#if you do write an essay on it i expect it on my desk in MLA formatting

[1920sladydectective]

Romans V Elephants P.2 3.3K

Hello my loves,

I am very ill and exhausted, so writing has been very difficult so I am sorry it took so long.

I love you all and even though it's not my best, I hope you like it. Hope to update faster next time.

Do you picture me, like I picture you?

It only got worse from there. 

Her scarf a temptress, lingering in your space and corrupting you as you stroked the intricate fabric. 

Her voice was a broken record in your head, as you tapped aggressively on your keyboard. If you were going to have a ridiculous, totally inappropriate crush then you would have something academic to show for it. 

Two essays and half of a clearer thesis outline to show for it, apparently. The weekend had passed in a hibernated blur of writing and bone chilling worry, though it was not enough to remove the scarf from your vicinity at any point. 

Cold beans on toast sat to the left of you as you annotated another resource, the early hours of Monday a somber countdown clock to seeing her again. You could be professional like her, you just needed to exhaust yourself of all excitement. 

You allowed silly fantasies and warm words to swirl in your head, narrated by her, as you dressed and brushed your teeth. You did some Yoga, scarf a shawl as you moved and stretched. Limbs heavy and worn, you grabbed your things and braved the cutting winds. 

It was anticlimactic of course, despite your romanticised fear, and all that really happened was you sat in a chair whilst she lectured and took your notes. Well, that was sort of it. There was the way her eyes seemed to dance back to you more often than before, a soft crinkle in them. Or perhaps you were entering a stage of delusion more severe than you’d realised. 

Your private session heralded more confusion. 

“Hallo, Dear,” She said, her lips upturned, “I saw you got lots done over the weekend,” 

“Felt productive,” You whispered, curling into yourself, “Was too cold for anything else,” 

“So you’ll be keeping that, I suppose?” She gestured lazily to the scarf around your neck, rummaging in her desk

“No,” You cried too quickly, ripping the offending item off reluctantly, “It’s just warmer than mine,” 

Her beautiful face twisted, hand reaching out, “Good, a dark green would suit you better,” 

“It would?” You felt hot. 

“Yes,” An easy, captivating smile, “Would highlight your eyes, Darling,” 

“Well, Thank you for lending it to me,” 

“Anytime,” 

It was a normal interaction. Normal and academic and safe. Yes, her hand lingered as she refilled your tea, and she lay a blanket on you without prompting as your shoulders shivered, but she was a caring educator and these things should be expected. 

“What mental acrobatics are you doing?” 

“Pardon, Professor?” 

“You look mischievous, like you’ve filled my tea with salt,” Her gaze held yours, “Have you?” 

You giggled, like an idiot, “N-No, just wondering what to have for dinner,” 

What a fucking stupid excuse. 

She hummed, “You’re too nice to cause problems, anyway,” a pause, “Well what did you have for lunch?” 

“A banana, and some peanuts,” You muttered. Nice? Is that all?

“Perhaps something more substantial then?,” Rhetorical and firm, “Pasta is favoured amongst you lot I believe,”. 

“Oh,” That sounded nice, “Okay then,” 

“Oh, fantastic!” She mocked, “You can listen,” 

“When haven’t I listened? You just called me nice!” 

“The past four annotations I’ve made to your thesis outline remain untouched,” 

“Not sure if I agree with them yet,” Your chest filled with conviction about as solid as a limp balloon. 

“I see, perhaps you are a problem,” Her nails tapped against her marking pile. 

“No offence, of course,” Another little laugh, ripped unbidden.

Her passiveness was a trap, you could tell, as she folded her arms over her desk, “Of course, but you are going to change the opening statement,” 

“Well, like I said-”

“Change it,” 

“Okay,” You were weak against her, weak for her. 

“That’s my girl,” Words like silk, “Now, how are you feeling about the general direction so far?”

You don’t remember the rest of the session, a slurry of heat and embarrassment in your heart which made your eyes dazed and mind sluggish. She was a demon surely, or some kind of manifestation of how close you were to failure, to the sharp knife’s edge. 

Or she was just a really attractive middle aged woman. 

She was slower to shove you out this time, she stayed in your orbit or rather allowed you in hers, as the candle was snuffed and the blinds were drawn. 

You removed yourself, weathered bag ripping ever so slightly, as you saluted, “Bye then, Captain Medarda,” 

What the fuck was wrong with you. A panic attack, thick and cloying, sprung forth in your lungs before you’d even finished the sentence. A nickname, really? Based on a throwaway comment said over an hour ago? 

Her red lips laughed. Short and low. “I’ll see you on Thursday, Trouble,”  the heavy key locked the door, “Don’t forget to eat that pasta,”

A shiver. Trouble? You liked the sound of that. 

Ambessa Medarda, in a heavy leather armchair, sniffed her own scarf in amusement. It smelt of you, and the image of you wearing it all weekend long was an easy one to conjure. Doe eyes, clever grin, you were exactly what she’d been looking for. Easy to toy with and with a deliciously built in expiry date, requiring no commitment beyond what she desired. You were a delightful present dropped right into her hands, and you remained blushing and unaware. 

She’d have you then, she decided with a sip of wine. She was untouchable anyway, some girl wasn’t going to change that. 

Her laugh formed solid pathways in your head, as you ate and worked and slept. It was a crush, it was okay to miss her voice and her scent and picture yourself bent over a desk. 

RIght? 

Crushes fade anyhow. 

Sat in your favourite cafe you nursed a cup of tea and your nail beds in equal measure. They were always the first to feel your mind’s pressure, and as the end of the term loomed in a few days, the grinding in your stomach grew noisy and destructive. You’d managed to funnel the noise into productivity once more, but that held a dangerous and addictive edge. It was wrong, but it was a blissful state of calm and intense work. Like Sherlock with his mind palace, you slipped in and out of your head, in and out of her presence, like a serene pool. You were three weeks ahead of schedule as a result, and her praise still stuck to you like treacle, deceptively dark and bitter, though you could not see that. 

Some part of you, an obvious schoolgirl part, bought another tea and a coffee for her. As if you could finance that. But you had, the pleasant ding noise signalling the money sapping from you. Idiot. 

Hot and clumsy, you used your forehead of all things to knock against the door. She welcomed you, but you realised that you couldn’t have opened the door even if you wanted to. Foreheads didn’t have opposable thumbs, you see. 

After a few moments, she opened it for you with a quizzical look. It shifted quickly to delight, and you could have stayed there forever, in that moment, with that look. 

“Thought I’d grab us fuel,” You said, lame grin on your lips. 

“Oh,” She took the cups from your slightly scorched hands, “That was kind of you,”

“Well, I do sort of rinse you of tea three times a week, Professor,” 

“You do like to keep score,” It was a joke, a jab to your soft parts as her lips marked the cardboard cup, “Not that I’m complaining, I love this cafe,”

“Me too,” 

This session was easy. She kept her distance. Her honeyed nicknames still snagged your skin, but you chewed on your biro and kept chugging along. 

A menu, a local Indian, was flicked towards you. “Pick what you like, I’ll be back in a moment,” 

Her phone was up to her ear before you could question. She wandered out quietly. Hated her leaving, loved watching her go. Ugh. Bad line. 

If you were frivolous and rich, you’d order a Chicken Dupiaza and a mound of pilau rice, perhaps even some Naan bread or Roti. As it stood, you were neither and so the menu was of little use to you. 

It took her twenty minutes to come back in the end, face flushed with irritation as the door slammed unkindly. 

“Made your choice?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” I’m poor, Ambessa, your mind whined. 

“Oh shut up,” She huffed, “You’re not paying, what do you want?”

“Well, I-”

“Don’t irritate me, Trouble,” Cold tea was knocked back, as she dialed a number “Either you tell me or I pick for you,” 

You told her, a jumbled slur, as she made her way around the desk to perch directly in front of you. Close enough, in fact, that your knees brushed. Manicured nails snatched the menu, tossing it away, before taking up residence on your cheek. 

A stroke. Rhythmic and soft. 

‘Good girl,’ Those lips mouthed, ‘Was that so hard?’ 

Ambessa placed the order as if she wasn’t feeling your skin heat under her palm, satisfaction licking at her. As if your eyes weren’t a window into your thoughts, the few scattered ones that remained confirming her suspicions (hopes). 

“About forty minutes,” She said, slipping off the desk, “Fancy stretching your legs?”

Was this real? Her tender touch was a phantom on your skin. 

You felt like a tiny, shy dog being tugged about on a fancy leash. She took you to and fro, your own special tour, as your gloves and coat kept the chill at bay. For a moment, between the casual touches and glimmering looks, you sank into the fascination that her words elicited. She knew so much, crafted history so artfully around you, like the world was her canvas and you the silent observer. After what felt like no time at all, she intercepted the takeaway and led you back, tag wagging, to her office. 

It smelt good. Fuck, it smelt orgasmic. A borrowed floral, sharp fork yielded an oasis of flavour. You were ravenous, silent and precise. 

“Sweet, precious quiet,” She dipped a poppadom in lime pickle, grinning at you. 

Rice soared her way. You were not involved. You were getting too bold, too attached. Her choked snort made it worth it, made you yearn to cause it again. 

Your phone interrupted the tentative banter. Matilda, ever your friend and enemy, coaxing you into the outside world.

Coming to drinks later? 

                         K, when?

Charming. Dickhead. 

           Currently knee deep in curry..

Messy. The Maypole, 8. 

                      See you then, will be less oily. X

X

You looked up, as she tidied with a near compulsive fervour. 

Respectful, smitten, whatever, you matched her movements. You never wished to leave a mark on her pocket world, lest she bar you from ever entering again. 

“Right, I have to head off now, Dear,” She sounded reluctant, your blood thrummed, “But I’ll see you on Friday before the end of term,” 

“Y-yes, Miss,” You scooped up your things, “Have a good week,” 

“You too, Darling,” She slipped past you, strong hand squeezing firmly at your hip, amber gaze heady. 

Oh God. 

How you made it to the Pub was beyond you. You sat, reading the trashy romance novel that her presence had possessed you to read, as you focused on the tingle of your hip bone. This idiotic protagonist was spouting loving nonsense, but if you shifted the tone a little to hers then it was the sweetest of poetry. 

Nat and Matilda arrived at the best bit, tongues clashing and moans leaking everywhere, as paranoid fingers slammed the paperback shut. 

“Hi,”

“Hey babe,” They echoed, kissing your cheeks wetly. 

“Drinks?” You choke, ignoring their narrowed eyes as you beeline for the bar. 

You ordered red wine, a type she had mentioned offhandedly last week and savoured each expensive sip. Would it taste like this on her lips? Probably not, hers was more expensive. The chatter was fun for once, Christmas happily lingering as you exchanged cards and small trinkets. You had spent more time than you cared to admit knitting everyone a pair of gloves to their taste, making your small group of friends ecstatic and touchy, as you just nodded awkwardly. Like an emotionally impotent bobblehead. Professor Medarda came up several times, never prompted by you, and each mention had your heart jolting out of your ribs. You were casual, it was casual. Jokes about her attractiveness, her allure, your luck at landing her. You’d like to land her in other ways. 

Nat’s voice cut through the thrumming noise, “Which Curry house did you go to? I wanna order some,” 

“Dunno, it was somewhere Professor Medarda picked,” 

“What?” 

“She’s the one who ordered it,” You say slowly, feeling an impending mistake. 

“She bought you lunch?” 

“I mean yeah, I guess,” 

“The notorious hard ass, who made a girl cry last week just for formatting her essay wrong, bought you lunch?” 

“She’s not a hard ass,” Your cheeks burnt, hands picking at one another, “She’s just particular,” 

“Yeah..” She gave you a look, “Okay, then,” 

You weren’t special. That totally wasn’t the truth. She was nice, and you’re sure she bought her other thesis student lunch all the time. It was just curry. And tea and smiles and a scarf lent to you. She was scarier in lectures though, the warmth somehow sapped out of her, but your mind refused to address that. 

The night ended, and though you felt happy, you were a slurry of confusion once again. 

Somehow you found yourself pacing outside her office like a caged animal, back and forth, fourteen minutes early for your session. She would still be in her meeting, your earliness meant nothing, and yet the wrapped package in your arms, had propelled you to cautiously punctual arrival. As weighty as a brick on your soul, the crinkling Christmas wrapping had you doubting everything. 

“Something bothering you?” 

You flinch, eyes wide and mouth stammering, “This is for you,”

Ambessa took the parcel shoved in her direction with a grin, pushing through into her territory and luring you behind. 

“It’s for Christmas,” 

“I’d guessed, Sweetness,” Her words melt you as she plops the parcel on the desk, “That was too kind of you,” 

“I hope you like it,” You were a set of responses today, not a person, brain mush. 

“I will,” Her hands passed a matte red gift bag to you, “I hope you like yours “ 

“M-mine?” 

Ambessa nodded, sitting in her plush chair, “Yours,” 

“Thank you,” 

“Don’t thank me yet, give it an open,” She’s all suave and appealing and you’ve realised you’re wearing moth-eaten odd socks. 

The wrapping paper probably cost more than the to-go coffee you’d just drunk, your hands fidgety and slow as the tape (branded obviously) snap, snap, snapped away to reveal a leather Cambridge Satchel. Not much then, a small token, a £300 bag. 

“Wha-” Wide eyes took in the stiff fabric, the satchel wide and well crafted with a cherry red stain. Your initials, printed in gold, sat neatly in the corner. 

“I give you priceless books, and you put them into that,” She pointed disdainfully at your backpack, fabric faded and one strap fastened on with safety pins, “So I had to fix it,”

“That’s, I-”

“Nice to see you speechless,” 

A shaky nod, fingers grasping your treasure. 

“Though do close your mouth Dearest, you’ll catch flies,” 

“Your turn then,” Your presents felt lame now and you almost snatched it back from her, throwing it into the presently unlit hearth of the fire. 

Ambessa unwrapped the present savagely, almost like a small child, fingers landing on softness. 

A neat, ornate blanket fell open against her lap. Handmade by yours truly, a mammoth project that had subtly dominated your every free moment. It was also, coincidentally, how you had gotten into audiobooks. She had a habit of giving her blankets to you in your long study sessions as you always seemed to freeze, and you wanted her to have something for her. Far too poor to buy anything of her standards, you hoped the lov-care you had poured into it would suffice. 

“It’s so you can be warm when we work, too,” 

She was silent, eyes dark as she turned over the stitches in her hands and took deep breaths. Something hot and desperate boiled in her, temptation and tenderness pressing on her ribcage. 

Finally, she looked to you, “This must have taken you a long time,”

“Y-yes uh, there should be something else in the wrapping paper too,” 

Turning it over, a quiet thud as your other creation emerged. A tiny, knitted wolf head ornament for her Christmas Tree. With little red button eyes and a small loop to hang it from, it looked unassumingly at her. 

“I love wolves,” It was slightly breathless. 

“I know,” 

“Well, aren’t you special?” She muttered to the ornament. 

“Thank you,” You said, realising your error too late. You might die, spontaneous combustion right there. 

Ambessa’s laugh cut through you, eyes sparkling at your embarrassed pout, “Oh darling, you’re important too,”

“Don’t,” 

“It’s very nice handiwork, exquisite even,” 

“Glad you like it,” 

She stood, stalking over to you and resting her hand on your shoulder. She was touchier recently, as you’d observed, and you weren’t talking it too well. Gulping, gasping, generally behaving like a twat. 

“Was too kind, truly,”

“You bought me a three hundred pound bag,” You quipped. 

“Don’t you know it’s gauche to talk money?” 

“I can cope with being considered gauche,” 

A squeeze to your shoulder, “As long as you still use it, I meant it when I said it was for the books,”

“Well, I’m not just going to sit staring at it Professor,” 

“Good girl,” 

The room was really hot, maybe the fire had ignited itself. 

You didn’t get much done, didn’t have the capacity for coherent thought at the end of term as you listened to her input and nodded vaguely in time with her sentences. Tired and tense with a bubbling lust, you relished in her tell tale hum calling an end to the meeting. You chucked stuff haphazardly in your bag, grabbed the gift bag and turned to Professor Medarda who was substantially closer than you’d accounted for as you stepped out of the door.

Your hand brushed her hip as you turned in a sweeping motion, heat bursting as you took in her gentle grin and quizzical look. 

“Rushing off,”

“Sorry,” You look up at her, “Tired,”

“And here I thought you were running away,” Her face was closer, wasn’t it? Breath on your cheek, body leaning towards you. 

You shook your head, gaze on her lips more often than her eyes. “Not from you,” 

She was so close, her smell more concentrated than the echoes of the scarf that your mind remembered, lips crimson and soft looking. Maybe it wasn’t all in your head. Her coy words, sly glances and squeezes led to this. She was going to kiss you, she must be, so close and warm and sweet and-

“Enjoy your Christmas holidays,” Ambessa said, mouth an inch from yours. 

“Y-You too,” 

Then she was gone, a swish of expensive fabric and perfume, leaving you kissless in the dust. 

The dark green scarf, identical to her own, folded in tissue paper hidden in the inner pocket of your satchel softened the disappointment slightly when it was discovered. Just your colour, as she’d said. 

You would have taken it personally, chastised yourself endlessly with violent thoughts and midnight pity parties, and initially you did. Then, like a beacon of light and hope and romanticised arousal, amidst the chaos of Christmas morning your phone dinged. 

Merry Christmas, Trouble x

[ghost-proofbaby]

just finished reading The Seasons Pass (but you never do) HOLY SHIT??? like ive read your works before and ive always loved them but dude. you outdid yourself, i literally want to dissect and write an essay on it, it's so good. as i type this out my mind is literally racing with emotions and things i need to say like. GHOST YOU MADE ME FEEL SOMETHING AND I DONT KNOW IF ITS SADNESS OR HAPPINESS BUT IM GONNA GET YOU OMFG???

"BUT IM GONNA GET YOU OMFG"

should i be scared?

no no just kidding. all jokes aside, thank you for reading and i'm sorry for any sadness. that's been rotting in my google docs for far too long and i finally said "everyone needs to suffer with me" <3

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒.

💞 — in which professor divus crewel is down bad for his spouse.

