made Spencer’s blood run cold. His mind spiraled with images of you and Ethan alone, the boundaries he fought so hard to maintain crumbling under the weight of his jealousy.

“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer said abruptly.

Both you and Ethan blinked in surprise.

“I mean,” he added, forcing a smile, “it’s likely the university will have funding options available for individual accommodations. I’d be happy to look into it for you, Miss L/N.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” You said slowly, sensing the undercurrent of his words.

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer cut him off with a glance so sharp it left no room for argument.

Later that evening, Spencer’s restraint finally snapped.

You stayed behind after the mixer to gather your things, only to find him waiting for you outside the building. The night air was cool, but the tension between you burned hot.

“You didn’t have to wait.” You said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“I wanted to.” He replied, his voice low and steady.

You walked in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated by the rhythmic click of your heels against the pavement.

“Why do you do it?” He asked suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Let him follow you around like that. Laugh at his jokes. Entertain his attention.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. “Ethan’s my classmate. I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“It is my concern.” He said, stepping closer. “You don’t see the way he looks at you. The way he talks to you.”

“And how do you look at me, Dr. Reid?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice trembling.

His breath hitched, his carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. “You know how I look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve known all along.”

The admission hung in the air, dangerous and electrifying. You stared at him, your heart pounding as he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming.

“This can’t happen.” He said, though his words lacked conviction.

“Then why are you here?”

He didn’t answer, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. His hand twitched at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. The distance between you felt razor-thin, and for the first time, you wondered who would break first.

The silence stretched between you, taut and electrifying. Spencer’s jaw tightened, and his hand briefly raked through his hair—a telltale sign of his internal struggle. He was balancing on the edge of control, teetering between his professionalism and the unrelenting pull you had on him.

“You should go home.” He finally said, his voice low but strained, as if forcing the words out against his own desires.

You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with a boldness that matched his intensity. “Is that what you want?”

His sharp intake of breath gave him away. “What I want doesn’t matter.” He said, but his eyes betrayed him, dark with longing.

You stepped closer, drawn to the crack in his carefully curated armor. “It matters to me.”

“Don’t.” He warned, but the word lacked strength, a faint plea wrapped in desperation.

You hesitated, caught between the thrill of provoking him and the awareness of the risk you were taking. Still, the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Spencer’s restraint snapped, just for a moment. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm before he jerked it back as if burned. His expression twisted in frustration, his usual composure unraveling.

“You think this is a game?” He hissed, his voice harsh. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“I’m not the only one doing it,” you shot back, emboldened by the fire in his eyes. “You can’t stand it when anyone else gets too close to me. Admit it.”

His silence was deafening, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the faint twitch in his cheek.

“I see the way you look at me,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost coaxing. “It’s not just admiration, Dr. Reid. It’s something more.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He muttered, turning away, but you caught the tremble in his voice.

“Then prove me wrong.” You challenged.

Spencer turned back to you, and this time, there was no mistaking the raw emotion in his gaze. “You want the truth?” He said, his voice dangerously soft.

You nodded, your pulse quickening.

“I think about you more than I should. I notice every detail—every time you laugh, every time you tuck your hair behind your ear. And when I see him talking to you...” He broke off, shaking his head. “It takes everything in me not to...”

“Not to what?” You pressed, your heart pounding.

His lips parted, but he seemed to catch himself, stepping back as if the space between you might restore his self-control. “Not to cross a line I can’t uncross…” He finally said, his tone heavy with regret.

But the heat in his gaze told a different story—a story of a man on the verge of losing himself to the very thing he’d been trying to resist.

The tension between you didn’t dissipate. If anything, it grew, seeping into every interaction like an unstoppable tide.

In class, his gaze lingered on you longer than was appropriate, his voice faltering slightly when he called on you. During office hours, his questions delved deeper, as if searching for something he couldn’t articulate.

But it was during a casual seminar that the cracks in his professionalism began to widen.

You had arrived early, taking a seat in the front row. As you flipped through your notes, Spencer entered the room, his eyes immediately seeking you out. He paused, visibly unsettled, before making his way to the podium.

As other students filtered in, Ethan arrived and, to your surprise, took the seat beside you. He leaned in, his tone light and teasing as he made some comment about the seminar topic.

Spencer’s expression darkened. He began the session, but his usual measured tone was tinged with an edge that made the room feel heavier. His eyes kept drifting to where you sat, his words sharper whenever he addressed you or Ethan.

When the seminar ended, Spencer was quick to dismiss the class.

The classroom emptied, leaving the two of you alone. Spencer stood behind the podium, his hands gripping its edges.

“What was that?” He asked, his voice tight.

“What was what?” You replied, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His gaze pinned you in place. “Him. Sitting next to you. Acting like he—” He broke off, shaking his head as if trying to compose himself.

“Acting like what?” You pressed, stepping closer.

“Like he has the right to your attention,” Spencer snapped, his professionalism unraveling further. “He doesn’t. Not the way I...”

He stopped himself, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion.

“Not the way you what?” You asked softly, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and challenge.

His eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. For a moment, you thought he might close the distance between you, shattering the boundaries he’d been clinging to.

Instead, he exhaled shakily and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “This needs to stop.” He muttered, though the words seemed directed more at himself than at you.

But even as he said it, the tension between you was palpable, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the chaos it threatened to unleash.

The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that had been building for weeks. Spencer stood before you, his normally composed demeanor unraveling with every passing second. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’ve tried,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to keep this professional. To keep my distance. But you...” He looked at you then, his gaze piercing and raw. “You make it impossible.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through your veins. “What are you saying?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“I’m saying that I can’t pretend anymore,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with something dark and desperate. “Every time I see you with him, every time I see you smile at someone else... I can’t stand it.”

You took a step closer, emboldened by the vulnerability in his confession. “Then don’t pretend.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his restraint crumbling as he closed the distance between you in an instant. His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but reverent, as though he’d been starving for this moment.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me…” He murmured, his voice shaky with need.

“Then show me.” you whispered, your breath ghosting against his lips.

That was all it took. Spencer’s mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was as fierce as it was desperate. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as though he needed you to breathe. The kiss was everything—pent-up frustration, unspoken desire, and a need that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “This is wrong.” He muttered, though his hands still gripped your waist, unwilling to let you go.

“We don’t have to tell anyone.” You countered, your voice soft but insistent.

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his resolve broke entirely. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claiming, a declaration that you were his, consequences be damned.

Without a word, he guided you backward until you felt the edge of his desk against your hips. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your curves with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he admitted between kisses, his voice hoarse. “How many nights I’ve stayed awake, thinking about you. How hard it’s been to stay professional when all I want is to make you mine.”

“Then stop holding back.” You urged, your fingers clutching at his shirt as though afraid he might pull away.

Spencer’s response was immediate. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with ease. His touch was everywhere—your hips, your back, your neck—each movement filled with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

“Tell me you want this.” He said, his voice low and commanding as his lips brushed against your ear.

“I want this,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. “I want you.”

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “You have me,” he promised, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve always had me.”

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There were no rules, no boundaries—only the two of you, finally giving in to the undeniable pull that had been drawing you together all along.

He is the first to break the silence, his voice low and husky.

"Tell me what you want."

You hesitate for a moment, the words stuck in your throat. Then, quietly, you say, "I want you, Spencer."

He moves closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Tell me exactly what you want."

You swallow, feeling your heart rate quicken. "I want you to touch me, Spencer."

"Where do you want me to touch you?" He murmurs.

"Everywhere." You whisper, leaning into his touch.

He traces his fingers down your neck, his touch featherlight. "Here?"

You nod, your breath hitching as his fingers ghost over your collarbone.

He moves his hands down further, trailing his fingers across your chest. "I need words, sweet girl."

"Yes," You breathe, feeling your arousal growing.

He hums in approval, hands moving lower still, caressing the curve of your breasts. "And here?"

"Yes…" You repeat, arching into his touch.

He cups your breasts through your shirt, squeezing gently. "What about here?"

"Please…" You whimper, your voice barely audible.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "What else do you want, Y/N? Tell me."

You can feel your face flushing, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "I want you to take my clothes off, Spencer. I want you to touch me everywhere."

He lets out a soft groan, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt. "God, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long."

Your shirt falls to the floor, leaving you exposed. His eyes roam over your body, hungrily taking in every inch of bare skin.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns across your stomach.

You gasp as he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. His hands move lower, dipping below the waistband of your jeans.

"Spencer…" You moan, your hips bucking against his touch.

"Yeah, baby? What is it, sweet girl? Tell me what you need." He breathes, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh.

"I need you." You whimper, desperate for more contact.

He pulls away from you, his hands moving to undo his belt. He pulls his pants down, his hard cock springing free. Tip flushed pink, the same shade as his swollen kiss-bruised lips. He grabs your hips and lifts you onto the desk, his body pressed against yours.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes." You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He pushes his cock against your entrance, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it, Y/N. Say you want me."

"I want you, Spencer." You moan, feeling him slide into you.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, thrusting into you. "You're so tight."

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he drives into you, again and again.

"Feels s’good." You babble, feeling the tip of his cock deep in your cervix, his hand coming down to rub calculated circles on your clit.

Spencer was a man of logic, of knowledge. But nothing could have prepared you for how skillful his hands could be in such a sinful context, hands you’d spent hours marking into the pages of your notebooks.

He fucks you harder, his pace frantic. "Such a pretty pussy, Y/N." He groans, dipping his head into your neck to nip at your skin.”My pretty pussy.” He delivers a quick slap to your pussy, sending a shock of pleasure through you, clit throbbing painfully.

"Oh, god, Spencer…" You cry, your orgasm quickly approaching, unable to stop it no matter how much you want to prolong the feeling.

“You wanna cum for me, baby? Cum all over my cock?” He stares down at you with a look you know will be ingrained in your mind for as long as you breathe.

It doesn’t take long before your orgasm crashes over you, pulsing through you in waves, back arching off the bed as you reach out for anything to ground yourself. Hands finding the back of his head, pulling him into your chest.

He follows soon after, his cock pulsing inside you as he empties himself into you, collapsing on top of you, his chest heaving.

You look up at him, your eyes bright with satisfaction. "Do you think it was worth it?"

He smiles, stroking your hair. "I’d do it all again if it meant I could have you this way just one more time."

The first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds of Spencer’s apartment, casting faint golden stripes across the room. You stirred slightly in his arms, your body cocooned in the warmth of his embrace. Spencer had always been a light sleeper, but he hadn’t moved all night. His arms remained securely around you, as if even in sleep, he was afraid to let go.

For a moment, the world was still, the only sound was the gentle hum of the city waking up outside. In the quiet, you allowed yourself to revel in the stolen tranquility. These moments were fleeting, precious—time you carved out in secret, hidden from the eyes of the world.

“You’re awake.” He murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.

You tilted your head back to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “So are you.”

“I don’t think I slept much,” he admitted, his fingers brushing idly along your arm. “It’s hard to sleep when I know every moment with you has to be hidden.”

You frowned slightly, guilt tugging at you. “I hate it too,” you said softly. “I hate that we have to pretend in class, that I can’t just... be with you without worrying who might see.”

His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. They were warm, but behind the softness lay a steel determination. “It’s not forever,” he promised. “The semester is almost over. Once you’re no longer my student, no one can question us. No one can tell me it’s wrong to feel this way about you.”

You leaned into his touch, comforted by his words but still anxious about the risks. “Do you ever think about what would happen if someone found out?”

“Every day,” he admitted without hesitation. “But I think about losing you more. And that’s a risk I can’t take.”

The weight of his confession settled over you, heavy and grounding. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’d risk it all for you, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He nodded, his expression softening as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I know. And I’d do the same for you. But until it’s safe, we have to be careful.”

The reminder of the outside world, of the boundaries you had to navigate, was sobering. Yet it didn’t dampen the connection between you. If anything, it strengthened your resolve.

Days in class were an intricate dance of restraint and subtlety. You sat in your usual spot, taking notes diligently as Spencer lectured at the front of the room. His demeanor was calm, professional, every word deliberate. To the untrained eye, he was simply your professor, and you, his attentive student.

But beneath the surface, every glance, every fleeting moment of eye contact held a world of unspoken words. When he paused to scan the room, his gaze lingered on you a fraction too long. When he walked past your desk, the faintest brush of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

After class, you remained behind under the pretense of asking a question. The other students filed out, their chatter fading as the door closed behind them.

Spencer glanced at you, his professional mask slipping slightly as he leaned against the desk. “Is this about the assignment?” He asked, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of warmth.

“No,” you admitted, lowering your voice. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, and he nodded toward the door. “Wait for me outside. I’ll finish here and meet you in the library.”

The library had become your haven, a place where the world’s watchful eyes couldn’t reach you. Tucked away in the farthest corner, surrounded by shelves of dusty books, you found refuge in each other’s company.

Spencer sat across from you, his hand resting lightly over yours on the table. “You know,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the library, “this hiding... it’s maddening. But there’s something exhilarating about it too.”

You raised a brow, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Oh? Dr. Reid enjoys breaking the rules?”

A low chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing against yours. “When it comes to you? I’ll break every rule there is.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you simply looked at him, your heart swelling with a mix of love and longing. “One more month,” you whispered. “Then no more hiding.”

“One more month,” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet determination. “And then I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Until then, you would continue this delicate balancing act, cherishing the stolen moments and weathering the secrecy together. Because in the end, he was worth it. And you knew that no matter how many rules you had to break, how many boundaries you had to navigate, you would never let him go.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #spencer reid smut x reader #missarchive

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calcifiedunderland · 1 month ago

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The Prefect’s Kiss~!

—When a Night Raven College housewarden falls under the Sleeping Curse, only one person can wake them up.

Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia x gn! Reader

Riddle, Azul, Kalim ver.

“Oh! How terrible! Oh woe is me! How could this happen?!”

Crowley wailed at the news, sobbing fake tears beneath his mask. “What will I tell the parents?! The press?! How will I be able to afford vacation- I MEAN funding for my wonderful students?!”

Crewel rolled his eyes. He’d actually feel sorry for the Headmage if he was actually crying tears. The tissue clutched in Crowley’s fist was still dry.

Trein sighed, “this is the antidote recipe for Sleeping Death. Although, the materials are extremely hard to come by.” Crewel scanned the paper, noting the ingredients. “The recipe is possible, although they are quite expensive.” Crowley cringed, “how much will it be?” He screeched at the amount Trein said.

Meanwhile, Crewel muttered to himself. “The only other option is possibly true love’s kiss.” He looked up, “well, I’ll get the ingredients first thing in the-“ He stopped. Where Crowley was standing, was now a few black feathers fluttering down to the carpet. Crewel’s face fell, “oh no…”

In Ramshackle dorm, the Headmage chuckled nervously, sweating. You stared in disbelief, “I… honestly can’t believe that happened?” You were beyond shocked to hear that a Housewarden of all students had been knocked out with Sleeping Death. Crowley nodded wisely, “And I have decided to generously ask you to do the honors!”

“Huh?!” You stared incredulously at the Headmage as he ushered you out the door. He looked cheerful, “ah, aren’t I so gracious? I’m reuniting you with your true love!” You stared at him, jaw dropped, “HUH?!”

Leona Kingscholar

💛 “Are you sure he’s under a sleeping curse?” you asked, before Crowley shoved you through the Savanaclaw mirror without a second thought. You were left with more questions than answers. Namely, could you actually be his true love? It wasn’t like Leona really showed a lot of affection to anybody really. Sure, he didn’t chase you away when you bothered him in the greenhouse. And you supposed that he did help you a lot on your homework, even though he grumbled under his breath.

💛 Your own crush on Leona was painfully obvious. Sometimes you’d go out of your way to the greenhouses, or take some tasks from Ruggie to deliver things to him. You tried to keep your feelings in check. Despite his laid-back attitude and nonchalance, he was still a prince. And you were just a herbivore, as he always reminded you. Too bad you’d pout and look away every time - otherwise, you’d notice the soft look on his face when he called you that nickname.

💛 As you walked through the common room, you saw how panicked Jack looked, tail thumping against his legs. Ruggie lead you to Leona’s room without a single joke or clever comment, You noted how agitated he looked - his hair was a mess from running his hands through it.

💛 To be honest, if you didn’t know otherwise, you would’ve thought Leona was fine. But the moment you stepped foot into his room, you didn’t hear Leona’s light snores or see his chest moving as he breathed. He was completely still.

Sunlight streamed in, catching on Leona’s hair. You brushed some of it aside, thumbing one of his braids absently, “how long has he been like this?”

Ruggie sighed heavily, carding a hand in his disheveled hair. “Not sure. We… we all thought he was just napping.” He swallowed thickly, “just… get me if you need me. I have to wash his laundry.” You watched as Ruggie hefted a basket and left. Your attention went back to Leona.

“You’ve got everybody so worked up,” You bit your lip, surprising yourself as your eyes began welling up. “You’d probably think it’s funny. But I…” You gulped. “…miss you.”

You took a deep breath and softly slotted your lips against his. For an agonizing moment you thought it didn’t work. Until Leona groaned. “Hhh- hmm?” You pulled away quickly.

Leona’s ears twitched, and you felt yourself grow flustered when you made eye contact. You gawked, “I-it worked?” He shifted upright, giving you a lazy smirk. “Huh, never took you for the romantic type, Prefect. You went straight for True Love’s Kiss.”

You felt your face grow hot, but you couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed. Relief filled you, and you felt yourself relax as Leona loosely wrapped you in his arms. “Yeah whatever, you lazy lion.”

His hand reached up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. He brought his forehead to yours with a soft grin, “Ha, you really are just a herbivore,” he said fondly.

Vil Schoenheit

💜 The moment Rook burst into your dorm, Crowley suddenly vanished. Before you could react, Rook was already leading you down to the Mirrors, bringing you up to speed on what happened. The nervousness didn’t really set in until Rook began singing when you entered the dorm, “finally! Le Roi du Poison’s savior has arrived!”

💜 Apparently, Vil thought he was drinking apple juice from the fridge, but it was actually Epel’s mislabeled draught that he made as his potion. Oh how the tables had turned. At least Epel knew it worked. Task failed successfully?

💜 Everything you learned in Crewel’s class about Sleeping Death was swirling in your head. True Love was no small thing. Especially when it came to Vil. It didn’t matter that he seemed to soften whenever he looked at you, or that he paid extra attention to how you carried yourself. Or how often he had ‘extra’ beauty products and clothes that just happened to be your size.

💜 Epel was looked dejected when you saw him, and looked away from you. Rook solemnly led you to Vil’s room, and bowed as he opened the door “True love will prevail, mon cher trickster! I have no doubt in your abilities!” Thanks Rook, you’re not helping. Look, (Y/N) is even more nervous now.

Even in sleep, Vil looked picture perfect. You quietly padded into his room, perching softly next to him. He laid on his back, and hands were clasped over his torso. It looked like a scene out of a movie, you thought.

You gently brushed some hair out of Vil’s face, “it’s so unlike you to make careless mistakes,” you said out loud. Silence hung in the air. “Even Epel wants you back, y’know.” You frowned, pursing your lips.

“I… I really hope this works,” your voice cracked. You didn’t know what you’d do if it didn’t. You never thought you’d actually kiss a celebrity, let alone Vil, but somehow you were here. “Please don’t be too mad at me if… when you wake up.”

You took a deep breath and softly kissed him. You gasped and pulled away when you heard him breathe deeply, and Vil’s eyes fluttered open. “Prefect? What are you doing here?” Vil sat up and you felt your mouth grow dry.

You rushed out, “you were under Sleeping Death, and Rook brought me here-!” Vil shushed you gently, “so, you gave me True Love’s Kiss as the antidote?” You nodded hesitantly. Vil gazed at you, looking thoughtful.

He took your chin, looking at your mouth. “Hmm, it seems your chapstick wore off. No matter, you can use mine.” You were about to thank him when he snatched a tube of balm off his nightstand. You watched, dumbfounded, as he applied it to his own lips before capping it.

“This formula is my own blend,” he said casually before looking back at you with a glint in his eye, “and I’ve been wanting to test how it transfers.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting your head so you’d look at him. He had a soft, fond smirk, “you’ll help me, won’t you?”

Idia Shroud

🩵 Halfway through Crowley’s speech about True Love, Ortho burst through Ramshackle and began dragging you to Ignihyde. You probably would’ve been upset at the intrusion (and the bill to fix the door), but the robot boy looked so devastated. “You have to save big brother!”

🩵 Apparently, Idia thought he was mixing energy drinks together but he ended up putting Sleeping Death in his drink. Through Ortho’s explanation, Idia was pregaming for an all nighter of farming for the new SSR he pulled, and put the wrong drink in his exhausted-gambling-victory haze. You couldn’t say you were surprised. One of the things you liked about Idia was how passionate he could get.

🩵 Whether it was gaming, tech, or programming, it was always a treat to get Ignihyde’s resident shut-in to talk to you, the ends of his hair turning blush pink. Whenever you visited, Idia always had your favorite snacks and drinks. It came to a point where he had a whole gaming setup made for you, with your own chair and headset.

🩵 The two of you would spend hours gaming, taking the occasional break to watch anime or do snack runs. Idia always seemed a little more inclined to get out of his room if it was with you. During those times, Ortho seemed to hum with excitement. Some days, Idia even lent you one of his hoodies after you begged. Now, the lights of Idia’s screens were off, and the room felt even colder.

The only lights in the room were Idia’s and Ortho’s hair, glowing a soft blue in the dark. Ortho hovered anxiously as you walked to Idia. His hair illuminated his face, and he looked almost like a marble statue.

You suddenly realized how long you’d been staring at him, and became aware of Ortho when you heard his joints clinking nervously. “Hey, Ortho,” you said soothingly, “could you wait outside for me? It’ll just be for a few minutes. I’ll do my best to help.” You tried to smile like you had everything under control, but as Ortho left, you suddenly felt the weight of the situation.

Like a moth to a flame, your attention drifted back to Idia. The light from his hair softly cast a blue glow on him, and you sighed softly. You brushed your thumb against Idia’s cheek, moving your face closer to his. “Please wake up,” you pursed your lips, “for Ortho. For… for me.” Softly you pressed your lips against his.

You pulled away with a small gasp, inches apart. Idia breathed in deeply, face scrunching up. His eyes slowly opened, blinking blearily. “H-huh? Prefect?!” Immediately, Idia’s hair whooshed in dark blue flames tipped with scarlet, “What are you doing so close to my face?!” You pulled back immediately, eyes wide.

Ortho zoomed back into the room, “I sensed movement! Big brother! You’re awake!~” Ortho looked up at you innocently, “it looks like you’re his True Love after all!” Idia stared at you for a second, then his hair turned dark pink. “Wh-WHAT?!” The room suddenly felt several degrees hotter. Or maybe that was just your flustered face. Still, Idia’s nervousness lessened when he saw your eyes shine at Ortho’s words.

“S-so, uh…” Idia chewed his lip, “do you wanna stay over tonight?” Ortho looked excited, “do you want to stay forever?” Idia choked, “Ack- ORTHO!”

Malleus Draconia

💚 Saying you were shocked was an understatement. You couldn’t believe that the Malleus Draconia was under a sleeping curse, and you ran to Diasomnia before the Headmage could finish speaking.

💚 You’d thought it was strange that he didn’t show up last night. As per tradition, you’d wait up for him each night and the two of you would walk the grounds, enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes, Malleus would do small magic tricks - summoning balls of light, fireflies, even conjuring some thornless crimson roses and tucking them behind your ears.

💚 You began to look forward to seeing him. You’d watch in awe with your eyes sparkling, and Malleus couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this euphoric. And it was all thanks to you. So he’d try to show it through gifts. A dragon never parts easily with their treasures, but at this point, Ramshackle seemed like his second hoard. Though secretly, you were the most precious jewel there.

💚 When you got there, you saw Sebek wailing and Silver with a panicked look outside of Malleus’ room. “We’ve failed our duty! My Liege!” Sebek nearly broke your eardrums but you couldn’t find it in your heart to hush him. Silver nodded to you solemnly, and let you in the room. Lilia was with Malleus alone. You approached them silently, never taking your eyes off Malleus.

“How did this happen?” You whispered, sitting on the other side of the bed. . Lilia sighed, patting Malleus’ hands, “I’m not sure. He simply went to bed, and…” You bit your lip, feeling your eyes well up.

Lilia watched you carefully, frowning. “Did the Headmage tell you it was Sleeping Death?” You nodded, “h-he said I was…” you swallowed, “he said I could help.” You badly wanted to help.

You sniffled, tears running down your eyes onto Malleus’ cheeks. You whispered “Tsunotarou… you have to wake up,” before pressing your lips to his. You felt the slow rise and fall of his chest, and you slowly pulled away, hopeful. To your dismay, he stayed still, and you choked a sob, shoving your face into Lilia’s shoulder. “Try again, he should wake up soon” he whispered, patting you gently. You slotted your lips on Malleus’ again, closing your eyes.

You weren’t sure how long you were there. At last, Malleus stirred awake, and you pulled away with a gasp. He blinked twice, before realizing you were there. The small smile he gave you made your insides melt, “Child of Man,” he breathed, “to what do I owe this kiss to awaken me?” You sniffled, laughing as Malleus’ hand wiped away the last of your tears.

“I-I thought you weren’t going to wake up,” you wavered, “they told me I had to kiss you awake.” You weren’t completely coherent as you threw yourself on him, making him fall back into the mattress as you clutched him. He rubbed your back softly, hushing you. “Thank you,” he murmured, “this means more to me than you know.”

You sighed, relaxing against him. Slowly, you felt your eyelids grow heavy as the stress of the day wore on you. As you drifted off to sleep, Lilia watched you both with a small smile. “You know Malleus, they were worried about you. And Silver and Sebek were, too.” Lilia suddenly had a small mischievous smile, “perhaps I should use my electric guitar on you, like when I try to wake Silver?”

Malleus hummed as he held your sleeping form, “well, I suppose my ‘Power Nap,’ as you call it, did last longer than the average hour.”

———

Last part is up!!! Hope you enjoyed this is mini-series 😄

Comments, reblogs, and likes are forever appreciated!! Take care shrimpies~~

Xoxo Calci

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona kingscholar #twst vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twst idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #twst malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #calcified writing

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cursedcola · 6 months ago

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Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Plan-Books (Inherited) : Riddle habitually carries a planner with all his tasks. A physical one, not an app in his cell phone like most students choose. You find it easier to manage and swap to paper-and-pen alternatives at his recommendation.

Tidiness (Inherited): Riddle is a nit-pickier when it comes to physical presentation. His habits of pressing his uniform, laying his clothes out every night, and dressing conservatively rub off. He has a point - ironed trousers do make a difference. Every morning he will redo your uniform tie. It's never knotted to his 'standard', and is his preferred excuse to greet you before class.

"Now, isn't that better? Surely you are more comfortable in ironed linens than those rags you'd been wearing as pajamas. You seriously found them lying in Ramshackle? Were you not given an allowance to buy basic needs? Ridiculous! The Headmaster's irresponsibility holds no bounds!" <- Utterly appalled that you've been sleeping in century-old robes. He supplies you with seven sets of pajamas, a spare uniform, and an iron + board for Ramshackle. All after reaming the Headmaster for neglect in the last dorm-head meeting - either Crowley coughed up the marks or Riddle will supply from his own bank. Seven have mercy if he chooses to become a lawyer instead of a doctor.

No Heels (Developed): Riddle has a height complex. He won't make a show of it, but you wearing heels does emasculate him. Especially if you're already taller naturally. For his sake, you choose to slay your outfits in flats.

"Are those new loafers? Oh - no, they're lovely. The embroidery is exquisite and I can see why Pomefiore's Housewarden models for their brand. I merely thought you preferred the heeled saddle-shoes we saw during the past weekend trip. I must have been mistaken. Never mind me. You look wonderful."

Playing Brain Teasers (Inherited): Riddle has this thing with memory - you don't know if he's really into preventing old-age Alzheimer's or what. He carries a book of teaser games like Sudoku, etc. for when he has downtime and you eventually get into them too.

"Oh! My Rose, would you care to join me for lunch? Trey's siblings recently mailed in a large collection of cross-words. You'll find they are both educational and entertaining - hm? I do not seem the 'type' for word-games? I assure you, even I can relax on occasion. There is no need to look so surprised." <- Riddle's been making a grand effort to do things he enjoys and become more personable. Trey's siblings did not send the collection. Riddle went into town and picked it out on his own. He also found a book on organizing excursions since he's big on quality time. He is dead-set on not being a neglectful or 'boring' partner.

Swear Jar (Developed): Tired of Riddle collaring Ace for his vulgar tongue, you suggest a Heartslabyul swear jar. When the jar gets filled, the money can be used to fund things like study materials and renovations for the dorm. Riddle liked this idea, but now implements it on anyone who sets foot in the Heartslabyul. Considering you spend most of your time there, you've had to develop a vast vocabulary beyond swearing. Oh - you also unironically use the word 'fiddlesticks' now.

Habits he steals:

Useless Expenses (Inherited): You are an enabler without a doubt. Riddle has always functioned with the bare bones - with function and efficiency being the number one priority. Ever so slowly - you've spoiled him with aesthetically pleasing stationary. At first all the needless purchases felt redundant - why buy the pillowcases with flowers when plain white is cheaper? You can invest in a higher quality this way. Yet you've ruined him with gifts that he had no choice but to use. Now he needs to buy the pens with little hedgehogs on them because studying doesn't feel the same with a plain ballpoint.

Slang Dictionary (Developed): With each passing day, all the students in Heartslabyul get more creative at bending the rules. That includes you. Riddle takes it upon himself to carry a 'little-black-book' full of all the sang words he is unfamiliar with. He does want to be a bit more 'hip' to understand you more, but at the same time he wants to bust any student being a smart-mouth. It's an ongoing battle *sigh*.

"Apologies, could you repeat that term for me? Surely it must be relevant to my lecture if you and Ace are whispering. 'Let him cook'? Do you think we are in a culinary lecture?! Have you not been listening to - ah. So it's in reference to letting me finish before interrupting...One moment. I need to make a note."

Chewing Gum (Developed): This is an ode to psychology. In short, eating is tied to a person's fight-or-flight. Instincts dictate that our bodies need to be in a calm state to eat comfortably. One day when Riddle was at his wits end, you tossed him a pack of sugarless gum and told him to chew. Disregarding Trey's unholy dental screeching, Riddle develops a gum dependence for when he's stressed out. On the bright side, his jaw has never been so sharp.

“Mimicry? You must be mistaken. Even if my influence has affected their person, surely there are only positive developments” == Riddle denies any changes if confronted. In truth, he’s well aware of how much you’ve helped him grow. It’s the opposite accusation that spikes concern. Riddle does not want others thinking you’re a mini-version of him. Rumors are not kind and neither is his current reputation. Making those amends is his burden to bare. He is flattered to see you paying attention to his mannerisms, and secretly proud that your bond is strong enough to affect the psyche.

Habits you steal:

Whistling (Inherited): Trey whistles while working in the kitchen or doing general chores around the dorm. He's not very loud with it, so not may students are bothered. Since you laze about in his shadow the tunes he goes through do become repetitive. Now you do the same when cleaning up Ramshackle. Grim wants to knock you both out because he can't take it anymore.

"Ah -- How'd you know it was me in here? Just because I bake for the un-birthday parties doesn't mean I live in the kitchen, you know. My whistling? Huh. Never thought that would be my calling card but there are worse things, haha"

Head-Scratching (Inherited): Trey's got a habit of scratching the back of his head when he's uncomfortable or nervous. That, or rubbing at the nape of his neck while adverting eye contact. You start doing this too whenever you're being scolded or put in a tough situation.

Dental Hygiene (Inherited): By far the most obvious shared trait. Trey enforces his dental habits onto everyone- you are no exception. You now own four different kinds of floss, two toothbrushes (one being electric), and have a strict hygiene routine. Your pearly whites have never been so clean. Eventually you become somewhat of a secondary enforcer, policing anyone who sleeps over your dorm to take care of themselves before bed. All of Heartslabyul learns that there is no going back when you scold Riddle for not brushing after his teatime tart, and live to tell the tale.

"Hey - uh, weird question? Were you handing out floss to the Spelldrive Team yesterday? Seriously? I though Grim was pulling my leg - oh, no! It's not weird at all! Those guys should have a better routine for all the meat they eat when bulking. I'm just shocked you got through to them." <- Very proud. Mildly cocky. He's been itching to get those negligent jocks to floss after their banquets his entire tenure, but steered away from that conflict like the plague. Thank you for making his dreams come true. Now if you could maybe get them to stop picking their gums with toothpicks?

Habits he steals:

Overbuying Food (Developed): Being a baker's son, Trey's good with finances and money. He's also meticulous with the ingredients he purchases for his bakes. You are not. You go to Sam's shop, buy whatever is on sale, and then bring it back home to improvise. This ends poorly more often than not, and behold! Trey has two Ramshackle sluggers snooping around his kitchen for eats. This is unpredictable and therefore he now never knows what amount to buy. You've ruined him.

Phone Calls (Developed): Texting is easier. Especially since phone calls can be a commitment that Trey dislikes being wrapped up in. Whenever Cater's name pops up as the caller, Trey knows he's getting an ear full. The thing is that you never. answer. your. phone. Either the text gets lumped in with the hundreds of missed messages you have, or Grim stole your cell to play mobile games. So Trey gives up and only ever calls. Either Grim will answer or you'll pick up thinking it's the snooze of your alarm.

"Hello? Prefect, where are you? It's me, Trey. Just calling to see if you're still coming to the Un-Birthday party? Riddle's getting a bit nervous since the schedule's set for the next hour. Grim's already here with Ace and Deuce - uh, want Cater to send a double to pick you up? I have a sinking feeling that you're asleep...Call me? Please?" <- He was correct. You called back not a moment after, half-asleep and hauling ass not to be late.

Speaking in Propositions (Inherited): Trey's normally good at keeping neutrality in a conversation, but getting a clear answer out of Yuu you is like solving a rubix cube. Either it's easy and instant, or a long game. Eventually your habit of indecisiveness rubs off on him and he asks questions more than answers them. Evidently this gets his younger classmen to stop asking for favors unless they really need to.

“Aha - really? I didn’t notice at all. Okay. Okay, I picked up on a few hints. What’s so wrong with them taking after me? It’s cute, right?” == Trey is the observant sort that picks up on his influence quickly. Not just anyone carries floss in their pocket at all times - and the looks from his dorm-mates when you offer some up is enough for the realization to click. Trey’s used to playing the respectable sort, and finds it endearing that you’re taking his good notes to heart. In truth, most of Trey’s mimicry is intentional. He’s a flexible guy who doesn’t mind altering his habits to fit your needs. Easier this way, y’know?

Habits you steal:

Speaking in Acronyms(Inherited): Now this is scary. The first time it happened, you had to take a pause and just re-evaluate your entire life. You don't use them nearly as often as Cater does, but somewhere along the line your brain must have rewired to speak in internet lingo. O-M-G you're TOTALLY twinning with him right now, period :)

Nicknames (Inherited): Again, frightening. You once swore against ever calling him Cay-Cay. It isn't very slay-slay. Yet you can only hear him use nicknames for so long until you're unconsciously calling people by them too. Especially since he's always dishing gossip. It starts in your head, which is fine. It's not like they know. Then you call Lilia 'Lils' and that old fart is just grinning behind his sleeve because ohoho~ young love <3

"Did you just- AHA! OMG DO IT AGAIN?! Wait, gotta get my camera out for this - wha? Oh, that's totes not fair! C'mon. Call me Cay-Cay. Just once! I won't even post it to Magicam, please? Lils won't believe me without proof! Pleasssssseeeee - " <- He actually doesn't want you to call him Cay-Cay all the time. Cater likes you using his given name, since it's more personal. Although the way it obviously slipped out on accident is just too cute to ignore.

Reality TV (Inherited): At first you don't like the gossip. It's cheesy, a bit annoying, and the shaky camera-work for nearly every show is headache inducing. Cater likes his dose of drama in his free-time, and Ramshackle has a tv that no one is using. It starts with him watching while you do other things around the dorm. Yet each time you pass the living area, you take longer to leave. Lingering around like one of the ghosts. Then he pulls you in with snacks and starts giving the low-down of what's going on, pulling out a bottle of tangerine shimmer polish to paint your nails. It's just one episode, watch it for him? Please? Oh no. No. No. Suddenly you're invested in who's the baby-daddy of little Ricky and what Chantel is going to do because her sister just lost the house to foreclosure.

"#KingdomOfDeadbeats - am I right? Ugh. I'm so glad we met if that's the dating scene back home...What?! I know it isn't real! Don't be a dummy, I was just joking! Ah! Stop! Don't hit me!" <- Half-hearted jokes about going on one of those talk-shows one day. You're an alien, after all - imagine the juicy drama and views his account would get from doing an interview? It's all jokes though. Cater likes spilling the tea, but hates being it. Don't ever abandon him and go out for milk though, kay? He doesn't want to pay Grim's child support. Otherwise he might have no choice smh

Habits he steals:

Phone/Web Games (Inherited): Cater's phone is mainly full of social media. He's not too into the gaming scene, it's not his peeps y'know? Alas, you download a few dress-up games and one MMO on his phone. First off - props on getting his phone. That's Cay-Cay's lifeline and not just anyone gets to play with it. Pray tell - what is this Wonderstar Planet (props if you know what is being ref.) and how can he become the most influential digital streamer on it? Congrats. He's addicted.