💞 — divus crewel x reader

💞 — warnings: none really, just fluff and ace and deuce being ace and deuce.

💞 — around 700 words!! not very long, but yk it came to me when i should have been writing my essay (due tomorrow) since that card came out. ive been hella offline, my cousin had a malwi (yemeni bridal party) yesterday, and the wedding is tomorrow, and my other cousin is in the process of having engagement parties all throughout july--hope you enjoy!

“No way you get bitches,” 

“What was that, Trappola?” Crewel shot a glare at his student who was staring at the picture on his desk.

The picture was of him and his spouse, looking very happy. He looked relaxed in the picture, his arm draped around you while you held his face in your hands and kissed his cheek. The best part was that you were dressed in one of his designs, looking ever so elegant in the fur shawl over your shoulders.

Ace stiffened up and was sent a concerned glance from Deuce, “Uhm, nothing… sir,” he quickly corrected himself.

He could not help it—all the time he spent in Professor Crewel’s class was filled with a certain strictness that he did not think anyone would find appealing. The redhead glanced at the picture again, before back at his professor.

Deuce was sweating, praying to whatever was in the sky that he would not get caught up in whatever trouble Ace would be in. He almost wanted to shake some sense in his dormmate.

Crewel drew the silence out, just for the sake of intimidating his students a little longer before his brows softened. He would not do anything further wreck his mood, not when the love of his life would come over and share lunch with him. He sighed, raising a red gloved hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’ll let it slide this once, pup.”

The cyan-eyed student visibly slumped in relief.

He handed each of them their corrected worksheets. They both had detailed notes written in the margins on what they could do to improve. He pointed out how Ace could use his skills in Magic Analysis and apply them to Alchemy, and gave Deuce examples that could make more sense to him. He was a strict professor, but that did not mean he was a bad professor. He knew his rowdier dogs could improve—he expected them to. He laid out the resources, they just had to use them.

“Thank you, professor!” exclaimed Deuce, bowing his head in respect as he held the page to his chest. Deep down, he appreciated his professor's willingness to correct his work so thoroughly.

Ace nodded, as if sharing the thanks with Deuce, before following his classmate out.

Things stayed quiet before you burst through the doors, carrying lunch bags with you, wearing that smile he loved so much. Your clothes were a bit of a mess, but when were they not? You were always running about and doing something.

Crewel stood from his seat, a softer grin on his face as he stepped forward, his arms reaching out to adjust your outfit. Gentle hands tugged at the collar and fixed your mixed-up buttons, “Now, I wonder what circus you just returned from,”

You laughed and leaned into his touch, “Just the kitchen, nothing too crazy, Divus. I made raisin butter and homemade bread,” you told him, excitedly.

His thumb brushed over some flour left on your cheek, “I can see that much,” he muttered before he moved to your side and slid his hand down to the small of your back, “Come sit,” he said, guiding you to the seat across from his desk.

“You saved me from another lunch spent playing chess with Mozus,”

“Oh, come on. You act like spending time with him is a chore,” you replied, reaching into the bags to set the food on the desk for you guys to share.

He carefully moved his things out of the way, before taking his seat as elegantly as ever, “It’s only a chore when he spends thirty minutes deciding on his next move.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “One day you’ll be just as old and spending thirty minutes buttoning up your vest. When that happens, I’ll remind you of this conversation.”

He let out a little laugh at that. Your joke just affirmed what he always knew, you would be with him forever, even when white became the natural color of his hair, even once his students were visiting him as adults with their own lives, and thanking him for his harshness. He let out a breath of contentment, before carefully cutting the bread you made for him, “How was work, my love?”

[eternalsunrise]

study date

lsu! joe burrow x fem! reader

wc: 1.7k

tags! established relationship, make out sesh, no actual smut, jus a couple of horny college kids in love with each other, vomit inducing fluff

notes! brainrot so bad i had to start writing fics. hope the joe burrow community finds this well 🧘‍♀️ expect more for joe coming! xoxo

letters on a keyboard clicking and a pencil scrawling across paper are the only sounds that reverberate around the room. you started off sitting up straight, but as time progressed you’re basically lying down, laptop perched on your lap.

the pillows are plush underneath you, and your boyfriend’s scent is enveloping you. there’s something about joe’s bed that always feels 10 times more comfortable than your own.

if you closed your eyes you could probably doze off for a mid afternoon nap.

you hear the sound of someone shifting above the covers, but you don’t turn your head to look, too preoccupied with your essay that’s due in the morning.

you feel a kiss press against your cheek, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “hi joey. you doing okay?”

another kiss against your cheek, followed by an overdramatic sigh, “yeah, just really hard to focus on statistics with something so distracting in my bed.”

joe’s closer now, a hand playing with your hair as he peppers kisses down your jawline.

you roll your eyes at his antics, knowing exactly how this was going to go. “oh i’m the distracting one?” you question, your tone sarcastic.

he moves his hand to your cheek, tilting your head to the left to face him. his blue eyes bore into yours and you realize why you’d avoided looking at him. it’s much easier to stay on task without his handsome face in view.

joe leans down to place a slow peck on your lips, “a very.” peck. “very.” peck. “pretty distraction.”

he pulls away from you entirely, smirking when you try and chase his lips. this is exactly why you wanted to study alone. as much as you loved your boyfriend, how are you expected to get anything done with a gorgeous quarterback all over you? but the two of you have barely seen each other these past few weeks, and joe insisted on you both doing schoolwork together before his practice later that day.

“joe. baby. we’re supposed to be studying.” your voice is pleading, begging for any sort of mercy. he caresses your cheek bone with his thumb, a smirk sitting on the side of his mouth. “i am studying.” he uses a tone that tells you he wants you to ask what his punchline is. you bite.

“and what are you studying exactly, joseph?”

he trails his hand down your body until it rests on your waist, just above where your hands and laptop sit. he lets his eyes trail down and back up, bright blues staring at you while he licks his lips, “anatomy.”

you let out a laugh for his sake, grabbing his wrist and removing his hand from your body, “you’re impossible!” you place a quick kiss on his lips, standing up and taking your laptop.

joe groans loudly, falling back against the pillows on his bed, “where are you going?”

you carry your work to his wooden, student-issued desk, setting your laptop down and taking a seat. “you’re going to stay there. and i’m going to stay here. we both need to get work done and it’s hard to do that when you’re being…well you!” you try to sound frustrated, but you both know better.

joe being the cocky bastard he is, just gives you a knowing smile. the effect he has on you just strokes his ego (as if anyone else needed to). he decides to leave you be for the time being. he picks his pencil back up and holds his hands up in faux innocence, “yes ma’am. whatever you need.”

you turn back to your essay, typing your third page, smiling when the framed picture of you two displayed on his desk appears in your peripheral vision. if you looked around, your presence is covering this room. his whole apartment in fact. sure, you may be putty in his hands. but you have joe burrow pretty much wrapped around your finger.

after about 20 minutes of both of you working diligently in silence, you hear joe clear his throat.

“hey pretty?”

“mhm?” you reply, clicking back and forth between your class notes and your paper.

“didn’t you say you took this class last year?” joe asks, deep voice like velvet when it hits your ears.

you pause your task and turn around in your chair, “yeah i did for a semester, why?” he looks absolutely delicious. he’s sporting a cozy lsu hoodie and nike gym shorts that reach barely mid thigh, his trademark array of bracelets decorate his wrists. the way one of this legs is raised make his shorts ride up, giving you a peek at his black briefs. you suddenly wonder if the essay is even that important.

“wanna come check this for me? make sure i did it right?” he taps his pencil a couple of times and holds out his notebook toward you. there’s no flirtation intent behind joe’s question, he just values your insight. and for some reason, that just turns you on even more. he’s won. he’s getting what he wanted without even trying.

you stand up from your seat and make your way over to him, taking the notebook from his hand. he looks up at you in silence, waiting for you to check his work. but instead you toss the notebook to the side. it makes a slight thud when it hits the hardwood.

joe opens his mouth to question your actions but you’re on the bed with him in a matter of seconds. you swing your leg over his hip and straddle his lap, legs resting on either side of him. his hands are on you immediately, per instinct, large hands engulfing your thighs. it takes him a moment to process your actions but he sobers up quickly, cocky and confident, “aw, who knew stats could get you so worked up?”

you want to knock that stupid smirk off of his face. you also never want it to go away.

“shut up.” followed by a feverish kiss full of want and desire. the lack of each other for weeks has stretched the rubber band of tension to a hilt, and you finally let it snap. your fingers thread through his wavy hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just a bit. he’s due for a haircut soon. a noise rattles up from his throat, your reaction immediate. your hips grind down, begging for some friction. he gladly provides, guiding your waist back and forth.

the next moments are full of tongue kisses and heavy breathing. “next time we—“ gasp. “study together, we’re doing it in public–ow!” joe bites your lip, an apology vibrates against your lip, you know he doesn’t mean it. “like the library.” joe grips your hips and flips the two of you over with ease. you yelp in surprise, now looking up at him.

joe scoffs at your words, “like that’s ever stopped us before.” he reconnects your lips, a new sense of urgency found in this kiss. he props himself up with an elbow next to your head. your leg finds itself hooking around his waist, forcing him impossibly closer to you. he breaks away for air, hand dragging up and down your lifted thigh. he leaves goosebumps in his wake.

he looks down between your bodies and watches as your hips lift to meet his own, adam’s apple bobbing. his eyes flick back to yours, a familiar darkness clouding the ocean. his kisses follow a trail down your jaw, “god baby, you drive me crazy.” he purrs in your ear, lips attacking your neck. you aren’t sure how he can say that, when you’re the one that feels dizzy under his touch. your hand finds his hair again, letting out fits of giggles when his mouth grazes your most sensitive spots.

you tilt your head to the side, catching sight of the time on your phone screen as it lit up on the nightstand. you let out a gasp, partly because of joe shifting his hand between your thighs, but mostly because it was almost time for, “joe. practice.”

he returns his attention to your lips, “5 more minutes, all i need.” he murmurs, capturing you in a kiss that’s hard to turn away from. you feel his hand slip under the waist band of your pants, and as much as you dread this ending; you know what you need to do.

“joey. babe, hey.” you use your grip on his hair to pull him away. the love drunk look on his face makes this even harder. “listen. as much as i want to, we can’t. you love to be unreasonably early, and coach o will track me down himself if i’m the reason his star isn’t there for pre, pre warmups.”

joe chuckles and nods his head, reluctantly removing his hands from you entirely; it’s as if you’re magnets, if he isn’t across the room you’ll gravitate back together. he stands and starts to get ready for the one thing you’re forced to share the title of joe’s first love with, football.

you start to stand to get ready to go home, but joe quickly faces you and shakes his head, black backpack and cleats in his hands.

“no no no stay. here.” he throws his backpack over his shoulder and uses his free hand to dig in his pocket. he pulls out his purple lanyard, plucking his apartment key from the carabiner.

joe places it in your hand and folds your fingers over it.

“here, i’m gonna have you one made anyway. go back to your dorm, grab some stuff. you can order dinner, finish your homework here. i’ll be back in a couple hours and i’ll take you to that froyo shop down the street and then we can…finish what we started.” joe says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. he punctuates his words with a sweet kiss on your lips, another on your forehead, “bye pretty. love you.”

you stare at him in awe, “love you. have fun!”

he winks at you before he walks out of the front door.

you sit there on the edge of the bed, staring down at the shiny key in your palm. you’re shocked at how he can make such a big relationship step seem so nonchalant. he’d obviously been thinking about this for a while, you being around more. in his space.

you flop down on your back, kicking your feet with a giddy smile. if you weren’t alone you’d be embarrassed.

looks like you’ll be studying here a lot more often.

[lxxiezz]

hihi I was wondering if you could write about a college student Reader and they're a workaholic and Shadow tries convincing them to drop the work and be clingy with him teehee 🤭

Sure hun! I'll cook something short up tho. And thank you so much for requesting this! <3

(Not proofread)

Fem!human!reader x Shadow the hedgehog

It was a late Friday night, you were trying to finish the pile of college assignments, since you couldn't be bothered to do them on the weekend, so it felt more convenient to do them all at once right before the evening. You were too engrossed in writing an essay to notice Shadow entering your room as he stood next to where you sat at your desk, he cleared his throat to grab your attention, as you finished a sentence then turned to him.

"Yes?"

You shortly ask, waiting for him to say or ask whatever he needs, so you could get back to work.

"You've been at it for hours, (Name). And it's already almost 12 pm. It's time you stop whatever you're working on."

He demanded in a way, his voice dull as ever. You roll your eyes at him, leaning back in your seat before answering him.

"No, Shadow. I really want to get this done, so i don't have to do it on the weekend."

You say, looking down at him expecting his answer, but he says nothing, just closes your laptop and notebook, as you protest, but it falls on deaf ears, he grabs your wrist, dragging you out of your seat and towards your bed. For such a tiny little guy, he sure was strong; You'd think.

Once he wordlessly shoves you into your bed, he swiftly gets into his usual position next to you on his back and nudges your head to rest on his chest.

"Rest."

Is all he says as he looks at you. You grumble some curses under your breath and give in, relaxing in the cozy covers and on his fluffy, and oddly comfortale chest. His arm curls around your head as his hand rests on your head.

Shadow was a man of few words, but his actions speak more for him than words ever could.

You finally give in to the fatigue, silently thanking him for dragging you to bed.

"Goodnight, (Name)." Was the last thing you heard before you drift into a deep sleep, curled at his side comfortably.

HI SORRY I KINDA DIDNT KNOW HOW TO WRITE THIS BUT I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED!!! AGAIN THANK U SM FOR BEING MY FIRST REQUEST, ANON!

[alexiroflife]

"five more minutes?"

part 2.

college au, grungy!choso, fluffff, beginnings of mutual pining

choso kamo x writing tutor!reader

Synopsis: your last tutoring session of the day catches you off guard when the hottest guy you've ever seen in your life walks into the writing center

to sum it up: you and choso didn't expect to enjoy each other's company so much and your giddy awkwardness shows it

WC: 3,700

Warning(s): none, just you and choso being cute as hell

-> guys i am speechless thank you so much for +2,000 followers y'all are amazing i love you so much

You, in truth, never wanted to be a writing tutor.

Your English professor had recommended you to do so, seeing that you had a tendency to excel in your creative and academic writing courses. Your major in english and the years prior you spent scribbling away the fantasies of your mind in middle and high school certainly were to commend for you exceptional writing skills now, but you find that any time you’re actually forced to put pen to paper instead of doing so on your own will dulls the experience entirely. 

You can’t necessarily complain too much because you are getting paid (certainly not enough as a junior in university), but you don’t exactly enjoy the tediousness of having to sit down with freshmen who are crawling their way through their introductory writing courses, fighting to keep their engagement as they try to rush you through your hour and a half appointment- despite how badly they need it.

Writing is an art, and should be treated as such, but god, the way the intro courses are treating it and how the students treat it accordingly truly hurts your soul. Especially because they’re required classes, and people never fare well in classes they’re forced to take. You have first hand experience with that.

You’re almost done for the day when you double check your schedule to see that you have one more slot filled before you can call it a day.

Sighing, you lean back in your desk chair and click on the profile of the boy you’re meant to be meeting with. Apparently he’s in a grade above you working on a seminar. You raise your brow, curiosity striking you. You don’t typically find many upperclassmen coming to your services since they normally already have the writing training that they need and have been crafting enough essays to get the hang of things, or are simply too lazy to be bothered with visiting the writing center.

You don’t have much time to ponder it before there’s a knock on your office door frame, signifying the arrival of the person you are to be mentoring. You look up, and the breath almost flies from your lungs when you see a tall brunette clad in heavy, dark cargo pants, a tattered band tee, and a puffy jacket. His heavily lined, violet eyes meet yours tiredly, though after a few moments, a sprinkle of light flickers its way into his irises upon registering the sight of you. 

“I’m… uh, here for my 3:30?” his remarkably deep voice mumbles out as he stares at you pensively, ringed fingers clutching the strap of his beaten satchel book bag. “You’re (Y/n)?”

You blink. “Oh, y-yeah. Sorry,” you clear your throat, hastily throwing on a friendly smile. “Come in. You can take a seat right here.”

You gesture to the chair before you at your desk, and he approaches, slinging his bag from his shoulder to the floor and seating himself in the cushioned seat. 

You scroll through your computer mindlessly to relocate his profile and exactly what he is here for, but you can’t deny the fact that your mind is immensely distracted by the presence of the man sitting in front of you. You can feel his pretty eyes wandering over the room, bouncing over you then to his lap. You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from practically screaming, for this kid is insanely attractive in a grungy, silent loner kind of way, and you’re unsure of how you’ll even be able to focus throughout the session.

“It’s Choso, right?” you ask, turning from your monitor to meet his diamond eyes.

He nods, pressing his lips together. “Yeah.”

“Okay, cool. Nice to meet you. Why don’t you walk me a bit through what you need help with?”

He releases a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his head and averting his gaze. “I don’t know, my senior sem professor said I needed to work on my paragraph structure for the essay part of the project,” he explains almost disinterestedly. “I don’t really know what she means, so I figured I’d just come here.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Do you have a draft that you can show me?”

Choso reluctantly nods once more, leaning over to collect his bag and pull out a thin stack of papers. He gathers them in his hands and as if embarrassed, slides them across the wood table toward you. You take it from him and briefly skim over the words, the title catching your eye.

“You’re a bio major?” you ask, interest piqued.

“…Um, yeah. I’m writing about blood coagulation… it’s kinda boring stuff I guess.”

“No way, I think that’s sick,” you say casually, flipping through the other pages. “I could never begin to understand that stuff.”

You miss the way Choso’s gaze lingers on your face in momentary, subtle surprise. Your eyes fly up from the page to him again, and he immediately looks away. 

You place the papers back down. “I can kinda see what your professor means just by first glance,” you tell him, reaching over to grab a red pen from your pencil holder.

“That fast?” Choso asks, raising a brow.

You chuckle slightly. “I mean, I didn’t get to see everything obviously. I was just browsing, but I do this a lot. I notice you tend to jump from one thing to another without a solid transition.”