"Who's this Muscle Red and why's he bombing our raid - AH! He just tea-bagged me! So not cool...Prefect? STOP LAUGHING WE HAVE BETS ON THIS MATCH! There goes my collab opportunity, big fail" <- Muscle Red continues to make an appearance. Eventually he becomes Cater's official rival on stream, and Lils is all to invested in the tea cater drops during club meets. Side note. You're the one who gave 'muscle red' Cater's domain code. The lore thickens.

Internet Caution (Developed): This goes without saying, but Cater's well-known in the Magicam scene. He's very forward and knows his way around using charisma. Since you're not in the scene as much, he becomes more cautious of where and when he does streams. The change is so subtle that only the most observant people will pick up on it - but Cay-Cay doesn't want any creepos popping in if y'know what I'm saying. His sisters were the ones to instigate this change.

“Awe~ SRSLY?! That’s fresh news to my ears but good, right? Ne, are there any clips or pics? I need my evidence, y’see. Especially if my cutie is off taking notes from their one and only. C’mon, spill the tea!” == Cheeky Cater is well aware of what’s happening. He’d humor anyone out for some light teasing - after all, he isn’t by your side at all hours. His walls are probably the second most difficult in all of campus to bypass, so he’s both sweetened and nerved to see you picking up on his mannerisms. That’s proof of a strong attachment, after all.

Habits you steal:

Knuckle Cracking (Inherited): Deuce still does this from his biker days. It could be because joint pain from past fights, or possibly air retention in his knuckles from studying. Regardless, Deuce cracks his knuckles at least once every few hours and you began to mimic him. Some people groan at the popping sounds but it really does feel good to release the tension. Let's just hope neither of you dislocate any fingers on accident.

"Stop that! G-geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you broke a finger...your hands are stiff? That just means you're studying a lot! I think...uh, let's break? I think there's some leftovers in the kitchen." <- Deuce 100% gets needing to pop those air bubbles. His hands get stiff from studying all the time, but don't crack them too much or you might dislocate something. Side note - he shows you how to wrap your fingers with a soothing salve. He used to do it after fights, but now it's a great help after class.

Double Notes (Developed): Deuce tries. He really does. Yet the lad just isn't great when it comes to book smarts. Seeing that he is dedicated to turning over a new leaf, you make a habit of copying all your notes. He isn't allowed to share them with Ace or Grim - else all bets are off. Sometimes you leave little 'good job' stickers on the last page for him. Is he a toddler? No. Does he peel the stickers off and save them? Totally. He is a good noodle. Suck it Ace.

Sewing (Developed): He breaks things. Most of the time it's an accident. You've learned to carry a mini-sewing kit for all the rips in Deuce's uniform. Same for mini remedies for stains and other problems. It's not like he's trying to get grass stains all over his under-shirt or to split the seam in his gloves (nearly every week). It just happens, and every time he comes to you with a kicked-puppy look with a promise of it being the last time. It is never the last time.

"Uhm...hun'? It happened again. I'm so sorry for bothering you but Housewarden is going to kill me if he sees the tear in my blazer! Can you fix it?! I can't handle another collar with my exam tomorrow! I need to breathe to focus! - really!? I owe you one! Snacks are on me tonight."

Habits he steals:

Bottomless Stomach (Developed): Have leftovers from dinner? Bring them over. He'll get the tubba-ware back in 1-2 days. Coupon for buy-one-get-one at Sam's? He'll take the extra and polish it off in less than a minute. Deuce becomes a human garbage disposal and is taking the unwanted condiments off your sandwich to eat. Just pick them off and leave 'em on the corner of his lunch plate. Even if he dislikes it, he'll down it so you don't have to.

"Mm. Oh, thanks hun' - its that all you're eatin'? You don't like the steam bun? It is a bit dry, but wasting food is disrespectful to the cooks! I'll finish it for you so have my fruit instead. You still need to eat" <- 10/10 very thoughtful and not picky at all. He is grateful to eat your cooking and will gobble up all leftovers at Ramshackle, but doesn't think twice to sharing meals in the cafeteria. He will notice though if you do not eat enough. Restocks the snack cabinet if he sees it's empty. Is touched if you routinely share things you know he enjoys, like saving half your frittata on purpose.

Early Riser (Inherited): See - even if you hate the mornings, there is no choice at Night Raven College. As Ramshackle Prefect you need to be up to take care of business before class. Deuce becomes your personal alarm clock because he wants some time with you before everyone else joins in. Mind you that he lives with three other dudes who threaten to end him every morning because his alarm wakes them up too. Eventually he can wake up without it, but the time leading is unpleasant.

"W-what? Seriously? I've been trying to be more like them! They're a good person and responsible so I've been trying to follow their example. To think we've been doing the same thing this entire time...." == Why would you ever imitate him? He's been trying his damn best to become an honor student worth respecting, and has a long way to go. To think you're comfortable enough with him to mimic his mannerisms? It's a pipe dream, one he doesn't grasp until it's put right in front of his face. You don't let anyone else pick off your plate other than Grim. The next time his clothes tear, he's already handing off his tie before realizing just what's happening. When you wrap his knuckles after a six-hour lock in at the library? He can't help but feel proud at how neat the bandages are. Suddenly the dark memories of hiding bruised knuckles from his mom are pacified with healing balm. Deuce views this development as a gift, and is grateful. Very, very grateful.

Habits you steal:

‘I owe you’ cards (Inherited): Ace's favorite social invention - the 'solid'. Nothing spells new-low like getting your friends to do stuff in exchange for a favor in the future. Most of the time Ace counts on people forgetting he owes them one, but you're not so gullible. The only difference between you both is that while Ace never fulfills his solid, you have a conscience. Give it a few more years. He'll get ya.

"I know this is the third ticket this week but - Oh! C'mon, cut a guy some slack, would you? I'm sorry for bein' late to our date. Yeah, it was shitty. I'm not trying to fight it, aright? I'm here now so let's have some fun and you can chalk three strikes on my tab. I'll even buy ya some candy - Ah! Okay! Two candies but that's where my charity ends!" <- Evidently, the 'I-owe-you' tabs cancel each other out from how often you both call in favors. It's just an excuse to do acts of service or express apologies without being too mushy. Ace is definitely keeping a track record of them though. Expect an ongoing log that dates back to the week you met, when he showed up homeless, collared, and looking to couch surf.

Profanity (Inherited): Ace swears like a sailor. Maybe not so much in his dorm because *cough* he's being policed. He holds no such reservations when you're both alone at Ramshackle. Unfortunately his potty mouth has a mind of it's own - it taints you, and you are a sham of a prefect. Ace earned a week-long collar for teaching you some Twisted-Wonderland exclusive curses. Riddle is not pleased.

Leaving the Windows Unlocked (Developed): There are only so many times he can sneak in through your window before the adrenaline-induced charm wears off. You have class in the morning, and can't be bothered to deal with him on nights he can't pass out in his dorm. Thank seven you have all of Ramshackle to yourself - because Heartslabyul sounds like a nightmare with the roommate situation. You can't leave the front door open for obvious reasons, but most nights the guest-bedroom window will be left slightly ajar in case he needs a place to crash.

"Pssst! Oi! Prefect! ...ugh, Grim! Wake them up, man! The latch is stuck. Don't go back to bed you furball! HEY! IT'S FREAKIN COLD OUT HERE SO LET ME IN ALREADY" <- Please let him in. If Ace has to spend one more night in that stinky dorm with three dudes, he'll string one of their dirty gym socks over your bed. No mercy.

Sleeping with Earplugs (Developed): Bitch Ace snores.

Habits he steals:

Notes Memo (Developed): Ace is bad with remembering things. Anniversaries? Dates? Allergies? He admits to not putting in a great amount of effort, but you can't say he doesn't try at all. He has a notes block on his phone dedicated to things like your go-to takeout orders and preferences. He even has a few alarms set days before any important events because even if you say no-gifts or plans...yeah, he's not that stupid.

Excessive Yawning (Inherited): You're always tired - it wasn't Ace's problem before but now he does feel a bit guilty. Dragging you into his messes felt different when you were just the prefect, y'know? Regardless, it's human instinct to mimic each other's demeanor so he'll openly yawn all the time - normally in succession of you.

"Hey...you're dozing off again. Am I seriously that boring to hang around? - Nah. Just messin' with you. I'd suggest taking a nap during next period but I doubt a goody-goody like you is gonna take that advice. Let's just ditch juice at lunch and go back to the dorm. Don't get mad if I forget to wake you up though"

Medications (Developed): Ace is the last person to become a human apothecary, but he's always got a pack of pain-reliever meds in his pocket with a few bandages, etc. He also attached one of those tiny capsule bottles to his keyring with some stomach meds inside. You took a spill running laps? Dang man. That sucks. Here's a band-aid for your knee. Curse you for making him the slightly-more responsible one.

"Eh..what, like it's a shock? You saying I'm a bad influence? Cause yeah, that checks. Nothin' I can do if they want to take a card outta my deck though," == Ace is entirely neutral on the topic. He is definitely smug that you're coming over to the dark side, but he doesn't need anyone to point it out. He was your first after all. Maybe the start could have been a bit better - but hey, you came around. It's not like he's hurting anyone by helping build your backbone. Although Ace will instantly deny going soft for you in any way, shape, or form.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #heartslabyul #twisted wonderland riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst trey clover #trey clover x reader #caterdiamond x reader #twst cater diamond #deuce spade x reader #twst deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #twst ace trappola x reader #heartslabyul x reader #twst x yuu #twst headcanons

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jackmanwife · 3 months ago

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Professor!Logan has always been professional, but you can’t ignore the way he looks at you during his lectures anymore. It’s subtle— a look that lingers on for far too long when you raise your hand or a small smile when you answer a question correctly— but it’s enough to make your cheeks grow hot. He leaves you little notes on the papers he turns back to you, too, and you save every last one of them. Study material. “You're smarter than most of my other students,” he praises, but you just giggle out a small "Thank you."

Professor!Logan is starting to catch on. Sitting in the front row, you're doing all sorts of things to catch his attention. Twirling your hair around your finger a little, biting the tip of your pen, crossing and uncrossing your legs. When he looks your way, you make sure to hold his stare, letting your eyes drop to his lips before flashing a small smile. After class, he orders you to stay behind, but you know this isn’t about the paper you turned in. “You’re not just interested in the material, are you, sweetheart?” When he walks around his desk, he doesn’t sit. Instead, he stands in front of you, towering, and you look up at him, keeping your eyes on his. “You’ve been distractin’ me for a while,” He steps closer, and your back presses against his desk, “You want me to show you what happens when I stop holdin’ back, darlin’?” His hand slides up your thigh, fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt, teasingly close to where you’ve been needing him all this time.

Professor!Logan knows you're back for more. He’s got his reading glasses perched on his nose, running his hands through the stack of papers in front of him, “This couldn’t wait until office hours?” he asks, not looking up as he marks a paper and flips to the next one. You take a slow step forward, shrugging, “No, I…” He looks up now, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I wanted some extra help.” Logan’s eyes narrow slightly. You swallowed, “I just need to understand the material you taught today better,” you said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your voice wavered. Logan chuckles softly, lips curling into a smirk, “Is that so, darlin’? Because from where I’m sitting, it seems like you’ve got a…” His eyes take you in, looking you up and down, “different kind of help in mind.”

Professor!Logan is usually calling you back to his office after a long lecture. You’re sitting on his desk, legs dangling over the edge as he stands between them, his hands running up your thighs. “You sure you understood everything, sweets?” His lips brush against your ear before he presses a kiss onto it. One of his large hands slips around your waist, his fingers pressed firmly on your back, pulling you closer to him. You nod, leaning into his touch. “That’s good,” his thumb brushes gently over your cheek as he tilts your face up to his, “Been thinking about you all day, you know that?” He murmurs. You nod again, barely able to find your voice as his thumb brushes over your lip, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s just started.

Professor!Logan likes to keep you around now. You walk down the hallway to his office, a hot cup of coffee in your hand. You noticed the light still on under his door and couldn’t help but think about him working alone, grading papers into the early hours. Knocking softly, you step inside when you hear his short “Come in.” When you do, Logan looks up from his laptop, brows raised in surprise before they rest as he smiles. “What’re you doin’ here this late, darlin’?” He sounded so tired. You hold out the cup, and he takes it from you, his hand lingering on yours. “Thought you could use this,” you murmur, watching as he takes a sip, his eyes never leaving yours. He sets the cup down on his desk and shakes his head, “Always lookin’ out for me, huh? Come here,” he pats his open lap, “Keep me company for a while.”

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thevillainswhore · 5 months ago

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Revenge Sweeter Than Honey

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x MILF!Reader

Word Count: 9.2k

Summary: When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious?

Warnings: Bucky POV, revenge plot, age gap, older!reader, flirting, cheating, kissing, smut, mommy kink, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), ass play, spanking, p in v sex, recording of sex, cum play.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Dividers by @saradika. Hi, lovelies! It’s been a while 🤍 This is by far not my best work, but I started it at the beginning of the year and finally finished it and decided to let it go before I convince myself not to post it.

Also, I have little to no knowledge about the education system outside of the UK, since I’m British. So please excuse any facts I may have gotten wrong, this was purely for the smut 😅

The arms of the leather chair Bucky was sitting on creaked, straining under the tense grip of his fingers. Fury coursed through every muscle of his body, boiling his blood until he was sure steam was blowing out of his ears.

He had been sitting in his professor’s office for thirty whole minutes and not once had the man had the decency to look him in the eye and tell him a good enough reason for the C- marked on his most recent assignment. Thinking about it, he wasn’t even sure if his professor had ever made eye contact with him before; certain that he wouldn’t be able to recognise him if he ever looked at him.

Bucky was a straight A student, working towards the perfect GPA to graduate with full honors and claim the job of his dreams. And yet, the second since his professor had licked his finger and slapped the stack of papers — stained with a ring of coffee that wasn’t there when he handed it in — on Bucky’s desk, his whole world had been turned upside down.

He remembered his frenzy, the whirlwind of erratically flicking through each page and trying to find a single comment or suggestion that could help explain the low grade. But there was nothing. Only a forbidden red-inked C- that had taunted him ever since.

Immediately, Bucky had booked an office session, since his professor was strict on the rules of when and where to discuss anything other than current class material. There must have been a mistake he reasoned with himself in the beginning — maybe a mix up with another student or maybe his professor had missed a chunk of his work because surely that godforsaken C- wasn’t right.

However, Bucky soon came to realise in the thirty long minutes of his office session, that it wasn’t a mistake. In fact, it was the most generous grade received of the whole class.

“Sir.” He attempted once again to get through to his professor. “With all due respect, I worked extremely hard on his assignment. Every variable is valid, I ran through each test multiple times to gain an accurate representation. My method has been executed perfectly.” He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “I can’t understand why I’ve been graded so low.”

Dr Parker couldn’t have seemed less interested if he tried, the keys of his computer clicking away aimlessly as his brown eyes were glued to the screen. “For the last time, if you don’t understand what is wrong with your assignment, then I can’t help you.”

Bucky discreetly gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. The logic his professor spewed made absolutely no sense. He took a calming breath before he responded. “I’m not sure I can understand what exactly is wrong with my work if there’s no feedback to go off, Sir.”

Dr Parker sighed, seemingly fed up with the conversation. “It's not for me to serve you on a silver platter. If you want a mentor who gives you a free ride or has to hold your hand through a grade then it seems like college isn’t the place for you, James.”

The material of the chair almost ripped where Bucky’s nails began to furiously dig in. He never wanted a hand to hold or a free ride during his time in college; the bare minimum he expected was to at least have some kind of evaluation or support that offered more than a lousy grade that wasn’t fair.

Out of options, he desperately pleaded with his professor once again. “Sir, all I’m asking for is a reason for my grade being low. My GPA has been perfect all year and this assignment has made it take a huge hit. Please understand.”

Still, Dr Parker continued uselessly typing away without looking at him. “There’s nothing I can do for you, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky’s words came out jumbled as he jumped to offer an alternative. “What about— What if I did something for extra credit! You know? Just for— to boost my GPA back up?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Bucky was at the end of his tether and his throat began to tighten. “Please, Sir—I need—“

“What you need to do is move on from this assignment and work harder on the next one.” Dr Parker interrupted him coldly as he suddenly stood, packing his papers into his satchel. “My office hours are over and I have somewhere to be, so if you wouldn’t mind shutting the door behind you when you leave that would be great. Goodbye.” With that, his professor walked around the desk and out of the door without a second glance.

Tears sprung to Bucky’s eyes while he sat there, staring mindlessly at the now empty chair behind the desk in front of him. He forced the lump building in his chest down, never having felt so defeated in his life. Throughout his years of education, he had sacrificed, placed everything that wasn’t important on the back burner; holidays, parties, normal friendships, just to put his future career first and for what? For one complete asshole to decide he didn’t care enough about his job or students to fuck him over?

He shot out of his seat and paced over the carpeted floor. All of his dedication to his studies had been pointless — the thought burned through his mind and wounded him. All his life he had worked hard and this is how he had been repaid. The soles of his shoes thudded heavily until he came to a stop, running his hands down his face in despair.

When Bucky opened his eyes, he blinked until his blurred vision became clear, finding himself in front of the floor to ceiling bookcase that panned over the length of the full wall. Sighing at a complete loss on what to do, his eye flitted over the polished ornaments in front of him.

As he trailed over the neatly placed trophies and certificates, a scoff left his mouth — bitter and venomous. Every one of the awarded achievements built his resentment even more. The pretentiousness was aggravating.

He was about to walk away, go for a stroll with some fresh air to try and cool himself down and think properly. But just as he was going to leave, his eagle eye caught a small wooden picture frame shoved to the very back corner of the shelf, hardly noticeable with everything else taking front and center and ultimately hiding it.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, making sure his professor had really left before stepping forward. His nosiness had gotten the better of him and now his interest was peaked. Careful not to knock over any ornaments, he plucked out the frame and blew off the dust that had accumulated over the picture for god knows how long.

To his surprise, it was a photograph of Dr Parker, many years younger and dressed in a tuxedo. Next to him, a stunning woman with the biggest smile on her face, dressed in an ivory, white dress.

Bucky’s eyes flew wide open while his jaw unhinged in shock.

Dr Parker had a wife?

Now that he thought about it, his professor did wear a gold band around his finger; one that the sun caught during a lecture one time and blinded Bucky enough to choke while he was drinking his coffee.

Studying the photo some more, Bucky only focused on the woman, one with kind eyes, pretty lips and a body to kill for; silhouetted in a gown that complimented her figure amazingly. He was utterly blown away.

The picture was at least ten years old, he summarised. His professor looked way younger than he did now, with frown lines and dark circles underneath his eyes. But he couldn’t get over how beautiful his wife was and how the hell he had managed to snag her with his douchebag personality. His mind ran a million miles per hour.

For all Bucky knew, you could have been just like your husband; just as dull and just as unbearable. It was only rational, because no one in their right mind would willingly be with a man like that.

He stared at you through the glass and tilted his head in thought, until the cogs started to turn. What if? he asked himself. What if he got his comeuppance somehow?

As soon as the thought presented itself, he batted it away, shaking his head and placing the photo frame back in its place.

But as he stood the frame upon the shelf, his hand stayed with it, unable to let go of the nagging idea that had now taken root in his mind.

What if you were his perfect route for revenge?

Looking out towards the window of the office, the setting sun beamed in. Bucky followed the streams of light that shined through, one landing on another photograph, larger in size of a chocolate haired boy with bright eyes. While he resembled Dr Parker, the boy’s eyes were all yours, kind and filled with light. The kid looked around the same age as himself, in a lab coat that had the same emblem as Bucky’s college.

A plan began to quickly form in his mind, each piece and detail intricately connected together to create the most beautiful retribution. The biggest fuck you to his professor for screwing him over.

Bucky sheathed his hands into his front pockets, running his tongue over his teeth with the most evil grin on his face. Dr Parker was going to get what he rightfully deserved.

Vengeance.

Having met up after their last classes of the day, Bucky followed Peter into his home when he opened the door, the droolworthy aroma of a home cooked meal slinking into his senses and making his stomach grumble.

It was now routine for him to come round to the Parker residence every week on a Friday afternoon. Once you found out your son had a new friend at college, you had extended the invitation to Bucky as Peter had recited. And of course, it would be rude of him to refuse.

The execution of his plan had come together seamlessly, almost too perfectly. It was just his luck that a clumsy Peter Parker happened to bump into Bucky on campus in a rush to his next class, spilling his coffee onto the ground and offering to buy him a new one.

Since then, he had made it his mission to become closer to Peter and soon enough, it was the night of his first dinner with you.

Before that first meeting, he had drilled it into his head that his scheme of revenge was strictly business; to get in and out and call it a day. But that went down the drain when he rounded the corner to the kitchen to introduce himself and he choked on his words when you spun around on your heels.

Bucky still remembered that moment, the first time he laid eyes on you in the cutest sundress, decorated with daisies that hugged your waist sinfully. The way your tits practically spilled out the damn thing stuck with him too.

You were a vision, a sight for sore eyes — the photograph in his professor’s office did not do you justice even with ten years added on. Then, as soon as you bounced over to him and pulled him into a hug that made his dick hard, his initial intentions went out the window. He was a goner and he knew one time wouldn’t be enough of you.

However, when it came down to dinner, Bucky was admittedly nervous. It wasn’t only just meeting you in the flesh and having his expectations blown out of the water that threw him off balance, the inevitable of seeing his professor outside of college worried him. His plan for revenge could have fallen through as soon as he met him. They almost did. If that would have been the case, Bucky wasn’t sure what his next steps would be.

But when he sat down at the dining table, his professor had only just noticed another guest in his home. Bucky remembered the slight sweat of his palms, the dryness of his throat as your husband looked at him over his newspaper and cocked his head; a familiarity brewing between them. Those couple of seconds lasted longer than he cared for. Then, unexpectedly, Dr Parker brushed him off and went straight back to reading his paper — evidently deeming Bucky unrecognisable and only a new friend of his son’s.

That memory still offended him slightly. There wasn’t a hint of recognition, even though he had fucked Bucky’s chances of attaining his dream career.

Snapping out of his memory, Bucky quickly shook his jacket off, taking care to hang it neatly on the coat rack and made a beeline to the kitchen.

“Dude. I know you like my mom’s cooking but damn.” Peter shook his head with laughter but Bucky ignored him in favour of something of much higher importance.

Stepping into the kitchen, he immediately found you balancing on your tiptoes, trying to reach the spice rack on the highest shelf. The skirt of your dress inched up your thighs and he couldn’t help but stare unabashedly at a sneak peak of your white g-string.

Clearing his throat, Bucky held out his arms wide and acted casual with a wide smile. “Where’s my favourite girl?”

His heart jumped as you snapped your head around, grinning wide once you saw who it was. “Bucky!” you cheerfully sang. “Hi, sweetie. I’m so happy you made it.”

You have no idea how happy I am to see you too, he groaned internally. “What do you take me for? Like I would ever miss your cookin’, Mrs Parker,” he teased aloud.

Raising an eyebrow playfully, you cocked your hip and crossed your arms over each other. “What have I told you about that, hm? Call me Honey, sweetheart. All my friends do.”

Bucky held his arms up to placate you. “Forgive me. Your food is too damn good to pass up, Honey.”

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly and turned back around to try and pluck the thyme from the top shelf. “You and that charm, boy. You’re gonna be the death of some poor college girl one day.”

Noticing your struggle, Bucky took the opportunity to come up behind you and reach over your head. His lips perfectly aligned with your ear and so with a sly hand to your waist, he grabbed the jar of herbs and placed them onto the counter in front of you while he whispered, “What if I’m not into college girls?”

Bucky heard the sharp inhale you tried so hard to smother, but it was useless with the proximity between you. It was instinct to then squeeze your hip, listening for your sweet whimper he lived to be the cause of.

The moment lasted only a couple seconds longer until Peter called out for you from the hallway. “Hi, Mom. We’re home if you hadn’t already noticed.”

Breaking away from Bucky sharply, you held a shaky hand to your chest. “H-Hey P, how was your week?”

Small incidents as such repeated themselves every week. You and Bucky would find yourselves — or he would create them — in intimate, dangerous positions that wouldn’t be explainable to your son or your husband should they ever catch you.

Which only made the game all the more exciting for him.

“Mom,” Peter whined while he walked into the kitchen. “Can you please not call me that when I have friends around?”

Bucky held his laughter behind his hand when you passed your son by, pinching his cheek and putting on a baby voice. “Oh, but you’re just so cute!”

However, that smile was soon wiped away from his face when the front door opened, immediately slamming shut with a loud bang. “I’m home, Honey,” your husband yelled.

Your name on another man’s lips left a sour taste in Bucky’s mouth. He had come to learn that your nickname was born from your old college roommate who had affectionately bestowed it upon you after your love of baking dessert treats.

The story was adorable, one he had soaked in with all the details you offered him. But your husband and his boring, monotonous tone turned even the sweetest name into something unpleasant.

With his keen eye, Bucky had spotted the fake smile you plastered on your face to greet your husband, even when he walked straight past you without a hug or a kiss and into his usual chair at the dining table.

“Glad your home safe, love,” you quickly offered him a half assed hello and headed back towards the kitchen to grab the meat out of the oven.

“Hey.” Bucky shot forward before you could grab the handle and slid the oven mitts laying on the counter onto his hands. “I got this, don’t worry about it.”

You paused to look at him like he had grown another head. “Bucky, I've done this a million times. I’m perfectly capable.”

“I know you are, beautiful.” He didn’t miss the way your lips parted from his compliment, reserved for your moments alone. “Doesn’t mean you should have to. Lemme do it, please.”

It didn’t take much for you to relent, already flustered enough to give in to him. Stepping aside, you made room for Bucky to take the dish out of the oven and place it on the worktop.

“Smells fuckin’ delicious, Honey.” You gently swatted his arm for his colourful language, but he couldn’t help test the waters as he stared directly into your eyes. “Hopefully tastes as good as she looks.”

What he didn’t expect was for you to retort back with a quick wit. “Oh, don’t worry about that. She’s as juicy as they get.”

These interactions were just considered harmless flirting to you. Bucky knew you had no idea that he went home and fucked his fist, replaying these exact moments in his head. He licked his lips with a groan. “I bet she is.”

“Where the hell is this damn food, woman? I’m eating away here!” your husband barked from the dining table.

Bucky gritted his teeth while he watched you bow your head in embarrassment. “Just plating up now. It won’t be much longer, dear!”

Turning back to Bucky, you smiled apologetically. “Sorry about that, he gets a little grumpy when he’s hungry.”

He couldn’t believe you were apologising for that son of a bitch, though this was a regular occurrence by now; excusing your husband’s wrongdoings even if you were ashamed of it.

Placing his hand over yours, Bucky told you firmly, “Don’t think for one second that you have to apologise to me, Honey.” The next words he grumbled under his breath. “Especially never on behalf of that fucker.”

Your free hand smoothed over the skirt of your dress, a nervous habit of yours when you were upset.

Bucky recognised your unease and took initiative to derail the conversation. “What do you need me to take?” he asked while rolling the sleeves of his shirt up.

You looked at him then, quick to protest and shake your head. “No, sweetheart. You’ve done enough, honestly. Go sit down and—”

“Honey.” Bucky held your hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll help you. I’m all yours.”

Sighing defeatedly, you nodded your head to the foil covered dishes on top of the counter. “The vegetables and mashed potatoes could do with taking to the table.”

Bucky grinned wide, all teeth and brought your hand up to place a kiss to the back of it. “Good girl.”

A shudder ran down your spine that he didn’t miss, the hitch of your breath that blew the front strands of his hair giving you away. With a wink, he backed away to grab the dishes, piling them in his arms, along with a couple extra to take to the dining table.

Soon enough, a full roast dinner was set out, steaming hot and ready to be eaten.

Peter was already sitting on the chair by his Dad’s side, speaking animatedly about his recent discoveries on his science assignment for class. You always sat opposite your husband, which meant the only free seat that Bucky could take was opposite Peter and next to you.

Not that he was complaining.

He steadily pulled the chair out and sat down. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence that he brushed against you, not when he shuffled his chair as close as possible to you without raising suspicion. “Everything looks incredible,” he whispered as he leaned into you.

The grip you had on your cutlery faltered. Bucky reveled in your bashfulness, always competing with himself to see how much he could make you squirm. So he smirked when you gulped, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “T-Thank you, Bucky.”

Your son‘s voice brought you out of your flustered state “—So I was right, Dad! My results actually confirmed my hypothesis.”

You cleared your throat and chimed in cheerfully when your husband only answered with an uninterested hum. “That’s amazing news, P!” With a stern tone, you addressed your husband this time. “Aren’t you proud of him, love?”

But instead of congratulating him, your husband turned the page of his newspaper while shoveling food into his mouth. “Mhm. He did good, I guess.”

Luckily, Peter didn’t notice or bat an eye to his father. Bucky had witnessed over the few weeks he had been invited over for dinner that your son had enough support from you alone to keep his spirits uplifted.

You decided not to bite and move on with the conversation, mouth open about to speak when your husband suddenly laid his newspaper down and spoke over you. “You know, I’ve had the worst week at work.”

Frustrated, your fingers clenched tightly around your knife. “Oh yeah?”

Dr Parker blew out an irritating sigh. “The students this week—god—I had a flock of them at my door, complaining about their grades being too low.”

Bucky felt the blood in his veins begin to boil. Normally he would tune out the grating voice of your husband, but he couldn’t help but listen to something that directly involved him — unknowingly to his professor.

“I mean, I can’t help that their work isn’t up to par. What do they want me to do? Mollycoddle them?” he scoffed. “If they come crying to me for help all the time then they may as well cut their losses and drop out. They’re only wasting their own money.”

The loud clink of your cutlery dropping against the plate cut through the tense atmosphere. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dad,” Peter cringed, obviously uncomfortable. “You can’t say that.”

“I’m not saying anything that’s not true.” Dr Parker shrugged.

“It is your job to guide your students—who are paying thousands for their education by the way—and give them feedback to help them improve,” you shot back, heatedly.

Bucky’s chest puffed out in pride. Though he couldn’t outwardly say anything, he was proud of you for inadvertently defending him — even if you didn’t know it.

Your husband’s tone turned biting towards you, however. “I’m not their babysitter, Honey.”

But you stood your ground. “No you’re not. You’re their teacher and they look to you for guidance. It's the bare minimum your job requires.”

A weighted silence fell over the dinner table while you and your husband glared at each other until the chime of a text cut through the awkwardness.

Dr Parker retrieved his phone from his pocket and read his message. After a couple of seconds, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it onto his plate. “I’ve got to go back into the office. Emergency.”

“What?” you asked in disbelief. “But you’ve only just come home.”

“Well, unlike some, I can’t just slack off at home all day.”

Bucky watched out of the corner of his eye as your mouth dropped open in shock at your husband’s barely hidden jab. Unrestrained anger filled his veins as he had to hold back. Though the urge to fly over the table at Dr Parker was hanging on by a thread.

Is this what life was like at home for you? A husband who so obviously didn’t care for you while you made his life as comfortable as possible. And Peter, a son who held his tongue while he stiffly carried on eating his dinner and not defending his own mother?

Bucky looked to you as you quickly regathered yourself, blinking away the tears building over your waterline and pretending like you weren’t hurt.

Your husband passed over his harmful statement as nonchalantly as he said it while lifting out of his seat. “Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be home late.”

And just as rudely as he came home, he walked out, the slam of the door reverberating through the house.

It wasn’t a minute after that when Peter also received a text. After reading the message, his eyes lit up with excitement. Bucky knew well enough what that face meant — Peter was getting lucky. “Hey mom, is it okay if I go out? Hang with my friends for the night?”

The dinner you laboured over had already gone out the window once your husband had ruined it. Of course it didn’t bother you as much that your son wanted to leave too. “Of course, sweetie.” You stood up and collected the half empty plates from the table robotically. “Just be careful and let me know when you’re there.”

With a dejected sigh that only Bucky noticed, you gathered the rest of the cutlery and took them to the kitchen, beginning to fill the sink to wash up.

Peter waited until you were out of ear shot to whisper, “Dude, MJ asked me to come round tonight. I think she finally wants it!” Bucky held back a cringe. “You think it’s cool if I shoot off? You can make your own way home, right?”

Bucky couldn’t have given a single fuck where Peter went or what he did right now. All he cared about, as he shot discreet glances of you in the kitchen washing the plates, was your wellbeing. “Sure, Parker. I can figure it out.”

“Awesome!” Peter laughed before whipping out of his seat and running towards the door. “Catch you Monday, pal!”

The house grew silent apart from the departing slam of the door, this time by your son. As soon as Peter was gone, Bucky instantly left his seat to join you.

He leaned his shoulder against the archway of the kitchen. “You okay, Honey?”

Looking towards him in surprise, your eyes held onto a last tendril of hope that someone hadn’t let you be alone. “Sweetheart, I thought you would have left with P.”

Bucky shook his head with a fond smile, the curls at the top of his head bouncing with the movement. “Of course not. I’ve got nothing better to do with my Friday night than spend time with a gorgeous woman.”

He caught the tightening of your lips, as though you were holding back your flustered smile. “Oh, stop that. You flatter me.”

“I can’t help it. You make a man go weak. What can I say?”

“Are you flirting with me?” you laughed incredulously.

“And what if I was?” Bucky noticed the way your eyes latched onto the sight of his shirt, tightening over his arms as he crossed them over each other. “Would you like it?”

Your eyes flicked up to his, holding his intense gaze for a few seconds before you huffed a breath and began cleaning the dishes again. “You’re cute, Bucky.”

Bucky licked his lips and ravaged your form silhouetted in your fitted dress. “Wouldn’t exactly be the word I would use, but I’ll take it from you.”

A rare giggle, only let out in his presence, escaped you. “Scram would you? You don’t want to be spending your Friday night with your friend’s mom, sweetie.”

Testing the waters, Bucky let slip exactly what was on his mind. “Actually, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Your hand stilled, chest rising and falling at a faster pace than before. “Oh, if only I was twenty years younger,” you chuckled quietly to yourself, not expecting for Bucky to overhear.

Jackpot, he smirked to himself.

Walking to the kitchen island, Bucky leaned his elbow on the counter beside you. “What would you do, Mrs Parker?”

You jumped with a yelp, visibly surprised to have received a response so close; eyes blown wide as they flitted over Bucky’s face in panic. “E-Excuse me?”

Bucky closed the distance between you even further. He leaned over the sink to turn the running water off. “I said,” he whispered huskily, keeping consistent eye contact with you. “What would you do if you were twenty years younger?”

“I—I um,” your breathing started to become heavy while Bucky stared shamelessly at you. “It’s just an expression, sweetie,” you laughed, shaking your head to try and brush the comment off. “I d-didn’t mean it like that—“

“No?” He watched carefully as your eyes darted around, trying so hard not to look at him. “How did you mean it then?”

The spotlight Bucky was intentionally putting on you made you falter, even more so when he tucked your hair behind your ear and let his hand linger over your collarbone.

“C’mon, tell me. I don’t bite.” A sadistic smirk adorned his face while you stared at his lips. “Unless you want me to, of course.”

“I s-swear, Bucky.” Your voice was breathless with the heat of his stare. “There was nothing behind it, I—”

“I don’t believe you.” Bucky backed you against the sink, trapping you with his arms on each side of your waist. “I think,” he rasped, teasingly trailing his fingers up the bare skin of your arms. “That you would let me bend you over this counter right here and fuck you senseless.”

The wind was audibly knocked from your lungs as you gasped. Words failed you, stuttering over yourself which was most amusing to Bucky.

Nonetheless, your eyes still followed him with a glaze, hooked onto every word that left his lips. “I think you’d let me take you from behind. Stuff your pretty pussy full with my fat cock.” He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the bulge in his trousers. “You feel that, huh? How good it would feel to take all a’me, pretty mama?”

Bucky watched as your eyes fluttered and you bit your lip — the last of your reserve hanging by a thread. One more deadly blow to your empty head and you would be putty in his hands.

Any remaining distance between you disappeared as he placed wet kisses from the pulse of your neck up to the corner of your mouth. “I think—” he whispered against your lips, his next words uttered in his most seductive voice. “I think you’d let me do it. Right. Fuckin’. Now.”

You placed your hands over the shirt on his chest to push him away; a mistake he imagined as you alternatively began bundling the material up with clenched fists. “Bucky—“ you painfully uttered with your eyes squeezed shut. You shook your head, as though that would help you. “This—this isn’t right. You’re my son’s friend and I n-need you to leave—“

“Look at me.” Bucky slid his hands over your neck, holding your jaw with his thumbs to tilt your head up. Slowly, your eyes squinted open and he saw the confliction clear as day in your glossy eyes, the battle you were facing in your mind. “You’re practically melting in my hands, Honey. You just gotta give in. We’ve been playin’ this game for far too long now, don’t you think?”

There was no escaping his blue eyes when you tried to look away once again and he firmly guided your gaze back to him. “None of that, now. Do as I say.”

Your expression was tortured — torn between right and wrong, pleasure and sin. Bucky knew you were good, a dutiful housewife and loyal to a fault to a man who didn’t deserve it.

Where had that gotten you? Whilst the revenge plan was hot on his mind — the very reason he had meticulously planned everything up to this exact moment — he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth that he was getting something extra out of this. You.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you pleaded painfully, still with a wild spark in your eye. “We can’t do this.”

“You know what I’m not hearing, Honey?” Bucky asked. “I’m not hearing that you don’t want to do it.”

You shook your head frantically with wide eyes until he tightened his grip on your cheeks. “I’m gonna give you one chance to answer me.” He squeezed your cheeks until your lips puckered. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”

Desire rolled through your eyes as your thighs clenched together. Though you still tried to deny your need for him. “Bucky—”

“Ah, ah. I want an answer.”

Bucky watched as your throat bobbed. Your nostrils flared with your harsh breaths and your breasts heaved up and down with exerted force. Seconds went by, the two of you staring at each other before you finally answered. “Yes.”

The two of you burst into the master bedroom — the one you shared with your husband, kissing erratically while your hands fumbled through Bucky’s hair.

He moaned deeply, pushing you against the wall, and turning feral over the feel of you as he kneaded your body. “You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he hummed against your lips.

Your head thumped back against the wall, chest heaving while you tried to catch your breath. All of Bucky’s attention was drawn to your chest. “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most perfect tits?”

Choking on your spit, you stumbled over your words, so adorably oblivious to your own attraction. “I—I didn’t realise—um, t—thank you—”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head before quickly ripping down your dress to your waist with force. Your upper body was bare, free for him to roam his rabid eyes over your naked tits.

“Bucky!” Your squeal of shock was followed by you hastily trying to cover your chest with your hands.

But a scowling Bucky immediately ripped them away; offended you would dare try to keep them from him. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ cover yourself up, Honey.”

He could tell it was intense for you, to be so thoroughly desired and the thought that you had never received this much attention before made him angry once again.

“It’s been a while,” you mumbled. The mousy confession only heightened Bucky’s fury towards your pathetic husband.

Delicately, he kissed you and began to trail his lips down the slope of your neck. “Ain’t gotta worry about that. I’ll take care of you.”

Slowly descending, Bucky laved his tongue over your peaked nipple, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go with a pop. Your breast bounced with the motion and he squeezed his dick over his trousers with a groan. “Look at you, Honey. You’re a fuckin’ goddess.”

Bucky’s tunnel vision made whatever you said next pointless. Grabbing your tits, he buried his head in between them, relishing in your softness. He peppered his kisses across to your other nipple and swirled his tongue around the peak.

Your legs crumbled, the sensation overwhelming for you. The thought that Bucky could get you off by just playing with your tits made his cock even harder. But he had so much more in store for you.

“Why don’t you take off your dress, baby?” he murmured into your skin. “Want you to kneel on the bed for me, alright?”

You nodded shakily. Bucky hovered over your breasts a couple of seconds more, savouring the feel of you before stepping backwards to give you space to move.

With a deep breath, you walked on unsteady legs towards your bed, letting your dress shimmy down your body on your way. Your back was turned to Bucky and he salaciously eyed your figure, each and every curve of your body. He internally created a map of your stretch marks and imperfections that only made him more crazed for you.

The mattress sank down while you knelt onto it carefully. Bucky watched the arch of your back intently, the flesh of your ass rounding out from your position.

Forget the damn reason he plotted this very moment, he was just excited to finally get a taste of you.

Your quiet murmur sounded over Bucky’s thoughts. “I’m ready.”

Biting his lip, he strolled forward until he came to a stop behind you. Still fully clothed, Bucky desperately singed the picture in front of him into his mind. He held so much power in that moment, and it felt like a dream that he had you bent over solely for him.

Bucky leaned over your form, beginning to place delicate kisses down your back. He basked in the goosebumps that arose on your skin. “How the fuck are you real?” he murmured to himself.

With a shaky sigh, you whispered, “I still don’t know about this.”

Chuckling, Bucky finally dropped down to his knees, ignoring your reluctance to eye the flimsy piece of material covering your pussy. Hooking a finger inside your underwear, he peeled it away and held it to the side. “Oh, fuck me.”

You squirmed in place as the cold air hit you in your most vulnerable state. Your raw scent clogged Bucky’s nose and his eyes rolled to the back of his head in bliss. “Can’t fuckin’ wait any longer, Honey. Gotta know how you taste.”

Surging forward, Bucky buried himself between your thighs. You screamed in retaliation to the feel of his tongue snaking its way through your folds and he was sure he hadn’t heard a better sound.

He explored every inch of your cunt, unwilling to leave the heaven you so graciously granted him. But it was the sensation of Bucky’s tongue beginning to ease its way inside your hole that made you vocal once again.

“My husband—“ you called out, obvious to Bucky that you were trying to clear your conscience of guilt. But he knew you couldn’t care less about him — you didn’t even mention the fucker once while you were too busy feeling sorry for your son in the kitchen and making silly excuses to not let him have his way with you.

Landing a harsh smack to the top of your thigh, Bucky savored your squeal of shock. “Don’t act like you give a fuck about him now, Honey. Who’s the one eating your pussy this good, hm?” He ran two fingers down the middle of your folds, biting his lip at the wetness coating them. When your only answer was a moan muffled by your pillow, he spanked you again in the same place with more force. “Answer me.”

“You, Bucky!” you instantly shouted out. “You’re the one eating my pussy so good!”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He eased over the marks beginning to bloom on your skin and smiled to himself. “Call me James, though. I like it better.”

Without letting you reply, Bucky dived back in, fucking your pussy with his tongue. You reached back to hold your asscheeks open with each hand, desperate to have him go deeper into your hole. The glint from the diamond of your wedding ring caught his attention and he smirked into your cunt; the reminder that you were married only fuelled his arousal even more.

“Fuck, baby,” he spoke into your cunt. “You really are sweet, ain’t ya? Taste fuckin’ incredible.”

The filthy sounds of slurps and moans filled the room. Bucky was a starved beast, held back and pushed to the edge for too long and every little bit of anger and resentment that had built in his body from your husband’s treatment was taken out on you.

It only boosted his ego when you grinded your cunt back against him too. His cock jumped with excitement with how fucking dirty you truly were. You had been locked up too, he remembered. Stuck holding back your true self for a shitty excuse of a man.

Bucky grunted deeply before licking a wide stripe from your clit, slowly running through your pussy lips and reaching higher towards the puckered hole that twitched with anticipation.

“Oh!” you exclaimed aloud in surprise. Bucky thought he may have gone too far, then. But once you relaxed and backed yourself into his tongue, he smiled wickedly.

“You like that, filthy girl?” he laughed, darkly. “Should’ve known you’d be a little freak.”

Bucky circled the tip of his tongue teasingly around your asshole, moaning at your eagerness when you tried to reach further back with your hands and drag him closer.

“Don’t tease,” you gasped, out of breath. “Please, I want more. Gimmie more.”

Almost immediately, Bucky complied, ripping your hands away with vigor to replace them with his. He spreaded your asscheeks wide and lapped at your tight hole.

“Fuck yes—oh my god, James—yes!”

The depravity was obscene and disgusting and Bucky absolutely loved it. Never had he been more turned on and he decided then and there that this wasn’t going to be a one and done deal. He wanted you to be his.

A string of saliva connected Bucky’s mouth to your ass as he reluctantly backed away. The slick that had poured out of you smothered his chin and cheeks and Bucky happily licked his lips with a groan. “Baby, as much as I wanna keep eating your ass, I need to feel your pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You whimpered while your pussy clenched with a need to be filled. Bucky watched your cute little hole flutter. “Put it in me,” you slurred. “Need your cock.”

He wasted no time unfastening his jeans to pull them down enough until his dick bobbed out of its confines. Bucky caught you peeking your head around, trying to catch a glimpse of his cock, but he spanked your ass and bit his lip with amusement at your scream. “Not yet, baby. You’ll get a chance to see it when I fuck your throat later.”

You squirmed impatiently, needy moans escaping you and Bucky couldn’t hold back any longer. Grabbing his cock, he began to push the fat head of his length inside you.

A loud gasp tore from your throat and your pussy instantly tried to suck him in deeper. Your walls, tight and warm, hugged his dick like a vice. “You’re—oh my fucking god—how are you so big?”

The smirk that donned Bucky’s face was lethal. He had you right where he wanted you. And yet his eye rolled back all the same, savouring the flutter of your tight hole around him.

“This is all for you, baby,” he breathily whispered, bullying his way deeper into your pussy. “Get me so fuckin’ hard everytime I see you. Cookin’ in them pretty little dresses. Just wanna lift your skirt up and fuck you wherever I want.”

Your moans both fell into sync as Bucky finally slid his cock all the way to the hilt. You couldn’t stop squirming and it drove him crazy.

“You need to move,” you begged in between pants. “Please, I can’t stay still.”

Bucky licked his teeth with desire blazing through him. “Since you asked so nicely, Honey.”

Without the decency to ease you into it, Bucky instantly set a brutal pace. He looked down, admiring the thick coating of your juices lathering his dick and he willed himself not to blow his load so fast. He tightly closed his eyes, adjusted his stance and began to fuck you.

You were quick to grab ahold of whatever you could, scrambling for purchase within the sheets, but you were useless to try to stop how your head buried into the bed. The force of Bucky’s thrusts were too violent and so you surrendered to what was inevitable, letting yourself drool over the cotton.

“Bu—CKY!” your cry of surprise when he lifted his foot onto the bed, allowing him a better angle to fuck you, was music to his ears.

“What’s’a matter, baby?” Bucky mocked. “Thought you were a big girl, huh? Can’t handle me?”

Your reply was instant. “I can! I can, I promise, I promise!”

“Then shut the fuck up and take it.”

Bucky didn’t know where to look, he was spoilt for choice. To watch your eyes roll back in ecstasy? To concentrate on the shlick shlick of your soaked cunt? Ultimately, his eyes were glued to the jiggle of your ass, his hands soon following as though he was hypnotised. How it so perfectly met his hips without a falt in rhythm.

“Fuck me—this ass is heaven, baby. You been hiding it from me all this time?”

There was no answer this time, at least not a coherent one. Bucky was instead graced with your constant squeaks and groans — a woman too invested in a physical gratification she had so sadly been starved of.

Bucky chuckled. “Ain’t gotta answer, Honey. The sounds comin’ outta that mouth are keeping my dick happy enough.”

He almost forgot the end goal of his proposition in the midst of the delectable feel of your cunt. With a sudden bolt of clarification as he felt a vibration against his leg, Bucky kept one hand on your hip while he reached for his phone in his pocket with the other. Keeping up the pace of his thrusts, you were clueless as he unlocked it and opened the camera app.

“Now, Honey, I want you to really scream my name, okay? Wanna hear how good I’m makin’ you feel. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, dumbly. “C-Can do that for you, James.”

He grinned wickedly and threw his head back. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.” Looking back down at you through the phone screen, he hovered his finger over the record button and brought his other hand down hard on your ass. “Go on then, baby. Put on a show for me.”

If Bucky thought you were a fucking treat before, his mind was blown once you began to take the reigns of your own pleasure. Bucky hardly had to move and you still plunged yourself onto his cock with an unmatched enthusiasm to anyone else he had fucked. He could hardly keep his hand that held the phone up from shaking. The combined sounds coming from the both of you were insane.

None of his wet dreams could compare to his reality. “You—shit—you’re killing me, Honey.”

You must not have heard him because you decided to torture him even more by arching your back just that little bit further.

Bucky thought he was a goner, soon to approach his end. But he couldn’t let that happen. He was far from done with you yet.

Propping one foot up onto the bed for better leverage, he gathered his restraint and began to drive forward once more. He felt high.

“That husband of yours ever fuck you like this, huh?” Bucky demanded. “Can he make you leak all over his dick like a fuckin’ slut?”

You violently shook your head from side to side, like the thought of your husband left a sour taste in your mouth you wanted to get rid of. “Nuh-uh,” you whimpered, popping your ass up even more to take as much as you could. “O-Only you.”

“Tell him, baby.” Bucky noticed too late that he had slipped up, too gone off the feel of your cunt wrapped snug around his dick. But you hadn’t seemed to realise his mistake either and the thought that you were too much of a wreck from his cock to comprehend who he was talking about made him even harder. “Let him know who’s balls deep in your tight, slutty pussy.”

“Oh, fuck—please, please—you, James, it’s you. Please, it’s you!”

“Atta girl,” he cooed, hoarsely. “Look at the fuckin’ mess you’re makin’ on me.”

Bucky reached down to where the two of you were connected with his free hand, sweeping the copious amount of your slick gathered in a ring around the bottom of his cock. “Here.” He leant forward, one palm up towards you with his phone still in his other hand out of your view. “Open your mouth, pretty mama.”

You slightly turned your head with your tongue sticking out wide and eagerly sucked the juices off his hand with a long moan.

Managing to get all of it on camera, Bucky watched as you licked between his fingers, not wasting a drop. “Holy fuck,” he grunted deeply. “You’ll really do anything I say, won’t you?”

You bobbed your head up and down, eventually letting his fingers go, clean as a whistle.

“What a fuckin’ filthy whore. You’re perfect for me.”

You backed yourself onto Bucky’s cock, meeting his thrusts perfectly while the meat of your ass clapped against his toned waist. “You’re a needy little thing, ain’t you baby?”

“Anythin’ you want,” you slurred. “Can be whatever you need.”

“Poor mommy hasn’t been treated this good in a long time I can tell.” Bucky gripped your ass harshly with his hand, jiggling the flesh for his own satisfaction. “Women like you, need putting in their place on a daily basis. Need a good fuckin’ to keep them happy.”

“Yes!” you agreed, firmly. “Mommy needs to be fucked like this all the time.”

Unbelievable. Bucky didn’t even have to try to add salt into the wound. He couldn’t help the continuous conspicuous messages that he could easily pass off to you. “This is what happens when you don’t take care of your wife.”

Harsh slaps echoed in your bedroom. The two of you could only share the raw sounds that left your mouths in your haze of the thrill as the string between you pulled tighter and tighter.

“I’m—so—close,” you murmured with all your depleted energy.

Bucky didn’t need the confirmation when he could feel the rapid pulses of your walls that squeezed him. He knew your orgasm was clutching at its straws and he was so close himself. The blood from his head had long since made its way to his dick and his composure was swiftly deflating.

“Want that cum,” he garbled as his mouth hung open. “I’ve been such a good boy, mommy. Give it to me, please.”

You whined loudly, like a dog in heat. But your voices became lost on each other. That didn’t stop Bucky from losing his inhibitions out loud.

Thrust. “I’ve been such,” thrust. “A good,” thrust. “Boy.”

The wound up ball of tension in your lower stomach exploded in a series of screams and violent shivering that overtook your whole nervous system and the very sensation brought Bucky to his defeat.

The muscles in his legs failed him as they turned to jelly. Bucky let out the sluttiest moan he’s ever experienced in his life and all but collapsed onto your sweat slicked body. He could feel his cock shooting a constant stream of cum into your cunt with seemingly no end in sight.

“Fuck,” he whimpered into your ear. Slowly, his conscience came back to life and the flow of his load finally came to a stop.

The two of you laid still, only the heavy panting serving to fill the silence. After a couple of minutes, Bucky kissed your shoulder blade, before lifting himself up. He gathered the strength to gently retrieve his length from your hole that still strangled him.

Bucky was reminded of the phone that was still recording in his hand and he quickly made sure to get the winning money shot of his load dripping out of your pulsing hole while he wholly detached himself from you.

He was only human to push his finger into your cunt, he thought, letting himself gather himself on his own fingers.

Flipping the camera around to himself, Bucky put his coated finger in his mouth, sucking your combined juices and humming and letting it go with a pop. He laughed, out of breath, his red cheeks and mussed hair only adding to the depravity of the video. “Y’know some people should really keep an eye on their wives. You never know what they’re up to in their spare time. Ain’t that right, Honey?”

Bucky knew you were out of it — he watched on while you buried your head in the sheets, rubbing your thighs together as aftershocks made your body twitch. Your needy, high pitched keens bounced off the walls. “Wan’ more of your cock, James—please—need you to fuck me again.”

He licked his lips in delight, the sight of your ass wiggling with his cum leaking out of you and your unprompted addition to the recording filling him with glee.

“Well,” he sighed, turning back to the camera and shrugging with no remorse. “You heard the wife. Duty calls.” With a cocky wink, he ended the recording with a final farewell. “See you in class, Professor.”

Bucky exited his camera app and quickly brought up his emails, scouring through to a saved draft and attaching the video link. After pressing send, he shut off his phone, making sure any future notifications would be silenced before throwing it to the ground with a careless thump.

“Baby,” you whimpered, looking behind you to search for him. “What are you doing? I said I wanna be fucked again.”

Undressing the rest of his clothes, Bucky stalked towards you, kneeling onto the bed and effortlessly flipping you over to kiss you deeply to share your combined tastes. “Don’t worry, mommy,” he breathed into your mouth. “I’ll take care of you now.”

Meanwhile at his college, a new email popped up on Dr Parker’s computer screen, shrouding the dark office with a white glow in the late night. With an exhausted huff, he looked up from grading papers — all of them marked with a C or lower — and squinted his eyes at the bright screen.

New Email from James Buchanan Barnes

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. The name was familiar as he thought back to the day the kid almost cried in his office, complaining about his poorly-graded assignment and his GPA; Dr Parker had gossiped with Professor Stark in his department on his dinner break, recounting the annoying way this particular student had whined like a baby. Though he couldn’t quite remember how James looked, unable to place him among the hundreds of pupils he taught.

Amused curiosity ran through him, wondering what his student had to moan about this time and so with a sadistic smirk, he clicked on the link, waiting until his message came up.

Though that smirk was quickly replaced with a frown when the email finally loaded with an attachment.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But I like mine warm, tight and sweet.

Just like Honey.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction

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nymphomatique · 4 days ago

Text

gold star student

professor!logan howlett x fem!reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * one bad grade is one too many, so you ask one professor logan howlett, phd. for some extra credit after class. inspired by this art.

cw: reader lowkey has undiagnosed adhd, u want that cookie so effing bad, oral (m & f), praise, some degradation, swearing (it’s logan), shaky power dynamics so it can be considered dub-con, non specific age gap, college aged reader, logan puts stickers on your face while you blow him, face slapping, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!), finger sucking, spitting on the pussy, grey streak logan cause if he ain’t greying im not staying!!!, this is just me being horny idk what else to say i’m sorry yall. 18+ only.

wc: 8k

❤︎ a/n: this was…. a labour of love to say the least. i hate the ending but fuck it we ball. enjoy <3

Ever since you were a child, anything and everything that had to do with academia had been the bane of your existence. Sitting at a desk for eight odd hours in a day wasn’t only grossly unappealing to you, but a mental challenge as well. You had found it hard to grasp onto concepts and new materials as well as the other kids, unable to focus on whatever spiel of the day your teacher went on about and still found yourself struggling in higher education. From kindergarten, to elementary, to middle school, to high school, up until now in your college years, you find that not only has your attention deficit gotten worse, but so has your motivation in academia in general.

A floater student is what you would consider yourself, showing up to class once in a blue moon, rather busying yourself with doom scrolling in your dormitory or shopping off campus at the mall, only showing up during exam time and barely passing. your prognosis would be one of the many hyperactive disorders, but you never bothered to diagnose yourself officially. In high school, your parents didn’t make a huge deal of your grades, thanking a graceful god out there that you even got your diploma to begin with. At this age however, with tens of thousands of dollars being poured into your tuition, your mother and father have seemed to coil up even tighter in terms of frustration with your nonchalant attitude towards school.

A report card from your fall semester riddled with C’s and D’s, emboldened and italicized as if to taunt you silently, was the final straw, the cussing you received was enough for a lifetime. At your parents' discretion, before the start of the semester you consulted with your academic advisor in suggestion of a course schedule that wasn’t a twelve hour day, and professors who would accommodate you with in the case of your late assignments and missing homework.

All classes but one would be easy- you had been told. Your world history class and its professor had been the only one where you had been saddled with a hardball teacher, rate my professor describing one Logan Howlett, teacher of Modern World History in the Context of Classic Literature, as a man with a foul mouth and harsh grading asshole— with an excellent curriculum but horrible grade weighting, as described by your fellow student body, the mandatory attendance and participation accounting for twenty percent of your grade alone pulling a groan from you as your laptop screen stares back at you, the blue light emitting from it seemingly silently taunting you with the course course outline. Get used to looking at my screen. Three hours in an auditorium, every Wednesday and Friday for twelve weeks at nine in the morning with this douchebag.

You mentally prepare yourself for the exhaustion of the upcoming semester, shutting your laptop closed with a huff of annoyance before laying in bed, mentally preparing yourself for this seemingly infamous professor Howlett.

After a rather inadequate night of sleep, a zero sugar monster energy (gotta give in for the sake of your health where you can) and a double shot latte, you feel something that briefly resembles yet still distant from awake, you find yourself struggling to get comfortable in the stiff chairs in your lecture room. You’re glad you tucked yourself away in a seat in the corner, four rows back from the front, embarrassed that your peers are silently mocking your struggle.

It’s some odd minutes to nine on the dot, and you’re rather proud of yourself for being able to make it minutes early rather than stumbling in twenty minutes late like you’re prone to doing. Face resting on your hand, cheek squishing your right eye closed, your left eye flits around the room to the other people present, and you wonder if anyone else is stuck in your current situation: burnt out student who didn’t have a choice but to take this class at the least convenient time possible, simply for your graduation credits. Unfortunate kismet, you think, if anybody else in this room also had the privilege to have been born with the unlucky gene you possess.

Your eyes are heavy, the seconds tickering away at the speed of minutes, and you can’t help it when the last open eye you have flutters close. You hum to yourself, relishing at the feeling of finally being able to rest some more. the quiet shuffling of your classmates feet and the soft scrapings of their chairs, clock ticking so quietly that it barely registers in your mind. The ambient noise is like a blanket to you. It’s not more than five minutes, just a micro nap— you tell yourself, counting the seconds of each minute down silently. 45, 44, 43, 42, what minute is this?, 30, 29, 28, so tired, 22, 21, time to sleep…

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the auditorium door slam shut, blinking away softly the sleep in your eyes. your heart sinks for a minute and panic sets in— did you sleep through the whole class? On the first fucking day? You look around, eyes wide, and immediately sigh in relief when you’re greeted with a full hall. Conversely, you see everyone’s attention to the front of the class with materials out, so you trail your eyes to the front of the room and that’s when you see him, finally. Not his face yet, the wide expanse of his back and tail of his coiffed head facing you all instead. Your eyes trail down his body to his feet, clad in a pair of black combat boots, you can’t help but quirk up and eyebrow, bootcut jeans that seem to be worn in well, seemingly like they’re tailored to his long, very legs, then you see his jacket, which now you catch in time to see him taking it off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath and your breath hitches a bit. You can only see his triceps flexing as he maneuvers his jacket off, but you can just tell he’s covered in rippling muscle, his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, wondering if his face is as captivating as the rest of him. Your eyes flit over to the girl sitting two seats down from you, and you can’t help but smile a little at her expression, teeth chewing her bottom lip and eyes widened slightly and blinking in slow flutters, seemingly thinking the same things about this Professor Logan Howlett as you are; He’s obscenely sexy even though I haven’t even seen his face.

When you focus your attention back to the front, your face warms immediately upon finally seeing his– Professor Howlett’s face and fuck, you feel stupid for even thinking that he wouldn’t be even a fraction of attractive. His hair, oh god his hair, styled as if he just rolled out of bed and ran his hands through it once, maybe twice even, streaked with gray at his temples, peppering down into his sideburns and disappearing in his scruffy beard. His eyes are an enrapturing shade of hazel, almost brown, almost green, you squint a little to see the mix of hues better, cursing yourself for sitting so far away. His nose, button-like yet poses so masculine at the same time. His lips look so soft and kissable, framed perfectly by his facial hair as if it’s screaming at you to kiss there, to taste each other, let your tongues touch and whisper your deepest secrets to one another-

Gravelly and deep, his voice rouses you from your rather indulgent fantasy. “Good morning. Lively bunch this semester,” he quips and a quiet wave of laughter reverberates and echoes around you. Your chest tightens at the sound of his voice and you want to smack yourself silly for it. “Gonna spare you all the pointless introductions n’ ice breaking crap, yeah? We’ll go over the syllabus and get this show on the road.”

He’s curt, forward, doesn’t bite his tongue, you deduce. Not the jackass his reviews seem to pin him as, though it’s only the first class. They didn’t seem to mention how ruggedly handsome he was as well, you think and pull your lips taut as Professor Howlett, continues to read off the syllabus. Two essays, three quizzes, and a final reading comprehension exam. Attendance is mandatory Your eyes quickly flit to the back of your skull as he reads off that point. No makeups. No late work. No excuses.

You feel your heart hammer in your chest a little, a sense of anxiety bubbling up in you at how much this class demands. It’s nerve wracking, super fucking discouraging to say the least given your track record, but you know you have no other choice but to commit fully and pass this class, so help your parents. You suppose you can find the motivation in a hot professor and at the very least, make an effort to roll out of bed and be presentable on the days you show up to his class. You exhale softly, hearing the shuffling of books and closing laptops to rouse you from your thoughts.

“And don’t forget, first five chapters of tulip fever for next class,” his voice booms in the auditorium, fighting with the noise of students desperate to leave and head to their next class or back to their rooms. You flit your eyes towards your professor, arms crossed and muscles bulging against his shirt, casually leaned against his desk. His eyes meet yours for a moment and your breath hitches immediately. His brow quirks at you silently and you’re sure you might disintegrate on spot. You feel your face heat up and you break away the eye contact to rush out of the lecture, both exhausted and perpetually embarrassed, not having enough energy to handle feeling both. In your haste, you miss the way Logan's lip quirks up for a split second at you, rushing out the door with Tulip Fever and streaks of grey on your mind.

You find you can’t keep your modern history professor off the brain since leaving the lecture hall that wednesday, ever so flustered. You thought about his thick arms back at your dorm, and how they might feel wrapped around you in a warm embrace. You thought about those graying temples, and the picture it would paint with his head between your thighs. You thought about him in your humanities class as your professor droned on about morality and its many philosophical perspectives, but you tune her voice out and think of his instead, wondering what it would sound like whispering sweet nothings in your ear. The level of yearning you’ve reached is bound to get you in trouble, hell it’s gotten you in trouble already— completely neglecting to finish the first five chapters of Tulip Fever like Professor Howlett had assigned, losing yourself in the work from your other classes. Friday had snuck up on you and you smacked your forehead for being so forgetful, the beginnings of discourage and a knot forming in your stomach. I’m a failure, I suck at this, I should drop out, I’m such a fucking idiot.

The thought of letting down a man you barely know has you berating yourself even further. You need to get a grip and quickly— he’s your teacher for God's sake. You suck in a breath, finding yourself sat in the same lecture hall your vivid fantasies found themselves being born in, laptop open as you’re frantically reading the Sparknotes summary minutes before class is set to start. Today, you chose a seat in the second row, still far off to the right side. You weren’t sure you could stay coherent with his gaze on you so heavy. You tell yourself you picked this spot for a better learning experience, closer seats meaning less of a chance you fall prey to your fantasies, but deep down beyond the denial you knew better than to convince yourself of a lie like that. You sat upfront because you wanted to see Professor Howlett better, to pinpoint the hues of his eyes you couldn’t make out yesterday from so far behind. You wanted to trail your eyes up and down his muscular frame, taking snapshots of the hair on his forearms, the freckles on his thick knuckles, the veins trailing his big hands—

“Good morning, everyone,” a gruff voice speaks and you feel a ball of energy sits itself deep in your stomach, it’s him. You've missed the deep baritone of his voice, you realize. “Hope you all read up the chapters, yeah? We’ll be discussing ‘em today, and I am the asshole who picks on students to participate.” There’s a soft wave of grumbles from some, but your panic is quiet and you hope to a God in heaven somewhere that he doesn’t pick you, god knows you barely retained any information from your flash round of Sparknotes earlier.

“Like any book, the first few chapters were mostly exposition, character and scene setting stuff. Tell me, what does Sophia’s marriage and lack of heir signify to us in these times?” Professor Howlett asks, and you immediately avert your gaze to the grooves and scratches in the table in front of you. Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, please please please— “Yeah, you,” your head snaps up, heart hammering in your chest when you see him nod his head at some girl, some girl with too much fucking chest out, you spit, her hand raised high and smile plastered across her smug little face. Your brows pull together and you barely contain the urge to roll your eyes at her enthusiasm.

“Thank you, Professor,” This fucking bi- “I think that- that while Cornelius and Sophia are often representative of the way marriage was a lot of the times something more transactional, her being unable to have a kid being a main problem- shows how a lot of times a marriage with no evidence of, um, consummation, is seen as practically null and void.” Your fist tenses against the desk at her answer.

“Little long winded, but yeah, good job..?” his voice lilts off, and you smile a bit knowing he doesn’t even remember her name. “Oh, um, Amber,” she sputters out. He nods at her response and continues asking questions about the book. You feel a little bad as class progresses, your unprovoked and unwarranted jealousy towards another woman over a man who’s simply an authority figure to you both, no matter how attractive, makes you cringe. What is he doing to you?

“Good answers, guys. Glad you all did more than skim the book,” Professor Howlett muses, turning his back to face you all as he digs through his briefcase. You take this time to admire how broad his back looks, draped in a black polo shirt today that practically has you drooling. “The rest of you I didn’t pick on today aren’t unscathed unfortunately,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns around and presents the stack of papers between his large hands to you all and he smirks, “Pop quiz.”

A myriad of groans come crashing from all over the lecture hall right down to your ears and you silently join, hands falling down against your desk. You sincerely hope these weren’t going to be graded, praying that Professor Howlett possesses some sense of apologeticness, knowing that the definite zero percent you’d get on this would completely fuck over your overall average for the rest of the semester, subsequently giving your parents ample reason to rip you a fucking brand new one.

Row by row, he passes a stack of papers for each student to pass down and he stops in front of you, seeing as you so conveniently sat at the end of the second row. “Nervous?” he asks, brow quirked and smug fucking look on his face as you look up at him. You quirk your eyebrow right back at him, “Hardly.” A group of papers fall in front of you and he breathes out a laugh, leaving you to pass papers to the next row. You lied like shit, you were insanely nervous, knowing you hadn’t retained a lick of information from your mini crash course nor the class’ discussion prior.

“No tech, no cheating. You guys know the drill, don’t make me catch you and have to chew you out. Twenty minutes and I’m picking ‘em up.” Logan says, walking down the aisle and back to his desk, his hulking frame leaning against his desk and his arms crossed up against his chest so tight that his biceps practically bulge out of his shirt. Or maybe, he’s just that toned, that any movement, minuscule or major, would have him threatening to rip out of his clothes. You’re practically fighting yourself in your seat, tearing your eyes away from his thick arms and heavy pectorals and down to your paper.

It’s one page, front and back, ten questions. It wouldn’t be so bad had you actually read the book, considering you can’t even remember the name of the main character in the book. You bite your lip, trying so hard to rack your brain for something that resembles a coherent answer to these questions that will give you at least a 75%, knowing it wouldn’t skew your grade average completely off. What does Maria’s role stand to symbolize in the context of 1600’s Amsterdam?. You clench your fist so hard around your pen you’re almost amazed that it doesn’t break under the pressure. You didn’t even remember a Maria in the book.

Twenty minutes of writing later, grasping at straws for potential points that would make you feel better than getting a big fat zero on your first quiz in this class, in his class, you’re walking to his desk to place your quiz in a pile with the rest of your peers, just as he’d instructed. You kept your eyes down the entire time, feeling too embarrassed to look at him after that silly excuse for banter you had attempted earlier. Hardly. Yeah fucking right.

After your quiz, you had been dismissed from class, and you felt the anxiety set in almost immediately. The phone call you had with your parents that weekend over your classes and grades so far only worsened, the stern and subtly implied threat of coming back home to learn at a local college looming silently above you if you didn’t keep your grades up. You had obviously avoided mentioning the pop quiz you had, choosing not to set them ablaze at the mention of the fact that you most definitely failed that pop quiz. The stress of your grades instilled a new found productivity in you, in which you took initiative to read ahead of the assigned chapters and annotate as well as take notes for your modern history class, hoping to be prepared next time he’d ask a question. Your stomach churns at the thought of his praise, Good answer. Very good, kiddo. Like that idea. you imagined he’d say to you. You bite your lip as you study your western civilization notes, maybe he’d even indulge in you, call you his good girl, his good little student, something that Amber would never have above you.

Monday and Tuesday went by uneventfully, as you completed your labs and started on your assignments when assigned. Tuesday night however, you had been anxious almost, or maybe excited— you weren’t sure, but you did know you wanted to be prepared for this class, to prove to Professor Howlett that you could handle his class, show him that you wouldn’t let him chew you up and spit him out so easily. You took the time before bed on that Tuesday to prepare your books in your bag, organize your notes, and even pick out an outfit, neatly folding it and leaving it on your desk chair. Grades be damned, you were beyond ready to prove everyone wrong, yourself included.

You sat in the front row again, enraptured in the world of Tulip Fever, but really you would rather focus on Professor Howlett. He was all you thought about these days, especially at night when it was only you and the dark of your dorm to entertain you before bed. You hear a giggle next to you and you snap your head to the direction of the noise. Amber. A deep rumble sounds in front of you, someone clearing their throat. You look forward again and see your professor and your face heats up. “Welcome back to earth, sweetheart,” he muses, humour painted all over his face. Your eyes widen at the pet name he’s given you and you feel like sinking into your seat. “I need you here next time, yeah? Not in that pretty little head of yours,” he says, quiet enough so only you and the front two rows can hear. Your head spins. Pretty. He called you pretty. He continues his lecture like nothing else happened, leaving you dazed at his affection. His eyes flit to you briefly and he smiles, before walking back to the front of the class.

Little moments like these pepper themselves throughout your lectures with Profess Howlett in between the assignments and lectures and raised hands. You’d catch him looking at the juncture of your breasts sometimes as you wore low cut tops, his lilting voice calling you precious pet names, sweetheart, kiddo, sweets. They all have your face warming. Heated gazes, stolen smiles, one off banter, you were convinced you were being delusional. One particular moment after class where you had asked for details on an assignment had you reeling for days. You went up to him after class to ask your question. His face was insanely close, you could smell the mint off his breath from the gum he was chewing during the lecture, feel his words fan your face, deep rumblings and focused glares as you were only inches away from his face. His lips, oh God his lips… so close, so soft looking, so pink, you had been so caught up in him the entire time. And he had noticed, his fingers coming up to your chip to raise your gaze. He did it wordlessly, eyeing you as you eyed him. His look daring you to say something. Challenge me. I dare you. But you didn’t— you couldn’t, you had tried to focus on something else, his musky woodsy scent, his greying stubble, anything, as he continued to explain your question to you. You walked out of his class that day with jello for legs, replaying the moment in your mind.

Next class you had seen him he had given the assignments back, adorned with little gold stars on those who had grades higher than a B minus. Your paper had come back to you with an A minu, a little gold star next to your grade. “Boosts morale,” had been Logan’s explanation when a student had asked why the gold star. You smiled. Cute.

You had felt like you finally found your groove, despite the hiccup you had at the beginning. Your first test of the semester approached, and you weren’t nervous, in fact you showed up to class early, getting a chance to get a good spot and watch Professor Howlett walk in and begin setting up. You had waved, a meek good morning in your own words and he returned a wink back. Your insides tugged at themselves. He had waltzed over to you in your seat, starting up conversation. “Nervous?” he asks, curt and short. You smile, “Hardly,” using your own words once more. “I’m gunning on a gold star. I studied extra hard.” Professor Howlett hums, smile on his face. “I look forward to seeing your work. I enjoy reading it,” he says. He leaves you with those words as he walks back to his desk, more students beginning to pepper in the classroom as the test hour approached. You had been so sure you did excellent on your test, studying for days and days beforehand. So when you got back your test, a C Minus staring back at you with a gut wrenching empty space next to your grade right where a star would be. Tears prick your eyes as you look at the grade, feeling so disappointed in yourself. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

You had promptly stayed behind after class to speak to him, and it seemed like Amber had the same idea, her body close to his as she spoke lowly. She didn’t spare a glance back at you as she spoke to him, hand grazing his bicep as she walked away and past you. Your eyes rolled in your head and you walked up to Professor Howlett next. He’s in the middle of packing up his papers in his bag when you come up to him, and he glances up in acknowledgment before going back to what he’s doing. You breathe out and his brown quirks as he pauses and looks at you. “Yes?” he asks. “I… I would like to see you after class if possible to discuss my grades,” you say, fist curling and uncurling with nerves. ”Tomorrow afternoon come see me at my office,” he says, arms crossing. “Don’t be late. Don’t get your hopes up either,” he quirks. You chew your lip before sighing. “I’ll be there. On time.”