“Oh.”

“That’s okay, though. And was it just paragraph structure…? Was there anything else you specifically wanted to look at?”

He shrugs stiffly. “I don’t really know,” he admits. “I’m… less of a writer and more of a researcher. I don’t really- I’m not too good with this kind of stuff in general. I just do the work.”

“That’s no problem. You’ve got the important parts down,” you assure him. “Here, why don’t we move to the center next door? It’ll be easier for me to help you with your paper when I’m next to you instead of sitting across.”

“Sure.”

You believe that you have sabotaged yourself in suggesting so, though moving to a less cramped room is something you always do with your clients. Even so, the second you and Choso seat yourselves beside each other at a rounded table in the next room, with another appointment taking place across the room and rather distant from you, his scent of woody cologne consumes your senses the moment his breeze blows past you with his settlement into his chair. 

Your eyes go slightly wide, his arm inches away from brushing yours when he throws his bag over the back of the chair. While he pulls out his computer and gets his papers and notes situated, you sneak a glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He beholds the facial structure of a model, a rather bored, tired energy capturing his eyes but emphasizing his beauty nonetheless. His hair, you think, is styled uniquely into two ponytails, but it somehow complements his aura perfectly. Tendrils of chocolate brown sweep over his forehead and behind his ear, and that is when you catch a peak of a tattoo creeping up his neck from behind his jacket collar. 

This guy is too gorgeous for his own good. Part of you doesn’t believe that he is aware of his beauty himself, for he carries himself as though he wishes not to be seen, or more accurately, hardly pays any attention or care to how he is perceived by the surrounding world. He’s reserved, calm, and oh, the way his Adam's apple bops when he clears his throat softly is criminal.

You’re prepared to ask him about his tattoo when you recall that you are supposed to be maintaining a professional, yet amiable environment. To make it obvious that he’s captured your attention and then some would interfere with the entire purpose of his appointment, which he scheduled for academic assistance with you, a tutor. 

You immediately avert your gaze when reality smacks you in the face and you shift your focus back to his paper, sliding it under your palm and ripping the cap of your pen rather harshly. Just as you turn away, Choso finds himself peering over at you, but far less sneakily. 

He had come here expecting to despise the entire process, for his pride is slightly wounded that he even has to visit a writing tutor, but he refuses to allow his lacking skill in essay craft to debunk his grade in something he is so passionate about, and something that he desperately needs to graduate. Besides, he has come for help early enough in the process for it not to have much of a strain on the final product overall, but when he found you in your office, he hadn’t expected to be working with someone like… you.

He was expecting a stuck up hermit who was prepared to tear apart every single piece of his rough draft that he had thrown together, sneering down at him through round framed glasses and frowning at his sheer inferiority within the English department. Instead, he’s greeted with you; a fresh, friendly and drop dead gorgeous face that welcomes him in with no judgment. Aesthetically, and likely spiritually, the two of you can’t appear more different, but you don’t seem at all moved by his dark presence. You smile at him, and you compliment his work though no one has ever taken him as a guy interested in or withholding the brains of one who desires to study the inner workings of the human body. He half thinks you’re just being nice because it’s your job, but he can’t help but take a liking to you immediately solely because of how pretty he deems you to be.

Not only that, but you guide him through each and every one of his stand points within his draft, circling words, marking down sentences, scribbling little notes in the corner summarizing the main point he wishes to get across and how he intends to prove so with his research. You listen to him after asking him to explain something you don’t quite understand, and your eyes search his honestly as he mutters through his intentions that are yet to be properly conveyed on the page. You then nod along with him and tell him that he makes perfect sense when he talks, then you freely provide suggestions about how he can improve this portrayal of understanding in a different way.

And everything you tell him, he understands effortlessly. You have a way with your words and how you transcribe them into something that can be put into paper. You know absolutely nothing about what Choso does academically, but somehow, you magically transform that unknown into what you do know. You tell him that literacy is universal, so it’s easy for you to take any topic and help him construct it properly for literary intake. 

Choso finds himself enraptured by your tutoring. He’s agreeing with you, humming in interest and pointing at the things you write for him, typing away at his notes to record everything he’s hearing. He’s taken by the way your lips move when you speak passionately, intelligently; how your hands swirl animatedly with your speech as you paint physical pictures in the air of what you are verbalizing; how you grin widely when Choso adds onto your suggestions, proving that he is getting a hang of what you are telling him. And above all, Choso can see the joy in your eyes as you help him, how entranced you are by the chance to hold an intelligent conversation about what you have mastered doing and what Choso has mastered doing.

You actually like tutoring him, and Choso can tell because he has come to enjoy being tutored by you within the hour and a half block that you are given.

The two of you only make it through about eight of twenty pages before you somehow get off topic, minutes past your block has ended.

“How long have you been a tutor?” the purple eyed man beside you questions suddenly. You look up, closing the cap of your pen with a gentle smile. You don’t even notice the other appointment in the room leaving, the two of you now completely alone.

“Just for a little over a year,” you say. “I started at the beginning of sophomore year last year.”

“So, you’re only a junior,” Choso observes.

“Didn’t you know that when you clicked my profile on the tutoring site?” you tilt your head.

Choso shakes his head, looking down as he reaches his hand to his keyboard and bouncing his leg. “I… wasn’t paying attention,” he mutters and you laugh slightly.

“You could have picked anybody to help you, then.”

“Yeah, apparently,” he hums. “I’m glad I got you though.”

A certain giddiness captures you as your light smile brightens. “Really?”

“I- just mean, you’re a good teacher,” he adds quickly, brows drawing together. His jumping knee leans over the slightest in his manspreading position beneath the table, leading it to bump against yours clumsily. The two of you look down at the same time, and he brings his leg back in hastily. “Sorry.”

“You’re good,” you bring your shoulders up as you crowd your hands in your lap, his brief contact having startled your nerves. “And thanks. I try my best. I actually had fun during our session.”

He turns to look at you. “You had fun trying to fix my awful writing?”

“No, no,” you chuckle. “Usually I help a lot of freshmen and they don’t really care what they’re writing about, but you really seem to.”

He hums. “I get it.”

“So… why biology? Why blood function?”

“I don’t know. It’s always been cool to me, how much stuff happens inside the body that we can’t see,” he says lowly. “I also… got money to come here in high school for science and all that. It’s kinda always been something I’m good at.”

“You say that like it’s not a big deal,” you raise your brows, turning in your chair to face him completely. He glances at you momentarily from the side, but keeps himself awkwardly forward as he clicks randomly away at the keys on his computer. You can see a dust of pink creeping over his pale skin as he eyes his screen. 

“It’s not really. Plenty of people have scholarships and stuff.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make yours any less impressive,” you say, and his blush brightens. He’s so cute. “What would you wanna do with that when you graduate? This is your last year, right?”

“Oh, uh,” he tilts his head back. “I’m looking for work now… but I don’t know, not a lot of jobs in my field would really…” he tries to find a way to explain. His lips tug to the side and his brows angle, hand finding his locks. “...approve of the way I present. I could probably get away with being a lab tech, but if not, I’d do something behind the scenes. Maybe get another job in retail, too.”

You hum, looking over him. “Is it because of your…” you stop to point to his neck. He looks at you quizzically, reaching his hand to where you point. His face relaxes in realization.

“Yeah,” he breathes out a light laugh, and you shiver. “Didn’t know you could see that.”

“Only a little…” you grin. “What is it?”

He takes in a deep breath, looping his fingers over his jack and pulling it down from the skin by his ear. His face is still lit with a pinch of color as he averts his gaze, tilting his chin so that you can see the sharp lines of ink swerving from behind his ear down to his collarbone, a cyber sigilism design. 

You gulp, your own face growing warm with heat as you examine the way his muscles ripple beneath the tattoo, his face bored though leg still jittery with nerves. 

“I like it,” you say as he releases his jacket and lets it rise to conceal his neck once more. “It suits you.”

He looks at you, pursing his lips. “Thanks. I have a lot more.”

“Yeah?” your eyes dash over his frame out of curiosity.

“You won’t be able to see them,” he tells you, and you snap your eyes right back up to his face. A small smile plays on his lips.

“O-Oh. Right,” you stammer. “How many do you have?”

“At least, like, twenty by now.”

“Really?!” you gasp, rather impressed. “Did they hurt?”

“Only a few, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Hmm. You’re making me think I should get a tattoo.”

Choso’s lips curl into a full fledged grin as he examines you, seemingly amused by the idea. You falter slightly when his teeth reveal from behind his soft lips, a dimple prodding in the corner of his cheek with his smile. “You’d get one?”

You pick up on his slightly playful tone and raise a brow. “Why? I don’t look like I would?”

He shakes his head. “I mean- well, no, but-” he paused. “I guess I don’t look like I’d want to be a medical professional, so.”

You can feel your smile widening, your heart brimming with excitement as he opens himself up to bantering with you. And his smile… you would have never expected such an angelic sight on someone like him. You knew he was handsome before, but now with his eyes shining with humor, his cheeks flushed, and a tumble of shy laughter spilling from his throat, you’re willing to risk everything for a chance to hear him laugh again.

“See?” you muse as he finally closes his laptop.

“Where would you get one?”

“Uhhhh,” you try to think. “Maybe… on my shoulder?”

“Yeah?” he pokes out his bottom lip and nods. “I think you’d pull it off,” he goes to tuck his papers back into his bag, keeping his eyes down as the next phrase falls from his mouth. “Maybe I should take you to get one.”

Your brows jump at his suggestion, unsure of whether he is joking or being serious. He catches your eye when he pulls himself back up, heliotrope pools simmering with that hint of bashfulness as he looks at you through his long lashes. 

“Y-You know,” he starts once more. “After you finish helping me with the rest of my essay.”

Your mind clicks when the topic at hand shifts back to the reason why you are sitting with him in the first place. You turn to look at the clock on the other side of the room and widen your eyes when you find that it is half an hour past when you were meant to be finished. “Speaking of,” you start. “We ran really late.”

Choso perks up, following your gaze. “Oh… shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to… keep you.”

“No, it’s okay! Really. I didn’t even notice what time it was,” you say. Choso stalls with his hand on his computer, having prepared to put it away, but something in his mind is making him hesitate.

“So-”

“Did you-”

You both stop, having talked over each other, and you laugh nervously. “Sorry, you first,” you tell him.

“No, you go.”

You oblige. “Well… when are you free next? We can keep working on your draft. Maybe in the library soon if you want a change of scenery? Or not, we could just stay here.”

You don’t know why you’re all of a sudden acting like a child struggling to speak before him. You are meant to be scheduling a follow-up, as you do with everyone you tutor, but somehow it feels as though you’re asking Choso out on a date.

Before you can say anything more, the brunette is nodding before he even comprehends what you’re asking. “Yes. The library is good. Let’s do that.”

You grin, relieved. “Okay. Cool. Great. When-?”

“Whenever,” he rushes. You blink, and he reels in upon noticing how quickly he answered. He turns away. “I mean- whenever you’re free.”

“Next week? Same time?”

He hums. “Yeah. That’s- that’s perfect.”

You go to stand as Choso reaches for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The two of you stand before each other, silence taking you as you find yourselves unsure of what else to say. 

You look to the side and notice that Choso’s computer is still sitting on the table. You reach out for it, gathering it safely in your hands and presenting it to him. “Here. Don’t forget this.”

He looks down at the device and his brows lift. “Oh, yeah. Right,” he takes the computer from your hands, brushing his fingers accidentally with yours, before pulling it into his grasp and tucking it into his bag, lowering his head to hide his flustered expression. “Thank you. And thanks for the… the help.”

You nod, smiling. “Anytime.”

You remain before each other for a moment more, neither of you desiring to leave just yet. 

“Should I, you know, give you my contact?” Choso suggests, and you perk up. “For next week, and I guess in the future when we schedule other appointments…”

“Oh, yeah! Sure, here.”

You pull out your phone and let him hover over you, his scent invading your senses once more as he types his number into an empty contact. You call it once he is finished so that your number can pop up on his phone, and he leans away. “Got it.”

“Great,” you smile at him. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

You watch his tall figure trudge away, out of the doorway and down the hall with his face into his phone as he works to save your contact. The moment he leaves, you heave out and press your hand to your chest, excitement fluttering through you in the form of butterflies. 

Hell. What you would have given to get just another five minutes alone with that beautiful stranger. Maybe he would have asked you to hang out sometime properly. 

[terastalungrad]

I'm reading Life in Code by Ellen Ullman, writings on tech and philosophy.

I love the chapter "Is Sadie the Cat a Trick?", where Ullman talks of the 19 years she had with her cat Sadie, and - while reflecting on Artificially Intelligence - wonders whether the relationship between them was an illusion.

Was Sadie merely behaving according to her "programming"? Was Ullman merely imagining sentience?

Ullman considers various aspects of her relationship with Sadie. First, companionship. Second, familiarity:

[H]er coming to meet me at the door (even when her bowl was full, so it was not in the hope of getting dinner). There was mutual recognition of ritual: I knew the time of day when she moved to her favourite chair to take the sun, so I anticipated it and raised the shade. She knew I wrote in the morning, and, before I got to the desk, she was lying on her pillow by the heater, which had not yet been turned on. If it were just warmth she'd wanted, she could have stayed in bed with Elliot, who was living with me by then. Instead, she decided she would wait for me by a cold heater.

I love this paragraph very much. This reflection on the familiar behaviour of a pet, ostensibly to work out if there's a difference between a pet and sufficiently advanced AI. But also, it seems to me that this is an investigation into love itself.

Did Ullman's cat love her? Do any of our pets love us?

Instinctively, we think "yes". Ullman has applied a programmer's mind - and a philosopher's mind - to the question:

Companionship, familiarity, expectation, mutual recognition, bodily comfort: if this is not a definition of love between aging creatures, I don't know what is.

I'm away from home for a few days, with gigs in London and Birmingham. I always miss my wife when I'm away, and this essay hasn't helped at all thank you.

It makes me think of our own rituals. Sometimes - not often - I'm awake before Elanor. I know what time her alarm will go off, so I join her in bed a minute before, so she wakes up gently to a cuddle before the cold brutality of the alarm. When I'm working in the study, Elanor will sometimes open the door a crack, and wait to be invited in.

This is the difference between love and programming. Last time I was away, Elanor defrosted the freezer - an accomplishment of immense bravery and determination. She didn't tell me this, but when I came home she challenged me to work out what chore she'd done while I was away - knowing that, letting me discover this action by opening the freezer would be the best possible way for me to find out she'd done this.

How did Elanor know this? We've been together 20 years this month. Perhaps she reflected on the fact that I'm delighted by surprise, and by playfulness. Maybe she thought about the way I like stories - and that investigating the house, searching for new jobs completed, would give me the thrill of an adventure. It's possible she considered my love of novelty and shared experiences - and came up with this way of presenting her accomplishment according to these principles; these techniques for controlling the reveal.

All of this *could* be true. That Elanor consciously processed, analysed the data. Her understanding of me. Maybe, perhaps, possibly.

But I think she just knew.

Familiarity. Expectation. Recognition. Love between aging creatures!

People are so excited that generative AI can produce ugly pictures and bland copy. But I don't think it would curl up in front of a cold heater in an empty study.

Because any relationship with a program is an illusion. It isn't love. Because love isn't defrosting the freezer. Love is defrosting the freezer while your partner's away, anticipating their response, looking forward to their joy.

[nonotnolan]

Jock Cock, Part 1

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Adam Johnson, next year's star quarterback and this year's bane of my existence, looked up at me with his baby blue eyes. If he was trying to look small and unintimidating, it would have worked better without carrying 200+ pounds of muscle on a six foot frame.

Well, if he wanted to be melodramatic, two could play that game. "You know full well why I called you here, Adam." I thumped the stack of papers on my desk for emphasis. "You've been failing ECON 105 all semester, but suddenly you can score an 83% on the final exam? It's enough to get you D- in this class. It's not a perfect score, but it's still enough for you to avoid academic probation."

His face flashed with a brief moment of irritation before setting back into his normal, casual stupor. "Well, I wasn't studying before, and now I did. It's not like I scored all that great... sir."

"We both know that you don't know what 'sustainability' means, Adam. You tried to fly under the radar, you didn't cheat your way into a 100%... but it's still cheating. We both know that academic misconduct is a serious crime." I tried my best to sound stern and disappointed, but it was hard to be angry at a face this sexy.

Adam just laughed at me. "And if you could prove it, you wouldn't be calling me into a private meeting, would you?" He leaned back into a shit-eating grin, displaying his dazzling white teeth. This asshole had the upper hand, and he knew it.

"I checked every single essay!" I said, pounding the stack of papers once again. "Every essay, in every single TA's session of this class. You didn't plagiarize... but we both know this isn't your style of writing. And we watched you like a hawk during the exam itself, so you didn't cheat that way, either."

Adam leaned close into my face. "Professor Michaels has no idea that you called me in here, does he? You're just a Teaching Assistant on a power trip, and it's all because you can't stand knowing how I did it." He was right, and I hated him for it. Worse, when he stood this close to me, I could smell the musk of his body.

"Tell you what," he added, pulling off his tank top to reveal a set of firm abs. "You let me get away with this... sign off on my scores, whatever you need to do... and I'll let you live out one of your deepest, darkest fantasies." He struck a pose, showing off both his rippling muscles and his hairy pits. "We both know that you'll never get jock cock any other way. Come on, Teach. You want this."

Was I really that easy to read? "I-- I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Look, if you're going to stick to your lie about studying, then you can just leave. I don't... there's no need to insult my moral character. You're a student, Adam."

He responded by leaning in close to me, and placing his hand on top of my bulge. "Your body betrays you," he whispered, letting his fingers massage my inner thigh. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not your student. Adam and I swapped bodies so that I could take all of his final exams."

"I... yes, well..." That was the last thing I expected him to say, but it would explain a lot if it were true, somehow. It seemed much more likely than a desirable athlete like Adam coming onto me, at the very least.

"Be that as it may," I said, grabbing his hand and moving it away before my cock started leaking though my slacks, "that body still belongs to one of my students. And I still have meetings to attend today, so if we're done here..."

Adam, or the stranger in Adam's body, just laughed at me. "You're the one who wanted to have this meeting, remember? But that's fine, I know when I'm not wanted. But here's the thing-- once you submit grades at end of day, Adam's not your student anymore." He started typing something on his phone. "And honestly, I expected this from you. You're so uptight. Good thing you gave everyone your cell phone number on the syllabus at the start of the year. So if you change your mind... now you can have Adam's number, and a bonus pic from me."

"I know you don't know the real me, but trust me Kevin-- I've wanted to plow that uptight hole of your for months. And in this body, I've actually got a shot at it." The stranger slapped my ass before I could react, and swaggered out of the room. Whoever was inside of Adam's body, they knew my first name.

I looked at the retreating wall of shoulder muscles, and down at the teasing bathroom selfie the stranger sent to me. God help me, I was only human. And he was right-- how else was I going to get jock cock? He wasn't a student, not really, and that's what mattered. "You win. Tonight at 8pm, my place. Bring lube."

Check out Part 2 here. Check out Part 3 here.

[prncssie]

to hobie’s surprise, you’re still working into the late hours of the night. no way he’s gonna let that happen multiple nights in a row.

caution! mdni 3k wrdz, pet names, oral f. receiving fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, black fem reader, overstimulation, use of cunny cunt n pussy, back scratching, squirting, creampies pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

when hobie swung into your open window, he wasn’t expecting to see you awake and actually doing stuff.

his head tilts at the sight of you typing away at your laptop, swivel chair turning in endless semicircles. you’re dressed for bed, wearing a silk nightgown and your slippers astray beneath you. even your hair is tucked away from the night under the safety of your bonnet. “why are you up, ducky?” he climbs his way through the window purposely left open for him.

it’s become a part of your routine. you both live your lives during the day and at night, hobie comes by to climb into bed beside you. you spend the morning together, just for him to leave and do the same the next day. as long as neither of you acknowledge it, he doesn’t count it as a consistent schedule and therefore doesn’t feel the need to stop.

you don’t lift your head to acknowledge him like you routinely do. instead, your manicured hands dart across the keyboard. “got home from work late, got an essay to write. it’s due tomorrow night.”

“what?” his shadow grows nearer with each step he takes towards you. hobie knows you’re too far gone when you don’t reprimand him from sitting on your desk. “it’s almost four in the morning, lovely. you can’t do it tomorrow?”

“no,” there’s a pause between your words and the silence is filled with your incessant typing, “i picked up a shift at work so i can’t.”

“you’re becoming a cog in the capitalism machine. that’s why you’re so stressed out. you should to take a break before they make you a mindless slave. that’s what they want, y’know. for more people to – ”

you tilt your back, a sigh leaving your lips. your eyes close with the attempt to find what dwindling patience you have. “hobie, i really cannot do it tonight. i have an essay to write and it’s due tomorrow. i just told you that.”

he stares at you, only for a moment. there’s a lot of things he isn’t enjoying about this. the fact that you’re still awake, the fact that you’re stressing over something put in place to make you feel bad about yourself, and the fact that you’re snapping at him. he’s sure it’s due to your lack of sleep but that doesn’t make him feel any better about it. “you’re in a shitty mood and it’s starting to bother me.”

“wow, really?” you can’t help your sarcastic tone. it slips out before you’re aware of it. “i didn’t even realize i wasn’t feeling super good!” your eyes are rolling as you place the laptop on what desk space is left from his limber body. you regret it the moment you say it but you’re so deeply set in your ways that the second thought doesn’t linger long.

he’s silent again, fingers tapping against the desktop. he stares at the floor, outlining the wood detailing with his eyes.

you both stay like this for a while, typing and staring at the floor. you can’t deny his company aiding your stress relief. it’s always nice to have hobie around, even if he isn’t doing anything.

ten minutes pass before hobie is glancing at the clock. “alright,” he finally says while rising to his feet. “time for bed, love.” he turns your chair himself, dragging you away from your nearly completed essay.

“what are you doing? i have work to do.” you struggle against him, tugging your arms but to no avail. he’s just so much more stronger than you, pulling you to your feet and into his arms. “hobie,” you whine as he gathers you up and into the air with his super human abilities.

“oh, i heard you,” hobie says, closing your screen and turning off your desk lamp. the room immediately gets dark. the lamp functioned as the sole light in these hours. having it off sent your space in a blanket of nothingness. “i just don’t care. you’re tired and your attitude is shit.”

you can never get over how easily he overpowers you, despite his tiny frame. while hobie is large in height, he’s the lankiest thing. his strength solely came from his radioactive spider.

you huff, throwing your weight around. all it does is get you tossed onto the bed. because your eyes have yet to adjust to the lighting, you’re unable to see a thing. you can’t help but shriek upon impact, bouncing on your mattress. “what the hell, ‘bie? my attitude is shit? your attitude is shit. mad at me because i’m not giving you attention because i have stuff to do. of course i’m tired. i’ve been up all night because i actually have responsibilities.”

“stop fightin’ with me.” hobie worms his way next to your body. his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “and while you’re at it, stop talkin’ and go to sleep.”

you’re still mumbling your distaste against his skin, arms pushing against him. you’re refusing to go down like this, to let him simply take you away from the essay you’ve been working so hard on. you’re so close to finishing, you can taste it. “isn’t this against what you stand for? thought it’s wrong to force someone to do something.”

he only holds you tighter, strapping your arms down in his grip. “you’re not takin’ care of yourself, princess. didn’t sleep last night, didn’t sleep the night before. think i’m gonna let you not sleep again? especially since you’re talkin’ to me like you’ve lost your mind.”

“i’m not! i didn’t say anything to you. if your feelings are hurt that’s your fault.” you resorting to using your feet, kicking at him until he’s forced to tangle his legs with yours.

“you’re always sayin’ the same thing when i call you out on somethin’. ‘i didn’t do it’. ‘it’s your fault’. ‘i’m not sorry’.” hobie’s voice raises a few octaves to mock yours. “it’s not rocket science. just admit it and let me help you.”

your cheeks puff in irritation. his route isn’t helping your mood and knowing unfinished work is just arms length away is making you antsy. “unless you’re gonna get up and do it for me, which you won’t, you can’t help me.”

with your next blink, you find yourself on your back. the bed dips and rises as hobie adjusts his position, arms locking around your legs and hands resting on your stomach. “what the actual fuck are you doing?” you sit up and as a result, slide out of his grasp just a bit.

hobie just yanks you back down and tightens his hold, leaving you no choice but to remain at his mercy. “helpin’ you. if you don’t wanna go to sleep, fine. i’ll just make sure you can’t do nothin’ else.”

he rolls the hem of your gown up, despite your protests above him. you wiggle about but it has no effect on his focus. he’s too busy staring at the pretty cotton panties you sport. “you need to relax, treacle. gonna spread yourself thin.”

you blow out a breath, somewhat mixed with frustration and defeat. you know he’s right but your mind is already racing with everything you have to complete this week, including going to work and making school deadlines. “that’s reality, ‘bie. that’s how it is. i’m not a crime fighting, rioting spider person with no cares for anything. i actually have to be a cog in the machine or whatever you said.”

his lips ghost and press against your skin, littering soft kisses along your inner thigh. “so? don’t gotta let them use you like this.”

“hobie.”

he hooks his finger around the bottom, pulling the white material to the side. “jus’ worried about you is all, dovey. shouldn’t even be awake, much less doing somethin’ right now.”

he tenderly kneads the stress away at your hip while his thumb coaxes you into submission, drawing slow circles on your clit. he leans his head against your skin, looking through his eyelashes to watch you.

you, who’s struggling to give off an unaffected impression, eyes closed and knees bending. “get off. you’re annoying me.” your slight grip on your sheets tell him otherwise.

“mhm,” hobie hums. his gaze is trained on you and you only while he warms your sex up to his touch. “you gonna go to sleep if i do?”

your silence is a loud enough response for him. he turns back to your now glistening cunt. his thumb glides over it with ease, collecting your slick and redistributing it along your folds.

he doesn’t understand you and your need to fight against him. hobie really is just trying to take care of you and you’re insisting on ignoring him and rotting your soul away. as if he is going to stand by and let that happen.

you keen at the feeling of his tongue running over your cunny, flat and thick. a soft pant falls out your lips, just barely open. your fingers curl into your palm. there’s a part of you that doesn’t want him to know, yet, how quickly he’s consuming your thoughts so you force you spine into the mattress and hold your arms against yourself.

you clench your teeth together and mute the moans that crawl their way up your throat as hobie drags his tongue around. his lips wrap around your bundle of nerves, suckling off the juices. his lips piercings aren’t helping, slotting against your skin and sending you into overdrive.

he glances at you for a second, only when you give in and entangle your hand in his hair. the tug that follows only pulls him closer. he has to pull your thighs apart when they threaten to close around his head. any other day, he’d stare at you with a warning slap to your pussy but tonight, he lets it slide in hopes you’ll tire yourself out.

hobie can tell your close when your writhe in his hold, both to get away from and get closer to his tongue. he’s easing you into it with a hand reaching up to clasp yours and another at the soft skin of your tummy, forcing your back out the arch. he massages your skin in encouragement at your orgasm that comes ripping through your body.

hobie, although unhappily, has to leave your pretty pussy behind. you’re pulling his hair so hard, he’s forced to resurface until he’s eye level. “feel better?” he positions himself next to you on his side. he’s sweet, draping his arm around your waist.

as he expected, you nod and curl into his chest. you can’t deny that much of the stress you felt before dissipated. hobie’s warmth is soothing, enticing you to revel in your sheets. you’re grateful when he pulls the duvet over your bodies.

his head is in the groove between your neck and shoulder, peppering kisses along your skin. “that’s good to hear, duck.” his fingers run up and down your back, just grazing and dipping farther and farther down. “still thinkin’ about all’at stuff?”

“yeah but i can just do it tomorrow. it’s not like i have a lot left because i already did most of – hobie!”

you shriek when his fingers suddenly become nestled inside you. you grip his shirt, hiding within his chest. you shudder at the feeling of them move, stroking against your cunt.

“you’re still thinkin’ about it.” he chastises with a click of his tongue. he holds you in place to control your twitching, continuing to peg his digits into you. “wrong answer.”

“i’m not,” you whine. you can both feel your gummy walls tighten and twitch, sucking him in despite you campaigning to get away from him.

“you’re not?” hobie cradles you against him, gentle in touch. “could have sworn you just said it, though.”

you whimper and mewl, torn between enjoyment and overstimulation. his fingers are larger than you can comprehend, digging dip within your core, and much longer than yours, pressing farther than you could ever do yourself.

you’re reduced to sobs, nearly shredding his shirt into two with how much you’re pulling it apart. the popping of the seams is drowned by your voice and the squelching of your slick against his hand.

his arm against your back leaves you little room to struggle with his fingers prodding from behind. at some point your leg slips around his waist.

“it’s okay, pretty. i got you, yeah?” hobie feels hot, physically hot. the duvet wasn’t helping, trapping your body heat that increased with each movement. he also can’t help his massive boner, having to fight the urge to rut against you.

hobie knows this is about you, or rather that he’s making it about you. about helping his baby get to sleep. this isn’t the first time he’s came back and seen you up at the late hours of the night. the first few times, he let it go but the longer this continues, the more messed up your sleep schedule is going to be. he has to interfere, especially when you’ve been waking up in a terrible mood each morning, a frown already settled on your lips before you’ve even gotten out of bed.

he’s so deep in his thoughts, hobie nearly misses how desperate you suddenly get. it’s only when you’re reaching behind to grasp his wrist that his brain fog is gone.

he didn’t realize, either, how much faster he’s moving, fingers bumping against your spot. “dove,” hobie says it softly, “i don’t want to use my webs on you. move em’ before i do.”

you’re reluctant but obliged, unwrapping your fingers from his wrist and hanging them over his shoulder. you find yourself plunging your nails into his skin. “hobie,” you cry out, hips grinding against him.

“i know, pretty. i know,” he whispers against your forehead. “let it out. i got you.” hobie consoles you as your body tenses in his hold.

you’re all wound up, taking a final gasp as it all rolls off your skin. he draws gushes of your cum out your leaking hole and swallows your sobs in his mouth, connected with a kiss. you’re grateful for his comfort, clinging onto him as if he is your saving grace

your chest rises and falls with each breath and you shove his hand away. “no more,” you roll away from him, simultaneously pulling off the covers for some much needed cool air.

it’s futile when hobie draws you back into him after tossing off his shirt, himself. “nah, i think you have another one left in you.” you can feel him shuffling behind you and assume he’s preparing to pull his dick out.

you tightly cross your legs together at his words, eyes darting around for a clock. “what? it’s so late, though. i have so much to do tomorrow, too. we should just sleep.”

your rational fall on deaf ears because he’s easily lifting your leg into the air and almost to your shoulders. “oh? you have a lot to do tomorrow?”

his tone has your stomach twisting. you wet your lips, feeling around for something to hold on to. “n – no. i don’t. i’m not doing anything tomorrow.”

the fat tip of his cock slaps against your folds, sticky from his own arousal. “too late, lovely. you already said it. gotta fuck it out of you.”

you’re still pleading your disagreement and how you’ll start sleeping at a proper time when hobie stuffs his cockhead inside your cunny.

he groans in your ear upon your welcoming wet grip. you always feel so good, at this point he’s addicted. if he ever died in your cunt, hobie would be the happiest man in the world.

thanks to the previous orgasms, there’s no pushback. only you griping about how you can’t take it and that he’s too big, which hobie knows is a lie. truthfully, you go through the same thing every time and he can never get enough of it.

“tired yet?” he grunts in tune with his rapid, steady paced thrusts. hobie doesn’t expect anything past your incoherent gargles.

you clutch the mattress under your pillow, prying at the fitted sheet. with every thrust, your body lurches forward. your head turns on your own accord, reaching out to cup his cheek.

you’re so cute, he thinks, with your eyes big and round and full of enchantment. you heave him towards you until your lips are moving together in perfect synchrony.

hobie wraps his tongue around yours, sitting up to deepen in. with his neck craned down and your dress pulled up, he gets a perfect view of his dick sliding in and out.

it glistens, even if the limited moonlight. the base is especially glazed over, foaming with a white sheen.

he feels like he’s becoming deranged when you toss your head back in ecstasy. you’re going to kill him, he’s sure.

and he’s even more sure when your tiny fist is rapping against the bed. “oh my days, oh my – fuck!” you outstretch your arm until you find his, grabbing in a firm hold.

hobie plants his head on top of yours and inhales the whiffs of hair products from your bonnet. he can smell the lingering hints of rosemary from your oil. “no more staying up late, you hear? pissin’ me off with this.”

and like the best girl you are, you nod brainlessly. your wordless promise is taken seriously, you’re sure. it’s cemented when hobie forces you to look at him.

his eye contact is just as intense as the grip on your cheeks. you can see just how vehement he is and it only makes you needier.

your face screws up as one final indication before your entire body trembles. you fall limp onto your side, cunt spasming around him. you’ve been fucked into oblivion, ready to settle in for the night. to your surprise, hobie has other plans.

his pulling out has you thinking he’s done, only to roll you into your back and position himself on top of you. he doesn’t wait for you realize what’s happening before he’s aligning his tip with your entrance again and gliding it in with ease.

you feel full to the brim, one hand on his chest and the other scraping your nails against the headboard. at some point, he supposes his own lust kicked in. after putting your needs first, he’s given free reign to chase his own orgasm.

that’s exactly what he’s doing now, pounding into you with such speed, your tits have been jostled out your top. the brown of your nipples has his infatuated brain screaming.

“hobie!” you all but yell. you’re inching slowly towards the top of the bed, unaware of your movements. hobie isn’t, though. he finds purchase at your hips to shift you back into place.

“hold – hold on. jus’ wait.” he moves both your legs over his left shoulder, driving deep.

you swear you can feel him in your throat, swear he’s realigning your insides like some sort of chiropractor. “gonna – ” your eyes roll to the back of your head. your nails dig into his back and drag across the skin as you try to ground yourself.

immediately, his attention fall to your cunt. hobie expects to see the usual sparkling ooze of cum but to his marvelment, watery squirts take it’s place.

you seize up so tight on him, he’s forced to release inside you without warning. he has to remember to hold himself up as to not crush you beneath him. all he can think about is how that was probably the best nut he’s ever had.

“you . . . you wanna finish your paper?” hobie says finally. he’s the first one to speak as you were both trying to catch your breath from your late night exercise.

you so quickly scowl at him, both at the implications and the thought of doing anything else tonight. “you must not value your life. you can’t.”

hobie smiles, lazily. he kneads at your muscles. “bear with me, treacle. ‘s gonna be uncomfortable.” he warns, anticipating the wince your expression turns into as he pulls out, genuinely this time.

you can feel the scratches developing from your previous actions, rubbing his shoulders, and a tinge of guilt tugs at your heart. “sorry. for these and all the worry i caused you . . . and also for what i said.” you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close until you’re both laying down, cuddling up on each other. although you can’t quite remember what you said, you know you would have never uttered the words on a normal day.

he shrugs, fixing your slipping bonnet and unbunching your nightgown. “it’s in the past. i’m not thinkin’ about that, right now. i’m thinkin’ about how we need to get you ready for bed, again. can’t go to bed like this.”

he’s right but you’re still dramatic about in, unwilling to leave the comfort of your bed. “ten minutes.” you say, eyes fluttering closed. you revel in your sheets as long as you can before hobie chuckles, ripping them off.

“no, can’t do that. we’re doin’ it now. we both have to shower and shit and you probably can’t stand without me,” his voice is lighthearted, if not evident by the smirk playing in his lips.

he’s carrying you again, subjecting you to the princess treatment he feels you deserve. the most funny part about this, to him, is how dedicated you were before to staying up all night.

now, you’re all pliant and it’s purely due to him and his cock. even though hobie made you promise these endless nights won’t continue, he definitely doesn’t mind doing this again. especially after how easily you finally knock out, mouth wide open and snoring.

[pasukiyo]

Hi! I love your work and was wondering if you could do potions teacher Tom falling is love with herbology teacher reader or just student Tom falling in love with this sunshine girl if you don't want to write them as adults/teachers. Thanks!