And true to your word, you showed up promptly and on time. Your heart was hammering in your chest cavity so hard you felt like it would burst through your ribcage. Your lower lip found itself between your teeth, chewing at it tenderly. You had been staring at the mahogany colored door, finished with a shiny golden plaque, L. Howlett, PHD. carved within the surface of the precious metal. His name posed just as intimidating as he did. You’d been standing in front of his door for almost three minutes now, fingers skimming along the hem of your plaid skirt. The accompanying white tanktop and white cardigan hand made your subconscious intentions loud and clear, as some part of you, a delusional part of you, had hoped this school girl-esque get up would grant you some sort of leniency with Professor Howlett as you begged for him to give you a retake, a makeup assignment, something for God’s sake.

Any moment more of hesitancy and you would be late for your two o’clock appointment time, so you bring your knuckles up to the door to knock, twice in succession, when the door swings open in front of you. Your knuckle is almost met with Amber’s face, her shock seeing you just as evident as hers. She doesn’t let it linger however, as she casts a glance over her shoulder and muses a “Bye Professor. Thank you so much, I’ll see you in class Monday,” before looking back forward and right back at you, holding your gaze as she walks right out the door and past you, making sure her shoulder doesn’t miss yours. You scoff. Bitch.

“Right on time. Come in,” he gestures, refusing to get up from his comfy looking office chair. As you walk around his office you take in the interior briefly. The mahogany furniture, the lingering smell of cigar smoke, evidence of his nasty habit sitting on top of an ashtray on his desk, the glass bar cart, adorned with various bottles of whiskey and gin, and a mini fridge sitting on its bottom shelf— filled with ice and garnish you assume. You eye his book cabinet, shelves stuffed with various literary titles, old and new, classic and contemporary. You find yourself impressed, but you shouldn’t be, his teaching— albeit rough, brutish sometimes even— is a testament to his passion towards books and literature. You smile a little as you sit down in the foam lined chair in front of his desk. You try not to think of who sat in it before you as you feel the residual warmth of it against your thighs. You take in Professor Logan, black t-shirt and dark blue jeans— casual, but damn if he made it look good. You eyed his arms, veiny and bulging out his shirt, before flickering your attention back to his face, framed by those greying temples you oh so loved.

“So?” He trails, redirecting his attention from his desktop to you. You swallow a little and sigh. “Um, I know that you said no… no retakes or anything, and I understand your answer if it’s a hard no,” you say, pausing to look at him to try and assess what he’s thinking, but you’re simply met with a raised brow and crossed arms as he leans back further in his chair. “But I… I was wondering if- Well, my parents, they said that If I have a grade lower than an A on my report card this semester I had to drop out and transfer locally, and I don’t want to make this a pity story but I… It’s only this class where I’m having trouble. And I know what you said but my last test really fucked my average and I-” your nervous ramblings are cut off by him raising his hand. Your lips clamp and you watch him, waiting for his impending words. He makes you sit in the silence and with your words, instead opening his desk drawer, rifling between what sounds like various loose pens and papers before taking a lighter out. Small, sliver, zippo style and engraved with meticulous swirls. He picks up the already cut cigar out the ashtray, placing it between his pink lips, and lights it— two experimental puffs of smoke floating your way and you get dizzy.

“You don’t mind?” He asks only now, and you try not to roll your eyes and that façade of chivalry. “No,” you shake your head. “Thought so,” he smiles, smug. He puffs from the cigar once more before he places it down on the glass ashtray once again before he speaks up. “As it stands now if you tighten up for the rest of the semester you can pass my class with a B something, which don’t sound too bad to me, sweetheart.” Your gut twists with tension. A B isn’t what you need. You brows furrow and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “I would love to help you sweetheart, trust me I would. But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other students who come waltzing in here dressed just like you, begging for an A,” he drawls, picking up his cigar again and slotting it between his lips before he stands up and your breath hitches. “Wh- dressed like me? I didn’t-” you begin, confused at what he’s implying. Your eyes follow his moving figure, his steps taking him around his desk to the side of your chair, conveniently eye level to his groin.

“But you did, didn’t you?” he asks softly, thumb coming to your chin to direct your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t understand…” you murmur, skin beginning to warm at the rather inappropriate contact and position. Your chest heaves up and down beneath your cardigan and he surely notices letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can put two and two together,” he continues, thumb rubbing softly back and forth against your chin before he drops his hand from you completely. Your eyes drop in sync to his limb, your mind racing a million thoughts a second. But… isn’t this what you wanted? What you needed? What you’ve dreamed of for weeks upon weeks? “Look at me,” he says, stern. And you do. “You listen so well,” he hums and you feel the makings of a fire ignite itself inside you somewhere deep. I’m being good. Good for him. “Kills you inside that you couldn’t get that shiny little sticker, doesn’t it?” he muses, looking down at you with mirth swirling in his eyes. You feel tears spring to your eyes at his words. He sees right through you. It did hurt. All you ever wanted to be was good for him.

“We can fix that today. Tell you what, you be a good student for me, and I’ll be a good teacher to you, yeah?” he says, taking a puff from his cigar. “Nod your head like a good student.” And you do. Up and down, slowly. Your brain is fuzzy. This surely isn’t happening, is it? It couldn’t be. He walks away and back to his desk, propping his cigar down after asking it. He pushes a pile of papers from his desk, until he finds what he’s looking for. A sticker sheet. What is he…

“C’mere,” Professor Howlett gestures with a finger, simultaneously sitting back on his chair. Your legs are trembling under you as you get up and walk towards his side of the desk. Logan pivots his desk chair to the side as you walk over to him and you find yourself standing between his legs, quiet. “Take that off,” he says, flicking his head towards your cardigan. You let it drop off your shoulder promptly, standing only in your white tank top and plaid skirt. “Kneel,” he says, and you drop immediately. Pathetic. Your hands lay in your laps as you’re sat between his legs on your knees. Your breathing is as laboured as ever. You can’t believe this is happening— something that you spent nights dreaming of. Touching him, tasting him, feeling him. He reaches over to his desk and grabs the sticker sheet of gold stars, a fresh sheet of stars neatly arranged row by row. “You know what to do, don’t you sweetheart?” he asks, palm of his hand running against your face. You nod, reaching forward to the zipper of his dark denim jeans before his palm grabs your hand. “When I ask you somethin’, I want a verbal answer. Y’understand?” he says. Your voice feels caught in your throat. He’s so intense your head is spinning. “Y-yes,” you breathe. “Yes what?” he spits back and your heart hammers. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he hums. He lets go of your hands, taking a sticker off the sheet and placing a small gold star right next to your left eye. Your face heats up at the praise and you almost let out a breath, but you don’t. Your hands go back to undressing Professor Howlett, fingers deft with his button and zipper. He lifts his hips up and helps you shrug his jeans down until they’re sitting on top of his black combat boots, clad only in black briefs. The heavy tent in his pants makes your eyes go wide but you persist, thinking of your grade on the line. With a tug at his boxer band his dick pops up over the elastic, and you pull down until the full sheath of him is bobbing freely. Your eyes widen a little at the sheer size of him, wondering how he could possibly fit inside your mouth let alone your pussy. He was long, eight inches you’d guess just by looking and insanely thick. He was heavy too— the length of him unable to stand up fully, bobbing haphazardly as he twitched from arousal. You looked up at him, and his gaze was steady. Expectant. You sucked in a shallow breath before grabbing his cock, warm to the touch. Your fingers barely touched. You’re hand jerked up once before Professor Howlett was grabbing your wrist, only to spit on his dick, the string of saliva landing on the shaft. “S’better. Go on,” he encourages, and you do— jerking him a little faster now with his spit lubricant, the sound of his slick skin making your pussy feel warm, wet. You jerk him faster, spitting in the palm of your second hand before you join your other, breasts bouncing up and down as you jerk him. Little grunts leave Logan, and it makes your tummy feel warm. You were making him feel— “Good, just like that, yeah. Use your mouth now,” he moans. You felt intimidated by his size, but you persisted still. You wanted to be his good girl.

You look up at him as your mouth opens, coy like a fish, and you wrap your lips around his tip. He inhales a sharp breath and it gives you some encouragement. Be good. Your head drops lower, lower and lower until your mouth his full and his tip is tickling your uvula, and you gag around him, sputtering spit all over him. You pull off his dick to cough and he chuckles at you. “Let’s try again together, yeah?” You nod, “Yes, Sir.” You reposition yourself, back on your knees in front of him. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out, open real wide,” he says, tapping your cheek. It felt soft slap more than a tap however. But still, you open your mouth wide, tongue hanging out. “Juuust like that, yeah…” Logan groans, slapping the warmth of his cock on your tongue. “Breath through the nose,” he says, before putting the length of him in your mouth and pulling your head down on him, fist clenched in your hair. He pulls you down deep, further than you managed to reach alone and you gag, spit everywhere, but he pays you no mind. His curses under his breath before standing up out of his seat, your head craning up as his fist pulls at your nape. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, thrusting his cock in an out of your mouth. Your throat feels rubbed raw, tears pooling in your eyes but you hold on, hands gripping his thighs. “Take it, fucking take it,” he grunts. His hand disappears before placing a sticker on your spit-covered cheek and you whimper around his cock. Logan’s brows pull together and he laughs. “That turn you on? You like being my good little student? You like sucking off your professor?” he laughs, fucking your face with a deep pace. You muffle a Yes, Sir around him as his spit soaked balls slap against your chin and he laughs. Sticker after sticker covers the expanse of your face, a juxtaposition to your debauched mascara-streaked-spit-covered face.

Your throat is raw, but you’re relishing in the attention, the praise, the intensity of it. “One more mouthful, c’mon,” he grunts, pushing your head down even further down his cock and you squeal around him. Your eyes snap shut, focusing on holding your breath as he brings his dick deep down your throat until your nose is buried in his greying pubes. “So fucking nasty,” he drawls, deep groan leaving his chest. “Take it, be good and take it,” he says breathless, before he’s spitting his cum down your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow his bitter semen. Your eyes wretch open lowly, watch Logan’s face contort in pleasure as he finishes in your throat and you whimper, squeezing his thighs tightly. “Good student,” he coos, pulling his cock from your mouth and it’s a relief that’s long overdue. Your first unobstructed breath is a deep one, and you’re slightly dizzy from the oxygen after having it restricted for so long. You don’t think about it for long before a hand is pulling you up off the floor, and before you know it, lips are on yours, tongue finding tongue. Your eyes close by themselves and you melt into the kiss, Professor Howlett’s lips soft against yours, but kissing you so roughly. Your arms grip his biceps, desperate for something to hold onto, anything to steady yourself with.

The kiss breaks and your mind feels hazy. Your eyes open and you see Professor Howlett staring back at you, hands roaming your body. “Pr-professor…” you moan out after a particularly hard squeeze at your ass. “Logan, baby,” he says, kissing your lips once in a peck, and again as a sloppy embrace, his tongue swirling in your mouth and you keen into him. His hands pull at the back of your thighs and you jump up in his arms, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He walks you a few paces, still stuck in an embrace, until he puts on you down on his desk. He breaks the kiss between you two before pulling the front of your tank top down, revealing your breasts to him, nipples pert. He wastes no time kissing and licking your chest, and you throw your head back in a silent moan. He sucks on your nipples for a minute, pinching and toying with your breast until your chest is heaving and nipples are raw. “What a sight for me,” Logan hums, and you feel shy under him like this. “Lean back and spread your legs f’me,” he says low, kneeling as you do as he asks. He’s eye level with your pussy, only covered by your skirt and white panties. He lifts the plaid fabric up and groans, the little wet spot of your pussy a delectable sight.

Logan leans forward and licks the wet gusset of your panties and you let out a shuddering moan. “P-please, Logan…” you breath, too wound up to wait. He smirks and indulges in you, pliant and needy. He hooks a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulls them to the side, hurrying his face into your wet and waiting pussy. It’s an enrapturing feeling, having him suck and lick and taste your clit and folds like this, groaning into you and he praises you for having such a sweet fuckin’ pussy, baby. He sucks your clit roughly, before pulling back to spit on your pussy, rubbing his nose against your clit before flattening his tongue against your gushing slit once again. The streaks of grey between your thighs sends blood rushing downwards to the center of your arousal and you can’t help but run your hands through his salt and pepper hair. He licks and tongues you until your legs go numb, teasing your orgasm from you time and time again until you’re nearly in tears for him, ready to cum.

“Please Lo- Sir. Please, Sir. Wanna cum, I’ll be good. Just-” your begging is cut short as two thick fingers push themselves in you and you throw your head back at the stretch. “You’re gonna come for me in a little, sweetheart. Be good for now,” Logan coos, kissing your inner thighs. You’re heaving as he curls and scissors his fingers inside you in a way that feels so unfairly good that tears begin to streak down your face, gold stickers peeling and falling off your damp skin; scattering down on the desk and falling on your chest. “G-gonna… Oh my God, Sir,” you squeal, just about ready to… Until his fingers deftly leave you. Before you can whine about this, Logan’s thick fingers covered in your slick push into your mouth and you groan. “Hush, baby. You’re about to feel real good in a little,” Logan hums, rubbing his cock, now hard again, up and down your wet and sensitive pussy, the head of him hitching your clit so good it hurts. His fingers leave your mouth. “Beg for it.” And you do. You’re a babbling mess under him. “Inside, p-put it inside me, Professor,” you moan, and Logan's resolve snaps, thrusting into you in one fluid movement.

You see stars, no pun intended, at the stretch of him. Your stomach feels full and you shudder, laying back down against the desk. “Tightest, sweetest fucking pussy I ever felt,” Logan coos, fingers pushing back into your mouth. His unoccupied hand grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder and he begins to thrust in and out of you, knocking the wind out of you with every push in and out. Your intermittent moans turn into a symphony of cries as his pace increases and he’s fucking into you at a brutal speed. Your hands are grasped around the wrist of his hand that’s by your mouth, sucking his fingers to soothe the burning part of the pleasure. “That’s it, fucking take it,” he grunts, pushing your leg from around his should back until your knee was touching your shoulder. The new angle made the pleasure unbearable, every movement rubbing against your g-spot. Your eyes begin to close, your body shutting down seemingly as you begin to enter a pleasure comatose, the bubbling pleasure, the fingers in your mouth, it all feels like too much. But Logan doesn’t let you stay in that place for too long, his fingers leaving your mouth to slap your cheek, pulling back down. “I need you right here, know it feels good but I want you with me,” he says breathy, thrusts still never faltering.

Without his fingers in your mouth your moans are free to be heard, your incoherent babbles of “s’too much,” and “so deep in me, sir,” floating in the air between Logan’s heavy breaths and obscene curses. You’re breasts jump with every thrust in you, your head bouncing up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. “T-Tell me…” you stutter out, eyes fluttering. “Tell you?” he asks, grinding his hips up and deep, and you’re sure he’s grazing your cervix. You grip his t-shirt and keel. He gets what you mean. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re the best girl. You want another star, don’t you?” he breathes out, a hand moving down to your clit as he thrusts up and out, up and out into you. You whimper, his words and ministration’s overwhelming, “Yes, Sir. M’good. So good. W-want it. Please, can I have it?” you babble. You belly feels warm, and the heat bubbles with every brush at your swollen clit and thrust in your pussy. He lets go of the hand at your knee, spreading you open to grab a sticker from the sticker sheet. “Stick your tongue out f’me,” and you do, overwhelmed with this moment. You’re being good. You’re being good. You’re almost there, keep being good. He spits in your mouth and you moan holding it there and waiting for him to tell you what to do. “Swallow it,” he huffs, thrusts faltering. He’s close, you deduce. I don’t want it to end. Please don’t let it end. You swallow and stick your tongue back out to show him and he groans.

He puts the star sticker on your tongue, and he thrusts in you harder, tweaking at your clit as he does. Your body seizes and you melt into a fit of moans and grunts, and you finally cum, Logan fucking you through it. “Yeah baby, just like that. Kneel for me,” he says, pulling out of you. You lay up off the desk and fall promptly to your knees, watching him jerk himself to orgasm above you with your tongue out, gold star on the middle of your tongue. He grunts with deep Fuck! before warm ropes of cum spray your partially sticker-covered face and tongue. Your eyes close and you hum, relishing in the warmth. Logan wipes the cum from your eyes with his thumb and sticks it in your mouth, and you suck, no questions asked. “Good fucking girl.”

The moments following are awkward. Logan tucks himself back in his pants, and pulls his jeans up and you’re left laying on the floor, coming down from your ecstasy high. The zip of his jeans breaks the silence and you’re looking up at him, soiled with cum, spit, stickers, tears and mascara. He walks to his bar cart and grabs the cloth hanging off the handle bar, and he hands it to you. You clean yourself up, and when you’re done you find his cardigan in his hands. You fix your tank top back over your breasts and pull the crotch of your panties back into place before grabbing it from him. “Thanks,” you say quietly. “See you in class on Tuesday,” is the last thing he says to you before you leave his office. Stunned.

On Tuesday, he hands you back your test with a new grade, an eighty, and gold sticker placed on it right next to the new grade. He glances at you as you look over your test, and smirks. You read the note he left in red ink on the back of the test, heart beating a little faster once you look back up at him. Good girl.

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hearts4hughes · 3 months ago

Text

oh, professor - professor!rafe x student!fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut ; mdni ; p in v ; oral (f receiving) ; degradation ; unprotected sex ; age gap (reader is 22 & rafe is 29)

A/N: i started this writing for someone else, but changed it because it gave off so much rafe energy. all im needing rn is to get attention from professor!rafe

you sit in the dimly lit library. your leg bouncing up and down under the wooden table. it was late— too late for a tutoring lesson, especially one with your professor.

rafe, your professor, sat across from you. his presence was both distracting and irritating. you hate the way his eyes pierce through you, reading every thought you tried to conceal. he is only seven years older, but he wore his authority with a confidence that made your blood boil.

“if you actually paid attention, you would understand the material, y/n.” rafe says, his voice teasing and raspy. you shoot him a glare, your arms crossed over your body.

“i am paying attention,” you retort with a tight lipped smile. the lie leaked from the sides of your lips. how could you focus when every fiber of your being is aware of him?

he leans closer, his scent intoxicating as it fills your nostrils. your heart races in your chest. “then prove it.” he challenges, leaning back with a smirk.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. your mind is blank. rafe grins with pride, his cheekbones highlighted by the lightning in the room.

“it’s hard to think when you’re putting me on the spot.” you roll your eyes.

he stifles out a laugh in response.

at the start of your sophomore year at the university of north carolina, you were assigned to professor rafe cameron’s class. he was new to the college, and his arrival spread like a wildfire. he was tall with piercing blue eyes and a muscular body that was evident even under his formal clothes.

from the moment he walked into the classroom, he wore a confident strut in his steps. the girls practically swooned at him. as the semester went on, the outfits the students wore got smaller— each girl trying to catch his attention. however, he kept it professional, not looking lower than he needed to.

it all made you scoff. professors were supposed to be older and wiser than their students. but he was only twenty-nine! how could you truly respect him when he was barely older than you?

you couldn’t, and it didn’t go unnoticed. rafe had noticed you ever since you stumbled into class. his eyes followed you day after day, week after week, but you never shared that interest. you didn’t attempt to flirt with him or invite him to a party, you were totally indifferent. it enticed him.

however, ignoring your professor wasn’t the smartest idea. as a former straight a student, you were failing one class only— his. even though it was unusual for a professor to directly tutor a student, rafe offered to, leaving you no choice if you wanted to keep up your grades.

the tension between you and rafe was palpable. every week the fog surrounding the two became thicker.

“you’re not concentrating.” rafe spoke, breaking the silence. his voice was softer now, almost gentle.

“i’m trying.” your words were dismissive.

he sighs, closing his notebook. “maybe we should take a break.”

you nod in response.

as he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt pulled taut against his abdomen, revealing the outline of his abs. you looked away quickly, a red flush rising to your cheeks.

“why do you do that?”

“do what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“act like you hate me,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “i know you don’t.”

you scoff. “why should it matter if i like you or not? you're my professor, not my roommate.”

“it begins to matter when your grades plummet.” he says plainly, tilting his head to the side with a smug expression.

you clench your fists by your side. frustration coursed through your veins like a wildfire. “you think you’re so smart, don’t you? you’re only a few years older than me!”

he chuckles, the sound so entrancing it made you gulp. “i’m smart enough to know that you’re scared to admit that you like me. that maybe, just maybe, you find this as intoxicating as i do.”

your heart pounded in your chest. “this is ridiculous.” you mutter under your breath. “i don’t need this, i’ll figure this class out myself.”

his smirk only grew deeper as you rushed out of the door. as the north carolina air hit your skin, it was hard to ignore the pulsating between your legs. looking back towards the library, you scoffed.

the next morning you find yourself back in rafe’s lecture hall. the room is filled with the scent of coffee and the rustle of college students.

you take your usual spot in the middle of the class. as you unpack your books and laptop, a figure sits besides you. you glance at the boy as he smiles, mirroring your action of setting up his academic station.

“hey,” he greeted. “you always sit in these seats, don’t you?” he smirks. “i’m gavin by the way.” you can’t help but blush as he holds out his hand.

you shake his hand, “hi, i’m y/n.” you reply, your hand still lingering in his. “and what can i say, i like routine.” he chuckles at your cheeky comment.

he’s cute with a dirty blonde mop of curls on his head. his eyes brown eyes are doe and kind. his jaw is sharp and his dimples pop when he smiles. he’s the all american perfect boy. the rest of the lecture is harder to focus on as he sits besides you. every so often, he steals glances at you and whispers jokes into your ear.

rafe notices the second the male student sits besides you. he notices how the boy’s gaze lingers on you and your cleavage, and how he’s so desperate for an ounce of attention from you. it makes his body tense and his lungs tight. it’s unbelievably hard to stay on track during the lesson which causes him to end the class fifteen minutes early.

“we’ll pick this up next class. see you all next week.” he clasps his hands together, signaling the end of period.

you stand up, slinging your bag over your shoulder as gavin follows you like a loyal puppy. within steps of the exit, your professor calls out to you.

“y/n, can you stay after class, please?” rafe calls out towards you. his body was stiff and jaw tense. the usual glimmer in his eyes was replaced with a greenish tinge.

girls besides you sneered as you nodded your head, waiting until the rest of the students filtered out before you walked towards him.

“yes, professor?” you said, your voice bitingly sharp.

“we didn’t get to finish our conversation from last night.” he tisked, his eyes raking up and down your body. “you left so abruptly.”

“well, we were done tutoring, so i had no other reason to stay.” the words are sharp off your tongue, only encouraging him more.

he stared deeply into your eyes. his eyes held an ocean filled with lust and secrets. it was as if there was a siren in the waters, singing and drawing you in.

you broke eye contact, allowing your gaze to fall onto the ground. he chuckled as if he had won a bet. your cheeks blushed something fierce.

“make a new friend today?” he asks as he moved his body around his desk. he was now standing directly in front of you, leaning on his desk. his dress shirt pulled against his body, emphasizing his impressively muscular arms.

he is a work of art.

you turn your head, “i’m not sure what you mean.” your voice was shaky and you weren’t sure if it was because of the tension in the atmosphere or the tension between your legs.

“really?” he challenges. “i could have sworn you were talking to that boy during my lecture.”

“it was just a conversation, rafe.” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual. however, your heart rate increased under the confines of your clothing.

he took a step closer, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. “oh, i’m rafe now? what happened to professor? and it seemed like more than a conversation.” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “i don’t like seeing you flirt with other students.”

you swallow harshly. “yeah? and why’s that?” your words were an attempt to maintain steady, but you knew who was controlling the conversation.

his lips curved into a smirk, his eyes darkening with desire. “you don’t have to pretend with me, y/n.” his voice was soft. he reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “i know you want this just as badly as i do.”

the fire burning in your core intensified.

“we can’t do this.” your mind was telling you no, but your heart was screaming yes. “y-you’re my professor, and i’m a student.”

“i know.” his voice was sultry. chills traveled along your skin as his finger traced your arm. “i’m no good for you, but doesn’t that make this all so much better?” he leans in, whispering into your ear.

his lips dropped from your earlobe onto the skin of your neck. he sucks along the sensitive skin, biting ever so gently.

“rafe,” you breathe out. he hums in response, his arms wrapping around your body as he pulled you close. “kiss me.”

without any hesitation, his lips landed on yours. his lips were soft, yet demanding, moving against yours in a fiery rhythm. your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between. the bulge beneath his dress pants began to grow.

you could feel the heat radiating from him, mixing with your own. the kiss depend, his tongue teasing your mouth. a moan escaped you, echoing around the empty classroom. he flipped you around, lifting you up, and sitting you on his desk. your legs separated as he stood in between them.

breaking the kiss, he gazed into your eyes, his lips still a shadow on yours. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to do that?” he whispered, his voice dripping with pure desire.

you were breathless in a haze of pleasure and desire. “what else have you wanted to do?” you look at him through your lashes. your doe, sweet eyes flicking a switch inside of him as he growls in response.

his hands traveled to the hem of your shirt before swiftly ripping it off. you sat clad in a black, lace bra, leaving little to the imagination.

“you’re ethereal.” his words painted a pink flush on your cheeks.

one hand reaches behind your back, unclasping your bra and revealing your perky tits. you gasp as his mouth attaches onto one of your nipples, sucking voraciously.

your legs wrap around his waist as you melt into his touch. every rational thought fled your mind, replaced by a primal need to feel pleasure; to feel him.

“rafe,” your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling every time his tongue swirls around your sensitive nipple. he responded with a moan, dropping to his knees in front of you.

you took in the sight as he unclasped your jeans. his hair was a tousled mess, his lips swollen, face flushed, and eyes hungry with desire.

he pulled the material down your legs, discarding it elsewhere in the room. your matching lace panties made his mouth hang agape.

he looked up at you, “are you sure about this?” you nod, your body squirming in need of touch. he tisked with a grin, “i need words, sweetheart.”

“yes.” the words couldn’t have left your lips faster.

the second he heard your consent, he dropped his head down to your lower body. he began at the edge of your thighs, licking a trail up to your inner thighs. his hands moved with purpose, swirling circles around your legs, but never in the one spot you desperately wanted.

he took his time, savoring each moment as he licked, kissed, and sucked the skin along your thighs and waist.

you wiggled as you grew impatient. he chuckled, taking a hint and suddenly pressing his tongue flat against the thin material of your black panties. your head fell back in pleasure.

he made quick work of pulling your panties to the side and licking a long stripe up your folds. your fingers find their way to his hair, where you tug and pull. that only encourages him more as he begins to lap up your core like a man starved. his nose pushes against your clit as his tongue penetrates deep inside you.

the sight of his handsome face buried between your legs made you whimper, clenching around nothing but his muscle. your juices covered the lower half of his face as he continued to please you.

“taste so much better than i imagined.” he coos, shifting his focus from your hole to your bundle of nerves. you whimpered when his tongue circled around the little nub. he smirked against you.

“i’m gonna-” you interrupted yourself with a gasp as his ring and middle finger entered you. you stretched around his digits, leaving your mouth agape. he pulls away from your legs to look at you as he curls his fingers just the right way.

it wasn’t long before he began pumping his fingers in and out of you at a merciless pace. you felt the knot in your stomach tightening as he continued his assault on your pussy.

and just as you were about to come undone on his fingers, he pulled them out. your eyes shot open and you opened your mouth to argue, but his lips crashed against yours in a hungry battle between tongues. he pulled away with a tisk.

“think i was just going to reward you for being a brat?” he shook his head. “after you flirted with that ass in front of everyone? gotta teach you a lesson, honey.” he undid his buckle and dress pants before allowing them to drop to the ground.

your eyes widened as he freed his thick length from the confines of his boxers. his tip was painfully throbbing, in need of release. he ran his finger over his tip, collecting precum and spreading it across his cock. he hisses at the feeling, only causing the ache between your legs to intensify.

he scoffs as you spread your legs wider for him. “such a needy little slut, huh? need your professors dick that bad? so pathetic.” his words send a shock straight to your core, making your legs twitch. he smirks as he steps between your legs. he grabs himself and teases your entrance. when his tip knocks at your clit that’s when you turn into a cock drunk mess.

“please, rafe. i need you so bad that it hurts.” his smirk widens as you beg. while keeping eye contact, he bottoms out completely in you. you want to scream at the pleasure, but all that falls from your mouth are whiney, pathetic whimpers.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust before thrusting ruthlessly into your sopping cunt. his thick length stretches you out deliciously. his hand drops to your clit, rubbing in circular motions to ease the pain into pleasure.

his hand claps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head feel hazy. he continuously pounds into you. his tip kisses your cervix causing you to yell out in pure ecstasy. he smirks as he looks down at your stomach. with each thrust his cock bulges against your skin.

“rafe, it’s too much.” you breathe out, squirming around. his hand tightens around your throat and his other clings to your hips, holding you down as he fucks you.

“you can fucking take it.” he spat, his lips connecting with yours. it’s a clash between teeth and tongues as the knot in your stomach intensifies.

he leans back in his heels, hitting a new angle. his dick hits your g-spot continuously, bringing you to your climax. you cream around his length and it spills onto the floor below you as he doesn’t slow up on his thrusts.

you lay limp, clinging to his biceps as he spills inside of you. you’re thankful that you’re on the pill because nothing ever beat the feeling of his sperm painting your walls. breathlessly, he slows down his strokes. he pulls out, kneeling down and watching your mixed juices spill out of your worn-out core. using his fingers, he pushes his release back into you, marking you as his.

“i think you just earned some extra credit.”

#hearts4hughes #nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #obx season 4 #obx #outer banks

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prettyinsophie · 1 month ago

Text

Being Ms. Maximoff’s favorite pet…

2k words

college student! reader x college teacher! Wanda

warnings: mommy kink, fingering in a classroom, small use of y/n, squirting, age difference (duh), use of bunny/doll/etc. anddd it’s kinda trash tbh.

I’ve had this WIP for over a year so it was time for me to just finish it💀 buuuut I’m working on two Sevika different ones if y’all were wondering.

“Please don’t forget to go over the next session’s material. Remember we’re getting close to finals, but as for now you’re dismissed, have a good weekend.” Ms. Maximoff says and almost simultaneously everyone stands from their seats and heads out, some saying goodbye and others annoyed at the reminder of the upcoming stress of final exams.

“Hey, y/n. The girls and I are going to call it a day and grab lunch, wanna come?” With a bright smile, Kate offers, and you can feel another pair of eyes glancing at you.

“I’m sorry Kate, I actually have to stay for the next class, but you all have fun!” You reject the offer apologetically and the girl playfully rolls her eyes at you.

“I swear no one can crack you, promise you’ll join us next time.”

“Okay, I promise,” You smile back and watch her gather her things.

“Bye, enjoy yourself I guess.”

“Y-yeah, bye!”

Kate walks out of the room and the door loudly makes a “click” when it closes, bringing silence into the atmosphere. You look at Wanda and immediately gulp when she smirks at you with her head slightly tilted. She stands and walks to your seat, placing her hands on the desk. She leans down while looking down at you.

“Well, what do we have here? Didn’t you just say you have a class to attend, Ms. y/ln?” The woman asks in her low and smooth voice, and all you can do is stare blankly at her with your wide eyes.

“I-” You squeak and clear your throat, “I lied, I wanted to be with you alone, Ms. Maximoff.”

Wanda brings her hand to your face, softly brushing her fingers against your cheek, and laughs sweetly at your response.

“My darling, of course you did. Today you were so good…paying attention to the class and participating, even ignoring whenever Kate tried to talk to you when I was in the middle of the lecture.” She praises and your breath hitches, “That girl, always trying to get you to skip my class like you’re still in high school, but you never let her convince you. No. Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

The way she intensely yet adorably looks at you for the only answer there is to that question makes your knees go weak, and you can feel your face starting to heat up.

“Yes, I am.” You breathe out.

Wanda sits next to you and starts petting your head and running her fingers through your soft hair, making you close your eyes and huff through your nose at the relaxing feeling.

“I can tell when my bunny wants attention, the way you stared at me the whole class like you wanted me to notice your obedient behavior and the little smiles when your answers were right. Good girls deserve a treat, don’t they?”

You hum, almost coming out as a moan and you get closer to her, nearly falling off your chair. Then you feel another hand on your knee and you open your eyes in surprise, but you knew what you were doing when you decided to wear that mini skirt. You simply loved to play dumb and innocent for her.

“My beautiful doll, always looking pretty for me,” She purrs while groping your thigh, traveling higher, “You have absolutely no idea how hard it is to have you in front of me, watching me with those big eyes of yours while biting your pen and not being able to do anything about it.”

Her hand finds its way under your skirt and traces the front of your lace panties, rubbing your clit with her thumb and you gulp down a moan and squirm under her.

“Hm, someone likes it there?”

“M-more...” You gasp, feeling her thumb pressing your sensitive button.

“Ah, ah,” Wanda shakes her head and grabs your jaw with her free hand, making you face her, and you stop breathing for a moment. She’s so close to you that your lips are about to brush. “Is that how you should talk to your mommy, sweetheart?”

Even if you wanted to shake your head, you couldn’t, so there’s no other option but to answer out loud.

“N-no, mommy. ‘M sorry.” You whisper, and your cheeks turn a pinkish color.

Wanda’s stern expression turns into a smirk, and your soft skin gets attacked by unwelcomed goosebumps. That smirk means she already has in mind what she wants to do to you, and your thighs rub together in anticipation of what that would be. The grip on your jaw softens, and the older woman leans in and kisses you. You close your eyes and hum at the familiar feeling of her soft lips on yours. It’s already flustering enough whenever Wanda touches or kisses you, but right now, being in the classroom makes it a hundred times more agitating for you. You love it though.

You tilt your head to the side and slightly open your mouth, giving her the perfect opportunity to slip her tongue past your lips, your thighs glued against each other, looking for something else while Wanda tastes you. The kiss is heated yet delicate, devouring you without having to make it disgustingly messy.

When she breaks the kiss you open your eyes and see her lips mildly smudged in your cherry lipgloss. All you can think is how hot she looks with anything red.

“Now, what is it that you need, baby?” She asks softly with a raspy voice.

“You.” You whimper without hesitating, “I need you, mommy, so bad.”

Wanda smiles and voices an almost inaudible “aww.”

“You have to be quiet, bunny. You understand, right?”

You nod your head desperately and she spreads your legs carefully. Your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears, and it’s even pronounced against your throat. Her thumb traces your clit again, but this time you shift uncomfortably in the chair at the wetness in your panties, the finger travels down your pussy, the lace feeling sticky and you whine.

“My needy princess, all wet already, and I haven’t even started yet.” She whispers in your ear as she starts slowly massaging your clit, gaining a soft gasp from you.

She applies the right amount of pressure down your sensitive button, giving you just enough attention to keep you satisfied for now. You gulp, your chest beginning to heave as you struggle to keep quiet.

Wanda’s free hand finds your pouty lips, parting them with her thumb, and just as she does that, a small but clear whimper escapes your throat.

“Fine, guess I have to help you keep quiet,”

The redhead groans softly before forcing two fingers into your mouth, causing you to whine uncomfortably at first, which only makes her chuckle cruelly.

“C’mon sweetheart, you suck mommy’s cock just fine, you can handle my fingers.” She purrs with a taunting grin across her face. Her brows raised as if asking you for confirmation.

Your wide eyes look at her and you hum around her fingers, slowly but surely sucking on them with your addictive lips wrapped around Wanda’s long digits.

“That’s a good girl.” She softly encourages you, almost grunting because of your pretty mouth and the warmth of your tongue. Her eyes are fixated on your expression as she thrusts her fingers in and out of your mouth, focusing on the way your brows meet and shape your pretty face with an almost helpless look, fueling her most deprived desires. “Yeah…just like that.” She growls softly, thrusting deeper and harsher, causing you to whimper.

Wanda absolutely goes feral about how you don’t have a gag reflex. And she makes sure to take advantage of it whenever she can.

She tugs at the thin band of your panties, sliding them down until your aching cunt is free from the suffocating lace. A small groan escapes you when you feel a string of arousal connecting your pussy to the soaked material until it breaks from Wanda’s harsh tug. Count yourself lucky she didn’t rip them off.

Wanda gets her fingers out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and guides them to your dripping pussy, gently running them up and down, causing you to bite your lip in avoidance of any moans or whimpers.

“Tell me what you want, bunny.” She orders you gently, her lips hovering yours as she purposefully blows on them while her fingers coat your vulva with your wetness.

With a small gulp and bobbing on your throat, your eyes find hers in a pleading stare. The door isn’t even locked, and anyone could walk in. Your heartbeat tries to warn you relentlessly about it.

And yet, you still find yourself begging. “I want you to fill me up, mommy.”

It’s extremely deranged to be doing this in the place she works and you study at, especially with how you love to address her in the bedroom, but Wanda fucking loves it. She loves how you’re not as innocent as you portray yourself to be, and it’s all hers to see. In fact, you have such a strong effect on her that she’s subtly shifting on the chair, attempting to find friction between her own aching cunt and the thick material of her trousers.

The redhead smiles proudly at your obedience, planting a small but sweet kiss on your nose that has your brain melting, and she doesn’t waste a second before slowly sliding her fingers inside your pussy. Your walls are so warm that even a quiet but notorious whimper from her hits your ears, and you almost mirror it before she clashes your lips together in an almost needy kiss.