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 | tom riddle

potions master tom riddle x herbology teacher f!reader 2,253 words warnings: nothing but fluff notes: kind of grumpy x sunshine summary: professor riddle was notoriously blunt and took everything very seriously. he couldn’t think of one single time when he was nervous or insecure— until now.

 The Gryffindor third year trembled as Professor Riddle approached his cauldron, peering down into its contents. The Gryffindor’s eyes paced between Professor Riddle and his cauldron, suddenly insecure of his potion making skills. Professor Riddle pursed his lips together and stood straight up again, eyeing the blonde Gryffindor below him. 

 “It seems it’d do some of you well to pay attention in my class,” Professor Riddle said in a low voice, his fingers locked behind his back as he turned on the Gryffindor. A group of Slytherins in the corner of the room snickered amongst themselves as the blonde Gryffindor boy sank further into his seat in shame, his cheeks glowing a very visible shade of maroon. “Oh well,” Professor Riddle waved a hand. “Perhaps you’ll find an essay on the correct way to brew a Wideye Potion more intriguing. I expect you to turn it in by the end of the week, Walker.”

 The room was silent save for the clicking of Professor Riddle’s heels against the floor, as well as the snickering Slytherins in the corner. Professor Riddle circled around his desk and set himself down into his seat, sliding a stack of ungraded parchments before him, his quill between his thumb and forefinger. 

 “You all may be dismissed,” he said. “Do not forget to bring me  your samples of Wideye Potion before you leave. And do not forget to write your name, I’m saying this because of you, Weasley.”

 Professor Riddle peered up at his class through hooded lids as Weasley’s cheeks burned to match his hair, the group of Slytherins practically howling in laughter as they came up to his desk and placed their samples there. Professor Riddle paid them no mind as he sifted through each ungraded piece of parchment until finally, he was done grading essays, and he tossed his quill back into its ink bottle. 

 He leaned back in his seat and stared at the vials of Wideye Potion on the edge of his desk, a surge of fatigue rushing through him. Tom Riddle blinked and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hard enough that he could see stars. He suddenly felt no desire to inspect his students’ potions, in fact, he suddenly felt no desire to do anything to do with potions at all. 

 Tom took his job seriously as he did everything, he wouldn’t dare show weakness, wouldn’t dare give Professor Dippet any reason to believe that his performance as Potions Master was less than exemplary. Tom Riddle had way too much pride in himself, but he knew he deserved better than this. 

 He knew he deserved the occupation as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. 

  He had the best marks out of any student in the class during his time at Hogwarts, which was why he simply could not understand why Professor Dippet would not give him the job. At first, it was because he was too young. And now it was because Hogwarts already had an exceptional Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in Professor Lynch, and the year before that, it was Professor Huxley, and the year before Professor Flint. 

 He had jinxed the job for a reason, so why couldn’t Professor Dippet just see that he was perfect for the job?

 But he digressed.

 He needed some fresh air. 

 Tom Riddle sighed as he pushed himself out of his seat and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, slipping it on either of his shoulders as he exited the Potions classroom. As he made his way down the hallway and into the Central Hall, students left and right scattered to clear his path, staring at the school’s handsome yet fierce Potions Master as he strode towards the doors leading to the Grounds. 

 He narrowed his eyes as they adjusted to the sunlight after being stuck in his dark, dimly-lit classroom for the better half of the day, welcoming the outdoor air into his lungs. One his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, he scanned the Grounds where students roamed, some arm in arm with one another, some throwing chocolate frogs at each other, some Ravenclaw Quidditch players soared in the air, throwing a Quaffle back and forth. 

 Tom slipped his hands into his trouser pockets as he strode absentmindedly around the circular path, nodding at the students who greeted him. Tom tried to ignore his frustrations as he made a half circle around the fountain in the middle of the Grounds, letting his feet carry him wherever they pleased. 

 “Please be careful with your lacewing flies! Handle their jars with care!”

 At the sound of the voice, Tom perked his head up towards the Grounds’ entrance where a very familiar figure strode through, leading a class behind her. Tom stopped and stood in his place, watching as she led the laughing students back towards the castle, jars of lacewing flies in each of their hands. When the Herbology teacher glanced up, tucking hair behind her ear, she smiled when her eyes fell upon the Potions Master and she nodded as she walked by. 

 “Nice to see you, Professor Riddle!” She exclaimed, and Tom nodded in reply. “Nice to see you too, Professor,” he murmured as she walked off, and he watched as she disappeared inside of the castle, along with the rest of the students trailing behind her. 

 Something fluttered in his chest, something he had only just recently acknowledged as his heart. Tom wasn’t used to this, to feeling infatuated with someone else. At first, he ignored it altogether. For all of his life, he insisted that love was weakness, and that he could not love. So when his heart stuttered in his chest and the wind knocked from his lungs the first time he saw her, he dismissed it. 

 But then it kept happening. 

 Every single time he caught a glimpse of her in the halls, every time he saw her during meals, when she sat beside him during feasts, when he so much as heard her name, warmth would spread throughout his chest, engulfing his heart in flame. He couldn’t stand being around her because of it at first, even though he found himself yearning for the next glance he could sneak at her. 

 Eventually he convinced himself that this could be what love was, that he, Tom Riddle, could in fact be capable of falling in love after all. 

 He was never the same after he acknowledged how he felt. 

 He found himself growing more and more attached to her, in fact, it seemed the fact that he’d see her at breakfast was the reason he got up out of bed every morning. Whenever he felt frustrated, whether that be with the Headmaster or with his students or anything in between, his mind would turn to her, the pretty Herbology teacher who always seemed to be smiling. 

 And he’d feel content again. 

 Tom peered back over his shoulder to look at the castle entrance, and he glanced down at the time on his watch. He knew she would have a free hour next to make time for lunch, and perhaps if he left now, he could catch her before she left for the Great Hall…

 Tom circled the fountain and made haste as calmly as he could back inside the castle, pushing between the sea of students crowding the Central Hall. He strode through the hallway leading to the Greenhouses, pushing his way through the double green and gold doors, stepping inside. 

 “Do you think we’ll be able to keep the lacewing flies?” A Ravenclaw student with short brunette hair asked her friend, a tall and lanky boy with dark skin. He shook his head, “doubt it. Riddle will probably have us use them in Potions… speaking of which…”

 The two Ravenclaw students bowed their heads when they noticed the Potions Master standing by the entrance, hurrying past. Tom paid them no mind, hands in his pockets as he ventured further in the Greenhouse, nodding when students greeted him. He approached the entrance to the Herbology classroom, where over a crowd of students’ heads, he could see her, smiling and waving goodbye to her class. 

 His jaw clenched as his heart stuttered in his chest, and he cleared his throat when a Slytherin girl smiled at him. “Afternoon Professor Riddle!” She exclaimed, and he nodded in reply. “Afternoon.”

 “Professor Riddle?”

 Tom blinked and he looked up where the Herbology teacher still stood in the back of the classroom, her eyes now set on him. Her smile widened when their eyes met, and as the last of her students poured out of the classroom, she approached, hands clasped behind her back. 

 “Well, I must say, this is a nice surprise, Professor,” she chuckled and he shifted where he stood, his heart trembling when she drew near.  “So what brings you out to this part of the castle today?” She asked, blinking up at him with those sparkling eyes he often found himself thinking of. 

 Tom bit back his words. He was notorious for being rather blunt, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of saying what he wanted to say. But this was different. He feared rejection, or more accurately, he feared embarrassment. The shame he’d feel if he, Tom Riddle, were to be rejected. He simply wouldn’t be able to live with it. 

 “Was just taking a stroll,” he said, glancing towards the ground for a fleeting moment. “Oh, it’s a wonderful day, isn’t it?” She beamed. “I took my fifth years outside of the castle to find lacewing flies since the weather is so nice. I hope they’ll be of use in your class.”

 Tom found that a small lump had formed at the base of his throat, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the fact that she thought of his class, perhaps it was the fact that she potentially could have been thinking of him. He swallowed the lump back down.

 “Yes, I appreciate it, Professor,” he replied simply, and she smiled warmly as she leaned against the doorframe of her classroom, gazing up at him. Tom looked away, suddenly feeling very hot as his heart beat harder inside of his chest, and he couldn’t help but look away. 

 She tilted her head to catch his eye again, and she cocked an eyebrow. “Is there anything else, Professor?” She asked, admittedly confused. It wasn’t often that the Potions Master took strolls to her side of the castle, nor was he one for light conversation either. She knew he must’ve come here for a reason, perhaps to ask about a student, or something similar. 

 She knew Tom Riddle took his job very seriously, in fact, it seemed to be the only thing he cared about. So she knew that this surprise visit to the Greenhouse must have been business related, but she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering. 

 What if he came here because he wanted to see her? What if he wanted to ask her out? She knew it was foolish for her to hope, but she could still dream. 

 “Yes, actually… there is,” Tom spoke finally, and she blinked back up at him, tilting her head. She didn’t say anything else, only waited patiently, as he mustered up the courage to say what he wanted to say. 

 Tom cleared his throat. 

 Her eyes sparkled under the light. 

 Her lips were curved into a soft smile. 

 This was harder than he thought. 

 “It’s… it’s a beautiful day,” he squeezed his eyes closed. He said that earlier. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he just ask her? He’d been thinking about it all year now, and it wasn’t like him to feel so nervous. 

 It was truly frustrating. 

 Her lips twitched, but she suppressed the urge to laugh. This was a side of Tom Riddle she had never seen before— could it be that for once, he was nervous?

 “It is,” she nodded and he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and glanced away, staring at the wall beside them. Perhaps he should just say it, get it over with. “It’s nice weather for a stroll around Hogsmeade.”

 Oh.

 She could feel the heat as it slithered like a snake up the back of her neck, creeping up into her ears, and searing her skin. Could it be that her dream was becoming a reality?

 Tom kept his gaze fixated on the wall beside them, and she smiled, daring to step just a little closer. “Professor Riddle,” she said warmly, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to ask me out on a date.”

 Tom blinked and he turned his head towards her, looking down on her and into those beautiful glimmering eyes he couldn’t help but admire no matter how hard he tried not to. Swiftly, he glanced down to her lips— he suddenly had the biggest urge to kiss her right now. 

 But he resisted.

 “Call it what you want,” he replied as smoothly as he could, even though he felt like he could shrivel away from the world at that moment. “But… I certainly wouldn’t mind treating you to a butterbeer or two, if you’d let me.”

 The Herbology teacher giggled and her gaze cowered to the ground, and she wiped loose strands of hair behind her ear to hopefully mask her nerves. She glimpsed back up at him, and her smile widened.  

 “How about we get some lunch in the Great Hall first?”

a/n; sorry it took me so long to post this, life got in the way! not sure how i feel about my writing here, so sorry if it feels kind of rushed! tbh writing fluff for tom was kind of a challenge since he’s not exactly the fluffiest character LMAO

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza @lyis 🥹🫶

[lostgirlmuseum]

Pulse 💗

Summary: Bucky can hear your heartbeat through the wall, and he can tell everything isn’t alright.

Pairing: Bucky x gn!Reader

Words: 600 (exactly 600, holy moly)

Warnings: None really, just mentions of anxiety and adhd. Wrote this within an hour, sorry if its bad

A/N: Self indulgent fic alert! This goes out to all my peeps who struggle with ADHD/anxiety. It sucks, but hang in there!

Divider credit: @saradika

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up from the papers on your desk.

A brief second passed, and the door creaked open. A cautious Bucky peeked his head in.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked.

You suddenly became aware of your leg bouncing 70 miles an hour, and forced yourself to stop. 

“Yes, why?” You replied, ignoring the urge to get up and walk around.

“Well, I—” he hesitated, and brought his hand to rub the back of his neck, “I was passing by and I heard your heartbeat going really fast—super hearing and all that,” he awkwardly chuckled.

“120,” you stated, glancing at your watch.

“What?”

“My heart rate is 120 right now.”

“That’s pretty high for just sitting,” he responded, having a hard time hiding his concern.

“Well, y’know, anxiety,” you breathily laughed, but it wasn’t that funny.

“What are you anxious about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Nothing.” You sighed, lowering your pen and facing him. At this point he was now in your room, perched in front of your door.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Seriously, I’m kinda freaking out over nothing right now.”

“C’mon, you’re always telling me I’m valid for having concerns, you are too.”

“No, I mean there is literally no singular thing I’m anxious about right now—it’s just physical anxiety, the general feeling that I’m going crazy, or dying, I don’t know, both I guess. That sounds so dramatic. I really am fine. I mean, I’m not fine, but I am, yeah?” You rambled on and on, and cursed yourself when you noticed your leg had started bouncing again.

“I don’t think you’re okay, do you want me to bring you to Dr. Cho?”

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t think there’s much she can do. The worst of this should pass in thirty minutes anyway, it’s just my meds.”

“Oh.” 

You could tell Bucky wanted to ask more, but wasn’t sure if it was polite.

“I have ADD. ADHD, whatever you want to call it. So I take medicine so I can focus on certain tasks, like these reports. And it does help me focus, but it’s also a stimulant, so it also gives me a lot of anxiety, which is totally awesome!” You scoffed.

“Why do you keep stopping your leg from bouncing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to annoy you.”

“If bouncing your leg makes you feel better, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I feel like I’m embarrassing myself,” you whined. 

Beep.

You looked at your watch.

“Oh, look at that, 126!”

“Do you—would…would a hug be something that would help you? Calm you down?” He offered, casually putting his arms out for emphasis.

“Sure, Bucky,” you smiled, and stood up to meet him halfway. You knew it wouldn’t fix it, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Bucky wrapped you in a big embrace, and you were shocked by how warm and teddy-like it was. You gave a small sigh, and rested your face in his neck, knowing you weren’t going to be the first to let go.

He held onto you for longer than you expected, just calmly swaying together in your room. 

To your dismay, he eventually let go of you. You were about to thank him and return to your work, but he gently grabbed your wrist and brought your watch to his sight. 

“107. Good, but I think we can do better than that,” he sweetly smiled, and wrapped you back up into his arms. 

“It might take a while.” You mumbled into his shirt.

“As long as it takes.” He cooed.

A/N: Should be either A) studying for a history exam I have tmw, or B) writing my stupid essay that the rough draft is due tmw, but I wrote this instead bc I’m procrastinating  HELP ME

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 6.9 K Warnings: none Prompt: Why is it that potions is always so problematic? Not proofread

Chapter 68: Mysteries and Mayhem

Friday, 14th, 1977

“I think we have to tell her,” Evan said as he threw the quaffle towards the canopy of the bed and caught it again. 

“We don’t have to tell her anything,” Barty retorted. He was working on Evan’s desk and had his back to him. He always revised Evan’s essays since Evan had mild dyslexia and a tendency to confuse the names of some ingredients along with the position of TH and HT at the end of some words. Evan was brilliant at Potions, but the memoir writing had always been tricky for him. 

“She would tell us if she knew about something like this,” he said as he caught the ball and threw it upwards again. Regulus’ snitch was floating around the room since it had accidentally gotten out from its chest when Evan opened it to take the quaffle. It always helped him destress to play with it, but he never bothered with the snitch, he thought it was too small and a pain in the ass to chase.   

“She wouldn’t tell us shit,” Barty responded. “She doesn’t like to meddle.” 

“But she has meddled, and in our favour, you know this!” 

“Please stop it with the quaffle,” Barty said with a sigh. Evan stopped throwing it and placed it on the side of the bed, now rolling it around with his hand. “It’s none of our business what they do behind closed doors. And we would be outing those two if we told her.” 

“How would you feel, I was cheating on you with Dorcas?” 

“I’d break her neck,” Barty retorted without hesitation.

Evan wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it as a joke or not, but chose to believe he did. “Right, see? She should know!” 

“She’s the dumb one for not noticing.” 

“It is not something you normally expect. Especially not if you were born in the wizarding elite.” 

“Evan,” Barty whined. “Why should we care? We’ve done our good deed of the century by shutting stupid Severus up about it.” 

“I’m gonna tell her,” Evan said with determination. 

“And you’ll just accomplish what Severus wanted.” 

“I know you don’t like her–” 

“You don’t like her either.” 

“Well, she’s conceited and loves to rub how good she is at flying but… I never expected her to help me the way she did.” 

“So what? You’re gonna go braid each other’s hair, is that it?” Evan threw the quaffle at Barty’s head, the latter got the hit unexpectedly and turned around to him as he gasped. “You’re such a git! I’m trying to check your homework.” 

“You’re no better,” Evan retorted. “It’s just– I wouldn’t want people laughing behind my back.” 

“Maybe she knows and they’re using her as a cover,” Barty said, although he didn’t believe it.

“Impossible. She’s for sure in love with that dick. I mean I knew he was an asshole but–”  

“Not to the point of using someone like that?” Barty offered. “I think we really shouldn’t meddle. We’ve somehow reached a ceasefire, you don’t want to start shooting again, do you?”

“She helped me! Even after the fire, my dad seemed pleased at the insinuation that we– you know.”  

Barty sighed, standing from the desk and walking towards his bed, the same bed Evan considered as his own most of the time. “If you really want to tell her, then I’ll come along with you.” 

Evan smiled and lifted himself up to press a short kiss on Barty’s lips. As they were pulling apart the door busted open and Barty appeared a book on his lap and started saying something about a spell. 

“It’s just Regulus,” Evan said as he tilted his head to the side. “Didn’t you see the busy sign on the door?” 

“I did,” Regulus responded. “Decided to ignore it, though.” 

“I swear it runs in the family,” Evan said with an eye roll. He liked Regulus, but that didn’t stop him from thinking he was a bit of an entitled prick, much like his brother. 

And Evan himself, according to Barty. Who in turn, was also considered one by the rest of his class. Either way, they consider themselves an acquired taste, after all, Evan had hated Barty’s guts before falling in love. 

“Shhh...” Regulus said as he lifted his hand. “I think I hear something?”

“What?” Asked Evan.

“The sound of two tossers who are about to go use someone else's room to make out.” 

“Bitch,” Barty said as he threw the quaffle his way.

Regulus was fast enough to dodge and then noticed his snitch floating around. “For Salazar’s sake! How many times have I told you not to let the Little Star out?” 

“Little Star?” Evan asked. 

“The snitch,” Retorted Barty a little exasperated. 

“You named your snitch little star?” Evan asked in disbelief. “Is that because you’re the big star? You’re such a nerd!” Regulus flipped his wand, the green covers on Barty’s bed slipped from beneath him and threw him on the floor. “A mean nerd.” 

Fridays could have been your favourite day of the week, your first class was at 9 rather than at 7, which meant you didn’t have to wake up remarkably early, even if you were still doing practice flying with James and Sirius. And although classes didn’t end early, your last class was among your favourites, and the one before lunch was Magic Theory, which meant more time to spend playing around. The real problem was the 9 am class, divination. 

You’d gotten used to Spellman, and it seemed like he had also gotten used to you. The pressure that he seemed to be putting on you at the beginning of the course had slowly dissipated, and even if you still had good grades in his class, since you’d seen most divination techniques with your previous teacher, he seemed to focus a lot more on Sybil, which you were insanely grateful for.

And unlike you, Sybil seemed to actually want to pursue a career in divination, which Spellman supported as dutifully as any good teacher would. 

“Hey!” She said as you walked inside. You had a bottle of almost boiling green tea in hand since the day had been pretty chilly while flying and even after Lily cast that warming charm over your coat, you were still shivering slightly. 

“Hi!” you retorted with a smile as you sat beside her. Since that one class when you’d gotten paired, you had been working together on every single class, which you thought was excellent. 

Sybil’s father, Deplhus Trelawney, was an unofficial member of the order, and he’d told Sybil what’d happened at the party. Besides, it didn’t take an empath to notice how it had flipped your world almost upside down. So she avoided the basic “How did your break go?” question since she knew it would be a terrible one. It was obvious that it had gone mostly like shit. It did make her feel better that you looked like you were coping, whoever it was that you were. 

“Want some tea? It’s got a little bit of milk.” 

“Sure,” she said with a smile and pulled a mug from the cupboard. Those were technically for divination, but some students used them every once in a while for their morning coffee, and since that was the one thing that kept some awake, Spellman allowed it. As you served she noticed the wand you’d placed on the side of your desk. She stared at it for a second and then turned back to you. 

“I can explain that,” you rushed out, almost stumbling with your words. 

“I’m glad you have it,” she said with a smile. “I’d hate it if it had been lost at their hands.” 

“You know about–” 

“I know enough,” she replied. “We don’t have to talk about that, though.” 

You nodded with a small smile, “Thanks.” 

“Nothing to thank me for,” she said simply. 

“How was your break?” you asked. 

“We stayed home,” she responded. “We had dinner and then a small tea ceremony at New Year’s. Grandma thinks it’s the best way to start the year.”

“Doesn’t she read your star chart? Mine used to do that.” 

“Oh certainly.” 

“Anything good?” 

“She said this might be the year my talents finally bloom,” Sybil said sceptically. “She’s a brilliant divinator on everything else, but she’s been telling me that since I was 13.” 

You laughed. “My mom she–” There was a small hesitation before you continued. Still not used to living in a world where she didn’t. You’d been in boarding schools since you were eleven, and although you were relatively used to her absence, it had never been this long without a letter, or a message, or any type of contact. “She used to say that it was going to be the year I got good at herbology every year.” 

“Did it ever happen?” 

“Still waiting,” you retorted with a half smile. “She, on the other hand, is– was really good at it. We used to have a stunning garden, and she’d often get angry about me plucking her stuff for make believe potions.” 

She was about to say something when Professor Spellman walked inside the classroom, his robe trailing behind him in that elegant manner that it tended to have whenever he walked inside a room. “This is not a picnic Miss Doxon, please put your cookies in your bag or I’ll vanish them.” 

“‘M sorry,” she retorted as she placed one of the cookies in her mouth and placed the rest on her bag. 

Spellman nodded, walking straight to the middle of the classroom before eying everyone. “How long have we kept this sitting arrangement?” he asked. 

“Most of the year,” responded a Ravenclaw boy. “I was actually wondering if we would change soon.” 

“Divination is often done better when you keep your partner, it becomes easier since you already know a good deal about them,” Sybil said.

“So we’re not changing?” asked Beth.

“Not quite,” Spellman said later. “Although we have had some wonderful pairs so far, for this class in particular it’s better to work with someone to whom you’ve never divined before.” 

You threw a look at Sibyl who just shrugged. She was curious about who she’d be divining for. Hoping it wouldn’t be someone to closed off to the art, which was, unfortunately, rather common.

“What are we going to work with, Professor?” asked Tom. 

“Spanish Deck,” he replied rather somberly. 

You looked up at him as if you were a deer trapped in headlights. Reading someone’s cards was something you thought you’d ever have to do again. Sybil looked at you apprehensively. “Sir, can I keep working with my partner? I think we’re both quite–” 

“I’m sorry Sybil, It is not possible, your deep knowledge of each other might taint the cards.”

“But we’re all friends,” said Tom. “We all have a pretty deep knowledge of each other.”  

“Not in divination,” said Spellmam calmly. “Please, stand up and make two lines. The left will take runes from this side and the right from this one.” 

You walked into the line in which Sybil wasn’t, but Spellman caught it and put the two of you in the same line seconds later. “I’m sorry, but you cannot be in the same team,” he said to you as he placed his hand on your shoulder and lightly pushed you to the other line. 

As you walked through the line, you crossed your fingers, almost begging the gods of chance that you didn’t get anyone you were close to.  You took your stone, it was one of the trickiest characters in the Norse Alphabet. Two lines with an X in the middle: degaz. 

“I’ve got Isa,” said Sybil, who got paired with Lily. 

“I have Jara,” said Sirius, and ended up with Tom. 

“It’s an R,” said Peter. 

“Do you mean Raido?” asked Remus as he showed him his stone, the two of them got together. 

Marlene and Mary were paired with some Ravenclaws and Beth with one of her roommates. You thought you were safe, that you wouldn’t have to read the fortune of any of your friends when James pulled his stone up in the air and asked. “Does anyone have Degaz?” 

You closed your eyes in defeat, a small frown adorning your face as you opened them again. “Me,” you said as you lifted your stone.

“Lovely,” James said as he approached you with a smile. “Have you ever read the Spanish Deck?” 

“Yeah,” you responded. “But I’d much rather be the one that gets a read and not the other way around?” 

“Sure,” James said with a shrug and a nod. He could tell there was something that made you uneasy, and while he didn’t really care for getting his cards read, it wasn’t a huge deal for him to do the reading. 

Spellman flipped his wand and the chairs changed their places, they were now one in front of the other instead of side by side.  “Please take your seats,” he said. “The books on Spanish Deck will be on your desks shortly.” 

Since Lily and Sybil took the chair you normally used, James and you walked towards the one in the back where he usually sat with Sirius. 

“Please shuffle the cards, Madame,” he said after he dug his finger into the flap of the side of the small box, pulled them out and moved the whole deck towards you. “These are kind of worn, though,” he said as he spotted some scribblings on the side of one and flipped it back into place. 

“It’s better when they are,” you said as you took them in your hands. You started to shuffle them mindlessly, not bothering to look at them while you spoke. “The more time they’ve been shuffled the more magic they’re imbued with. Of course, it’s better when the deck belongs to one witch and not the entire school, since that can make them a bit unpredictable but either way, the older they are, the better they become at–” 

“How are you doing that?” James asked as you flipped the cards from one side to the other, he seemed completely enthralled by the way you were shuffling them.  “Since when can you shuffle like this? Why didn’t I know?” 

“Oh,” you said as you finally noticed what you were doing. “They made me read these a lot in my older school. I got fidgety sometimes. Tarot too, but you can’t shuffle them as much since they’re thicker.”

“Still they’re easier to read,” James said as he flipped through some of the pages in the book that had floated towards the table a few minutes earlier. “These all have so many different meanings. I mean the 2 of clubs means that you might travel but the third means love, and the 6 means despondency and destruction. It makes zero sense.” 

“The third kind of does,” you said as you pulled out the card for him to see. Three clubs tied to each other with a thick ribbon. “Doesn’t it remind you of the ties and connections related to love?” 

“I don’t know…” James responded with a shrug, “I guess it kind of does.” 

You flipped the card back into the deck and shuffled it by splitting it into two smaller lots, placing them on the table, taking one end and allowing cards from both sides to fall on the table at the same time, having them entwine together, and then turning your hands and flipping them all into one single stack. 

“That’s it,” James said as you handed them back to him. “You’ll be the dealer next time we play cards, no objections.” You laughed and shook your head as he looked back at the book. He placed them on the table again. “Please divide them in three.” 

You did, and afterwards knocked on each stack once as you said “For me, For my past and for what I’d like to know.” 

“Oh, thanks,” James said when he noticed what you’d done. “Uh… Which type of throw was that for?” 

“Gypsy, that’s a 9 by 4.” You responded. “You throw them starting on the left, and when you’re done with that row you continue on the right, making a long chain, or a snake, I suppose.” 

James gave you a small side smirk and started placing the cards one by one, facing him. When he was done he looked up at you, adjusting his glasses and biting the side of his cheek. 

“Well go on,” you said. 

“It says you can assign cards to people…” 

“I’m the 8 of swords,” you told him. “I’m always the 8 of swords.”

“Why?” Asked James curiously. 

“I’ve been told it represents me,” you retorted.

“Ah, it’s because you’re stubborn,” he said as he found the page with the card’s explanation. 

“It’s perseverance, Prongs!” 

“Perseverance, tenacity, stubbornness… they’re all the same thing in different degrees of intensity.” 

You laughed as you shook your head. “Fine then, you’re here,” he pointed at the card. “And this throw is about your past, right?” 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “At least on this technique, we’re supposed to make three throws.” You looked back at the cards. “What do you see?” 

“Eh, well… you look… sad,” he said as he noticed the sheer amount of clubs beside your card. There was a 6 right next to you, and on the other side, there was a four of swords. “That means trouble, right?” He asked as he pointed at it. 

“Yeah,” you said, being completely appalled and in deep sorrow was quite on par with how you’d been not too long ago. 

“There’s also a– a trip,” he started, pointing at the 2 of clubs below you, and just under that there was a 6 of cups. “Cups!” he said excitedly. “Cups are meant to be good, right?” 

“Not those,” you said. “It’s a trip to melancholy, sadness over bad memories,” you explained, which was also quite accurate, and not new to either of you. 

“Right, but next to these swords we have a three of clubs, that means love, yeah?” 

“But it’s next to the swords that indicate trouble,” you said as you pointed at the swords next to it. “It means trouble with relationships. And that 5 of swords on the other side, with the middle sword pointing straight towards the clubs? It means break up and changes.” 

“Are you kidding me?” he asked in disbelief. “Is there anything good on this throw?” There was a small minute of silence before he spoke again. “This one has to mean something good, there’s a lot of gold at the top. And sixes are bad, but that’s to the top left, so it means that the bad stuff was in the past, right?” 

“Yeah, 6 of gold means problems, but it’s next to an 8 that’s right on top of me.” 

“That means–” he flipped through some pages. “thought and reflection, and that has a 5 of gold afterwards, which means settlement, and resolution. And… you have to hear this: The discovery of a significant emotional bond.” 

“Must have been the mirror,” you said as you looked at the coins. “And the fact that I figured the whole thing out with Remus and Sirius.” 

“Are they here?” he asked as he looked at the cards.  

“Probably,” you responded as you looked around. “Must be these two, look,” you said as you pointed at the gold knight, whose face was turned towards you from your down left, and the knight of swords who was next to him. “See how the horses are looking at each other but they’re avoiding each other’s gaze?” 

“Mhm,” James nodded. 

“It’s because they’re in love, the horse represents their heart’s true desires, I think. The 4 of cups under Remus represent his… um… desire. And the 4 of clubs under Sirius represent his resistance to it.” 

“You really are good at this,” he said as he stared at the throw. “You see anything else?” 

“No, you?” 

“Well this Ace of clubs and 9 of swords together mean something bad,” he said pointing at the cards that were beside the 6 of cubs you got at first. “And there’s a person right above them, a Jack of Gold, that represents a woman, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “9 of swords and ace of clubs can mean a life-altering situation.” 

“And if they’re next to a 4 of swords,” he read, “It can even mean dea–” 

“Must be Nina,” you said, pointing at the Jack. “Jack of Gold often represents a fair woman, clever. Suits her, doesn’t it?” 

He looked at you, apprehension in his eyes as he rolled his tongue over his cheek. “Should we go for the next throw?” he offered. 

“Yes,” you said, turning back to him. “These are not the fondest of my memories.” 

“You can read mine if you want instea–” 

“No,” you said almost too quickly, interrupting James mid-sentence.  “I mean, this is fine. I much prefer being on this side of the deck.” 

“You never liked divination much, did you?” He asked as he gathered the rest of the cards. 

“Not much,” you admitted. “It’s a family thing,” you said. “Nan always divined for bad things, my mum for goods, and I always get the bad stuff too.” 

“Maybe you don’t look for the good?”

“Trust me, I look for the good. But for some reason, I still get the bad stuff.” 

“Well then, I’ll be your seer,” he said as he passed you a bunch of cards. “Please, shuffle them again,” he added solemnly.

“You really could open your own reader stand,” you said with a laugh. “He didn’t look much like a “seer” but with the right clothing? Perhaps switching his school robes and his go-to red Converse with something like Professor Spellman’s clothes. Maybe some gold bracelets and a fake earring. He could definitely pull off the look. 

“You’re staring at me weird,” he said as you placed the cards on the table and divided them into three smaller stacks. 

“For me, for my present, and for what I’d like to know,” you said while knocking on the stacks and then turned to him. “I was just imagining you on a dress.” 

“Why?” he asked as he narrowed his eyes on you.

“For the authentic seer look,” you said with a shrug.

He hummed unsatisfactorily in return and started throwing your cards. “You know,” he started as he placed a king of clubs, “I look delightful in a dress.” 

“Bet.” 

“Honest,” he said as he placed yet another card onto the floor. “I have mean calves and a nice waist.” 

“Yeah?” you asked, trying not to laugh. 

“Some need corsets for a nice waist, I got mine with hours of quidditch.” 

“Fascinating!” 

“Yes and–” he turned to you, noticing the small smile creeping on your lips. “Are you making fun of me?” 

“I’d never dream of it,” you retorted. 

“You ARE making fun of me,” he said with a pout, and placed another card on the pile. He was near the beginning of the third row. “Ah look, it’s you.” 

“James,” you said and he turned to you while keeping another eye on the cards. “Have you ever worn a dress?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a simple nod. “For Halloween, and I also once lost a dare with Sirius.” 

“The two of you wore dresses?” 

“Mhm, medieval stuff, Peter and Remus made us do a catwalk and we had to wear them for a whole Weekend.”

“I would pay to see that,” you said with a laugh. “Are there any photos?” 

“I think Remus must have taken some,” he said with a shrug. “Okay, done.” 

You turned to look at the cards and almost laughed at the fact that both Remus and Sirius were right beside you. Their horses looking at you, and right on top of the three was the three of clubs. “Well, seems like you have quite a happy relationship,” he said. 

“Yeah, you said, looking at the cards. This time around there was a lot more Gold and cups around. That meant good things. 

“That’s Victory, right?” he pointed at the ace of golf right underneath you. 

“Indeed, and it’s next to–”

 He checked the book, “–5 of gold, which means well-being and on the opposite, there is, oh,” he frowned. “A 7 of swords…” 

“Those are good, actually,” you told him. “It means hope, and it’s right under Remus, so…” 

“Right,” James said as he remembered, his hazel eyes almost sparkling. “It means you’ve found someone who gives you the confidence to believe in a better future.” You smiled. That was certainly who Remus was for you. 

“There’s also a cup next to the love clubs,” he said as he tried to remember what that meant. “The Ace.” 

“It stands for home, and family. The fact that it has the three clubs on the left and the 7 of cups on the right also means good things.” 

You agreed with a small “hum” as he revised the book. 

“It also says it means fullness of plenitude.” He read something and smirked. “Do you feel like your deepest darkest desires have been fulfilled?” 

“Prongs.” You warned.

“I mean I’m just asking based on what I see here… Talking about cups, do you know what this one means?” he asked as he pointed to the 4 beside the nine of clubs.  The card in question had 4 gold and red cups, one in each corner, and read “Naipe Color Oro” in the centre. 

“Instincts,” you said almost a little too fast. 

“And carnal desires,” James added with a smirk. “And this one right here,” he pointed at the clubs, “it’s satisfaction… and would you look at that, right beside  you and the boys. Now I might be getting carried away, but does this not mean that you’re all giving each other satisfaction in regards of carnal desires?” 

“Prongs, please!” you whined as you covered your face with your hands. 

He chuckled and then raised both hands in defeat. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that this one looks much better than the previous one.” He then cleared his throat. “Right at the top of this line,” he pointed at the one with you on it. “There is a 4 of gold. The fact that it’s crowning the love cubs, you and the ace of golds right at the bottom means that there is an overall wellness in your love life.” 

“And the three of swords beside it?” 

“I think it’s a bad card, but not with what’s surrounding it. “It’s in between two positive ores,” he said as he checked his notes. “Gratifications, success and wellness, so I think it means, in the long run, you’ll be all right.” 

“Am,” you corrected. “This is about the present.” 

“But isn’t this one about the future?” he said as he pointed at the three of swords. 

“Not in the present throw,” you said. “It’s tricky, it can mean anything from years to days.” 

“But at least for now, it does mean good stuff, right?” 

“Yes, it does,” you said with a small smile and a nod. 

“Could this victory also be about quidditch?” He asked as he pointed at the ace underneath you. 

“I guess,” you said with a shrug. “But there’s still some time before the match, isn’t it? We’re not playing until May, depending on the sores they get in February and March.” 

“Shh,” he said as he shook his head. “I’m the seer, I think it means a Quidditch victory.” 

You shrugged, “Whatever you say Prongs… Just don’t write something like that on the quizzes.” 