All you can think of is her; your hot mess of a teacher beginning to thrust her slender but long digits deeper and deeper as she tries to eat you alive. She’s only a starving animal when it comes to you.

Her fingers fuck you in a merciless rhythm, squelching and smacking filling the empty space, and rushing the blood to your cheeks in embarrassment at the lewd sounds. Your hips grind as well, somehow needing more despite her relentless thrusting, and she drinks your small moans of pleasure. Open mouthed lips capturing yours in a heated and desperate embrace with her free hand wrapped around your neck to both keep you in place and grip it tightly.

Clearly, Wanda couldn’t care less about where you are, at least not anymore. Her frenzied speed never fails to turn you into a puddle, and your thighs tremble once the familiar pressure rumbles down your belly.

“Mommy, I…” You try to tell her about the incoming blissful ending, and another harsh thrust against your spongy wall sends your eyes all the way back in euphoria.

As vocal as you’re being, you still try to keep it down. Your poor lungs are burning from your pathetic breathing, useless in the end because you’re still moaning and listening to their soft echoing.

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over mommy’s fingers, honey?” Wanda taunts you, her voice ragged with pulsing desire for the best sight there is to witness.

The steamy air and filling from her fingers are enough to warm you up. Small beads of sweat roll down your temples, and the heat releases the sweet scent of your perfume for Wanda to take in with her nose buried in the crook of your neck.

“So so close-“

A hurricane crashes down, emptying your head and your walls trap Wanda’s fingers inhumanly- as if trying to snap them from her hand to never miss the delicious stuffing again.

“What an impatient bunny. C’mon, keep being good for me and let go.” She whispers between bites and wet kisses on your neck.

The storm comes down, and you bite your lip so you won’t scream her name, drawing blood out as you squirt all over her fingers and your seat. The older woman can’t help but pant at the small show you’re performing for her, cursing because now this is all she’ll think about whenever she imparts her classes.

The white dots splattered all over Wanda’s face slowly fade away as you catch your breath and regain consciousness. She runs her fingers through your hair, soothing you and leaning in to suck the blood off your poor swollen lip.

“What am I going to do with you? I can’t control myself anymore.” Her question is mostly rhetoric, but it’s like she expects you to answer.

You don’t respond, of course, still empty headed because of her, and instead you just stare at her, completely moonstruck. Wanda sighs in amusement more than anything.

“My sweet, sweet girl…” She coos, her voice like honey.

The emptiness left by the ghost of her fingers causes you to groan under your breath, your thighs never ceasing their shivering. And she brings them to your mouth, the glistening of your creamy white arousal coating your lips as her digits enter your mouth again.

“How I wish I could just lock you up and keep you to myself.” She mutters between gruff sighs, intently watching you suck her fingers clean, “I hate that Kate keeps trying to keep you away from me…but you don’t want her. No. You want me, right?”

Doe wide eyes catch a glimpse of dangerous possessiveness in her emerald ones. You further take her fingers and nod your head, humming around her digits in a pleasing melody.

“One day…you’ll be away and missing, but finally all mine to have.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximommy #marvel smut #wlw #marvel wlw #wanda imagine #wanda smut

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fangdokja · 1 month ago

Note

Hello!

May I ask you about yandere!ex - boyfriend?

Did the yandere tendencies begin with the relationship or did they materialize after the breakup? And will there be a fic about him in the future?

Thankyou for answering in advance! 🫶

She wasn't looking for love, but love wasn't asking for permission.

❤︎ Synopsis. A calculated partnership born out of convenience spirals into something far darker, as control slips and obsession takes root. What started as a deal now feels like a dangerous game—and neither of them is willing to lose.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Ex-Boyfriend x Reader

♡ Novella. Friction & Fire - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 9,000

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, objectification, suggestive themes, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching

♡ A/N. Another planned work in my drafts that I haven’t released yet before, but here it is now. Technically an ask, but I prefer to answer this with a fic :)) Ok….. so I checked it and it's turning into 12k+ words. Went a bit ham, and still going. Might turn it into a Novella. Why do I write so much, ahh. So, I'll be dividing the parts (6 parts). Sorry. Probably, the slowest burn yandere among all my works at the moment.... I think. But, still for me, pretty fast burn romance, because we focus on yandere content. Lol. Also side note, if you like ENTP 7w8 yanderes (e.g. Gojo, Hawks, Dazai, Vanitas, Kuroo)? Well, this one's for you. Made a hardcore ENTP 7w8 yandere this time.

The first time you met him, it was as if the universe had aligned—not in some whimsical, romanticized way, but with the brutal precision of mathematics. A logical equation where X equaled Y. You needed a shield, someone to deflect the probing questions of your overbearing parents and the inevitable parade of suitors they had lined up. He needed a partner who wouldn’t demand too much—someone who understood ambition, who wouldn’t suffocate him with expectations of sweet nothings and fairytales.

It wasn’t love. It was convenience.

You found him sitting in the back of the lecture hall, legs spread wide and a pen dangling between his fingers like a cigarette. There was something insufferable about the way he grinned at you when your eyes met, as if he already knew why you’d approached him. You ignored the flicker of irritation his cocky demeanor ignited within you.

“I have a proposition,” you said, arms crossed and chin high, voice cutting through the low murmur of the room like a blade.

His gaze trailed over you, assessing but not predatory, as if you were a puzzle he was already halfway through solving. He tilted his head, the grin widening. “Do tell, golden girl.”

That nickname—it would become a staple, laced with amusement and, eventually, something sharper, more cutting. But for now, it was just a playful jab.

“I need a boyfriend.”

That caught his attention. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the smirk never wavering. “And what makes you think I’m boyfriend material?”

“I don’t,” you replied coolly. “But you’re convenient. Senior year, right? Close to graduating, no time for real commitment. And you seem…” You hesitated, letting your gaze sweep over him pointedly. “…unserious.”

He laughed, a low, throaty sound that drew a few curious glances your way. “Unserious. I’ll take that as a compliment. What’s in it for me?”

“Your parents are investors,” you said, your voice crisp, businesslike. “I’ve seen the sponsorships they’ve secured for student startups. You want their connections, don’t you? Stick with me for the rest of the semester, play the part, and I’ll make sure you have their ear.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to gauge whether you were serious. Then, to your surprise, he leaned back, his grin softening into something that felt almost genuine.

“You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to think of myself as efficient.”

He held out his hand. “Deal.”

From that moment on, the two of you fell into a rhythm. It wasn’t romantic—not in the way people might imagine when they looked at you, the golden child, and him, the sharp-tongued, perpetually smirking senior. You didn’t hold hands unless necessary. You didn’t go on dates unless it served a purpose. He played the charming, doting boyfriend at family dinners, his wit and charisma winning over even your most skeptical relatives.

And you? You became his silent shield at parties, the poised partner who kept the clingy girls at bay and gave his otherwise reckless image a veneer of respectability.

It worked. For a while.

You didn’t notice, at first, the way his gaze lingered too long when you weren’t looking. How he started rearranging his schedule to align with yours, his texts becoming more frequent, more personal. You chalked it up to him playing his role—nothing more, nothing less.

But beneath the surface of your carefully constructed arrangement, something was shifting. Slowly. Inexorably.

And neither of you realized it yet.

────────────

The partnership was a tightrope walk over a chasm, a precarious balance between your structured determination and his reckless improvisation. Where you sought order, he thrived in chaos; where you demanded precision, he operated on instinct. Your interactions were a battlefield of clashing ideologies, the tension sharp enough to draw blood.

You didn’t like him. Not really. And he knew it.

“You’re wound tighter than a noose, golden girl,” he’d say, leaning back in his chair during late-night meetings in the library, a toothpick shifting lazily between his teeth. “Relax. Not everything needs a ten-step plan.”

“And you’re far too comfortable winging it,” you’d retort without looking up from your notes, your pen scratching across the page in rhythmic defiance. “Some of us actually care about results.”

“Results?” He’d laugh, low and mocking, his voice a rasp in the dimly lit room. “You mean the kind your parents can frame and hang on a wall?”

That stung, though you never let it show. You simply straightened your spine, raised your chin, and met his gaze with a glare cold enough to freeze fire.

“Do you even have a plan for your life after graduation?” you shot back, your words slicing through his amusement. “Or are you planning to charm your way through that, too?”

The smirk faltered for just a moment, a crack in his otherwise impenetrable facade. Then it was back, sharper than before. “Why bother with a plan when I’ve got you to micromanage everything?”

It was always like this. Barbs exchanged like gunfire, neither of you willing to yield an inch. But when the conversation shifted to the projects you were working on together—the startup pitch for your entrepreneurship course, the meticulously researched presentations you delivered as a team—something strange happened.

The arguments faded, replaced by an almost eerie synchronization.

“What if we market it as a subscription model?” he’d suggest, his tone uncharacteristically serious, his fingers drumming against the table as his mind raced ahead.

You’d hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek, before nodding slowly. “It could work. If we tie it to a loyalty program—discounts for long-term users.”

“And gamify it,” he’d add, his eyes gleaming with an excitement you rarely saw in him. “Make it addictive. People love chasing badges and achievements. Psychological manipulation at its finest.”

“That’s… a disturbingly good idea,” you admitted, scribbling notes furiously.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he teased, though his grin lacked its usual edge. “Even I can be useful.”

For those brief moments, it was as if the constant friction between you two ignited something productive, something almost electric. You hated to admit it, but working with him was exhilarating in a way that was entirely new to you.

And yet, outside of those moments of collaboration, the tension only grew.

You started noticing the little ways he got under your skin: the way he’d leave his half-empty coffee cups on your desk during meetings, forcing you to clean up after him. The way he’d interrupt your carefully rehearsed presentations with off-the-cuff jokes that somehow always landed better than your meticulously prepared slides.

“You’re infuriating,” you snapped one evening, your voice tight with exhaustion as you shoved a pile of his crumpled notes back into his hands. “Do you even take this seriously?”

“Of course I do,” he replied, his tone unusually soft, his gaze steady. “I just don’t take you seriously. Not everything’s a life-or-death scenario, golden girl.”

You hated him. You hated the way he dismissed you, the way he seemed to find amusement in your frustration. But more than that, you hated the way he could turn around and say something so insightful, so perfectly aligned with your own thoughts, that it left you reeling.

It was a strange kind of intimacy, this constant push and pull, this battle of wills that neither of you could seem to win.

And though you didn’t know it yet, the cracks were already beginning to form in the walls you’d built around yourself.

────────────

The first time he saw you, he knew exactly what you were: a fortress. Polished stone walls, towering spires, and gates sealed shut with bolts of iron. Your every movement, every word, every carefully measured breath screamed control.

And he? He had never met a fortress he didn’t want to sack.

At first, it was curiosity. A passing interest in the girl who spoke with the precision of a scalpel, who held her chin high as if the weight of the world rested comfortably on her shoulders. He’d seen your type before—sharp, ambitious, ruthless—but there was something different about you.

It was the way your voice never trembled, even when your words cut like glass. The way your eyes locked onto his, cold and unyielding, like you were daring him to try something. Anything.

So, he did.

From the very beginning, he made it his mission to chip away at that armor, to find the cracks in your flawless facade.

“Golden girl,” he’d call you, the nickname dripping with mockery. He loved the way your jaw would tighten ever so slightly when he said it, how your fingers would twitch like you wanted to slap the grin off his face but couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it.

He started small—interrupting your meticulously organized schedules with his “spontaneous” detours, leaving his belongings in your space just to watch you bristle. But as the days turned into weeks, his methods grew more deliberate.

“Relax,” he’d say, leaning too close during one of your late-night study sessions, his voice a low murmur that was equal parts teasing and commanding. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep clenching your teeth like that.”

Your response was always the same—a cold, cutting remark delivered in that icy tone of yours, your expression a mask of indifference. But he could see through it. He could see the flicker of irritation in your eyes, the subtle way your shoulders stiffened.

He loved it.

Because while you thought you were unshakable, he knew better. He saw the storm that brewed beneath your surface, the fire you tried so desperately to hide. And nothing thrilled him more than coaxing it out of you, one spark at a time.

One evening, he pushed too far.

“I’m starting to think you like this,” he said, his voice low and mocking as he leaned against the edge of your desk, his presence an unwelcome shadow in the otherwise sterile room.

“Like what?” you asked without looking up, your tone laced with exhaustion and barely concealed annoyance.

“This,” he gestured vaguely, his grin widening. “The arguing, the tension. You get this little spark in your eye when you’re mad, you know. It’s cute.”

That did it. You slammed your pen down with a force that echoed in the silence, your eyes snapping to his with a glare that could have burned through steel.

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed, your voice sharp enough to cut.

And yet, even as you said it, he caught the faintest tremor in your voice. Barely noticeable. But to him, it was everything.

He leaned closer, his grin softening into something almost intimate, almost dangerous. “Maybe. But you’d miss me if I was gone.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with an electricity that neither of you fully understood yet.

It was in those moments, in the way you tried so hard to keep him at arm’s length, that he realized he was beginning to crave you. Not just the fire in your eyes or the sharpness of your tongue, but you.

The fortress was starting to crack, and he intended to be there when it fell.

────────────

The cafeteria was alive with a cacophony of voices, laughter, and the clinking of trays. It was a battlefield of social interaction, chaotic and loud, yet somehow orchestrated, with alliances formed over shared meals and fleeting camaraderie. You didn’t belong here.

You kept your steps measured and precise, your gaze fixed forward, avoiding the swirling mass of humanity around you. People parted instinctively as you walked past, their conversations dimming for just a moment before resuming. Your presence was a ripple in the atmosphere—not disruptive, but enough to remind everyone that you were there.

And then you saw him.

He was in the center of it all, as he always was, the eye of the storm. His laughter carried over the din, rich and unrestrained, a sound that drew people in like moths to a flame. He sat perched on the edge of a table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, spinning some ridiculous story that had everyone around him enraptured.

They hung on his every word, their faces lit with genuine amusement, their eyes sparkling with admiration. He had that rare, inexplicable magnetism, the kind that made people want to be near him, to bask in his energy. He wasn’t just popular—he was adored.

And you?

You were the anomaly. The outlier. People respected you, even feared you, but they didn’t enjoy you. They didn’t invite you to sit at their tables, didn’t seek out your company for anything beyond necessity. You were an island—solitary, unyielding, and self-sufficient.

You didn’t envy him. Not exactly.

But as you stood there, watching him effortlessly weave connections, a quiet thought slipped into your mind like a shadow in the dark: What if you were different?

What if you could be like him, with his easy charm and boundless charisma? What if you could laugh like that, unburdened and free, instead of wearing the cold mask you’d perfected over the years?

The thought lingered for a moment too long, and then you shook it off, burying it deep where it couldn’t touch you. You didn’t have time for such things. You were efficient, logical, focused. Emotions had no place in your life—not since childhood, when you’d learned the hard way that they were a liability.

So you turned away, letting the sound of his laughter fade into the background as you made your way to the meeting room. The sterile, quiet space was more familiar to you than any cafeteria, more comfortable than any crowd.

He was already there when you arrived, sprawled in his chair with a cup of coffee in hand, his grin as sharp as ever.

“You’re late,” he teased, though there was no bite to his words.

“You’re early,” you replied, your tone neutral, as you set your things down on the table.

“Touché,” he said, watching you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Saw you pass through the cafeteria. Thought you might stop by to say hi.”

“I don’t make detours,” you said curtly, pulling out your laptop and powering it on.

“That much is clear,” he muttered, almost to himself, before taking a sip of his coffee.

The meeting began, the two of you falling into your usual rhythm of sharp exchanges and begrudging collaboration. But somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny sliver of something stirred—a flicker of awareness, of something you couldn’t quite name, whenever he spoke or laughed.

You told yourself it was nothing.

And for now, you believed it.

────────────

The garage was thick with the scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke, the hum of a barely-functional heater filling the space with a low, constant drone. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered occasionally, casting long, jittery shadows across the room. The boys were sprawled around the billiard table, cheap beers in hand, the air crackling with laughter and banter.

He leaned casually against the edge of the table, cue stick in hand, a smirk playing on his lips as he lined up his next shot. His movements were lazy, almost careless, but his sharp eyes betrayed the precision in every calculation.

“So,” one of them started, a wiry guy with a perpetual grin that made him look younger than he was. “This new girl of yours… she’s the one keeping you so busy these days?”

Another guy chimed in, his tone dripping with mock suspicion. “Yeah, man, you’ve been skipping out on poker nights. Thought you were allergic to commitment.”

He laughed, the sound low and throaty, as he took his shot. The crack of the cue ball hitting its target echoed through the room, the striped ball sinking neatly into the corner pocket. “Allergic? Please. I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

The guys laughed, the sound loud and unrestrained, their teasing picking up momentum.

“So what’s her deal, huh?” The wiry one pressed, leaning against his own cue stick. “Rich? Hot? Bet she’s one of those uptight types you love to mess with.”

He straightened, twirling the cue stick between his fingers as he leaned back against the table, his smirk widening. “You could say that. She’s… interesting.”

“Interesting,” another guy scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You? Interested in someone? Hell, what’s she got—blackmail material? A hit out on your family?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, his tone light but edged with something sharper, something darker. “She’s just… different. Keeps me on my toes.”

The wiry one snorted. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Isn’t that the point?” he shot back, his grin sharp as a blade.

They laughed again, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression as he took another swig of his beer.

“Come on,” the wiry one said, jabbing his cue stick in his direction. “You’re not seriously into her, are you? Thought you didn’t do serious.”

“I don’t,” he replied smoothly, setting his bottle down with a loud clink. “It’s transactional. Mutual benefit, you know? She gets what she wants; I get what I want. Simple.”

“Sounds like a business deal,” someone muttered.

He shrugged, his smirk never faltering. “Aren’t all relationships?”

The guys laughed again, the conversation shifting to the next round of the game, but his mind lingered on the question.

He wasn’t serious about her. Couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be.

And yet, every time he saw her—the fire in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she tried so hard to keep him at a distance—it felt like a challenge he couldn’t ignore.

She was a fortress, and he was a conqueror.

For now, he could laugh, joke, and deflect. But the truth was darker, heavier, lurking in the corners of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t quite shake.

He lined up his next shot, the sharp crack of the cue ball echoing through the garage.

This wasn’t serious.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

────────────

The room was suffocating, its air thick with the sterile scent of recycled oxygen and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above. Papers were scattered across the table like fallen leaves in the aftermath of a storm, their sharp edges curling under the weight of your restless hands. The tension in your shoulders was a tangible thing, coiled tight and ready to snap.

He watched you from across the table, leaning back in his chair with the kind of casual ease that set your teeth on edge. You were all sharp lines and rigid control, while he was a picture of unbothered confidence, spinning a pen between his fingers like the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on him too.

“You look like hell,” he said finally, his voice low and infuriatingly amused.

You didn’t bother looking up, your focus glued to the screen of your laptop, the keys clicking beneath your fingers with a ferocity that spoke of barely restrained frustration. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure you are,” he replied, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table as his gaze bore into you. “Fine enough to bite my head off if I ask what’s wrong?”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, your voice colder than the sterile glow of the room.

That gave him pause, his smirk faltering for the briefest of moments. He’d seen you angry before, irritated, exasperated—but this was different. There was something raw in your tone, something brittle and sharp, like glass on the verge of shattering.

Still, he couldn’t help himself.

“Fine,” he echoed, dragging the word out like it was a joke only he understood. “You’re so fine you’ve been staring at the same spreadsheet for ten minutes without typing a single word.”

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the distant hum of the building’s ventilation system.

“Drop it,” you said finally, your tone icy enough to frost the windows.

“Not a chance,” he shot back, leaning closer, his voice dropping into something quieter, more deliberate. “What’s going on with you, golden girl? Family drama? Business crap? Or is it just me getting under your skin again?”

His teasing grin was met with nothing but silence as you slammed your laptop shut with a force that echoed through the room. You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and turned to leave without so much as a glance in his direction.

“Hey,” he called after you, his voice following you like a shadow. “You can’t just walk away from me.”

But you did.

The door closed behind you with a quiet click, leaving him alone in the oppressive stillness of the room.

For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the spot where you’d been, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air.

He didn’t like this.

Not the way your walls seemed higher than ever, not the way your shoulders trembled just slightly when you thought no one was looking, and certainly not the way his chest tightened at the thought of you breaking under the pressure you refused to share with anyone—not even him.

With a frustrated sigh, he leaned back in his chair, the tension in his jaw a stark contrast to the easy grin he usually wore.

You could try to shut him out, build your walls higher, bury yourself in your icy fortress.

But he’d be damned if he let you freeze him out completely.

────────────

The argument started small—a quiet refusal on your part, your tone clipped and dismissive as always.

“I have work to do,” you’d said, fingers gripping the edge of the desk like it was an anchor in the rising tide of his persistence.

He didn’t care.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, his voice too light, too casual, the grin on his face sharpening as he loomed over you. “Not today. Today, you’re going out. With me.”

You scoffed, turning your chair away from him in a move that was more defensive than you’d ever admit. “I don’t have time for whatever this is. Go bother someone else.”

“Not happening,” he said, and before you could blink, he was behind you, his shadow engulfing yours. His hand was warm and firm on your shoulder, and when you tried to pull away, his grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of how much bigger, stronger, and more stubborn he was.

“Let go,” you hissed, twisting in your chair to glare up at him, your voice venomous and cold.

Instead of answering, he bent down, his grin infuriatingly smug as he hooked an arm around your waist in one fluid motion.

“Don’t you dare—”

Your words were cut off with a sharp gasp as he hoisted you up with ease, your stomach flipping as he slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all.

“Relax,” he said, his tone still maddeningly cheerful as he adjusted his hold on you. “You’re overdue for some fun, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Put me down!” you snapped, your fists pounding against his back, your voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Not until you promise to stop being such a workaholic,” he shot back, his grin audible in his voice. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re mad.”

The sound of your struggles echoed through the hallway as he carried you out, your threats growing more creative with every step. But he didn’t falter, didn’t even seem fazed, his grip on you secure as if your thrashing was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

When he finally set you down, it was with the kind of exaggerated care that only added insult to injury. You found yourself standing in the middle of an amusement park, the air thick with the smell of cotton candy and fried food, the distant hum of roller coasters roaring above the sea of colorful lights.

“What is this?” you demanded, your voice tight with irritation as you glared up at him, your arms crossed defensively.

“A date,” he said simply, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “You’ve never been to an amusement park, right? Figured it was time to fix that.”

“I told you, I don’t have time for—”

He cut you off with a sigh, his hand ruffling his hair in exasperation. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Work, work, work. But you’re here now, so you might as well enjoy it. Who knows? You might actually have fun for once.”

You stared at him, your mind racing for a retort, but the sound of children laughing and the sight of the spinning lights around you left you momentarily disarmed.

“Fine,” you said at last, your voice begrudging and low. “But don’t think this means anything.”

He laughed, the sound warm and rich as he held out a hand toward you. “Wouldn’t dream of it, golden girl.”

You didn’t take his hand, of course. But you didn’t walk away, either.

────────────

The amusement park was loud—a riot of color, noise, and movement that grated against your carefully constructed barriers. You were used to silence, to the sterile calm of office rooms and library corners. This place was chaos incarnate, a swirling mass of laughter, screams, and the clatter of machinery that felt like it could grind your composure to dust.

And he loved every second of it.

“Come on,” he said, his hand tightening around yours as he pulled you further into the fray. His grip was warm, insistent, and utterly unyielding, a stark contrast to the chill of your reluctance.

“This is unnecessary,” you muttered, your voice clipped as you tried to keep up with his long strides. “We’re wasting time.”

“You mean you’re wasting time,” he shot back, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that was equal parts teasing and determined. “Me? I’m having a blast.”

You tried to tug your hand free, but his grip only tightened, his strength a quiet reminder of the power imbalance you hated acknowledging.

“Let go,” you demanded, your tone sharp enough to cut glass.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully, pulling you closer until your shoulder bumped against his. “Boyfriend privilege. Now stop sulking and try to look like you’re having fun.”

Before you could argue, he steered you toward a brightly lit stand selling oversized stuffed animals and cheap prizes. The attendant handed him a small air rifle with a grin, and he lined up his shot with an exaggerated flourish.

“You’re kidding,” you said flatly, watching as he aimed at the array of moving targets.

“Don’t underestimate me, golden girl,” he replied, his tone dripping with mock seriousness as he squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, and a tin can toppled off its perch. He turned to you with a triumphant grin. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as he handed the attendant a crumpled bill for another round. “This is ridiculous.”

“This is fun,” he corrected, his eyes narrowing in playful focus as he took another shot. Another can fell, and the attendant handed him a large, garish stuffed cat. He turned and thrust it toward you with a flourish.

“Here. For you.”

You stared at the stuffed cat, its glassy eyes staring back at you with an absurdly cheerful expression. “I don’t want it.”

“Too bad,” he said, pressing it into your arms. “Consider it a reminder to loosen up once in a while.”

You glared at him, but the faintest flicker of warmth crept into your chest, uninvited and unwelcome. He caught the twitch of your lips and grinned wider, his satisfaction practically radiating off him.

────────────

The roller coaster clattered upward, its chain mechanisms grinding with a metallic groan that reverberated through the skeleton of the ride. Each tick of the ascent was a promise, a prelude to chaos as the world below shrank into a mosaic of glittering lights and blurred figures. Beside you, he was practically vibrating with excitement, his grin a wolfish slash of white against the neon glow.

“You nervous yet?” he asked, his voice carrying easily over the mechanical din.

“No,” you replied flatly, your tone as unflinching as your posture. Your hands were clasped loosely in your lap, your expression an unmoving mask of calm.

He huffed, his grin faltering into something more incredulous. “Seriously? You’re not even a little scared?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

The drop came suddenly—a violent plunge that pulled the breath from everyone around you, their screams mingling with the wind's roar. The car tilted, twisted, hurtled through the loops and spirals with bone-rattling speed.

And you didn’t flinch.

When the ride screeched to a halt, his hair was wild, his cheeks flushed with adrenaline, and his grin wide enough to split his face. He turned to you, fully expecting to see some crack in your armor—a flicker of unease, a faint trace of thrill.

But you were already unclasping your seatbelt, your face a portrait of indifferent calm.

“Wow,” he said, dragging the word out as he climbed out of the car behind you. “Not even a scream? Not even a little ‘oh no, I’m gonna die!’?”

“It was fine,” you said, brushing invisible dust from your jacket as if the entire experience had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Fine,” he repeated, his tone a mixture of disbelief and mockery. “It’s a death machine on rails, and all you’ve got is ‘fine’?”

You shrugged, your gaze drifting to the next ride. “What’s next?”

He stared at you for a moment, a mix of frustration and amusement flashing in his eyes before his grin returned with a vengeance. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

———

The next stop was a haunted house. The entrance was cloaked in fog, its jagged letters dripping with artificial blood as distorted moans and sinister whispers spilled from within.

“This,” he declared, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the dark maw of the attraction, “is where you’re finally gonna break.”

You stepped inside without hesitation, the darkness swallowing you both. Animatronic ghouls lunged from the shadows, their plastic claws snapping inches from your face. A specter floated above you, its hollow eyes glowing red as it let out a guttural scream.

But you didn’t flinch.

By the time you emerged on the other side, his grin had soured into a frustrated scowl. “You’re kidding me,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing? Not even a ‘holy crap, that’s creepy’?”

“They tried too hard,” you replied evenly. “The suspense was predictable.”

“You’re a robot,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “An actual, emotionless robot.”

———

At the dart-throwing booth, he claimed he’d win you another stuffed animal to add to the growing collection he’d forced on you throughout the night. The attendant handed him a set of darts, and he aimed with exaggerated focus, his tongue poking out slightly in mock determination.

You stood beside him, arms crossed, your expression as neutral as ever.

“Bet I can hit all three bullseyes,” he said, tossing a dart into the air and catching it with a flourish. “And if I do, you have to smile. Deal?”

“I’m not making that deal,” you replied, your voice as dry as the desert air.

“Scared I’ll win?” he teased, launching the first dart. It missed the bullseye by a hair.

“Not particularly,” you said, watching as he threw the second dart, this one landing even farther from the center.

By the third throw, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up as the dart barely grazed the edge of the target. “Okay, maybe I’m a little rusty,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Or maybe you’re just bad at this,” you said, your tone cool but tinged with the faintest edge of amusement.

He turned to you, his grin returning full force. “There it is! A hint of a smirk! I knew you had emotions buried under all that ice.”

You rolled your eyes and started walking toward the next attraction. He followed, his steps quick and eager, like a hunter who’d finally glimpsed their prey.

The night stretched on, filled with more teasing, more dragging you to rides you didn’t care for, and more attempts to crack your facade. By the end of it, he was exhausted but victorious, a spring in his step as he carried yet another oversized stuffed animal under his arm.

“You had fun,” he declared as you walked toward the exit.

“You’re delusional,” you replied, but there was no venom in your voice.

“Admit it,” he said, leaning closer, his grin practically glowing in the dark. “You loved it.”

You didn’t respond, but for the briefest moment, the corner of your lips twitched upward—a flicker of something you didn’t even recognize as a smile.

And that was enough for him.

────────────

The Ferris wheel loomed above like a spinning constellation, its skeletal frame outlined in garish neon light that flickered against the starless sky. You were already seated, arms crossed, gaze fixed forward as the car rocked gently in the breeze. He slid in beside you, the faint scent of cologne and adrenaline trailing in his wake, and the metal bar clamped down with an ominous click, locking the two of you in place.

“Relax,” he said, his voice a shade softer than usual, though still laced with that persistent edge of mischief. “This is the best part of the night. Views like this? They don’t come often.”

You didn’t respond. The city below unfolded in a sea of chaotic lights, each one a reminder of the noise you’d been forced into. A quiet hum of tension coiled in your chest, a restless ache that he seemed to notice, though you wished he wouldn’t.

The wheel began to ascend, the creak of its movement loud in the silence between you. His gaze flicked from the cityscape to you, studying the profile of your face as though trying to decipher a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve.

“You know,” he began, leaning back against the seat with an exaggerated sigh, “you’re really bad at this whole ‘fun’ thing.”

“I’m aware,” you said dryly, not bothering to look at him.

“You’re supposed to be amazed by the view,” he teased, gesturing toward the glittering expanse below. “You know, lean in a little, say something like, ‘Oh wow, it’s so beautiful.’”

“Do I seem like the type to do that?” you asked, finally turning to meet his gaze.

“No,” he admitted, his grin lopsided and warm in a way that caught you off guard. “But it’d be nice to see you try.”

The Ferris wheel stopped suddenly, your car swaying slightly as it perched at the very top. He looked out over the city, his grin fading into something quieter, something uncharacteristically reflective.

“Pretty high up, huh?” he said, more to himself than to you.

You followed his gaze, the city spread out like a map, its lights blurred and distant. The air up here felt thinner, cleaner, as though you’d left the chaos below and entered some liminal space where nothing could reach you.

And then he looked back at you.

———

For the first time in a long time, the constant noise in his head—the laughter, the jokes, the relentless chatter that kept the silence at bay—dimmed into something else. Something quieter. Something unsettling. He wasn’t used to this kind of stillness, this kind of weight pressing against the walls of his ribcage.

You didn’t notice, of course. Your gaze was fixed on the view, your profile illuminated by the cold, artificial light of the Ferris wheel’s cabin. To anyone else, you might’ve seemed serene, but he knew better. There was tension in the set of your jaw, in the way your fingers gripped the edge of the seat as though you needed to hold onto something to keep from slipping away entirely.

He hated that he noticed these things. Hated that, for once, his usual shield of irreverence and detachment wasn’t enough to keep this gnawing feeling at bay.

It wasn’t love—not the dizzying, saccharine thing he’d seen in movies or read about in books. It was something darker, sharper, as though you were a shard of glass lodged under his skin. He couldn’t stop himself from turning you over in his mind, dissecting every detail, every flaw, every crack in your otherwise impenetrable armor.

You were fascinating in a way that felt dangerous.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

His hand twitched on the seat between you, the urge to reach out almost unbearable. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. The thought of touching you—of closing that impossible distance—was terrifying in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t fear of rejection; he could handle that. It was something else, something far more primal.

Because if he touched you, if he broke through that careful veneer of professionalism and indifference, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and uncharacteristically quiet.

You didn’t turn to look at him, your gaze still fixed on the view. “What what’s like?”

“To feel alive,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you didn’t respond.

He let out a soft, humorless laugh, leaning back against the seat. “Never mind. Stupid question.”

But it wasn’t. Not to him.

Because for the first time in years—maybe ever—he felt something. Something real.

And it unsettled him.

———

“I don’t get you,” he said, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “You’re impossible to crack, and for some reason, I can’t stop trying.”

You raised an eyebrow, more out of habit than genuine curiosity. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe it is.”

The silence between you two was a taut string, stretched so thin it felt as if the smallest sound might snap it. Outside the cabin, the Ferris wheel creaked as it swayed gently, the city sprawled below like a graveyard of flickering lights. Inside, the air felt heavier, dense with something intangible and electric that neither of you dared to name.

He shifted closer, so subtly that you didn’t notice at first. The slight groan of the seat’s weight-bearing joints was drowned out by the pounding of his own heartbeat, a rhythm he suddenly couldn’t ignore. His arm rested casually against the back of the seat, but his entire body was taut, every muscle coiled as if anticipating some unspoken impact.

His gaze drifted to you, no longer playful or teasing but something else—something raw, a little desperate, and utterly unfamiliar to him. He could see the faint outline of your lashes against your cheek, the soft curve of your lips as your expression remained distant, detached.

And yet, to him, you were a storm barely contained, your quietness thrumming with an energy he could feel in his bones.

He didn’t notice the way his own breathing had shifted, deeper now, as if his body were bracing for something he couldn’t quite define. His eyes flicked downward—just a moment, a heartbeat—and caught on the soft shape of your mouth. It wasn’t intentional, but once he saw it, he couldn’t unsee it.

He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the tight confines of the cabin.

“I—” he started, his voice faltering like an engine choking on its own fuel. He barely recognized the sound coming out of his mouth, stripped of its usual bravado and swagger.

He should’ve stopped there. Should’ve cracked a joke or leaned back with that cocky grin that had always been his armor. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

His hand lifted almost on its own, shaking slightly as it reached toward your face. The tips of his fingers brushed against a stray strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness that felt alien to him. It was clumsy, hesitant—nothing like the smooth confidence he usually exuded.

The heat radiating from you was intoxicating, pulling him closer even as his mind screamed at him to stop. His breath hitched as he leaned in, so slowly it felt as though time itself had slowed to a crawl.

He wasn’t thinking anymore. The usual whirlwind of his mind—sharp, quick, always moving—had stilled completely.

All he could focus on was you.

The curve of your lips. The faint rise and fall of your chest. The way you still hadn’t looked at him, so lost in your own world that you hadn’t yet noticed the dangerous proximity between you.

His breath mingled with yours now, warm and unsteady, as his lips hovered just a hair’s breadth away from yours. His eyes half-closed, the edges of his vision blurring as every instinct in him screamed to close the gap.

And then—

Your eyes snapped to his, sharp and unyielding like a blade cutting through fog.

It hit you like a jolt of electricity, the realization of just how close he was, how dangerously near his lips hovered to yours.

But it hit him harder.

The sharpness in your gaze was like a bucket of ice water, dousing the fire he hadn’t even realized had been consuming him.

His eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as he froze in place. He looked at you—not just at you, but into you—as though seeing something he hadn’t been prepared for.

And for the first time in his life, he felt utterly and completely exposed.

———

His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and rough, as though he’d swallowed gravel. “You’ve never been kissed, have you?”

You stiffened, your brows knitting together in a glare that could have frozen the sun. “That’s none of your concern.”

He laughed softly, the sound devoid of its usual bravado. “Oh, but it is, sweetheart. I’m your boyfriend, remember?” His voice dipped into that familiar, playful lilt, but there was something else beneath it now—a hunger, a yearning he didn’t fully understand.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you didn’t pull away. Not yet. That tiny sliver of hope spurred him on, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out every rational thought in his head.

“I bet no one’s dared,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin as his thumb traced slow circles against your jaw. “You’re too intimidating. Too untouchable.”

He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “But not to me.”

And then, he closed the gap.

It wasn’t a calculated move, nor was it born of confidence. It was instinctive, driven by a force he couldn’t name. His lips brushed yours, tentative and hesitant, as though afraid you might shatter beneath his touch.

For a fraction of a second, everything else fell away—the city lights, the Ferris wheel, the constant cacophony of his mind. All that existed was you, the impossible warmth of you, and the way your lips were softer than he’d dared imagine—

And then, the world snapped back into focus.

Your palm connected with his cheek in a sharp, resounding slap that echoed through the tiny cabin. The force of it sent his head snapping to the side, his lips tingling from the abrupt end of the kiss.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you hissed, your voice as sharp and cold as a blade.

He blinked, stunned for a moment, before his signature grin broke across his face. His cheek was already reddening, and he rubbed it with a dramatic wince, leaning back in his seat as though to put some distance between you.

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I get it. Ice queen stays frosty. My bad for trying to thaw you out a little.”

His tone was playful, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something raw and uncertain that he buried as quickly as it surfaced.

You glared at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “This is a transactional relationship. Don’t forget that.”