“Have you been doing the dream interpretation homework?” he asked as he continued staring at the cards, trying to find something else. But he couldn’t find anything else that would be relevant, so he started gathering them in a single stack again. 

“I haven’t had many dreams lately,” you said. “Not since the darkness in the Ravenclaw tower.” 

“You… you dreamed of darkness in the tower?” 

“Yeah, I thought it was my imagination, but I guess it made sense… I’m making up most of the rest, though.”

“You’re making your dreams up?” 

“I found this book on dream interpretation in the library and I have been using it as inspiration,” you said with a shrug. 

“It’s time for the throw about the future,” he said as he offered you the stack again. 

“I’d rather not,” you said as you shook your head and pushed the cards back at him. 

“Things look good now, I’d rather not worry about what the future may hold.” 

“But–”

“If I had gotten a throw like the one I got in the past 5 months ago, I would have been scared shitless…” you said. “You know what I mean, right?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe we can make something up for the report?” 

“Like what?” you asked with a smile. 

 “I definitely see a quidditch win in your future,” he said with a smile.

“And how does that look?” 

“Wait…” he said as he looked through the stack and placed the 8 of swords on the table, followed by a knight of clubs, who he then switched with a jack of swords and added a knight of ores to your right. “So that’s me,” he pointed at the clubs. “Marlene and, of course, Padfoot,” he explained. 

“Aha…” you said with a smile. 

He then flipped through the cards until he found the two of clubs and placed it next to himself. “I am leading you all,” he added the ace of gold right next to that. “To victory.” 

You laughed and took a bunch from the stack in his hands. “This is Lily,” you said as you took the Jack of cups and placed it under him. You’re both standing over the love clubs,” you said as you raised your eyebrows at him in a teasing manner. “And look what’s above you, two of cups, you know what that means?” 

“You can’t predict Lily and I having children in your future!” 

“What do you mean I can’t? They’ll be my nephews and nieces, of course, I can predict that!” 

James humped in reply. “Well then,” he said as he spotted Remus and placed him underneath you. Then, on your top right corner, he added the four of cups. “You and the boys are having mighty fun as well.” 

“You’re such a dumbass,” you said as you looked for another card to add. Next to the victory you placed the ace of cups. “Means we’re a family.” 

“And,” he placed the 5th of cups under the family, “we’ll celebrate the victory tremendously.” 

“With gratification,” you said as you placed the 7 of gold underneath it. 

Your little game went on until the two of you had designed a wonderfully looking future. Your friends were all around you, Beth. Peter and Tom had been added close to the celebration, and most of the clubs and swords were as far away from all of you as possible, except for the few that weren’t. 

“Why are there so many cards missing? asked Spellman as he approached your table. 

“Ugh… because…” Prongs started. 

“It’s a celt-fae throw,” you said. “It’s a little tricky to make, and I’m trying to remember how to do it, teaching James in the process.” 

“Celt-fae?” he asked with a frown. 

“Yeah, my Nan taught me,” you nodded confidently. 

Spellman placed a hand under his chin and hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll see if we have some books on that in the library,” he added before walking towards someone else’s table. 

“You just made that whole thing up, didn’t you?” James asked you in a whisper. 

You laughed as you nodded, “I most definitely did.” 

“How long do you reckon he’ll be at the library looking for it?” 

You shrugged and then remembered that Sirius and Remus had told you about Spellman going to the forbidden section that one time. “More than one night, at least…” 

James shook his head while the two of you finished the future you’d like to have. “Does two cups mean two children?” he asked casually. 

“Just means children in general,” you retorted. “Why?” 

“I don’t know, I quite fancy the idea of having two of them.” 

“Yeah?” you asked as you tilted your head. “Boys or girls?” 

“I wouldn’t care,” he said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t mind one of each I guess. Imagine me braiding a little Lily’s hair.” 

“If it’s anything like our Lily, she might not let you touch it.” 

“She wouldn’t let anybody but me, touch it,” he retorted confidently. “And Lily, of course.” 

“Of course,” you laughed at the way he’d added that, almost as an afterthought. 

James scribbled something on a sheet of parchment and then passed it over to you. “What do you think?” 

You reviewed the parchment, it was a rather detailed writing of everything that you’d done that day, he had even made some stuff up regarding the fae-celt technique that was so realistic you had to do a double take “Oh, wow,” you said. “It looks like taken from a book.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a pleased smile. “Even if he doesn’t find anything, he’ll still think it’s a thing.” 

“Who knows, perhaps we’ve just made up a new way of predicting the future,” you added with a shrug.

You added just a few more details that you’d seen on the past and present readings, with some drawings of the most relevant or telling cards and looked at the page once more, pulling it back and showing it to James, “What do you think?” 

“It’s great!” he said with a simple nod, and the two of you stood up and walked towards Spellman’s desk. You handed over the paper while James placed the deck, and the book, along with the rest of the stuff. 

“How did it go?” asked Spellman, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Good,” you replied with a simple nod. You knew it hadn’t been his choice, but having been paired with James perhaps had been a saving grace. With his constant teasing and fooling around, and the fact that he was the one reading and not the other way around, you’d managed to escape what would have otherwise been a torturous situation.

He nodded at you calmly and told you and James that, since you were finished, you could exit the classroom. You stopped by Remus and Peter on the way out. Peter was incredibly confused as he looked in between the cards and the book, biting the side of his cheek as he looked at Remus completely appalled. 

“What does this even mean?” 

“May I?” you asked as you approached him, “Whose reading for whom?”               

“I’m the seer,” said Remus. “I’ve told him it’s nothing but he’s worried he’ll die.” 

You frowned and leaned over the cards, looking at them with a small analysing frown as you placed yourself beside Remus, your side brushing against his shoulder. “Present?” 

“Future,” answered Peter. “See those two? those are death!” 

“Are you supposed to be the Knight of Clubs or the Jack of Gold?” you asked as you looked at the two cards underneath the apparent death. 

“He’s the Knight of Swords,” Remus said, there was a slight hint of exasperation in his voice as if he had already told Peter the exact same thing. 

“But even then, not in a much better situation either, am I?” he asked as he pointed at his spot, near the top middle, leaning to the left.  “I’m surrounded by bad cards!” 

You sighed, “It looks like there are some weird things going on, like you’re going to have a fallout with some friends,” you said as you pointed at the Three of Cups being pointed at by an Ace of Swords from below and a Seven from the side. “That could make you or others feel dejected and upset. 

“But, even if you are a little upset, or perhaps sick, it seems like in the end, you’ll be somehow fulfilled with the choice you made,” you continued, studying the cards again. It was as if they were trying to tell you something. Peter was right, there was certainly something ominous about his throw but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know either. Your worst predictions often came true, and you didn’t want anything bad to happen to Peter; he was your friend. 

“You think?” 

“Yeah, and look,” you said, pointing at the diagonal line from his left. “It seems that you will eventually submit to something or someone, and you won’t feel too sad about the stuff that went down either, since you’ll still have a friend you consider home,” you said pointing at the King of Gold and at the Ace of Cups at the end of the line. 

“That means I’ll be fine?” 

You looked at the cards again. There were dark things in them that you didn’t want to think too much about, something baleful that you could feel and not quite see. If you had thrown them, perhaps it would have been easier, and although your magic had always been compatible with Remus’, readings were extremely delicate, and only the main seer could predict things with accuracy –if they were good. 

“Yeah,” you said reassuringly. “You’ll be fine, Pete.”  

“Told you so!” Said Remus as he rolled his eyes and wrote some things down in his notebook. “You’re perfectly safe in this throw.”

“That’s quite reassuring,” Peter said with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” James said as he looked at the cards with a smile and patted Peter’s shoulder cheerfully. “See you in Magic Theory in a bit, yeah?” he said as he looked at the two of them.

“Sure,” Peter said as he started writing down the throw he’s gotten. 

You smiled at the two of them, turning to Remus with slight complicity before giving his shoulder a soft squeeze and walking outside with James. It was a simple way of telling him you loved him, and you knew he’d gotten the message with the small smile he returned.

“You think I showed up on Lily’s read?” He asked as he turned back to take a look at her once you reached the doors.

You looked at the way Lily was looking at her cards, there was a light tinge of red in her cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile, “She must have.” 

“That’s good,” James said as he turned back towards the hall. “You should ask what she got at lunch.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“So you can tell me all about it in practice later,” he said as if it were obvious. “Now that you’re dating Moons, I’m your best friend, which means it is your duty to help me.” 

“I’m not going to tell you everything that Lily says about you, James.” 

“I can tell you everything that Sirius and Remus say about you in exchange–” 

“No thank you,” you interrupted with a half laugh. “If either of them want me to know something, they’ll tell me themselves. And so will Lily with you.”

“I don’t know about that…” 

“James,” you said, turning to him, causing the two of you to stop. “Do you really think she would stay quiet if something was bothering her? Lily Evans?”  

He tilted his head to the side as he exhaled. “But what if her cards mentioned about us having children? What if they told her whether it’d be a boy or a girl?” 

“I think your imagination is getting out of hand, Prongsie.” 

“Is it impossible?” he asked. You were now near the stairs. 

You thought about it for a second. A Two of Cups plus a character person could definitely predict at least some of the basic traits of a future child, but it would be too complicated to spot, and it would require a lot of suppositions. “Well, technically it isn’t impossible but–” 

“See! She wouldn’t tell me that!” 

“Because then you wouldn’t stop talking about it, Prongs, so it makes sense that she–” Suddenly you were yanked by the arm from the side. Perhaps it was more like an intentioned pull, but since you were walking so intently while looking almost solely at James, it felt like a way sharper pull than intended. 

You turned to look at the hand grabbing onto your arm before looking at the owner. “We need to talk.” 

“Hey!” James said as he snapped Evan’s hand from your arm. “That’s no way to treat a Lady!” As if he hadn’t yanked you way harder on multiple occasions while playing Quidditch. His dislike for the Slytherin was obvious, and any excuse would do. 

Evan looked at James dismissively, as if he was nothing more than a nuisance, which was a lot coming from someone who had shied away from him with one look. “Don’t meddle, Potter,” Evan hissed. He then called your last name. “We need to talk.” 

He had said that last bit in such an urgent manner, that you felt compelled to listen, even if Barty leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his annoyed expression hadn’t made you any more eager to do it than you were to go back and read someone’s cards from scratch.

“Just leave us alone, Rosier!” James said as he took a step forward.

“It’s okay, Prongs,” you said with a nod. “I’ll see what he has to say.” 

“Sure?” 

“Yeah,” you replied confidently. Prongs stood by your side, waiting. 

Evan cleared his throat. “Do you mind?” he asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as he was.

James threw Evan a look and took a few steps backward, crossing his arms over his chest as he spotted Barty walking towards you. 

You hadn’t talked to either of them since Christmas, regardless they had saved you, and since they had, you assumed the chances of them attacking you outright, were minimal. “So?” 

“Hope you’re feeling better,” Evan said, as politely as he could. Then he hesitated and turned to Barty, as if he wanted his help with whatever it was he had to say. There was a rather tense silence, Barty rolled his eyes and turned to you. 

“Your boyfriend is cheating on you.” You were startled by the information, so much so that you didn’t even react before he spoke again. “With your best friend.” 

Evan turned to Barty, with what looked like shock. “We weren’t gonna tell her that!” 

“I thought we were,” Barty said with a shrug. 

“What?” Was the only thing you managed to respond.

“Remus and Sirius,” Evan said, he looked apologetic, like he thought it wasn’t right to tell you but at the same time it was the only right thing to do. 

“Snape saw them, they were shagging in the Prefect’s Bathroom.” 

Oh, you thought, you had been there. You couldn’t possibly tell them that, could you? 

“Snape told you this?” 

“And he wanted to tell the entire school, make you feel miserable in the process,” Barty said. 

“You’d understand why we couldn’t allow that to happen, right? Same reason you helped me with my father?” 

“I–”

“We obliviated him,” Barty said with a small proud smirk, almost imperceptible. He knew it was a complicated spell. “I didn’t want to tell you, but Evan insisted.” 

“Right,” you said with a breath. “I– uh… I knew about that.” 

“You knew they were cheating?” Evan asked, surprised, but in a whisper. 

“No, I mean… They weren’t cheating.” 

“So you’re their cover?” he asked, still confused. “I thought–” 

“Not quite,” you said, before realising you could have just left them with that thought. 

“What?” 

Barty narrowed his eyes at you, and then he let out a breathy chuckle, sliding his tongue on the side of his cheek before looking to the side and shaking his head. He knew. 

“Evan, Luv.” He said, the smug smile he had did not disappear as he spoke. “It seems she has an arrangement with them.”

“An arrangement?”

“The three of them are into each other,” Barty said confidently. And then there was another sharp intake of breath. “Now that I think about it, she was more surprised that Severus told us than about the fact that they’d been shagging.” He smiled. “Why do you think that is?” 

“She knew,” Evan breathed. 

“Perhaps,” Barty said as he took a step closer. He wasn’t as tall as Evan, and even Reggie was taller, but you suspected he was still going to stretch. “She was there.” 

You kept your face as stoic as you could. Two more people to add to the list of those who knew, or rather, figured it out. “I appreciate the fact that you decided to tell me about it.” Barty raised an eyebrow. “And the fact that you obliviated that snake–” 

Evan hissed, and Barty mouthed “careful”. 

“–Severus,” you corrected. “For me.” 

“You’re welcome,” Barty retorted cockily. 

“It was nothing,” Evan said, much more politely. 

“I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t talk about the thing that we– you know, the thing.” 

“That you’re all fucking each other?” Barty asked nonchalantly and got a small slap on his arm from Evan. 

You didn’t respond, just looked at him with slight exasperation. He knew how to get under your skin. 

“We won’t say a thing,” Evan said with a small nod. “We’ll follow your example.” 

“Thank you,” you said, looking at him and nodding slightly. He shrugged in return. You turned towards James, who was looking at the two of them with a mix of hatred and curiosity. “I have class, now,” you added as you pointed towards James. 

Barty smiled. “Tell them to fuck themselves from my part when you see them,” he said as he waved. You turned to him with a rather pissed look and he smiled, adding, much lower this time, “Or each other.” 

“Everything all right? What’s that all about?” James said as soon as you reached him.

“They know,” you said with a tired sight.

“They know what?” 

“The details of my relationship,” you finished. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Hey kiddos! I'm finally back! Took me some time but GC is returning with it's regular schedule at least until the middle of December. Also, I wanted to inform you guys that there is a proofreading position open for GC (Proofreaders usually get to read chapters a week in advance, so DM me if you're interested).

Leave a comment telling me if you wanna be tagged on Gilded Constellations

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[daisyvisions]

✦ Day 19 - Face F*cking

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: academic rival!Changmin x afab!reader

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 1.8K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), will consider this a dark fic, face fucking, blowjob, blackmail (sexual favor - don't read if triggering) , mean!changmin, slight fingering and mentions of it, slight handjob and ball massaging, dacryphilia?, some graphic descriptions, names used (sweetheart, whore, slut, good girl - wow that's the whole quad), a bunch of swearing, reader is basically being used here, let me know if I missed any more! Proofread once, will edit later if needed.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: Did not expect how this one turned out if I’m completely honest, but here you go! This was fun to write, different tone than what I usually do! Fun fact, story was based on this little Tumblr game I did long time ago.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

✦ Kinktober Masterlist ✦

“Love me or hate me, both are in my favour.”

A picture quote you mindlessly scrolled pass as you were on your phone taking a break from a paper that was due at midnight. It’s not that you procrastinated this specific essay. In fact, you could even do it in your sleep. That’s just how fast your brilliant brain works.

Today just seemed like any other normal day. Wake up, go to school, come back home, the usual routine. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. But not even your brain could conjure up the events that were about to unfold in three… two… one…

Ding dong.

You looked up from your phone, eyebrows knitting together in confusion from the sound of your front door ringing. Who could it possibly be? You didn’t plan any hangouts with friends nor did you order any takeout for dinner. You think for a moment to check if you had any deliveries coming in-

Ding dong.

You got up from your chair and placed your phone down on the desk to answer the door. As soon as you swing it open your eyes slowly look up to meet another pair of eyes you were definitely not expecting to see at all.

His figure leaning against the doorframe like the men you read in your books. But only this time, you wanted to punch him.

“Hey sweetheart. Missed me?” He smirks down at you.

“Changmin? What the hell are you doing here?” You question.

“I could ask myself the same thing-” He suddenly walks into your hallway uninvited. You scoff at his rudeness (not that you were surprised, he’s always like this with you anyway.)

“Cozy-” His eyes survey the room. “-didn’t expect you to live in a place like this especially with that icy attitude of yours.” He turns his heel to face you, you roll your eyes as you close the door and walk towards him, meeting in the middle of your living room.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“No need to get aggressive, just here to collect that favor you owe me.”

“Favor? I don't owe you any favors what the hell are you talking about?” Your patience wearing thin as his words dance around you instead of getting straight to the point.

“Oh… you don't remember?” His eyes gleam with a hint of mischief. “Let me refresh your memory then-” He turns his back to you as he walks towards the couch and plops himself down, instantly manspreading and getting comfy as if were his own home.

“If I can remember correctly, you owe me a favor from helping ward off that jackass during Younghoon’s party. Grabbing my arm and pretending I was your boyfriend so that he could fuck off. Ringing any bells?”

“Yeah, and I thanked you for it-”

“No no no. You didn’t thank me.” He interrupts you. “You said ‘Never doing this again but I owe you one.’”

“That counts as a thank you-”

“C’mon now sweetheart. You’re smarter than that.” His black orbs staring you down, slowly making you feel unsettled. He suddenly gets up from his seat and walks towards you like a predator, slowly walking you backwards until your back hits the wall.

“Enough stalling. I’m here to cash in my favor now.” His hand resting at the side of your head.

“W-what did you have in mind?” Your voice slightly shaking. His other hands lifts to hold your chin before the corner of his lips slowly curl upward.

“On your knees…”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes widen. Did he just-

“Are we speaking two languages? On your knees. Or else…”

“Or else what?” You try to play it cool and hide the fear coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, Changmin pulls out his phone, plays the video in his gallery, and shows it to you. You were like a deer caught in the headlights as soon as you saw the figure moving through the tiny screen. Said figure was moaning and playing with themselves like some kind of homemade porn.