“Transaction noted,” he quipped, the grin never leaving his face. “But for the record? That slap was totally worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering something under your breath that he couldn’t quite catch, and turned your attention back to the window.

But he didn’t stop watching you.

As he rubbed his sore cheek, his grin softened into something quieter, something closer to a smile. He didn’t fully understand what had compelled him to kiss you, nor did he understand why your rejection didn’t sting the way it should have.

All he knew was that, for the first time in his life, he wanted to try again.

———

“Did you think that was going to work?” you interrupted, your tone sharp enough to cut steel.

He let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as the initial shock melted into something more familiar: that damn grin. “Wow, okay. I go for one kiss—one—and you act like I tried to steal your soul.”

“You did try to steal something,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “My patience.”

“That’s already gone,” he countered, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “You can’t slap me twice for the same crime.”

“Try me,” you said, your glare unwavering.

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine as he rubbed his cheek. “Man, you’re vicious. It’s kind of hot.”

────────────

He watched as you rubbed your sleeve across your mouth, your motions brisk and unrelenting, as though scrubbing the very memory of him off your skin. His grin faltered for just a second, invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking too closely. Of course, you weren’t—you never were. Your focus was singular, your eyes narrowed and lips pressed in a thin, disapproving line as though he’d just committed a cardinal sin.

It stung more than he cared to admit. Not that he’d let you see it. No, no. His ego may have been bruised, but he wasn’t about to lick his wounds in front of you. Instead, he leaned back in his seat with a dramatic sigh, one hand pressed over his chest as though your rejection had physically pierced him.

“Wow,” he drawled, his tone laced with exaggerated disbelief. “I didn’t realize my kiss was that traumatic. Should I be offended or impressed by your dedication to erasure?”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but it only fueled the smirk crawling back onto his face.

“Seriously,” he continued, ignoring the icy tension radiating off you. “I’ve seen people wipe ketchup off their mouths with less vigor. I mean, I’m not that bad, am I?”

You didn’t respond, too busy swiping at your lips like a woman possessed, as though the mere memory of his touch was a poison you needed to purge.

He leaned closer, the teasing glint in his eyes sharpening to a dangerous edge. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re gonna scrub your skin raw. And here I thought I was the one who left a mark.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped, your tone colder than the winter wind.

“Oh, but it’s so easy when you’re this much fun.” He rested his chin in his palm, his grin widening as he studied you like you were his favorite puzzle. “Though I gotta say, you’re hurting my feelings here. Most girls would be swooning right about now. But you?” He whistled low, shaking his head. “Stone cold. A real ice queen through and through.”

“Good,” you bit back, finally lowering your sleeve. “Maybe you’ll think twice before pulling another stunt like that.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, but there was a flicker of something more behind it—something softer, unspoken. “You think I’m gonna stop? Not a chance. You’re way too fun to mess with.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your gaze back to the window. “Whatever. Just…keep your distance.”

“Sure thing, princess.” His voice dipped into a mock-serious tone, but the glint in his eyes betrayed him. “But don’t blame me when you start dreaming about it later. They say first kisses are unforgettable, after all.”

Your hand twitched like you were debating whether or not to slap him again, but you refrained, choosing instead to glare daggers at the glass.

He leaned back with a satisfied hum, crossing his arms as his grin softened into something quieter, something almost contemplative.

You might have been disgusted, but at least you weren’t indifferent. That thought alone was enough to keep his grin intact.

———

The cabin settled into a tense quiet, broken only by the faint creaks of the Ferris wheel as it descended. You’d stopped scrubbing at your lips, though the memory of his clumsy attempt lingered, palpable and unwelcome. With a slow, deliberate breath, you turned your focus outward, toward the sprawling view of the amusement park bathed in fractured, golden light.

“I’ll have you know,” you said softly, your voice sharp yet devoid of its earlier venom, “that wasn’t my first kiss.”

The words were like a scalpel, slicing clean and deep, leaving behind a sting that lingered in the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t show it. He never did.

Instead, he let out a short laugh, tilting his head as though brushing off your statement with his usual flippancy. “Well, color me surprised,” he drawled, his tone laced with mock astonishment. “The ice queen has a romantic history. Who’d have thought?”

You didn’t respond, didn’t rise to the bait. The apathy in your gaze was unyielding, and that, more than your words, struck a chord he couldn’t name.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly restless, the smirk on his face becoming harder to maintain. Something stirred beneath his practiced exterior, an unfamiliar heat that crawled up his spine and settled, uncomfortably, in his chest.

Why did it matter?

He leaned back, forcing a casual posture, though the muscles in his jaw tightened. “Well, good for you,” he said, a little too quickly, a little too brightly. “Guess I can’t claim to be your first, huh?”

There it was again, that strange burning sensation. It twisted and coiled, feeding on itself, until it became something dark and unrelenting. He told himself it was nothing—just his ego stinging from your rejection. But deep down, in a part of himself he rarely acknowledged, he knew it wasn’t that simple.

You tilted your head slightly, your profile illuminated by the faint glow of the park below. “It wasn’t anything special,” you said, your tone devoid of emotion. “Just another transaction.”

Another transaction.

The words settled like lead in his stomach.

He laughed again, louder this time, but the sound rang hollow in his own ears. “Figures,” he said, his voice pitched light and teasing, masking the weight behind the words. “Trust you to make even romance sound like a business deal.”

You glanced at him, one brow arched, and for a moment, he thought you might say something else. Instead, you turned back to the window, your posture relaxed but distant, like the space between you was a chasm neither of you could—or would—cross.

His gaze lingered on you, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw, the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way the faint light cast shadows across your face. That burning sensation flared again, sharp and insistent, as though it were trying to tell him something he wasn’t ready to hear.

He didn’t understand it—this sudden, inexplicable need to prove himself to you, to earn something that no transaction could buy. It gnawed at him, a quiet fury that wouldn’t be silenced, no matter how much he tried to brush it off.

For the first time in his life, he felt unsteady, uncertain, as though the foundation he’d built himself on was beginning to crack.

And he hated it.

“Must’ve been a hell of a boring kiss,” he said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bet I could’ve done better.”

You snorted softly, but didn’t take the bait.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with something unspoken, as the Ferris wheel continued its slow descent.

And for the first time that night, he didn’t feel like laughing.

────────────

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elikajinnie · 2 months ago

Text

Together As Gold - N.R & Y.J

P: Slytherins!Ni-ki & Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @milksugatae

Warnings: Love Triangle, Tension, Flirting, Humour, Arguments, Jealousy, Two Endings screw it, i cant choose between them! I MADE THEM TOO TEMPTING HELP! GO FOR BOTH IDK! THEY BOTH DOWN BADDD, Teasing... LIKE ALOT OF TEASING!!! peeves is a canon matchmaker!

Synopsis: What do you do when two cunning Slytherin boys want you? If only you knew the answer yourself.

a/n: i got a few ideas for the shenanigans so special thank you to @starf4lls and @encrifice <33 dont mind any mistakes!

see request here | hogwarts au masterlist

When you first found yourself at Hogwarts, you were alone. The tall stone walls, the constant chatter of students—it was all overwhelming, and you didn’t know anyone. So, you kept to yourself, focusing on finding your place, giving yourself just enough time to get used to the classes and the eccentric professors.

But once you settled into the flow, things started falling into place. You made friends with your housemates and exchanged stories. The days went by easier after that, and before long, you had a solid group of friends around you, your circle expanding little by little. It was all going well—until you were assigned to work with two Slytherins for a Herbology project.

Ni-ki and Jungwon.

They were the kind of people who knew exactly how to get under your skin. But you would figure out just how different they were from everyone else, with due time.

You walked out of Herbology, your hands full with books, the weight of them pressing against your chest. You were double-checking, making sure you had all your materials. The hallways were bustling with students heading to their next classes, but you didn’t mind. It gave you a bit of space to organize your thoughts.

You hadn’t noticed them at first. Ni-ki and Jungwon were trailing behind you, their voices rising in a playful but heated argument.

“I’ll ask her first,” Ni-ki insisted, his tone cocky as always.

“No way,” Jungwon shot back, his voice smooth but firm. “I’ll do it.”

You could hear the back-and-forth, but it didn’t quite register until Ni-ki, with a sudden burst of energy, slid in front of you, effectively stopping you in your tracks. His sharp, mischievous smile was the first thing you noticed as he raised an eyebrow.

“Hey,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t completely interrupting your path. “What do you think about getting a head start on that project? Have you figured anything out yet?”

You blinked, surprised, and for a moment, just stared at him. Behind him, Jungwon stepped up to stand beside him, equally as composed but with a glint in his eyes that made you feel like this wasn’t just a casual suggestion. They were both waiting for you to respond, their eyes studying you, each trying to gauge how you’d react.

You narrowed your eyes at them, still trying to make sense of the situation.

“Well…” you started cautiously, “I have something figured out, but I’m still not completely sure.”

As if that was the cue they’d been waiting for, Ni-ki and Jungwon suddenly moved in closer. Before you could protest, they both grabbed your arms—Ni-ki on one side, Jungwon on the other—and pulled you along with them. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard, and blinked at the two of them in confusion.

Ni-ki’s mischievous grin never faltered. “Good, then we’ll figure the rest out together,” he said, as though it was perfectly normal for him to be dragging you along through the hallways.

Jungwon let out a soft laugh, the sound oddly charming as he looked over at Ni-ki. “Herbology isn’t even my strongest subject,” he admitted, his tone casual, though you weren’t sure if it was meant to reassure you or not.

Ni-ki rolled his eyes dramatically. “As if you have a strong subject at all,” he shot back with a grin, a little too confident in his jab.

Jungwon smirked, unbothered. “At least I don’t fail every practical. Your last Herbology experiment looked like a failed potion, Ni-ki.”

Ni-ki scoffed. “Better than your Charms assignment, which was basically a disaster in a teacup.”

“Better than your Transfiguration homework that could only be fixed by Professor McGonagall herself,” Jungwon retorted smoothly.

You just stared at the two of them, utterly baffled. Was this really happening? They bickered back and forth as if they didn’t have a care in the world, each comment more sarcastic than the last.

“Oh, don’t even get me started on your Potions, Jungwon,” Ni-ki continued, practically laughing. “Last time you nearly blew up a Hufflepuff with a single sneeze.”

Jungwon shot him a playful glare. “At least I didn’t turn a batch of sleeping draught into a batch of pepper-up potion. You nearly made the whole class go into a caffeine frenzy.”

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to make sense of it all. Was it possible to survive being caught in the middle of this?

Jungwon leaned in a little closer, smirking. “Face it, Ni-ki. If it wasn’t for me saving your ass last semester, you’d be stuck in the library trying to figure out what went wrong with that failed Firemaking spell.”

Ni-ki grinned wider. “Who says I needed saving? I had it all under control, except for the little incident with the blast-ended skrewt…”

You sighed, realizing that you were witnessing a rivalry of sorts, but one that seemed more like the banter between good friends. It didn’t make it any easier to deal with, though. How were you supposed to survive having these two as your project partners?

Okay, turns out you would survive having them as your project partners. Despite their obvious lack of skill in Herbology, they did help—or at least tried to. Both of them seemed strangely determined, which you quickly realized wasn’t out of pure goodwill but out of a mutual fear of failing the subject. For what reason, you didn’t know, but the way they occasionally exchanged nervous glances during Professor Sprout’s lectures told you there was more to it than they were letting on.

What you did know, however, was that they were a surprisingly funny duo. Whether it was Ni-ki accidentally knocking over a pot of bouncing bulb roots and blaming it on Jungwon, or Jungwon deadpanning as he handed you a watering can he had accidentally charmed to spray in every direction but the plants, they somehow managed to turn the tedious project into something… enjoyable.

“You were supposed to prune it, not scare it to death!” you groaned, staring at the now-drooping Flutterby bush in Ni-ki’s hands.

“It’s not dead! It’s just taking a nap!” Ni-ki argued, holding it up defensively.

“Sure,” Jungwon interjected with a smirk. “Because plants definitely sleep like that.” He gestured at the pitiful bush, which was half dangling out of its pot.

“Do you want to take over?” Ni-ki shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh wait, you can’t even tell the difference between a Shrivelfig and a gourd!”

Jungwon didn’t miss a beat. “And yet, I’m still doing better than you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Somehow, their antics made it easy for you to relax and talk to them, like you’d known them since your first year at Hogwarts. They had this way of making you feel included in their little bubble of chaos, like you were already part of their circle of friends.

The three of you spent hours in the greenhouse, working on the project—and while there was plenty of bickering and mishaps, you couldn’t deny how much easier it was to get through with them.

Surprisingly, you all managed to finish the project on time, even if a few mishaps happened along the way—and even if a few unfortunate plants didn’t make it. The Flutterby bush never quite recovered from Ni-ki’s aggressive pruning, and Jungwon accidentally overwatered the Fanged Geranium, which resulted in a small flood and several frantic minutes of dodging snapping leaves. But somehow, against all odds, you pulled it together.

What shocked you most wasn’t just that the project was finished, but that you actually enjoyed your time with them. Sure, they were a pair of chaotic distractions half the time, but their constant banter and ridiculous antics made the whole ordeal much more bearable than you’d expected. It was easy to laugh with them, easy to talk to them about random things that had nothing to do with Herbology. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a school assignment and started feeling like… fun.

When Professor Sprout handed back your marks, you almost didn’t believe it. The three of you passed the project with flying colors.

“See?” Ni-ki said smugly, leaning back in his chair and flashing a grin at you and Jungwon. “I told you we’d ace it.”

“You told us nothing,” Jungwon deadpanned, elbowing him lightly. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have even known which end of a Mandrake to pull.”

Ni-ki scoffed. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be trying to figure out how to trim the Devil’s Snare without getting strangled.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the two of them. “If it weren’t for me, neither of you would’ve made it past the planning stage.”

They both paused for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “Fair enough,” Jungwon said with a small grin.

“Yeah,” Ni-ki added, nudging you playfully. “Guess you did help us.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. They might have been annoying, chaotic, and occasionally useless when it came to Herbology, but you had to admit—working with them had been fun.

And you honestly thought that was it—that after the Herbology project, you wouldn’t have to worry about Ni-ki and Jungwon anymore. They’d go back to their own lives, and you’d go back to yours, free of their chaos. But clearly, you were wrong.

The very next day, you were calmly walking toward the Great Hall for lunch, your mind blissfully occupied with thoughts of pumpkin pasties and butterbeer, when a loud BOOM echoed through the hallway behind you. The ground shook slightly, and the smell of smoke began to fill the air.

You froze, eyes widening as you turned around. Before you could even process what had happened, the rapid sound of footsteps thundered in your direction. Your gasp caught in your throat as you saw them—Jungwon and Ni-ki—sprinting down the corridor with wild, panicked looks on their faces.

“Run! Let’s go, let’s go!” Ni-ki shouted, his voice loud and urgent.

Before you could even ask what was going on, they spotted you. Without missing a beat, they grabbed you—Ni-ki gripping one arm, Jungwon the other—and practically dragged you along with them as they continued their frantic escape.

“Wait! What—what are you—” you tried to protest, your feet stumbling to keep up as they pulled you at full speed.

“Let’s go, let’s go, don’t stop!” Ni-ki repeated, glancing back over his shoulder like he expected something—or someone—to be chasing you.

“What did you two do?” you demanded, the words coming out more like a yell as they yanked you around a corner.

Jungwon was panting but managed to shoot you an innocent look. “Nothing serious,” he said, though the faint hint of panic in his voice betrayed him. “Just… a minor miscalculation.”

“A miscalculation?! What does that even mean?”

Before either of them could answer, another explosion rang out from somewhere behind you, followed by an angry voice shouting something you couldn’t quite make out. Your stomach dropped as realization began to dawn on you.

“Did you two blow something up?” you asked, your voice rising in disbelief.

“Not on purpose!” Ni-ki shot back defensively, still pulling you forward. “We were just experimenting in the Potions classroom—”

“It was his idea,” Jungwon interrupted, cutting him off with a pointed look.

“Oh, don’t even start!” Ni-ki snapped, glaring at him. “You were the one who said, ‘Let’s add just a little more firewhiskey to see what happens!’”

“And you’re the one who actually poured it in!” Jungwon countered, his tone exasperated.

You stared at them, completely dumbfounded. This couldn’t be real. How had you gone from a peaceful walk to being dragged into yet another one of their disasters in less than two minutes?

“Why am I even here?!” you shouted, half running, half being dragged.

“Because,” Jungwon said, shooting you a quick grin despite the chaos, “you’re our lucky charm. And we figured you wouldn’t mind helping us... again.”

“You figured wrong!” you snapped, but neither of them seemed to care.

All you could do was sigh as they continued dragging you down the hall, their bickering somehow louder than the chaos they’d left. You were starting to think that surviving the Herbology project was only the beginning of whatever mess these two had planned for your life.

And, well, you were right. After meeting Ni-ki and Jungwon, your once relatively peaceful life became a whirlwind of chaos. Everything they did—everything—somehow ended up involving you, whether you wanted it to or not. It wasn’t long before their mischief became a permanent fixture in your day-to-day existence.

If they were planning a prank, they either roped you in to help or you’d somehow stumble across them in the aftermath, frantically trying to help them hide from Filch. And of course, you’d end up covering for them because they’d flash you those overly innocent smiles that made it impossible to say no.

If they were skipping class, you found yourself torn between making up excuses to the professors on their behalf or—more often than you cared to admit—being dragged along with them. “Just this once,” they’d promise, only for it to happen again the next week. And the week after that.

If they were goofing around, you were inevitably dragged into it. A simple walk to the library would somehow turn into a duel with floating chocolate frogs in the middle of the corridor. And if they decided to sneak out to Hogsmeade, you’d find yourself sandwiched between them at the Three Broomsticks, half-laughing, half-sighing as they plotted their next big thing.

Even their visits to Hagrid’s hut became a regular thing for you. The first time, they claimed they just wanted to “show you something cool,” but the next thing you knew, you were in Hagrid’s hut, trying to dodge a Blast-Ended Skrewt that had gotten a little too excited. It was a miracle you all made it out in one piece.

Somewhere along the way, though, all of the chaos and madness began to feel normal. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but you’d become friends with them—real friends. The kind who stuck by each other, no matter how ridiculous the situation. And, as much as you hated to admit it sometimes, you enjoyed it. They made life more exciting and a lot more fun.

Eventually, the three of you became known across the school as the Mischief Trio. Every time something happened—whether it was a dungbomb going off in the middle of a Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch match, a swarm of enchanted paper birds in the library, or Filch’s office mysteriously flooding—it was almost guaranteed that you three were involved in some way. Professors groaned at the sight of you, and other students either avoided you or gravitated toward you, depending on their appetite for trouble.

But no matter how much trouble you got into, you couldn’t imagine your life without them. Sure, they drove you crazy most of the time, but they also made Hogwarts feel a little more like home. And you knew you’d always have their backs—just like they’d always have yours.

So it wasn’t really much of a surprise when you were sitting quietly in the library, diligently working through your Potions notes, and Jungwon suddenly appeared, slipping into the seat across from you. A second later, Ni-ki followed, plopping himself down beside him. Neither said a word, which was unusual. You didn’t even lift your head, only glanced at them for a brief second in acknowledgment before returning your attention to your notes.

The silence lingered, and for a moment, you were genuinely surprised. Normally, by now, they’d have already started whispering—well, trying to whisper—about their latest harebrained idea or grumbled about how boring studying was. It would escalate until Madam Pince would inevitably swoop in with her stern glare and a sharp “Silence!” by which point they’d be grinning like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. But this time, they just sat there, completely quiet.

It was so unlike them that you couldn’t help but glance up, a little suspicious. Jungwon was leaning casually back in his chair, flipping idly through a random book he’d grabbed, while Ni-ki seemed to be doodling on a scrap of parchment. Neither of them met your gaze, though you could tell something was up by the way they were both sneaking glances at you from the corners of their eyes.

Before you could say anything, Jungwon slipped something across the table—a small folded piece of parchment. You frowned, curiosity piqued, and carefully opened it.

We need your help. Meet us at the Astronomy Tower after dinner. Don’t tell anyone.

You stared at the note for a moment before glancing up at him. Jungwon raised an eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable but with just enough of a spark in his eyes to make you wary. Beside him, Ni-ki finally looked up from his parchment and gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with stealing a cauldron cake.

“What exactly do you need help with?” you whispered, narrowing your eyes at them.

Ni-ki quickly shushed you, his grin widening. “Not here,” he muttered, gesturing around dramatically as if someone might be listening. “Just come later, and we’ll explain everything.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why do I feel like this is going to get me into trouble?”

“Because it probably will,” Jungwon said with a small, unapologetic shrug. “But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?”

You gave him a flat look, but he and Ni-ki just grinned at you, their expressions far too innocent for comfort. Whatever they had planned, you already knew it wasn’t going to be anything good. And yet, you knew you’d end up going.

Because somehow, they always managed to drag you along.

So, you did end up going to the Astronomy Tower after dinner, half-expecting to find them already waiting for you. But when you arrived, the place was empty. The cool night air swept through the open windows as you looked around, your footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floor.

"Jungwon? Ni-ki?" you whispered, peering into the shadows. No response.

You frowned, waiting for a few minutes, debating whether you’d been pranked. Then, the faint sound of stone shifting caught your attention. Whipping your head around, you scanned the room—and almost screamed when you saw a hole opening in the stone wall near your leg.

“Relax,” Ni-ki’s grinning face popped out of the hole, his head tilted mischievously. His voice was almost too casual for someone emerging from a secret passage. “It’s just me. Come on, get in.”

“What—Ni-ki? What is—how did you even—” you stammered, taking a step back as he motioned for you to follow.

“No time for questions. Just get in,” he urged, already reaching out to grab your ankle.

“Wait, get in where?” you asked, taking a cautious step closer, only for him to start pulling you toward the hole. “Ni-ki, this is insane—what is even—”

“Just trust me!” he said with a grin, dragging you through the opening before you could protest further.

You stumbled into the narrow passageway as Ni-ki pushed the stone slab back into place behind you, sealing off the entrance as if it had never been there. Without skipping a beat, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a spiraling stone staircase, the air growing colder as you descended.

“This better not be a prank,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

“Oh, it’s not,” he said, his voice carrying a suspiciously gleeful undertone.

Finally, you reached a small, dimly lit room, the stone walls lined with shelves holding jars of unidentifiable substances. In the middle of the room sat Jungwon, surrounded by an assortment of ingredients, potion books, and a bubbling cauldron. The faint greenish glow of the potion illuminated his face as he looked up at you with a sheepish grin.

“You made it,” he said simply, as if you’d just arrived for a casual study session.

Ni-ki let go of your wrist and plopped down beside Jungwon, motioning for you to sit. You hesitated for a moment before slowly lowering yourself onto the floor. As you settled in, your eyes darted to the mess of potion ingredients scattered around the room—lacewing flies, leeches, powdered bicorn horn, boomslang skin.

Your stomach dropped as you recognized the familiar list of items. Glancing at one of the potion books lying open beside Jungwon, your suspicion was confirmed.

They were making Polyjuice Potion.

“Are you two insane?” you hissed, your voice sharp but quiet. “You do know this is against the rules, right?”

“Rules?” Ni-ki scoffed, waving you off as if you’d just told him the sky was blue. “Only if we get caught.”

“And we’re not going to get caught,” Jungwon added confidently, gesturing toward the cauldron. “We’ve been careful. No one even knows we’re down here.”

You stared at them, utterly baffled. “Why are you even making Polyjuice Potion? What could you possibly need it for?”

They exchanged a quick glance, and you immediately knew you weren’t going to like their answer.

“Well…” Ni-ki started, dragging out the word as if trying to figure out how to phrase it.

Jungwon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just… need to, uh, borrow someone’s identity for a bit.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Whose?”

Ni-ki grinned, clearly finding the entire situation amusing. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head. “I want no part in this. You two are going to get expelled if anyone finds out!”

“Relax,” Ni-ki said, leaning back against the wall. “We’ve got it under control.”

“You don’t even have it finished yet, do you?” you said, gesturing to the messy pile of jars and powders.

“Well, no,” Jungwon admitted, his tone hesitant. “That’s… kind of where you come in.”

You groaned, already regretting every decision that had led you to this moment. “Of course it is.”

“We just need a little help,” Ni-ki said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And who better to help than the smartest person we know?”

You glared at him. “Flattery isn’t going to work.”

“Come on,” Jungwon said, his voice annoyingly reasonable. “You’ve already helped us so many times. What’s one more?”

“One more? This is Polyjuice Potion we’re talking about!” you hissed, staring at them, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as they launched into a chorus of pleading.

“Please,” Ni-ki whined, dragging out the word like a child denied dessert. “Just this once—well, technically not just this once—but, you know, this time’s important!”

“Very important,” Jungwon chimed in, nodding solemnly.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Important? You mean ‘reckless’ and ‘completely unnecessary.’”

Ni-ki pouted dramatically, scooting closer to you on his knees. “Come on, don’t be like that! You’re our only hope.”

“I’m serious. This isn’t happening,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering.

But then Jungwon joined in, mirroring Ni-ki’s position on your other side. Now you were flanked by both of them, their faces far too close for comfort, with matching grins.

“Pretty please?” Jungwon said, tilting his head and batting his lashes like he was trying to win some sort of charm contest.

“With chocolate frogs on top?” Ni-ki added, leaning in with a cheeky smirk.

You glanced between them, your eyes narrowing as they started piling on the dramatics.

“You’re the best at brewing potions!” Jungwon said, nudging your arm.

“And the smartest,” Ni-ki added, nudging your other arm.

“Way better at this than us,” Jungwon continued, his tone dripping with faux admiration.

“And let’s be real—you’re kind of already involved, so why not just see it through?” Ni-ki finished, his grin turning downright devilish.

You rolled your eyes. “You mean you two dragged me into this against my will. That’s not the same thing as being ‘involved.’”

“Details,” Jungwon said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Come on,” Ni-ki teased, leaning so close that you instinctively leaned back. “We’re your friends, remember? What kind of friend would you be if you didn’t help us out?”

“Yeah, what kind of friend?” Jungwon echoed, his voice dripping with mock hurt.

You glared at them, your resolve faltering slightly as they both gave you identical puppy-dog eyes. They knew exactly what they were doing, and unfortunately, you knew exactly how this would end.

“You two are the worst,” you muttered under your breath, looking down at the potion book in front of you.

“Does that mean you’ll help?” Ni-ki asked, his grin widening in triumph.

“Ugh, fine,” you groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “But if we get caught, I’m telling them it was all your idea.”

“Deal,” Jungwon said quickly, already flipping to the next page of the book.

Ni-ki threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning ear to ear. “Knew you’d come through for us.”

You sighed, wondering for the millionth time how you always let them talk you into these things. If Hogwarts ever handed out awards for bad decisions, you were pretty sure you’d win one.

You sighed for the umpteenth time as you carefully added a pinch of powdered bicorn horn into the bubbling cauldron. The potion hissed softly as the powder dissolved, releasing a faint green wisp of smoke. Ni-ki and Jungwon sat on either side of you, their usual antics subdued for once as they watched you work, their eyes glued to your every move like you were performing some kind of ancient magic ritual.

"Can you two stop staring at me like that?" you muttered without looking up, your voice edged with exasperation.

"We're just... observing," Jungwon said innocently, though the small smirk on his lips betrayed him.

"Yeah, gotta make sure you're doing it right," Ni-ki added with a teasing lilt.

You shot them both a sharp look. "Oh, I'm the one you're worried about messing this up? Let me remind you whose brilliant idea this was."

Ni-ki grinned, leaning closer. "Exactly. Which is why we need you to handle it—you’re way better at this than we’d ever be. Right, Jungwon?"

Jungwon nodded seriously, though his gaze didn’t waver from the potion. "Yeah. If it were up to us, we’d probably blow something up by now."

You couldn’t argue with that. They had the combined attention span of a niffler in a jewelry shop.

"Just don’t distract me," you muttered, carefully stirring the potion clockwise. "If you make me mess this up, we’ll have to start all over again, and I am not spending another night like this with you two."

"Aw, you love spending time with us," Ni-ki teased, leaning his chin on his hand as he continued to watch you.

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead focusing on the precise instructions in the book. Step by step, you added each ingredient, your movements careful and deliberate. Occasionally, you’d glance at the timer Jungwon had set, making sure everything was timed perfectly.

As the potion began to turn the intended muddy brown color, a sign that it was nearing completion, you let out a small breath of relief.

"Wow," Ni-ki said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was softer, almost genuine for once. "You’re, like... really good at this."

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Don’t sound so surprised."

"I’m not," he said quickly, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "But watching you work is kind of impressive."

Jungwon nodded in agreement, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. "Yeah. We’d be completely hopeless without you."

For a moment, their compliments caught you off guard. You felt heat rising to your cheeks, but you quickly masked it by focusing on the potion again.

"Well, maybe next time, don’t drag me into something like this again, and I won’t have to save your butts," you said, though your tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Ni-ki chuckled. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Jungwon leaned closer, resting his elbows on the table. "You wouldn’t leave us to fend for ourselves, though. Admit it—you’d miss us."

You rolled your eyes, stirring the potion one last time. "I’d miss the peace and quiet more."

They both laughed, and for a brief moment, the room felt lighter. As chaotic as they were, you couldn’t deny that there was something oddly comforting about their presence, even when they were dragging you into one ridiculous situation after another.

"Alright," you said finally, stepping back and wiping your hands on your robes. "The potion’s done—for now. It needs to sit for a month before it’s ready to use."

"A month?" Ni-ki groaned, slumping back against the wall dramatically.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. "Did you even read the instructions before planning this?"

"Of course I did!" Ni-ki said, though his expression said otherwise.

You shook your head, gathering up the leftover ingredients. "Typical. Anyway, you two better figure out what you’re actually going to use this for. I’m not getting involved beyond this point."

"Sure you’re not," Jungwon said with a knowing smirk.

Ni-ki grinned, leaning forward with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "Yeah, we’ll see about that."

You rolled your eyes, brushing off your robes as you stood up, ready to leave this chaotic duo behind for the night. "Well, good luck with your little plan or whatever. I’m going to pretend I was never here."

But before you could take more than a step, Jungwon was suddenly on his feet, grabbing your wrist with a firm but gentle grip.

"Wait," he said, his eyes bright with excitement.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and Ni-ki. "What now? I already did what you wanted. I’m not doing anything else."

Jungwon grinned, ignoring your protests entirely. "We want to show you something."

You blinked, confused. "Show me what?"

"You’ll see," Ni-ki chimed in, already moving and motioned for Jungwon to hurry up.

"Come on," Jungwon said, tugging on your wrist before you could protest further.

Sighing, you let yourself be dragged along, too tired to argue. "This better not get me into more trouble."

"No promises," Ni-ki called over his shoulder, a teasing lilt in his voice as he disappeared down the corridor.

The three of you navigated through the dark, winding passageways beneath the castle, the air cool and slightly damp. You had no idea where they were taking you, but you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity.

After what felt like ages of walking, Ni-ki and Jungwon came to a stop in front of a narrow staircase that spiraled upward.

"Here we are," Ni-ki announced, gesturing grandly.

You frowned, looking up the staircase. "Where exactly is here?"

"You’ll see," Jungwon said, his grin widening as he nudged you toward the stairs.

With an annoyed sigh, you reluctantly began to climb, Jungwon following close behind while Ni-ki took the lead. When you finally reached the top, Ni-ki pushed open a small wooden door, and you stepped out into the cool night air.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight before you. You were on a secluded rooftop of the castle, the view stretching out over the Hogwarts grounds. The Forbidden Forest loomed dark and mysterious in the distance, and the Black Lake shimmered faintly under the light of the moon.

"Whoa," you breathed, momentarily forgetting your irritation.

"Told you it was worth it," Jungwon said, his tone softer now as he stepped up beside you.

Ni-ki plopped down on the edge of the rooftop, his legs dangling over the side as he leaned back on his hands. "We found this spot last year. Nobody ever comes up here. It’s kind of... ours."

"Well, now it’s ours," Jungwon corrected, shooting you a smile.

You glanced between the two of them, your heart softening despite yourself. For all their chaos and mischief, they had a knack for moments like this—moments that made you glad you were friends with them.å

"So," Ni-ki said, breaking the silence, "what do you think? Worth the trek?"

You gave him a small smile, finally letting your guard down. "Yeah... it’s pretty amazing."

Jungwon leaned back against the wall, a satisfied grin on his face. "Knew you’d like it."

The three of you sat there for a while, just sharing a quiet night under the stars.

Well, you would love to say that the month waiting for the Polyjuice Potion to set was peaceful.

But that would be a lie.

No, the so-called "peaceful waiting period" turned into absolute chaos. Since Ni-ki and Jungwon couldn't carry out their grand plan just yet—one they still refused to tell you about, claiming it was a "surprise"—they apparently decided to channel their boredom into wreaking havoc around the castle.

The professors were on edge, constantly looking over their shoulders for the next disaster. Filch was more paranoid than ever, skulking through the hallways with his lantern, muttering about "those blasted kids." Even the ghosts seemed jumpier than usual, drifting through walls with wary expressions, as though they'd had enough of the two troublemakers.

And somehow, no matter what you were doing, you always managed to get roped into their schemes.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d accidentally stumbled upon them in the middle of one of their rule-breaking escapades. It was like you had some sort of invisible string tying you to their chaos. You’d walk into a corridor or step into an empty classroom, minding your own business, only to find them hunched over a suspicious-looking contraption or whispering excitedly about their next prank.

The moment they spotted you, it was over.

"Perfect timing!" Ni-ki would exclaim, as if you’d planned to walk in on them.

"Don’t just stand there—help us!" Jungwon would add, usually while pushing something heavy or fumbling with something clearly not meant to be in a student’s hands.

And no matter how much you protested, no matter how loudly you declared that you wanted nothing to do with their shenanigans, you’d inevitably end up being dragged into it.

One time, you’d walked into the library, thinking you’d finally get a peaceful moment to study. Instead, you found them standing in the Restricted Section, both of them holding an armful of books they definitely weren’t supposed to have.

“What are you doing?!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure Madam Pince wasn’t nearby.

“Research,” Ni-ki said simply, dropping the books onto a nearby table with a loud thud.

“For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

He grinned. “Class stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jungwon, on the other hand, looked at you with a completely straight face. “He’s lying. We’re looking up forbidden spells.”

You groaned. “Why do I even bother?”

Another time, you were walking back to your dorm after dinner, only to see Filch sprinting down the corridor in the opposite direction, his face red with fury. Moments later, Ni-ki and Jungwon rounded the corner, both breathless and laughing, carrying what looked like an entire box of dungbombs.

You froze. “Nope. Not happening. I don’t even want to know—”

But before you could finish, they grabbed you by the arms and dragged you into an alcove, whispering something about "keeping watch" while they set up their latest prank.

“Do I look like I want detention?” you hissed, glaring at them.

Ni-ki just grinned. “Come on, you’re part of the team now. This is bonding.”

“This is stupidity,” you shot back, though you reluctantly stood guard while they did whatever it was they were doing.

And then there was the time in the Great Hall. You were just trying to enjoy breakfast, eating your toast in peace, when suddenly a flock of enchanted paper cranes came swooping down from the ceiling, diving and swirling around the students. The Hall erupted into chaos as people swatted at the cranes, which were apparently charmed to sing obnoxiously off-key.

You didn’t need to look far to figure out who was responsible. Sure enough, Ni-ki and Jungwon were sitting a few seats away, barely holding back their laughter as they watched the scene unfold.

“You two are going to get expelled,” you muttered as you sat down next to them, shooting them both a glare.

“Worth it,” Ni-ki said, grinning as a crane landed on his shoulder.

“Totally worth it,” Jungwon agreed, taking a bite of his toast as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Did you gravitate toward them or something? Because no matter how hard you tried to stay out of their messes, you always seemed to end up right in the middle of them.

And yet, despite the chaos, despite the rule-breaking, and despite the constant time spent in detention... you couldn’t help but laugh. They made it impossible not to.

You were generally just trying to mind your own business, walking through the dimly lit hallway near Filch’s office, when you spotted them.

Ni-ki and Jungwon stood just a few feet away, both leaning casually against the wall like they didn’t have a care in the world. Which would’ve been believable—if not for the way their eyes darted around like they were scanning for witnesses. They somehow looked both innocent and highly suspicious at the same time, a combination that never boded well.

Your instincts immediately kicked in: Turn around. Walk away. Pretend you didn’t see anything.

But, of course, luck wasn’t on your side.

Ni-ki’s head shot up, his sharp eyes catching you before you could even take a single step back. “Hey! You!” he called out, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

You groaned audibly, muttering, “Why me?”

Before you could say anything else, Ni-ki was already jogging over to you, his excitement practically radiating off him. “Come on, come on,” he said eagerly, grabbing your arm and tugging you toward Jungwon.

“Do I have to come?” you asked weakly, already knowing the answer.

Ni-ki didn’t even bother responding. He just pulled you along as you let out a resigned sigh, casting one last glance at the exit you’d never make it to.

When you finally reached Jungwon, you gave them both a pointed look. “Alright, what are you two planning this time?”

Jungwon didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he pulled out a folded piece of parchment, his grin spreading mischievously. Holding it in one hand, he drew his wand with the other.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he said softly, his voice practically dripping with mischief as he tapped the parchment.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as the blank parchment shimmered and began to transform, intricate lines and scribbles spreading across it like ink soaking into paper. A moment later, you realized it was a map—an incredibly detailed map of Hogwarts.

Your jaw dropped as you leaned closer, watching names begin to pop up across the surface, tiny dots moving around the corridors and rooms. Students, professors... even Filch and Mrs. Norris were labeled as they wandered the castle.

“What the—?!” you gasped, utterly shocked. “Where did you get this?”

Ni-ki leaned in close, his chin practically resting on your head. You felt his full weight press on your back as he grinned. “A trickster never reveals their secrets,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You grumbled in annoyance, trying to shove him off. “Will you get off me?”

He smirked, clearly enjoying your irritation, and stayed exactly where he was. Curse his height—and the fact that he was impossible to move when he didn’t want to be moved. With a resigned sigh, you let him rest there, shooting him a glare he just ignored.

Meanwhile, Jungwon pointed at the map, his grin taking on a distinctly cat-like quality. “Look,” he said, his finger tracing a path on the parchment.

You followed his gaze and froze. There, on the map, was Filch. He was several hallways away, but he was moving steadily in your general direction.

“Perfect,” Jungwon murmured, his grin widening as his eyes sparkled with mischief.

You gave him a wary look. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret being here?”

“You’ll be fine,” Ni-ki said breezily, still leaning on you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re one of us now, remember?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you muttered under your breath, your eyes flicking back to the map as the ominous dot labeled Filch continued to move closer.

Whatever they were planning, you had a sinking feeling it was going to end with you all running for your lives. Again.

So you stood there in stunned silence, half-expecting to wake up from a bizarre dream, as Jungwon and Ni-ki expertly worked together like they had done this a thousand times before.

Jungwon was the distraction. With a flick of his wand, he whispered a Muffliato charm, ensuring Filch wouldn’t hear the chaos unfolding in his own office. Meanwhile, Ni-ki was crouched by the lock, muttering a soft Alohomora under his breath. The click of the door unlocking sent a pang of dread straight to your stomach.

"Are we seriously doing this?" you hissed, still frozen outside the office door.

Ni-ki smirked as he pushed it open. "Oh, we’re way past asking that question."

Before you could argue, Jungwon grabbed your arm and pulled you in, shutting the door behind you with a silent wave of his wand. You stared at them as they got to work.

Jungwon headed straight for Filch’s desk, pulling out drawers and rifling through papers like he was on a scavenger hunt. Meanwhile, Ni-ki found the confiscated items cabinet, letting out an impressed whistle as he examined its contents. “Wow, Filch really doesn’t like fun, huh? Half of this stuff is just Zonko’s products.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’re going to get us all expelled.”

“Correction,” Jungwon said without looking up. “We’ll only get expelled if we get caught.”

“Helpful,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you watched him pull out a particularly nasty-looking parchment.

“Ah-ha!” Jungwon exclaimed, holding up the paper triumphantly. “The list of confiscated items! This is gold. Imagine what we can do with this.”

You opened your mouth to ask what exactly he planned to do with it, but Ni-ki interrupted by shoving a colorful box in your hands. “Look at this! It’s one of those fireworks from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Filch had no business taking this away.”

Before you could respond, Ni-ki grabbed another handful of glittery objects from the cabinet and threw them into a sack he’d conjured from thin air. You groaned.

“And what are we going to do with all this stuff?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

Ni-ki gave you a mischievous grin, holding up a handful of confetti. “Oh, we have plans.”

The next thirty minutes were a blur of pure chaos.

Jungwon enchanted the ceiling to rain confetti every time someone entered the office. Ni-ki, on the other hand, seemed to have a vendetta against Filch’s desk, which was now buried under a mountain of glitter, enchanted to sparkle like a thousand stars under torchlight. You tried—really, you did—to stop them, but they ignored you completely, too caught up in their gleeful destruction.

“Oh, and this will be the pièce de résistance,” Ni-ki said, holding up a firework and sticking it in the middle of Filch’s desk like a centerpiece. “Timed to go off the moment he sits down.”

“Brilliant,” Jungwon agreed, stepping back to admire their handiwork with a proud smile.

You stared at the chaos surrounding you. Filch’s office looked like a carnival had exploded in it. Glitter covered every surface, the confetti charm was in full effect, and there were at least three forbidden spells buzzing quietly in the air.

“This is... insane,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“Insanely fun, you mean,” Ni-ki corrected, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, admit it. You’re impressed.”

“I’m horrified,” you shot back.

Jungwon checked the Marauder’s Map, his grin turning slightly panicked. “Uh, we should probably go. Filch is coming back.”

At that, Ni-ki straightened, grabbing the sack of confiscated items. “Alright, let’s move. You coming, partner-in-crime?” he asked, looking down at you with that maddening grin of his.

You groaned but followed as they bolted for the door, the three of you slipping out just in time. You could hear Filch’s grumbling in the distance as you sprinted down the hall.

When you finally stopped running, out of breath and covered in a faint layer of glitter, Ni-ki turned to you with a triumphant grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Jungwon snorted. “Speak for yourself. Y/N was ready to disown us back there.”

You glared at them, pointing at the faint trail of glitter that followed you like a beacon. “We’re all getting detention if this doesn’t wash off.”

Ni-ki just shrugged, still grinning. “Worth it.”

You sighed, already preparing yourself for the next disaster they’d drag you into.

You never really expected to stay friends with them. Honestly, you didn’t even know when you had officially crossed the line into friendship—it just kind of happened. Despite being dragged into their mischief constantly, despite the headaches and the near-expulsions, they had somehow managed to carve a space in your life that you hadn’t realized.

And while they were an absolute menace most of the time, there were moments where they surprised you.

Like when you were stuck in the hospital wing after a particularly nasty Quidditch accident, and Ni-ki had snuck in late at night to bring you sweets he’d smuggled from the kitchens. “Thought you could use a little sugar rush,” he’d said with a grin, settling down at the edge of your bed like he planned to stay there all night.

Or the time you got a nasty grade on an essay in Transfiguration, and Jungwon, who had perfected the subject, had sat with you for hours helping you revise until you finally understood it. He’d teased you endlessly, of course, but he still patiently explained things, as though he believed in you even when you didn’t.

These small moments added up, painting a picture of your friendship that was as genuine as it was chaotic.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that their feelings for you ran deeper than friendship.

The way Ni-ki’s teasing became just a little softer when it was directed at you. The way he always found an excuse to stand close, to brush against your shoulder or nudge you playfully, his gaze lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Or the way Jungwon seemed to falter around you in small ways. The way his eyes softened whenever you laughed, or the way his voice always lost a bit of its sharpness when he said your name.

Neither of them had admitted it—maybe not even to themselves—but it was there.

And you, completely unaware, continued to treat them like the troublemaking friends you’d grown so used to, never realizing the turmoil you were unknowingly causing in their hearts.

Eventually, the month was up, and the Polyjuice Potion had finally set.

Jungwon and Ni-ki, as eager as ever, wasted no time dragging you back into the secret passageway where they’d first revealed their ridiculous plan. You’d been half-hoping they’d forgotten about it, or maybe come to their senses, but judging by the gleam in their eyes, you knew better.

Jungwon carefully ladled some of the potion into a glass, the thick, murky liquid swirling ominously. The smell was awful—like burnt cabbage and old socks—and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose in disgust.

"Are you sure about this?" you asked, eyeing the potion warily.

"Positive," Jungwon said, far too confidently for someone about to drink something that could very well land him in the hospital wing—or worse.

Ni-ki leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all year. "Go on, Jungwon. Bottoms up."

With a deep breath and a glance at the both of you, Jungwon tipped the glass back and downed the potion in one swift gulp. Almost immediately, he doubled over, clutching his stomach as his body began to shift and change.

You and Ni-ki stepped back instinctively, watching in both awe and horror as Jungwon’s dark hair lightened to a sandy brown, his frame stretched slightly taller, and his features rearranged themselves into something alarmingly familiar.

When he straightened up, you found yourself face-to-face with the Gryffindor prefect.

"What," you said flatly, blinking at him as your brain struggled to process what you were seeing.

Jungwon—now looking and sounding exactly like the Gryffindor prefect—grinned. "What do you think? Pretty convincing, huh?"

You stared at him, dumbfounded. "You’re him. You’re literally him."

Ni-ki let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee. "This is incredible. You even nailed his ‘holier-than-thou’ smirk." He clapped his hands together, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. "Absolutely flawless. Ten out of ten. You could fool anyone."

Still reeling, you turned to Ni-ki, your voice rising. "What is this plan, exactly? What are you two planning to do now that Jungwon looks like the Gryffindor prefect?"

Ni-ki’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, right. About that…" He stepped closer, lowering his voice as though he were about to share the world’s best-kept secret.

You crossed your arms, waiting impatiently.

"We," he began, drawing out the word dramatically, "are going to change the Gryffindor common room password."

You blinked. "You made me brew a highly risky potion—risked detention and possible expulsion just to change the password to the Gryffindor common room?"

"Exactly!" Ni-ki exclaimed, throwing his hands up as if to emphasize his point. "Gryffindor’s been unbearable ever since they won the last Quidditch match. Rubbing it in everyone’s faces, strutting around like they’re the kings of the castle—"

Jungwon, now examining his new appearance in a nearby reflective surface, chimed in, "Which they’re not, by the way."

Ni-ki shrugged, completely unapologetic. "It’s payback. Justice if you would say."

Jungwon, nodded solemnly. "It’s about the principle."

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "You two are insane. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ll be in if you get caught?"

Ni-ki leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. "That’s why we won’t get caught."

"Uh-huh," you deadpanned, entirely unconvinced. "And if the real Gryffindor prefect shows up?"

Ni-ki waved you off. "That’s why we’ve got a lookout."

"Who’s the lookout?" you asked warily.

Ni-ki gave you a pointed look, his grin widening mischievously.

"No," you said immediately, stepping back. "Absolutely not. I am not going to be the lookout for this ridiculous plan."

"Come on," Ni-ki whined, grabbing your arm and giving you a pleading look. "You’re the only one we trust for the job. Plus, you’re great at pretending you don’t know us if things go south."

"That’s not a compliment," you snapped, but Ni-ki just laughed.

"Please!!!" Jungwon said, and despite the fact that his face wasn’t his own, his tone was still undeniably his. "We need you."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. They were absolutely impossible. Still, as much as you wanted to walk away and leave them to their ridiculous plan, you knew you wouldn’t. "I can’t believe I’m even here for this."

Ni-ki slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "Come on, Y/N. Where’s your sense of adventure?"

"Buried under my sense of self-preservation," you muttered, but neither of them seemed to care.

"Boooring!" Ni-ki said immediately, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward the entrance of the secret passage. "Now, let’s go. We’ve got a password to change."

You groaned, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment.

You all snuck out of the astronomy tower heading toward the Gryffindor Tower with hushed footsteps and quick glances over your shoulders. Jungwon—still posing as the Gryffindor prefect—was striding ahead with a perfect air of authority, his shoulders squared, and his expression sharp.

You and Ni-ki, on the other hand, trailed behind him with exaggeratedly guilty faces.

"Slouch more," Jungwon hissed over his shoulder, his voice clipped and stern. "You’re supposed to look like you’ve been caught red-handed."

"I am slouching!" Ni-ki shot back in a loud whisper, looking offended. "I’m a professional at looking guilty, thank you very much."

You rolled your eyes, muttering, "Not exactly something to be proud of, Ni-ki."

Ni-ki ignored you, but when a group of Gryffindor students turned the corner, his whole demeanor changed in an instant. He widened his eyes, hung his head, and even dragged his feet slightly, looking every bit the part of a student who’d just been caught in the act of breaking the rules.

Jungwon glared at you both, his performance flawless. "I can’t believe the two of you thought stealing sweets from the kitchens was a good idea," he said in a loud, scolding tone that echoed through the corridor.

You couldn’t help but cringe at his words. The act was working. The group of Gryffindor students didn’t even give you a second glance as they walked by, probably assuming you were just another pair of troublemakers getting told off by a prefect.

As soon as the students disappeared around the corner, Ni-ki snickered, nudging you with his elbow. "See? We’re naturals."

"Or completely insane," you shot back, still uneasy about the whole plan.

Jungwon, still fully in character, glanced back at you both with a dramatic sigh. "Would you two focus? We’re almost there."

You tried to steady your nerves as you approached the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Jungwon cleared his throat, adjusted his posture, and stepped forward, looking every bit the part of the Gryffindor prefect he was impersonating.

The Fat Lady’s eyes opened, and she squinted down at him. "Oh, it’s you. Back already?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

"Yes," Jungwon replied smoothly, his voice mimicking the prefect’s perfectly. "I need to update the password."

You blinked, silently impressed at how calm and composed he sounded.

The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow. "Password? I wasn’t informed about any changes."

"It was a last-minute decision," Jungwon said with an air of authority. "The headmaster’s orders. You know how these things go."

The Fat Lady hummed, clearly hesitant but not suspicious enough to question him further. "All right, then. What’s the new password?"

Jungwon hesitated for the briefest moment before glancing back at Ni-ki, who grinned like the Cheshire Cat and mouthed, Quidditch losers.

Jungwon’s lips twitched in amusement before he turned back to the Fat Lady, his expression serious. "The new password is... Quidditch glory."

You bit back a snort, realizing Jungwon had changed Ni-ki’s suggestion at the last second to make it less obvious.

The Fat Lady sighed dramatically, as if she had better things to do, and said, "Fine. Password updated. You may enter."

"Thank you," Jungwon said politely, though he made no move to actually enter the common room.

As soon as the portrait swung open, revealing the cozy Gryffindor common room beyond, Jungwon turned to the both of you, a victorious grin spreading across his borrowed face.

"Mission accomplished," he whispered.

"That was way too easy," Ni-ki muttered, his grin matching Jungwon’s.

You crossed your arms, glaring at them both. "You’re absolutely ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Maybe," Jungwon said with a shrug, still grinning as he gestured for you both to follow him back down the corridor. "But you can’t deny it was brilliant."

While the three of you hurried away from the Gryffindor Tower, you couldn’t help but feel reluctant admiration. They’d actually pulled it off.

The three of you had just barely made it to the dungeon when Ni-ki abruptly stopped in his tracks, throwing his arms out dramatically. Unfortunately, you and Jungwon were too close behind him to react in time, and the result was a chaotic collision that sent all three of you toppling to the floor in a heap of limbs and groans.

"Ni-ki, what the hell?!" Jungwon hissed, his voice low but seething as he tried to untangle himself from the mess. "Why did you stop—"

Ni-ki clamped a hand over Jungwon’s mouth, his eyes wide with panic. "Shh!" he whispered harshly, pointing down the corridor.

You followed his gaze and felt your stomach drop. There, standing just ahead, were the Gryffindor prefect and Snape. Talking together.

Oops.

Jungwon immediately shut up, his annoyance replaced by alarm. The three of you scrambled to your feet in a flurry of panic, trying not to make a sound. Without wasting a moment, Ni-ki and Jungwon each grabbed one of your arms and dragged you into the shadows, finding a small alcove to hide in.

Before you could even catch your breath, you were being pressed up against the cold stone wall, Ni-ki and Jungwon on either side of you, their bodies shielding you from view.

"Could you two not squish me?" you muttered under your breath, glaring up at them.

"Would you rather get caught by Snape?" Ni-ki shot back, not taking his eyes off the corridor as he peeked out nervously. "No? Then shut it."

You huffed but stayed quiet, noticing how tense Ni-ki’s shoulders were. He was keeping a sharp eye on Snape and the prefect, ready to make a run for it if needed.

Meanwhile, Jungwon, who was on your other side, was shifting uncomfortably. You glanced up at him and froze when you noticed his face. His features were no longer those of the Gryffindor prefect—they were morphing back into his own, the effects of the Polyjuice Potion clearly wearing off.

Jungwon groaned softly, clutching his stomach as he leaned forward, pressing his face into the crook of your neck for support. You stiffened at the sudden closeness, your hand instinctively patting his back in a futile attempt to comfort him.

"Jungwon," you whispered, worried. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he mumbled against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Just... feels weird."

"Ugh, you’re so dramatic," Ni-ki muttered, glancing back at you two briefly before turning his attention back to the corridor. "You’ll be fine in like two seconds. Just don’t throw up on—"

"Ni-ki, shut up," Jungwon snapped, though his voice was muffled against your neck.

You sighed, your free hand still awkwardly patting his back. "This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath.

"I hereby declare that is your everyday quote," Ni-ki quipped with a smirk, though his expression quickly turned serious as he peeked out again. "They’re still there. Snape looks like he’s about to murder someone—wait, no that’s just his normal face expression."

Jungwon groaned again, and you felt him lean more of his weight against you. Curse his height. He wasn’t heavy, but having him this close was flustering you more than you wanted to admit.

"Okay, seriously," you hissed, glaring at Ni-ki, "can we not just stay here forever? Do something!"

"Oh sure," Ni-ki whispered sarcastically, glancing back at you with an incredulous look. "Why don’t I just go up to Snape and ask him how his day was? Brilliant plan."

"Ni-ki, I swear—"

"Guys," Jungwon interrupted, his voice steadier now. He finally pulled back from your neck, his features fully his own again. He stood up straight, though he still looked a little pale. "I think they’re leaving."

All three of you froze, holding your breaths as you listened. Sure enough, the sound of Snape’s low voice and the prefect’s murmured responses grew fainter, followed by the faint echo of footsteps retreating down the corridor.

Ni-ki let out a dramatic sigh of relief. "Finally. I thought we were done for."

Jungwon rubbed his face, still looking a little worse for wear. "That was way too close."

"You think?" you said, glaring at them both. "If we’d been caught, I would’ve been the one blamed, thanks to you two dragging me into this mess."

"Aw, but you love us," Ni-ki said with a cheeky grin, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes. "I’m seriously reconsidering that."

Jungwon smirked, finally looking a bit more like himself again. "Come on, let’s get out of here before someone else shows up."

And just as Jungwon finished speaking, the grating, maniacal laughter of Peeves echoed through the corridor. The sound made all three of you freeze, and before you could react, the troublemaking poltergeist popped out of the stone floor with a giggle, his mischievous eyes gleaming.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Peeves crooned, eyeing the three of you with a grin. His voice echoed off the walls, and you couldn't help but feel a slight chill. "My favorite students, looking so cozy together. What’s the occasion?"

You all exchanged a glance, not sure whether to run or stay. Jungwon narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to look unbothered, while Ni-ki rolled his eyes dramatically. "What do you want, Peeves?" he asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Peeves floated around you, his presence more annoying than anything. "Oh, nothing much," he said, his voice high-pitched with glee. "Just wondered if you’ve got any new pranks up your sleeves, eh? Or is it something more... personal going on here?" He wiggled his eyebrows, a knowing smirk plastered on his face.

Ni-ki glanced at Jungwon and then shrugged. "We’ll tell you when the time comes," he said, clearly uninterested in revealing too much to the troublesome ghost.

But Peeves wasn't done yet. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he started to circle the three of you like a hawk. "Oh, I see!" he giggled, pointing a bony finger at each of you in turn. "Someone's got tension!" He practically cackled with delight, floating in a circle around you as he grinned widely. "Little love triangle, eh? How exciting! You two," he pointed at Jungwon and Ni-ki, "are practically glued to her, and they can’t get enough of you! Is this the new prank? Get caught up in a web of romantic mischief? Oh, I can’t wait to see how this plays out!"

You groaned, your face burning as both Jungwon and Ni-ki tensed up, eyes widening in response.

Peeves continued to cackle as he floated higher, his laughter echoing down the hall. "I’ll be keeping an eye on you, my favorite troublemakers! I’ll be back for the show!" With a final teasing wink, Peeves disappeared through the stone wall with a loud, echoing "Whee!"

You let out a deep sigh, your embarrassment palpable. Jungwon was rubbing his forehead in frustration, and Ni-ki simply looked amused, though there was a hint of irritation in his eyes.

"I swear, Peeves will be the death of us," Jungwon muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to you.

You couldn't help but laugh, despite everything.

And with that, the three of you slipped out of the alcove and hurried back toward the Slytherin common room, your heart still pounding from the close call.

The prank ended exactly how you’d expected—utter chaos.

A horde of Gryffindors had been locked out of their common room for hours, their frustration echoing down the corridors. The Fat Lady was flustered beyond belief, huffing indignantly about how her painting had been “tampered with,” and the Gryffindor prefect was storming through the castle, barking out accusations with a vengeance.

McGonagall’s sharp eyes had swept through the Great Hall during dinner, suspicion evident in her expression as she tried to pinpoint the culprits. Somehow, though, by some miracle, you, Jungwon, and Ni-ki had remained completely unnoticed.

The three of you had kept your heads down and your poker faces on, acting as if you didn’t have a single clue what had happened. You couldn’t believe you’d gotten away with it. Again.

Which is exactly what you were currently discussing as you stood in Zonko’s Joke Shop, watching Jungwon and Ni-ki carefully examine the shelves for their next batch of mischief supplies.

"I still don’t understand how we weren’t caught," you said, leaning casually against the display of dungbombs as you crossed your arms. "McGonagall knew something was up."

"That’s because we’re geniuses," Ni-ki said without looking up from the Extendable Ears he was inspecting. "Obviously."

You snorted. "Right, because geniuses trip over their own feet and nearly get us caught in the process."

"Hey!" Ni-ki turned to you with an exaggerated look of offense. "I saved us. My quick thinking is the only reason we got out of there alive."

"Your quick thinking?" Jungwon interjected, holding up a Puking Pastille for inspection. "I’m pretty sure my plan got us through the whole thing. You just stood there looking like a lost Kneazle."

Ni-ki huffed and turned his attention back to the shelf. "You’re both ungrateful. I should stop sharing my brilliance with you."

"Brilliance, huh?" you teased, smirking as you reached over to nudge him. "That’s what we’re calling it now?"

Ni-ki shot you a mock glare but didn’t move away. In fact, he leaned into you more, resting his elbow lazily on your shoulder as if you were his personal armrest.

You tried to shrug him off. "Ni-ki, get off me. I’m not furniture."

He grinned, leaning his weight on you even more. "But you’re so sturdy and reliable."

"Sturdy and reliable," you repeated flatly. "That’s it. You’re banned from using me as a leaning post."

"You love it," he teased, winking at you.

Meanwhile, Jungwon was completely unbothered, now inspecting a box of Screaming Yo-yos. "You’re letting him get away with that?" he said without looking up.

"I’ve given up," you replied, sighing dramatically.

"You should’ve given up a long time ago," Jungwon said with a chuckle. Then, as if on cue, he reached over and started playing with a strand of your hair, twirling it between his fingers.

"Seriously?" you muttered, glancing between them.

Jungwon just smirked, not stopping as he held your gaze. "What? I’m bored."

"You two are impossible," you grumbled, though you didn’t actually make any effort to stop either of them. This was normal. It was just how things were.

As you scanned the shelves, you spotted a few products that caught your eye. Grinning mischievously, you a few different materials like a pack of Decoy Detonators.

"That’s what you’re going with?" Ni-ki asked, glancing at your choices.

"At least I’m not taking twenty minutes to pick a single product," you shot back, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

"Hey, these decisions are important," Jungwon said, tossing the Screaming Yo-yos into his own pile.

"Right," you said, rolling your eyes. "Because you totally need three different kinds of itching powder."

"You’ll thank us later," Ni-ki said confidently.

"Oh, I’m sure," you replied dryly, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"Y/N," Ni-ki called dramatically, spinning toward you with a packet of Nose-Biting Teacups in his hand. "Do you think I should get this? Imagine serving tea to Professor Snape. A little nibble on the nose might do him some good."

You snorted. "Yeah, if you want to end up scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the year. I’m not covering for you if you actually go through with that."

"Don’t lie. You’d do it," he said, grinning as he nudged your side with his elbow.

"You’d fold in two seconds if he gave you the look," Jungwon added, smirking as he placed a jar of Self-Inking Quills into his growing pile of products.

"Excuse me," you shot back, crossing your arms. "I’ve never folded. Unlike you two. Don’t think I forgot about the time Snape caught you both in the Potions classroom after hours, and you blamed it on Peeves."

"That was a solid plan," Ni-ki argued, placing a hand on his chest like he was offended.

Jungwon snorted. "It wasn’t a plan at all. You just blurted the first thing that came to your mind."

"And it worked," Ni-ki shot back defensively. "He didn’t question it, did he?"

"That’s because Peeves actually caused a ruckus ten minutes later," you said, shaking your head.

Ni-ki grinned mischievously. "What can I say? I’m lucky like that."

"Lucky, my foot," Jungwon muttered, shaking his head as he turned to you. "Be honest—who’s the bigger liability between the two of us?"

You paused, tilting your head as if you were seriously considering the question. "Do I have to pick just one? Because you’re both pretty equally—"

"Oi!" Ni-ki interrupted, poking your arm. "Traitor!"

Jungwon smirked, clearly enjoying your response. "I knew it. We’re a team of liabilities. Perfect."

"Speak for yourselves," you retorted, pretending to brush off your clothes in mock pride. "I’m the only one who’s remotely responsible here."

"Responsible? You?" Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "Let’s rewind to the time you accidentally lit a cauldron on fire in Charms class."

"That was one time," you argued, glaring at him. "And it wasn’t my fault! You’re the one who—"

"See?" Jungwon cut in, smirking as he held up a hand to stop you. "The cauldron was calling you a black sheep."

"More like the cauldron was calling me innocent," you quipped back, earning laughs from both of them.

Ni-ki slung an arm around your shoulders, grinning widely. "You’re hilarious when you’re trying to defend yourself, you know that?"

You rolled your eyes but didn’t shrug him off. "And you’re insufferable, but here we are."

"See? That’s why we like you," Jungwon said, giving you a small, playful smile as he tapped your forehead lightly with the end of a Decoy Detonator box.

You narrowed your eyes at him, reaching up to swat his hand away. "I feel so honored. Truly."

The three of you dissolved into laughter again, the teasing bouncing between you like a well-practiced routine.

"Alright, mischief-makers," you said finally, glancing at their overflowing piles of joke products. "Are we done here? Or are you planning to bankrupt yourselves buying the entire shop?"

Ni-ki grinned, holding up a box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. "This? Totally worth going broke for."

"And this," Jungwon added, lifting a set of Decoy Detonators, "is going to make next week very interesting."

You did not doubt it.

That week was very interesting indeed. Not only did Ni-ki and Jungwon set up prank after prank, but they also enlisted Peeves in some of them, which turned everything more chaotic.

One day, they filled the Great Hall with floating soap bubbles that burst into confetti whenever they popped, sending the entire school into fits of laughter (or groans, depending on the person).

However, amidst the chaos, Ni-ki and Jungwon had forgotten a major thing: studying.

By the time they realized it, they were behind on a lot of assignments and homework in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Divination, Muggle Studies, and History of Magic. The weight of their neglected schoolwork loomed over them, and the urgency to catch up finally hit.

So, what did they do to catch up? Well, they obviously asked you for help! You, who were currently in the library, reading up on Arithmancy.

You were deeply engrossed in your book when you heard footsteps approaching. Glancing up, you saw Ni-ki and Jungwon, looking sheepish and a bit desperate.

“y/n! Our sweet little genius prodigy,” Ni-ki started, sliding into the seat across from you. Jungwon took the seat next to him, both of them looking at you with pleading eyes.

“Yes?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“We need your help,” Jungwon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re really behind on our assignments. Like, really behind.”

You sighed, closing your book and giving them both a stern look. “You know, if you spent half as much time studying as you do planning pranks, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Ni-ki pouted. “But studying isn’t nearly as fun.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “but it’s kind of necessary if you don’t want to fail.”

“We know,” Jungwon said quickly. “That’s why we’re here. You’re the best at all of this stuff, and we need your help to catch up. Please?”

You looked between the two of them, their eyes wide with genuine desperation.

“Alright,” you said finally after a moment, earning relieved smiles from both of them. “I’ll help you. But this means no more pranks for a while. Deal?”

“Deal,” they chorused eagerly.

“Okay then,” you said, pulling out your notes and books. “Let’s get to work.”

For the next several hours, you worked with Ni-ki and Jungwon, helping them catch up on their assignments. You explained concepts, went over notes, and even quizzed them to make sure they understood the material. It was a long process, but by the end of the day, they had made significant progress.

"You’re a miracle worker, honeydrop. We’d probably be in detention without you." Jungwon chuckled, shoving his parchment into his bag.

"Probably?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, definitely," he corrected with a sheepish grin.

"Just don’t expect me to do this every time," you warned, standing up and gathering your things. "Next time, you’re on your own."

Ni-ki threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked out of the library together. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, doll."

You rolled your eyes at the casual nickname, though you didn’t bother shrugging his arm off—it was just his way of being overly familiar. “I’m serious. If I catch you two sneaking off to pull another prank before you’ve finished at least one essay, I’m not helping you anymore.”

“Duly noted,” Ni-ki replied smoothly, though his grin said otherwise. He squeezed your shoulder playfully. “But you have to admit, life would be so boring without us.”

“Boring?” you shot back, looking up at him incredulously. “I’d actually have time to focus on my own work without you two dragging me into whatever chaos you’ve cooked up.”

Jungwon laughed softly from your other side. “Oh, come on. You love it. Admit it. Deep down, you’d miss us if we left you alone for more than a day.”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead giving them a sidelong glance. “Maybe I’d miss the pranks more,” you teased, earning matching gasps of mock offense from both boys.

Ni-ki stopped in his tracks, clutching his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Right in the heart, doll.”

Jungwon smirked, tilting his head. “She’s lying. Look at her—she’s smiling. That’s the face of someone who couldn’t survive without us.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small grin tugging at your lips. “If you’re trying to flatter yourselves, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Ni-ki leaned closer, his face just a little too smug. “We don’t need to flatter ourselves, doll. We know we’re your favorite people in the world.”

“Favorite headaches, maybe,” you retorted, shoving his arm off your shoulders. He stumbled back, laughing, while Jungwon gave you an approving nod.

“She’s catching on,” Jungwon said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Soon enough, she’ll be the one dragging us into trouble.”

You snorted. “Not likely. I’ve already got my hands full with you two.”

The next few days were oddly peaceful, given the usual chaos that surrounded Ni-ki and Jungwon. You found yourself spending more time in the library with them, helping them catch up on homework, and surprisingly, they actually stayed focused—most of the time. Though, that didn’t stop them from sneaking in their usual brand of teasing. Because they kept finding ways to distract you. Ni-ki, as usual, was the first to break the silence.

"You're pretty good at this stuff, huh?" he murmured, stretching lazily beside you. His hand casually brushed against your thigh, and he rested his arm there like it was the most normal thing in the world. "How come you're so smart and yet still hang out with us? Makes no sense."

You glanced at him, trying to keep your cool. "I don't mind," you answered, your voice surprisingly steady despite how flustered his touch was making you. "Besides, someone has to keep you two in check."

Jungwon, who had been silently working on his own homework beside you, suddenly lifted his head. His soft exhale brushed against your neck as he settled his face there, huffing dramatically. "Ugh, Herbology is impossible. How do you even remember all these plants and their properties? It’s like a nightmare." He whined, his voice muffled against your skin.

You stiffened at his proximity, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. "I don't know," you muttered, trying to ignore the way his body pressed against yours. "I just study."

"Yeah, but you’re really good at it," Jungwon murmured, not moving away. He let his lips brush against your neck for a moment, and you could feel your face heat up instantly.

Meanwhile, Ni-ki hadn't missed the opportunity. He leaned even closer, his hand subtly shifting on your thigh as he whispered, "We should study more with you. You make it so fun."

You shot him a warning glance, but he just grinned back, unbothered. "You’re making me sound like a distraction, you know," you said, trying to focus on your notes again, though your concentration was rapidly slipping away.

Jungwon grinned against your neck. "Oh, you are a distraction. But you're a good kind of distraction."

Before you could protest, Ni-ki leaned in closer, resting his head on your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. "We’re your favorite chaos, right?" he said, his voice teasing but sincere.

Despite the flurry of butterflies in your stomach, you couldn’t help but smile. "You two are definitely something," you said, trying to sound unaffected even as your heart raced. "But I really need to get this done."

You really tried to ignore the two heads resting against your shoulders, but that was an impossible task. Ni-ki’s breath was warm against your skin, and his hand was still resting on your thigh, now with an almost casual possessiveness. Jungwon, on the other hand, was so close his soft exhalations tickled the nape of your neck, and his cheek was pressed lightly against yours as he hummed in contentment.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your work, it was becoming increasingly difficult. The pages in front of you blurred as your heart rate picked up. The library now felt suffocating, and you realized that it wasn’t just the assignment that had your attention—it was the way they were both so close, almost invading your space in a way that made it impossible to concentrate.

"Are you actually going to study?" Ni-ki murmured, his voice low and teasing, but you could hear the undercurrent of something more in it. His fingers shifted slightly, brushing your leg in a way that made you stiffen, but you didn’t pull away. You were almost too aware of how your body reacted to them.

Jungwon, seemingly oblivious to your internal turmoil, nuzzled closer against your neck, his soft, slow breaths doing nothing to help you stay calm. “I think I’m helping you study,” he said in that playful tone of his, making you shiver. “Us being this close will help you focus, right?”

Your pulse quickened at the thought. You hadn’t been aware of the shifting dynamic until now—of how their subtle touches, the way they leaned into you, seemed to be becoming more than just playful teasing. Every little move felt like an invitation for more, and you were quickly losing the battle to stay composed.

"Guys," you said, attempting to sound stern, though the breathlessness in your voice betrayed you. "You’re making it impossible to study like this."

They didn’t move. They didn’t even respond with words, but you could feel the weight of their attention on you. Ni-ki’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly, and Jungwon pressed his nose gently against your underjaw, both of them silently daring you to pull away.

But you didn’t. And that was what surprised you the most—how you didn’t mind the closeness, how you didn’t want to push them away.

"Maybe we can help you concentrate in other ways," Ni-ki whispered, his voice lowering with an edge of amusement, and you could feel him grinning against your skin.

You let out a shaky breath, knowing that with them, studying was the last thing you were going to accomplish today.

They were like two koalas clinging to you, making it so hard to think clearly. Every time you shifted, Ni-ki would let out a soft sigh, his fingers grazing your thigh, and Jungwon would press his face more firmly into the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

Your handwriting became more erratic as you tried to force yourself to write, but your focus kept drifting back to them, they were distracting in the best and worst way. You tried to shift slightly, attempting to get some space, but instead, they just adjusted and got even closer.

"You’re really not gonna study, are you?" Ni-ki's voice was a low tease, his chin now resting on your shoulder as he looked at your textbook with a mock frown. His fingers tracing little patterns against your thigh.

Jungwon, still in his spot on your neck, let out a small hum of agreement. "I think we’re doing more for your concentration than you give us credit for."

You were about to protest, but then Jungwon shifted slightly, brushing his lips against your ear as he murmured, "You’re so tense. Are we making you nervous?" His voice was soft, but the way he said it made your pulse quicken. You could practically feel the smirk on his lips.

Ni-ki chuckled at your reaction, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You’re cute when you try to act unaffected." His hand squeezed your thigh gently, adding more heat to the already overwhelming situation.

It was getting hard to think, let alone focus on your homework. You couldn’t deny how their touches made your heart race, how the closeness felt different than it ever had before. You were surrounded by them—so close, so intimate in a way that felt almost too personal, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to move them off.

Instead, you sighed, giving up on trying to study. "You two are unbelivable," you muttered, but there was no real heat in your words. They were both too close, too comfortable, and the way they looked at you, the way they made you feel, left you unsure if you wanted them to stop.

Ni-ki grinned at your words, his hand moving slowly up your leg. "Good, we’re making progress," he teased, leaning in close. "You needed a break anyway."

Jungwon, now pulling away just enough to meet your gaze, smiled warmly. "We’ll help you out. Maybe not with homework, but definitely with...other things."

As they both made themselves even more comfortable, you were stuck between wanting to push them away and wanting to stay right where you were.

You had no idea what had gotten into them, but you also weren’t quite sure what had gotten into you. They had always been the ones to tease and be touchy, but now, as they both clung to you, you realized you could play along—maybe even enjoy it. Without thinking too much, you let the playful side of you take over.

You moved just slightly, letting your fingers brush against Ni-ki’s arm as you leaned back into him, and before he could respond, you slid your hand down to his wrist, just enough to make him pause. He looked at you, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in dynamics. His usual confident smirk faltered for just a second before he recovered, but you could tell he wasn’t expecting it.

You smiled innocently back, leaning into Jungwon next, letting your fingers trace along his jawline with a teasing touch. His breath hitched ever so slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you saw the flustered warmth creeping up his neck. He leaned into your touch, just like he had done with you so many times before, but now you could feel him melt under your fingertips.

"Guess we’re not the only ones getting touchy, huh?" Ni-ki teased, his voice light, but there was a nervous edge to it now as his breath caught when you moved your hand to his shoulder, massaging it lightly.

Jungwon, still resting against you, let out a shaky laugh, but his voice was softer, almost breathless. "You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?"

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your hand on his chest for a moment, letting your fingers play with the fabric of his shirt. "You’re the ones who started it," you said, your voice low and playful, but with an underlying challenge in it.

You felt their reactions before you even saw them clearly—the way their breaths became more shallow, the way their eyes widened with surprise and something else.

Ni-ki’s lips parted as you moved your hand lower, and you noticed his usual teasing grin soften into something more real. He didn’t know how to respond to this change in the atmosphere, and for a moment, you reveled in the power of it. Jungwon, too, was a little quieter now, his hand moving to rest on your other thigh, fingers just brushing lightly, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to act but didn’t want to pull away either.

They were both flustered, unsure of how to navigate the space you’d suddenly put them in. You could feel them melt under your touch, their usual confidence slipping away with each movement you made. You had the power now, and it was a strange feeling—seeing them both so lost in this little game you were playing.

"Well?" you asked, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you leaned back into them. "Aren’t you two gonna study? Or am i too distracting?"

Ni-ki chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual charm faltering just slightly. "Guess we’ve got some competition now."

Jungwon, on the other hand, gave a soft sigh, his face flushed. "I think we might be in over our heads."

You had the upper hand now.

And you took full advantage of it.

After that day in the library, you couldn’t help but notice how completely Jungwon and Ni-ki would fall into your rhythm. They were practically putty in your hands. Every touch, no matter how small, sent them into a flurry of reactions—flushed cheeks, quiet sighs, soft whines when you weren’t paying attention to them. They’d melt at even the smallest gesture from you. Whether it was brushing their arm casually or stealing a glance, it was as if they couldn’t get enough. Every ounce of attention you gave them, they greedily soaked it up, and you relished in that power, in knowing you could make them act this way. Knowing you were the only person that could make them act this way.

They were so used to being the ones in control, but now it seemed they couldn’t stop themselves from doing whatever you wanted. It was almost comical how quickly they fell into line, but also a little thrilling. You were the one holding the strings now, and they seemed perfectly content to follow wherever you led.

And of course, your friends had noticed. You weren't sure how you didn't see it earlier, but Yuna, Hannie, Karina, Yujin, and Leeseo had all caught on. They’d managed to sneak you away from Jungwon and Ni-ki one afternoon, a tactic you recognized as them giving you a moment of peace away from them.

You sat in a quiet corner of the courtyard with them, all of them looking at you with knowing grins, their eyes twinkling with mischief and curiosity.

“So,” Yuna began, leaning forward with an exaggerated whisper, “spill. What’s going on between you and those two?”

Hannie smirked, arms crossed, “Yeah, you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s so obvious.”

You blinked, suddenly feeling put on the spot. “I don’t know what you mean,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but your heart skipped a beat. Were they really so obvious?

Leeseo leaned in, her voice playful. “Come on, don’t pretend. Jungwon and Ni-ki have been practically following you around like lost pets. It’s cute, but we’re curious. What’s going on?”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you had it in you, honestly. Those two are impossible to keep up with. But somehow, you’ve got them so... docile.”

You let out a breath, finally breaking into a sheepish smile. “It just kind of... happened. They started getting clingy, and I just played along. And now? I don’t know. They’re just... there.”

Yujin grinned, tapping her fingers on the table. “You know, they’ve been doing everything you say. I saw Ni-ki nearly burn his potions notes because you told him to stop distracting you. It’s like watching a puppy trying to be obedient.”

Hannie chuckled. “So, they’re melting under your touch, huh?”

You couldn’t help the blush creeping onto your face as the realization hit you. “Maybe,” you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed, but also a little proud.

“Are you sure it’s just them being clingy?” Yuna asked, her tone teasing. “I mean, they’ve been following you around for years.”

You sighed, looking around at your friends’ grinning faces, knowing you couldn’t get away with playing innocent anymore. “I guess... maybe I do. But it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. They just—"

“They just can’t resist you,” Karina finished for you, smirking. “Come on, don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”

It was clear your friends were having way too much fun with this, but honestly, you weren’t sure if you could deny it any longer. You’d noticed how they seemed to change when they were around you. Jungwon would act like he couldn’t wait to do anything you asked, and Ni-ki? He’d become all soft and affectionate, which was unlike him.

“It’s okay, though,” Yujin said, her voice light. “We’re not judging you. We just want to know when you’re finally going to admit it.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Maybe I have a little bit of power over them. But I’m not making a big deal out of it.”

They all laughed, clearly not believing you. You were probably just as entertained as they were by how much you could get away with. But as you looked at the amused faces around you, you also felt a little something stir in your chest. A strange mix of pride and something else.

You were, without a doubt, in control of the situation now. But what you didn’t know was just how much longer that power would last before things got a little... more complicated.

And it did get complicated.

Before, they had been clingy, constantly around you, leaning on you, making their presence known. But now? Now, they were acting possessive. They’d follow you everywhere, make sure they were always by your side, and the glares they shot at any male student who got too close to you? Intense. It wasn’t just playful teasing anymore. It was like they were marking their territory without saying a word.

And that’s when it hit you.

All of this? It wasn’t just the usual chaos and fun. They liked you. They had to. No one acts like this unless they do.

But you weren’t sure. Not completely. You needed confirmation. And the best way to confirm a suspicion like this? You’d seen it done before in the most dramatic ways—jealousy. If they were really into you, you were certain they wouldn’t just sit back and let you spend time with someone else. They'd react, and you’d get your answer.

So, with that thought in mind, you decided to test this theory. What better way to do that than to make them confess in a fit of jealousy?

You didn’t want to hurt anyone, of course, but it was the only way to make sure. And you wouldn’t have to do it alone, which is where your two male friends, Jeongin and Jaehyun, came in. You trusted them, and they owed you a favor or two after all the times you’d helped them in the past.

The plan was simple—at least, in theory. You'd spend some time with Jeongin and Jaehyun, just enough to make Jungwon and Ni-ki notice. You knew they’d be watching. They always were, especially since the two of them had started acting this way. And once they did? Well, that would be when the fireworks started.

You carefully explained everything to Jeongin and Jaehyun, who both agreed to help you. They were on board, teasing you about how entertaining it would be to see how Jungwon and Ni-ki would react. Jeongin even joked that he could make them both "lose their minds." You weren’t sure if he was joking or not, but you were counting on him to keep it lighthearted.

The next day, the plan was set into motion. You’d intentionally sit next to Jeongin and Jaehyun in the grandhall, laughing at their jokes and engaging in casual conversation. You knew Jungwon and Ni-ki would be nearby, watching closely, their eyes following your every move. And, sure enough, the second you laughed too loud or shared a casual touch with Jeongin, you saw the shift.

Ni-ki's smirk faltered for a second before he looked away, crossing his arms tightly, his eyes narrowing. Jungwon was no better—his gaze had turned blank, his usually demeanor replaced by something else. The tension between the two of them was palpable, and you had to fight to keep a straight face.

As the evening wore on, the moments between you and Jeongin and Jaehyun became more exaggerated. You laughed louder, leaned closer, and gave Jeongin a playful push when he made a joke. Your heart raced with anticipation.

Sure enough, when you glanced over at Jungwon and Ni-ki, both of them were practically burning holes into you with their eyes. Jungwon was glaring at Jeongin, his jaw clenched, while Ni-ki was burning a hole in the wall in front of him.

The more you pushed, the more you noticed them getting restless. Ni-ki shifted in his seat, throwing a glance at Jungwon as if silently confirming that neither of them was happy with the situation. It was working.

But now, the hardest part—waiting.

You watched as they tried to play it cool, but every time you’d interact with Jeongin or Jaehyun, you could feel their eyes on you, and it became harder to pretend you weren’t aware of how they were watching.

Finally, when they were getting up to leave, Jeongin bumped into Ni-ki, giving him a playful smile and a casual, “Excuse me, mate,” before turning and walking away with Jaehyun.

That was when it all came to a head. You had just turned to leave the Grandhall when you felt two hands grip your wrist, pulling you back.

You turned to find Jungwon standing in front of you, his expression no longer calm. It was frustrated, a little wild, and it was clear he wasn’t happy.

“Did you have to do that?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, like he was trying to keep his cool but was failing miserably.

Ni-ki was right behind him, arms crossed, his eyes flicking from you to Jungwon and back. “Yeah,” he added, his voice tight. “What’s with you and them?”

You swallowed, keeping your composure. “What do you mean?”

“Cut the act,” Jungwon shot back, stepping a little closer, his hands clenched at his sides. “We both know what you’re doing.”

Your heart raced. There it was. You wanted them to say it. You wanted them to admit it, to confess how they felt.

“You two... are acting like children,” you said lightly, trying to keep your voice calm despite the whirlwind in your chest. “You know that, right?”

Ni-ki’s face twitched as he stepped forward. “We’re not the ones acting like that,” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t place. “You’re the one making us jealous.”

You smiled to yourself, the satisfaction bubbling up. The tension was finally broken, and now... all you had to do was wait for them to confess.

“Okay, what’s the big problem?” you asked, your voice calm but firm. “Why are you two acting like this?”

The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. They exchanged a quick, sharp glance, almost as if they were having a silent conversation.

Finally, Jungwon let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He glared at the ground for a moment before looking up at you, his usual dimpled smile nowhere to be found.

“We’re not acting like this for no reason,” he started, his voice tense. “You think we’re just jealous for no reason?”

Ni-ki stepped forward then, his eyes searching yours. “We’re jealous,” he muttered, a bit of anger still lingering in his tone. “But it’s not just about Jaehyun, or you hanging out with Jeongin. It’s... you.”

You blinked, surprised. "Me?"

Jungwon shot him a look but then quickly turned back to you, his voice lowering, barely above a whisper. "We like you. We both do. And yeah, it’s frustrating seeing you with other people when we... we’ve been wanting to say something for a while now."

Ni-ki nodded, his usual smirk replaced by a more earnest expression. “We’re... we’re seriously into you, and it’s driving us crazy watching you get close to anyone else.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the realization settling in as you stared at them. It wasn’t just a theory anymore. They really did like you.

“You two... really?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your mind racing as everything clicked into place.

Jungwon sighed, a small, frustrated laugh escaping him. "Yeah, really. You’re smart, you’re fun, and you make everything less... boring. But we didn’t know how to say it, okay? We’re not used to this kind of thing."

Ni-ki grinned nervously, his usual confidence returning in small doses. "And I guess we were trying to make you notice. Not the best way, but it worked, didn’t it?"

You couldn’t help but smile, a little overwhelmed by the admission. The teasing and the possessiveness—it was all a roundabout way of showing how they felt, even if it was a bit chaotic.

“I... didn’t expect this,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “I thought it was just you guys being, well, you.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a slight smirk. "And you didn’t think we could actually be serious? We’ve been serious this whole time, just... not very good at showing it."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension lifting as the realization hit you fully. “So, what now?”

Ni-ki stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against yours as he looked at you with hope and uncertainty. “Well, we could start by not acting like children, and maybe... go on a real date sometime?”

Jungwon’s eyes softened, as he glanced at Ni-ki and then back at you. "Yeah, what he said. We’d like to take you out, properly. No pranks or anything."

You nodded, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t before. “I think that sounds good.”

The next day, you found yourself sitting in the Slytherin common room, the warmth of the fire crackling. The scent of hot chocolate in the air, the creamy drink topped with fluffy marshmallows—just the perfect comfort on a chilly evening. You were nestled between Jungwon and Ni-ki, both of them flanking you with matching sly smirks, looking too cute in their comfy clothes and the trio socks that you all had somehow decided to get together during one of your Hogsmeade visits.

Ni-ki was playfully nudging you, trying to steal the last marshmallow, and Jungwon had his arm casually draped over the back of the couch, but his focus was clearly on you.

“Seriously, you’re hogging the sweets,” Ni-ki teased, leaning in close to you, his breath warm against your cheek. “We should get more—”

“Only if you share them,” Jungwon interrupted, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “I’m not letting you eat them all.”

The two of them went back and forth in their usual playful manner, but this time it felt different. You were caught between them, nestled comfortably in the middle as they leaned closer to you.

Then, as if in sync, they both paused, their teasing grins melting into something softer. Ni-ki’s eyes were unusually warm, and Jungwon’s expression was full of affection.

“You know,” Ni-ki whispered, his voice low but sincere, “we love you.”

Jungwon nodded in agreement, his hand gently brushing against yours as he leaned in. “Yeah. We love you,” he repeated, his voice just above a murmur.

Before you could even respond, they both kissed your cheeks—Ni-ki on one side, Jungwon on the other—and you froze for a moment, the gentle pressure of their lips leaving you breathless.

Your heart raced in your chest, and for a moment, you felt like you were floating. Their love made you feel safe, cherished, and incredibly happy.

You looked between the two of them, a smile tugging at your lips as you met their gazes. “I love you both, too,” you whispered.

You could see the light in both Jungwon and Ni-ki’s eyes flicker with pure happiness at your confession. They were both too stunned for a moment, leaving you the perfect opportunity to tease them.

Smiling mischievously, you shifted slightly so that you were closer to both of them. "Well," you began, resting your chin on Jungwon's shoulder while your hand found Ni-ki’s arm, "I guess that means you're both officially stuck with me now." You smirked, letting the words sink in, and watched as both of their faces softened.

Ni-ki rolled his eyes but grinned, leaning into you. “You make it sound like we’re not already stuck with you,” he teased, but you could feel his breath hitch slightly when you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him closer.

Jungwon, who had been staring at you, blinked before leaning in as well. “Yeah, like there’s any way we’d want to get rid of you,” he said with a playful huff.

You took advantage of their playful words and pulled them both into a tight cuddle, which caused them both let out small, surprised noises as you enveloped them in your grip, holding them firmly.

“Now, now,” you teased, “you two are so easy to fold, aren’t you?” You could feel their shoulders relax as they practically molded to your side.

Ni-ki groaned, but there was no real protest in his voice. “You’re too comfy, stop making us weak,” he muttered, and you could practically feel him sinking into your embrace as if he couldn’t escape even if he tried. His body was warm against yours, and you could tell that he didn’t mind at all.

Jungwon’s head tipped slightly back to rest against yours, his face softening. “You’re not gonna let us go, are you?” he asked with a half-smile, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“Nope,” you answered firmly, enjoying the way their defenses crumbled under your touch. “You two are officially my cuddle buddies. And I think you both secretly love it.”

They both huffed, but there was no denying the way they leaned even further into you, practially melting into the cuddle. You couldn’t help but smile as you felt their breathing slow.

But the peace didn`t last when you suddenly felt a soft breath against your neck. It was Jungwon, his lips barely grazing your skin. Before you could react, Ni-ki’s lips followed suit, brushing against the opposite side of your neck.

A shiver ran through you at the unexpected warmth, and you gasped, your body tensing for just a moment before you settled back into their hold. They both hummed in response, clearly enjoying the effect they were having on you.

Jungwon’s kiss was gentle, his lips lingering a little longer, sending a spark of warmth straight to your chest. Ni-ki, on the other hand, kissed your neck with a more playful edge, his lips trailing soft, teasing touches as he moved closer to you.

“Relax,” Jungwon whispered against your skin, his breath sending a wave of goosebumps across your body. His hand gently brushed your hair back, before his lips returned to the delicate spot just under your ear.

Ni-ki, still clinging to you, pressed his lips closer to your neck, his touch light yet insistent. “You’re making this too easy,” he murmured, his voice full of teasing affection.

You could barely suppress the shiver that ran through you, as you felt their kisses deepen, both of them so close, almost impossibly close.

“Stop,” you gasped between breaths, though you couldn’t bring yourself to push them away. “You’re going to—”

“Going to what?” Ni-ki interrupted, his lips curling into a smirk against your skin. “Make you melt into our arms? Too late for that.”

Jungwon’s laugh was a soft, comforting sound, his lips now trailing further down your neck, leaving a warm, tingling path in their wake. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his smile against your skin as he pulled you even closer.

Both of them were still so clingy, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed how they both seemed to seek you out.

“You two really know how to make a girl weak,” you muttered with a soft laugh.

“And we’ll keep doing it,” Jungwon replied. “As long as you let us.”

You were completely okay with that.

Just then, from the stone wall, Peeves' head popped out. His grin was even wider this time, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he hovered before the three of you.

"I knew it!" Peeves cackled, his voice echoing through the common room. "I knew you three would end up together! It was just too perfect not to work out! Look at you, all tangled up in each other, the chaos—it’s meant to be!" He floated closer, eyes twinkling with glee as he looked at you, Jungwon, and Ni-ki. "Oh, you can’t fool me. You all make such a lovely little trio!"

You all paused, exchanging a glance. There was no point in arguing with Peeves—he was insufferable but often right in his own ridiculous way. With a collective sigh, you all decided to just humor him.

Jungwon rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Oh, sure, Peeves. You figured us out," he said dryly, trying not to let Peeves get the best of him.

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his hand holding yours tightly. "Guess you’re not wrong," he said with a teasing grin. "But, really, did you have to show up like this? You're making it harder to pretend we don’t get along."

Peeves just giggled, enjoying every second of this. "Oh, but it’s too much fun to watch! You three are like a puzzle that finally clicked into place. And I knew I'd be the one to see it first!" He floated around you in a circle, his laughter loud and echoing. "Don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for you—yet. But I’ll be watching. Oh yes, I’ll be watching!"

With one final, exaggerated wink, Peeves disappeared back into the stone wall, his laughter still lingering in the air. You sighed and turned back to Jungwon and Ni-ki, who were both looking at you with affectionate smiles.

"Well, that was... something," you said, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

Jungwon nodded. "Yeah, but Peeves is right about one thing. We’re not going anywhere."

Ni-ki squeezed your hand. "Not ever."

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pedroscowgirl · 2 months ago

Text

I love you, I'm sorry

a professor! remus lupin x (legal) student fem!reader series

Warnings: fluff fluff /SMUT at the end so minors DNI! p in v (wrap it up), student x teacher relationship, age gap (reader is 20 something, remus is 38), size kink? (he barely fits), professor kink, reader is sucker for academic validation

summary: fucking your hot new professor 4.5k words

A/N: so once again uni has been killing me and i need academic validation from a hot professor and remus is my current bae so here you go. Also this will be a series cuz I'm way too invested in their dynamic so stay tuned. And there is an insane shortage of older remus lepin smuts btw. pls fix it guys

The September air was crisp as you stepped through the ancient wooden doors of Hogwarts, your heart thrumming with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy. This wasn’t your first time entering the castle, but it felt different now—this was the year you’d finally take Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by the newly appointed Professor Lupin. You’d heard whispers about him in the hallways: brilliant, kind, but carrying an air of quiet sadness that intrigued you more than you cared to admit.

Clutching your books tightly, you made your way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, arriving early to secure a good seat. The room was lit with flickering candles, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The faint scent of old parchment and wood polish lingered in the air, familiar and comforting. You chose a seat near the front, arranging your materials neatly as you waited, the quiet hum of anticipation growing in your chest.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, and when the door creaked open, you looked up. In walked Professor Lupin, his robes slightly frayed at the edges, his sandy-brown hair streaked with silver, and a battered leather satchel slung over his shoulder. His eyes, a warm hazel, swept across the room before landing on you. For a moment, he froze.

“Oh, hello,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with surprise. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, suddenly looking self-conscious. “You… you must be one of my students. I didn’t expect… I mean, I wasn’t expecting anyone this early.”

You offered a small smile, trying to put him at ease. “I wanted to make a good impression, Professor. This is my favorite subject.”

His brows lifted slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, well, you certainly have. Punctuality is always appreciated.” He set his satchel down on the desk, his hands fumbling with the clasp. “I’m…” He paused, cleared his throat, and started again. “I’m Remus Lupin. Well, Professor Lupin, of course.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Professor Lupin,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened under his gaze.

He nodded, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he busied himself with arranging papers on his desk. “And you are…?”

You gave him your name, watching as he repeated it under his breath, as if committing it to memory.

“A lovely name,” he murmured, then seemed to catch himself. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous chuckle. “I mean, uh, it’s… a perfectly fine name. Good, strong. Not that I… Oh dear, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, charmed by his awkwardness. “Just a little, but I don’t mind.”

He exhaled, a self-deprecating smile curving his lips. “Well, I’m glad one of us doesn’t. I’m usually more articulate, I promise.”

The door opened again, and other students began trickling in, breaking the quiet moment. Professor Lupin straightened, slipping into a more composed demeanor as he greeted the newcomers. But as the lesson began, you couldn’t help noticing the occasional glance he stole in your direction, as if you had caught his attention in a way he hadn’t expected.

The lesson passed in a blur of practical demonstrations and insightful lectures. Professor Lupin’s teaching style was unlike anything you’d experienced before; he made even the most complex topics seem accessible, weaving stories and humor into his explanations. He had a way of drawing you in, his voice calm and steady, yet tinged with a passion that made you want to absorb every word. By the end of the class, you felt more inspired than ever.

As students began gathering their things, you lingered, hesitant to leave just yet. You pretended to adjust the straps on your bag, stealing glances at him as he packed away his teaching materials. Finally, you took a deep breath and approached his desk.

“Professor Lupin?” you ventured, your voice steady despite the nervous fluttering in your chest.

He looked up, startled but quickly masking it with a warm smile. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to thank you for the lesson. It was really… inspiring. I’ve never had a professor explain things so clearly before.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely touched. “That means a great deal, thank you. It’s always a pleasure to know my efforts are appreciated.”

You hesitated, then added, “If it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping I could ask you some questions about today’s material. I want to make sure I understand it completely.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, motioning for you to take a seat. “I’d be happy to help.”

For the next half-hour, the two of you discussed the finer points of defensive spells and magical theory. Despite the growing darkness outside, you felt a warmth settle over you as his passion for teaching shone through. He listened intently to your questions, his responses thoughtful and encouraging. At one point, he pulled out a piece of parchment and sketched a detailed diagram to illustrate a particularly complex concept, his movements precise and confident.

“You’ve really thought this through,” he said, glancing up at you with a look of quiet admiration. “It’s rare to see a student so eager to delve deeper. You’re going to go far, you know.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Professor. That means a lot coming from you.”

He gave you a small, almost shy smile. “Well, I’m just glad to have someone so engaged in the subject. It makes teaching all the more rewarding.”

As the conversation finally drew to a close, you gathered your things, feeling a strange reluctance to leave. As you stood to go, he spoke again.

“You have a remarkable mind,” he said quietly. “I can tell you’re going to do great things.”

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice soft. You hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m looking forward to the next lesson.”

“As am I,” he replied, his voice equally soft. “Have a good evening.”

You nodded and stepped out of the classroom into the dimly lit corridor. The warmth of his words stayed with you as you walked away, the echo of his quiet encouragement lingering in your mind. All you knew was that you were already looking forward to the next lesson—and to the moments when his gaze would meet yours, even if just for a fleeting second.

—----------------------------

The days that followed were filled with small, quiet moments that slowly deepened the connection between you and Professor Lupin. In class, he often called on you, his hazel eyes brightening whenever you answered correctly. There were times when he lingered after lessons, offering further explanations or engaging in discussions that felt more like conversations between equals than the typical student-teacher dynamic.

One afternoon, as the golden light of autumn streamed through the castle’s tall windows, you found yourself in the library, poring over a particularly dense tome on advanced defensive techniques. Your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of a particularly convoluted passage. Suddenly, a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Struggling with something?”

You looked up to see Professor Lupin standing there, a gentle smile on his face. He held a stack of books in his arms, their spines worn and faded.

“A little,” you admitted, gesturing to the page. “This section on layered shield charms is… well, it’s a bit much.”

He set his books down and pulled up a chair beside you, his proximity sending a faint thrill through you. “Let’s see,” he said, leaning in to read over your shoulder. His voice was soft and soothing as he began to explain the concept, breaking it down into manageable pieces. As he spoke, his hand brushed yours briefly as he pointed to a diagram, the touch light but enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“That makes so much more sense,” you said when he finished, a smile breaking across your face. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re very welcome,” replied, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than expected. There was a softness in his expression, a quiet encouragement that felt like a promise—though a promise of what, you couldn’t quite say. You found yourself hoping for more of these moments, fleeting as they were, where the world around you seemed to fade and it was just the two of you.

Over the following weeks, these small interactions began to multiply. Sometimes it was the way his hand would briefly graze yours when passing back an essay, or the way his eyes would crinkle with genuine amusement when you shared a clever observation during class discussions. Other times, it was the unspoken understanding you felt during your private consultations, where the conversation would drift seamlessly from the intricacies of magic to literature, history, or even philosophy.

One evening, as autumn gave way to the chill of early winter, you found yourself wandering the castle grounds after dinner. The moon hung low in the sky, its silver light casting long shadows across the frost-kissed grass. You’d brought your notebook, intending to sketch out some ideas for an upcoming project, but instead, you found yourself simply walking, letting the quiet envelop you.

“Out for some fresh air?” came a familiar voice, startling you out of your thoughts.

You turned to see Professor Lupin leaning against the edge of a low stone wall, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. His robes looked heavier than usual, lined against the cold, and his scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck. He offered a small, lopsided smile, the kind that always made your heart flutter.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, moving closer. “Escaping the chaos of the castle?”

He chuckled softly, nodding. “Something like that. It’s nice to step away for a moment. Clear the head.”

You hesitated before sitting on the wall beside him, the stone cool against your hands. “Do you come out here often?”

“When I can,” he admitted. “It’s… peaceful. A rare commodity these days.”

You looked up at him, noting the faint lines of weariness around his eyes. “You must be exhausted,” you said, the concern in your voice unguarded. “Teaching all of us, managing everything…”

“It’s part of the job,” he said with a shrug, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But thank you. It’s kind of you to notice.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the distant rustle of wind through the trees. After a moment, you gathered the courage to speak again.

“You’re a really good teacher, you know. It’s not just the way you explain things—it’s the way you make us feel like… like it matters. Like we matter.”

He turned to look at you then, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you worried you’d overstepped, but then he spoke, his voice quieter than before.

“That means more than you know,” he said. “Truly.”

The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch, and you quickly looked away, your cheeks warming. To your relief, he shifted the conversation to lighter topics, asking about your project and offering advice that was both practical and insightful. The two of you talked until the cold began to seep into your bones, and he insisted you head back to the castle to warm up.

Beneath the surface, there was always the shadow of what couldn’t be said aloud. You both knew the boundaries that existed, even as the line between student and professor blurred into something more intimate. And yet, neither of you seemed willing—or able—to step away.

—-

Professor Lupin—Remus, as you’d begun to call him in the privacy of your thoughts—seemed to gravitate toward you just as you gravitated toward him. There was always a reason to linger after class, always a justification for a quiet conversation in his office, but the excuses were growing thinner with each passing day.

It was one such evening, after a particularly rigorous Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, that you found yourself in his office again. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the small, cluttered space. Books were stacked haphazardly on every surface, and a faint scent of parchment and tea hung in the air.

“You’ve outdone yourself with today’s essay,” he said, his voice warm with genuine praise. He held the parchment in his hands, his thumb brushing over the edges as he glanced at you. “Your analysis of nonverbal defense techniques was insightful, and your argument about their limitations was… well, brilliant, really.”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment, though you tried to hide it by looking down at your hands. “Thank you. I’ve had a good teacher.”

He chuckled softly, but there was something in his gaze that lingered longer than it should have. “You give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, daring to meet his eyes. “You’ve made me believe I can do more than I ever thought I could.”

For a moment, the room seemed to grow impossibly still. His smile faded into something softer, something almost hesitant. He set the parchment down on his desk, his fingers lingering on it for a moment before he folded his hands in his lap.

“I see so much potential in you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before. “You’re capable of things you don’t even realize yet.”

“Is that why you’ve been so patient with me?” you asked, your tone light but your heart racing.

“Patient?” he repeated, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You make it sound like a chore. It’s not. It’s never been that.”

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and charged. You weren’t sure who moved first—if it was him leaning forward or you—but suddenly the distance between you felt impossibly small. His hand reached out, hesitating for a brief second before his fingers brushed against yours. The touch was light, tentative, as though he were testing the boundaries of what was allowed.

“I shouldn’t—” he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

But you interrupted him, your own voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I think we’ve both stopped asking what we should or shouldn’t do.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw the conflict warring within him—the weight of responsibility battling with the pull of something undeniable. Then, as if the tension became too much to bear, he closed the remaining distance between you.

The kiss was gentle at first, his lips brushing against yours like a question waiting for an answer. When you responded, leaning into him, the hesitation melted away. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he deepened the kiss. There was a desperation to it, as though he’d been holding himself back for far too long and could no longer resist.

The fire crackled softly in the background, the warmth of the room wrapping around you like a cocoon. Every nerve in your body seemed to come alive under his touch, the world outside fading into insignificance. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no titles, no expectations, just a connection that felt raw and real.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in soft, uneven bursts. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw.

“This…” he began, his voice hoarse. “This is dangerous.”

“I know,” you whispered, your own voice barely audible. “But it doesn’t feel wrong.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “No, it doesn’t. And that’s what scares me.”

You stayed like that for a while, the silence filled with the unspoken understanding that whatever this was, it couldn’t be undone.

—---

It had been weeks since the first kiss, each stolen moment adding another layer to the unspoken understanding between you. It wasn’t just the kisses or the way his hand lingered on yours—it was the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. There was something in his eyes, a mixture of wonder and hesitance, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you found yourself once again in Remus’s office. The castle was quiet, the only sounds the occasional creak of the old walls and the faint crackle of the fire. His office had become a second home to you.

“You’re lost in thought again,” Remus said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. He was seated across from you, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. His eyes, warm and inquisitive, searched your face.

You smiled softly, setting your own cup down. “I suppose I am. It’s hard not to be, lately.”

“Something troubling you?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. The concern in his voice made your chest tighten.

You hesitated, unsure how to put your feelings into words. “Not troubling, exactly. Just… overwhelming. Everything feels so much bigger than me lately—school, the war, us…”

The last word slipped out before you could stop it, and your cheeks flushed as his expression shifted. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you feared you’d said too much. But then he set his tea aside and reached out, his hand covering yours.

“Us,” he repeated softly, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “That’s a word I never thought I’d hear in this context. And yet, it feels… right.”

Your breath caught at his admission, your heart pounding in your chest. “It does,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The room seemed to shrink, the air between you charged with something electric. His hand tightened slightly around yours, and you saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He wanted this—you could see it—but he was holding himself back.

“I’ve tried to tell myself all the time that we shouldn’t,” he said, his voice low. “That it’s too risky, too complicated. But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You stood then, the need to close the distance between you overpowering. He followed your lead, rising to meet you as you took a tentative step closer. Your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his sweater.

“Then stop trying,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “You have no idea how much I want this. How much I want you.”

“Then show me,” you whispered.

The words were all the encouragement he needed. He kissed you, his lips capturing yours with a hunger that took your breath away. It was a kiss that spoke of weeks of restraint finally breaking, of emotions too strong to be contained. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair.

The sofa was only a few steps away, but it felt like an eternity as he guided you toward it. His movements were careful, his touch reverent, as though he were afraid of breaking the spell. When your legs hit the edge of the sofa, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours.

“We can stop at any time,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You say the word, and we’ll stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” you said, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I want this. I want you.”

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you again, more fiercely this time. He lowered you onto the sofa, his weight settling over you as his hands explored, each touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His lips moved to your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate, as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a mix of desire and restraint.

“You’re not,” you assured him, your own hands roaming, desperate to feel more of him. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

Your response was a soft sigh, your hands threading through his hair as you pulled him closer. There was no rush, no urgency—only a deep, mutual need to be as close to each other as possible. Time seemed to stretch, each moment etched into your memory with perfect clarity.

He had just shrugged off his sweater, revealing the slightly faded button-down shirt he wore underneath. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching for the buttons to slide them open. His breath hitched, and then, suddenly, his hands came up to stop you. The look in his eyes was a mixture of vulnerability and hesitation, making your heart twist painfully in your chest.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard, looking down at where your hands rested against his chest. “I… I have a lot of scars. I don’t want to scare you.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled gently, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You could never scare me, Remus,” you said with quiet sincerity. You leaned forward and pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips. His tension melted slightly under your touch, and he gave a small, grateful smile in return.

Encouraged, your hands resumed their task, slipping the buttons of his shirt open one by one. He shivered slightly under your touch but didn’t stop you this time. Once the shirt joined his sweater on the floor, your hands roamed over his torso, tracing the raised, pale lines of the scars that criss crossed his skin. You didn’t flinch or look away. Instead, you admired the strength and resilience they represented, leaning down to place a tender kiss over one of them. Remus’s breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t from fear.

Your hands moved lower, brushing against the waistband of his trousers. His sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet room, and he hesitated for a brief moment before nodding slightly. You unfastened his belt, and he stood to step out of his trousers, leaving him standing before you in nothing but his boxers. As he slid those off as well, exposing himself to you fully, your eyes widened slightly, and a nervous laugh escaped him.

“Sorry, I just…” he began, but you cut him off with a soft smile.

“No, it’s okay, dear,” you assured him. Your eyes sparkled with affection as you leaned back against the cushions. “It will fit, don’t worry.”

His lips quirked up in a shy smile at your words, and his gaze roamed over you with a mixture of awe and desire. His hands moved to the hem of your skirt, lifting it slightly to expose the delicate lace of your panties. He bit his lip as his fingers hooked under the waistband to slide them down your legs.

“Darling,” he murmured, his voice husky, “I hope I’m the only professor you’re this wet for.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his teasing remark, and you hid your face behind your hands for a moment before peeking out to respond. “Of course. No one is as wonderful as you.”

He chuckled softly and grabbed your thighs, pulling you closer to him while your skirt bunched around your hips. You reached for the buttons of your blouse, slowly unfastening them as his eyes followed your every movement. When the blouse slipped from your shoulders, revealing your bare chest, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“No bra?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. You smirked in response, shrugging playfully.

His hand moved to your tie, loosening it with the intent of tossing it aside, but you stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Wait,” you said, your voice soft but insistent. “Use it to tie me up… please.” Your eyes were wide and pleading, and he hesitated, his own cheeks flushing.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted, his voice laced with concern.

“You won’t,” you reassured him, your voice filled with trust. “I want this, Remus.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing his nerves as he looped the tie around your wrists, securing it firmly but ensuring it wasn’t too tight. The silk of the tie felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you. His eyes flickered over your bound form, taking in the way you looked so willingly vulnerable for him. The sight sent a thrill racing through his veins, igniting a fire that made his hands tremble slightly as they traced delicately over your exposed skin. He hesitated, his touch reverent, as though he were afraid of breaking the spell between you.

He positioned himself between your thighs, the fabric of your skirt bunched around your hips, and his hand moved to guide himself. His tip brushed against your entrance, teasingly slow, and you squirmed beneath him, a soft whimper escaping your lips. When he finally pushed into you, your head fell back against the cushions, a gasp spilling from your lips as your body stretched to accommodate him. The sensation was overwhelming—a mix of pleasure and a hint of discomfort that quickly gave way to a delicious fullness.

“Oh my God, professor, fuck,” you gasped, your words slipping out before you could stop them.

Remus groaned deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest as his hands gripped your hips to hold you still. He stilled for a moment, his own breath ragged as he tried to steady himself. “God, dear,” he muttered, his voice thick with restraint. “I love it when you call me that. And you’re so tight… I’m not even sure you can take it all.”

The teasing lilt in his voice made your cheeks burn, and you whined in response, your tied hands flexing against the restraint. “No, I can take it,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Remus, I need you.”

His laughter was low and rich, vibrating against your skin as he leaned down to kiss you. “Such a needy little thing,” he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses down to your neck. His lips found a particularly sensitive spot, and he nibbled gently, drawing a shiver from you.

As he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, his hands wandered over your body, touching and caressing every inch he could reach. Each thrust pushed him deeper, and your moans grew louder, filling the room with the symphony of your shared pleasure. His pace quickened, and the angle shifted just slightly, sending sparks coursing through you. Your tied hands flexed uselessly above your head, and the restraint only heightened your senses, every touch and movement magnified.

“You feel so perfect,” Remus groaned, his voice raw with emotion. His lips continued to worship your neck, marking your skin with faint red imprints of his teeth and tongue.

The pleasure built steadily within you, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. Your release washed over you in a powerful wave, your body trembling and arching into him as you cried out his name. The intensity of your climax sent him over the edge as well. With a low, guttural moan, Remus pulled out at the last moment, his release spilling across your chest in warm, white streaks.

Both of you lay there for a moment, your breathing ragged and mingling in the quiet intimacy of the room. He reached for a nearby tissue, gently cleaning you up before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers brushed against the tie still securing your wrists, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours.

You pouted slightly, and he noticed immediately, his expression softening. “What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I wanted you to finish inside me,” you admitted, your voice tinged with disappointment.

He sighed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I can’t,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I… I’m scared of what might happen. I don’t want to risk making you pregnant. And there are… things about me you don’t know yet.”

You looked up at him with curiosity and concern, but you didn’t press him further. Instead, you cupped his face with your bound hands, offering him a small, understanding smile. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me, I’ll listen,” you said softly.

Remus’s heart swelled at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you once more, silently vowing to himself that he would find a way to share his secrets with you when the time was right. For now, he was content to hold you close, savoring the warmth and trust that flowed between you.

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