It was you. It was a video of you touching yourself.

“Give that to me!” You try to reach for his phone, but Changmin already anticipated your moves by holding the phone high up beyond your reach.

“Nuh-uh. I didn't say you could touch my phone now did I?”

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Panic and anger radiating from your body.

“I have my ways.” He smiled at you as if he surprised a friend at their birthday. But this was not a gift at all.

“That was for my ex’s eyes only. How. Did. You. Get. It?” You attempt to reach for phone once again.

“Well, he's not the smartest of the bunch. Seriously you dated that idiot? Expected more from you.” He says with a disappointed tone.

“Changmin this isn’t funny. Delete that NOW!” You demand him.

“No can do sweetheart. Grant me my favor and I’ll consider. If you don’t, this hot as fuck video will be played in the auditorium for everyone to see. How will the whole school think of their precious little valedictorian now?”

As you look into his eyes, you could already tell he’s not playing around. You would know this, you see that look every time he would try to win against you. And you can’t put your whole reputation down the line. Not like this.

You gulp down the saliva in your throat and let out probably the biggest sigh of defeat you’ve ever uttered your life. You pulled the hair tie out that was on your wrist and hastily tied your hair as you sink down to your knees, looking up at him with the face of disgust.

“Such a good girl. Was that so hard?” He coos at you. “Now, get to it before I change my mind.”

You hesitate for a moment before you reach out your hand to touch his bulge. Your eyes widen in surprise and confusion as soon as you touch his already hard member.

“But you’re alrea-”

“What? You think I didn’t already touch myself watching your video?” He says this like it’s common knowledge. “Needed something to work with. And trust me, it fucking worked.” He smirked down at you.

“You’re disgusting.” You grimace at him.

“And you’re taking way too slow.” Changmin unbuckles his pants and instantly pulls out his cock from his boxers.

If anyone told you your rival’s dick was rock hard right in front of your face, you would’ve vomited. But here you are, in this exact scenario. His cock flushed pink with a hot mushroom tip oozing out with what you probably thought was the most delicious pearls of precum you’ve ever seen.

“If you want this done quick, you better listen to what I say got it?” He raises his eyebrow. You nod your head in response.

“Good. Now kiss it.” You immediately hold his length in your hand and close your eyes before giving the tip a light peck, already tasting him on your lips. You give another peck to his tip before kissing the under side of his cock. Planting each kiss gently but firm at the same time.

“Fuck that’s it. Keep kissing my cock.” Changmin hisses at the feeling of your soft lips. His hand resting on the wall the balance himself. He groans suddenly when he feels your other hand massaging his balls as you continue to leave hot kisses on him.

“You’re such a little tease you know that? That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Getting me so riled up all the time just wanna fuck the brat out of you.” He mumbles as he watches you.

You’re not gonna lie, hearing him dirty talk like that sends your core throbbing like a bitch in heat. You keep kissing his cock until you’re suddenly licking it, practically making out with it at this point.

And somehow you don’t even realize that you’ve stopped massaging his balls just to snake your hand under your skirt to rub little circles on your sensitive clit, trying to relieve the ache down there.

This action doesn’t go unnoticed by Changmin however, making him smile from ear to ear at the sight beneath him.

“Touching yourself now are we? You were always a selfish one.” He tuts.

“But that’s alright. I’ll allow it. Just thank me. Say it-”

You pause kissing his member to look up at him with a raised eyebrow, replacing it with your hand jerking him off.

“What?” You slightly tilt your head to the side

“Go ahead sweetheart…Thank me.” He holds your face with his free hand and places the pad of his thumb on your bottom lip.

“Thank me. Like the dirty little whore you are.” You scoff. Of all things, he’s still looking for that? His eyes go wide at your response.

“No? Rather take my cock instead of saying two simple words?” He pulls your bottom lip with his fingers, making you whimper from the slight tug.

“If you aren’t gonna thank me, then might as well treat you like a fucking slut.” As soon as Changmin says this he swats your hand away from his cock and grabs it firmly and squeezes your cheeks to open your mouth with is other hand and shoves his whole length inside.

Before you even have the time to process what’s going on, both his hands are grabbing your face as he fucks himself in your mouth.

Gluck gluck gluck.

That’s all the sounds you can hear ringing in your ears as Changmin groans in pleasure. He fucks your mouth with raw aggression, you’re sure your throat’s gonna bruise after this from how his whole length goes in and out. He’s bigger than you anticipated, making you slightly gag as small tears from fall from your eyes.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, especially when you’re like this.” He continues to fuck himself into your mouth. The way he manhandles your face as he quickens his thrusts has you getting wetter by the second.

And without warning he instantly shoots his hot load down your throat as his hips stutter. Swallowing the warm salty liquid as it infiltrates your taste buds… and it’s intoxicating.

You cough out and try to catch your breath as he pulls his cock out of your mouth, tucking it back inside his pants before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Such a good girl.” He looks down at you with a post orgasm haze in his eyes before zipping his pants up and walking towards the front door. Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“W-where are you going?” Your raspy voice calls out to him.

“You didn't think I was gonna stay did you?” He turns the knob and pulls the door open.

Before he sets a foot out of the door he looks back at you over his shoulder and smiles one last time,

“You really should've just said ‘thank you’ instead…”

[praisethegabs]

AKRASIA

ID!Professor!Leon Kennedy x Student!F!Reader

euphoria masterlist

summary: you met him during a party, and it was a one night stand for both of you. (un)fortunately, it turns out he's your new college history professor, and neither of you expected that.

warnings: age gap, reader is in college and in mid 20s while Leon is in his 30s. NSFW content, delicate to rough sex, p in v, oral receiving (both), praise kink, degradation kink (eventually), use of pet names (bunny), vaginal fingering, masturbation, cum swallowing, dom!leon and sub!reader. leon is insecure af. oc named chloe as the reader's best friend.

word count: 5684k

a/n: this is a new mini series I'm writing since I had a hard time with creative blocking, and I'm taking this very slow just in case.

AKRASIA is the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.

You sat in your cozy room in the apartment you shared with your best friend, Chloe. The pale evening light casts a warm glow over the mismatched posters adorning the walls. Your textbooks were spread out across your desk, a mountain of assignments awaiting your attention. But Chloe, your vivacious best friend, had other plans.

"Come on, my lovely pumpkin," Chloe pleaded, tossing a colorful scarf around your neck as she perched on your bed. "You can't spend another Thursday night buried in textbooks. It's the first college party of the semester, and you've been MIA for weeks!"

"Chloe, you know I have that history essay tomorrow morning. I can't afford to waste any more time." You sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"But it's not just any party, it's Jake's party! He's practically begged me to convince you to go. And you know he's got a major crush on you." Chloe's bright green eyes twinkled with mischief as she leaned closer.

Your cheeks flushed at the mention of Jake, the charismatic guy from your history class. You had caught him stealing glances at you during lectures, but you were too wrapped up in your studies to think much of it. Besides, you already had your share of a "bad girl" period. Now, you need to finish your obligations.

"I don't know, Chloe," you hesitated, twirling a pencil between your fingers. "I feel so out of my element at those parties. I used to get drunk just for fun, but I don't do that anymore"

"Sis, that's what makes you unique. Besides, I promise you'll have fun. And who knows, maybe Jake will be your study partner for that history essay or whatever you need. It's a win-win!" Chloe chuckled, tousling her auburn curls.

You bit your lip, torn between your dedication to your academics and the allure of a night filled with laughter, music, and maybe even a spark of romance. You glanced at your textbooks, then back at Chloe's eager expression.

"Okay, Chloe. I'll go to the party. But only for a couple of hours, and you owe me a serious study session tomorrow." Finally, with a hesitant smile, you relented.

"Deal! Now, let's get you ready. You're going to look stunning, and I promise you won't regret this." Chloe's face lit up with triumph as she jumped off the bed.

As you both began raiding your closet for the perfect outfit, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with a touch of nervousness. Little did you know, this college party would mark the beginning of an unforgettable chapter in your life.

After a shower, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, twirling in your black cocktail dress. Your reflection grinned back at you, the dimples on your cheeks deepening as you admired your outfit. The cocktail dress that Chloe picked up for you, which she said it looks beautiful on you. She was perched on the edge of your bed, her perfectly curled auburn hair cascading over her shoulders.

"You look amazing, sweetie" Chloe gushed, adjusting her own outfit. "This party is going to be epic!"

"Thanks, Chloe. I can't believe you really convinced me to go to this college party." You laughed, the excitement bubbling within you.

Just then, your phone chimed with a familiar notification tone. You picked it up, your heart sinking as you saw the message. It was from Matthew, your ex-boyfriend. The name alone sent a shiver down your spine.

"What is it?" Chloe asked, her eyebrows furrowing with both concern and curiosity since you had a strange expression on your face.

"Hey, I know it's been a while, but can we talk? It's important." You sighed, your fingers trembling slightly as you read the message out loud.

"Oh no, not him again. What does he want now?" Chloe's expression shifted from excitement to concern, her voice sounding annoyed for a moment. She really hated your ex.

You chewed your lower lip, feeling torn between responding and ignoring the message. You hadn't spoken to Matthew since your messy breakup a few months ago. Your relationship had ended in bitter arguments and hurtful words.

"I don't know," you replied, your voice wavering. "Maybe it's something urgent. I should at least find out."

"Honey, I've been looking forward to this party for weeks, and I had a lot of trouble to convice you to join me. You can't let him ruin our night. Besides, he had his chance to talk when you needed it." Chloe shook her head, her green eyes filled with worry, and her face with evident disapproval. She really cared about you.

You sighed again. It was really difficult to put your past behind, especially after everything you had with Matthew.

"Look, you go first, and I'll meet you there." You glanced at Chloe, hoping she would give up and just leave you to take care of your ex-boyfriend on your terms.

"Do you promise?" Chloe asks, with those big green and puppy eyes, which she did every time she wanted something.

"Yep, I promise." You nod your head and smile when Chloe screams like a little girl, hugging you tight.

As you watch Chloe leave your shared apartment, your entire attention returns to your screen. You felt a wave of buried feelings returning slowly, leaving you with the hard choice in hands. You hesitated, your phone still in your hand. You knew Chloe was right, but curiosity gnawed at you.

"I'll just send a quick reply. Let him know I can't talk right now." You muttered to yourself, deciding what was best for you at the moment. You typed out a short message, your fingers tapping the screen rapidly. "Can't talk now, Matthew. At a party. We'll talk later."

But as soon as you hit send, your phone chimed again, this time with a call from Matthew. You watched the screen light up with his name and number. Your heart raced, torn between answering and turning it off.

Instantly, you pictured the image of Chloe in front of you and what she would say at this very moment. She would, of course, curse him a lot, and then, as your best friend, she would say something like, "Ignore it, honey. You made your choice. Let's not let him ruin our night"

And again, she was completely right.

As you entered the place, the pulsating beat of music washed over you, drowning out the noise of your own doubts. The college party was in full swing, with colorful lights flashing in time with the rhythm, creating a kaleidoscope of patterns on the walls.

You weaved your way through the crowd, your heart pounding with anticipation and a hint of anxiety. Your best friend, Chloe, had convinced you to attend, promising a night of unforgettable fun. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for Chloe's familiar face amidst the sea of strangers.

You finally spotted Chloe near the makeshift bar, holding two red plastic cups filled with a mysterious concoction. Chloe grinned when she saw you and waved you over. Chloe joined you, your tension slowly giving way to excitement.

"Oh, you made it!" Chloe shouted over the music, handing you a cup. "This is the famous 'party punch.' Drink up!"

You hesitated for a moment, then took a cautious sip. The sweet, fruity mixture danced on your taste buds, and you couldn't help but smile. Chloe always had a knack for finding the best drinks.

Feeling the alcohol mess with your mind and following the rhythm of the music, you two chatted and laughed as the night went on, your voices blending with the raucous sounds of the party. You watched as people swayed to the music, their bodies moving in sync with the beat. It was a wild and chaotic scene, but there was an undeniable energy that you couldn't resist.

"Come on, let's dance!" You grabbed Chloe's hand, leading your way to the crowd, letting your body follow the flow.

You swayed to the beat of the music, your body moving sensually with the rhythm as colorful lights flashed around you. The college party was in full swing, the pounding music reverberating through the entire place as students danced and mingled. You, feeling adventurous and carefree due to the alcohol in your organism, held a red plastic cup in one hand and scanned the crowd for someone intriguing. Your eyes settled on a tall, ruggedly handsome man who stood out from the rest of the college-aged crowd.

As you glanced around the people, your eyes met those of a striking man across the dance floor.

He was, obviously, a few years older than the typical partygoer, exuded an air of maturity that drew your attention. He leaned against the wall, his brown hair falling effortlessly over his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes scanning the room with a hint of amusement. He was an enigmatic figure who seemed to easely blend into the college scene while maintaining an air of mystery. For a moment, you thought he was too old to be there, but can you blame the man for wanting some fun? Despite the age, he was very handsome.

And his eyes were locked specifically on you.

Your eyes locked for a moment, and you felt a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks. You couldn't believe that this stranger was actually looking at you. A burst of self-confidence surged within you, urging you to take action.

You couldn't resist the urge to approach him, so you casually sauntered over, a playful smile curving your lips. You didn't let their age gap deter you; after all, age was just a number, right?

With the music pulsing through your ears, you decided to seize the opportunity. Hopefully, you could put the blame on alcohol and say you weren't thinking right — despite the fact that you weren't that drunk. You made your way through the crowd, not even seeing Chloe around, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached him. The closer you got, the more you noticed his rugged charm and the intensity in his piercing blue eyes.

"Hey there," you said, your voice carrying a hint of confidence as you leaned closer to be heard over the music. "You seem like you're in the wrong party. This crowd is usually reserved for broke college kids."

"Hey," he replied, his voice just loud enough to be heard. He then leaned in closer, his expression intrigued but slowly changing. Leon turned his attention to you, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "Well, maybe I'm just here for the youthful energy. It's refreshing."

You laughed, your eyes sparkling.

"Or maybe you're just trying to relive your college days." you said, taking another generous sip on your drink. At this point, you weren't caring about anything else.

"What makes you think I'm not still in college?" Leon raised an eyebrow, his expression teasing.

"Because I've been around here long enough to recognize someone who's seen a few more semesters than the rest of us." You chuckled between another sips, leaning even closer, your faces just inches apart.

"You're perceptive, aren't you?" Leon's lips curled into a grin, and he took a sip from his own cup.

"I have my moments. So, Mr. Mysterious, what brings you to our humble party tonight?" You nodded, your flirtatious energy in full swing. At this point, you were regretting your decision to stop with alcohol because you could never talk to a man like him the way you were doing.

"Well, I heard there was someone here I couldn't resist meeting. Looks like I found her." Leon's eyes held a glint of intrigue as he leaned in slightly.

Your heart skipped a beat at his response, your flirtatious banter taking an unexpectedly genuine turn.

"You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" You asked him, feeling a sudden heat rush over your body like a wave.

"Only when I'm talking to someone as captivating as you." Leon leaned in a bit closer, his breath warm against your ear.

After a few more drinks and flirts, you decided to ask what was eating you inside. Of course, in the next morning, you wouldn't remember anything, and you could live without regrets. Chloe was having fun with a bunch of friends, so why couldn't you just do the same? You were so horny at this moment that you were willing to have fun.

"So, it was my impression, or were you practically eating me while I was dancing?" You provoked him, drinking another sip from whatever Chloe said it was.

He almost spit his drink, completely shocked by your question. The old man looks at you with curiosity, but then, a slight smirk appears on his lips. Those beautiful blue eyes that never left yours made your body shiver, and that smile, well... that smile of him almost ripped yourself in two parts.

"How presumption of yours, huh?" He replied, still smiling, his lips meeting his glass again.

"It wasn't presumption, it was true," you said back, sounding cocky; you didn't care, and you had the balls to do so.

"Well, I might have done that. Who knows?" He says, his voice softly husky, almost low, like he did on purpose to provoke you.

"Well, lucky for you, I might have enjoyed that," you said, leaning closer to his ear, enough to whisper to him and enough to make him smile.

It was amazing what alcohol did to you. Honestly, you weren't this type of slutty horny girl, but let's face the truth; your ex-boyfriend was an asshole and the last time you had sex with someone with your age, it was a terrible experience. Maybe someone older could handle the job well? And besides, you both knew you wouldn't see each other again.

"You know, this party is fun, but I have a feeling the night could get even better." He leaned closer, his voice a soft murmur in your ear, and he seemed to think the same as you.

"Oh, really? And what do you have in mind?" You turned to him, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes.

Leon grinned, his confidence growing as your connection deepened.

"How about we leave this noisy place and head to my apartment? It's not far from here, and we can continue our conversation without shouting over the music." He suggests, and you had the certain he was thinking the same thing you were.

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. The party was completely wild at this point. Everyon, with no exceptions, seemed drunk enough, but the prospect of spending more time with this stranger and handsome man seemed far more appealing. Plus, there was an undeniable attraction that had been simmering between you two all night.

"You know what? I think that's a great idea. Lead the way." You replied with a playful smile and finally decided what you wanted.

Leon offered his hand, and you took it, allowing him to guide you through the lively crowd. You both made your way out of the crowded house and into the cool night air. The stars above shone brightly, and the distant sounds of the party slowly faded into the background.

As you two walked together, Leon couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. The decision to invite you to his place had been a bold one, but it seemed like the right choice. The night was filled with possibilities, and he was eager to explore where it would lead.

When you both reach his place, it's just a matter of seconds before he grabs you by your thighs, pinning up against the wall, kissing your neck desperately. Your hands meet his hair, holding so tight that between his kisses, he groans a little.

"God, you're so beautiful" he moans softly, leaving marks on your skin, to remember you that he was there.

"Stop talking, handsome" you said, now biting his earlobe, making him moan again. You were feeling something between your legs, and you couldn't tell if it was yours or his. "And just fuck me"

"That's what I intend to do" he whispers, still holding you by your thighs, leading you to his room, not caring about the mess he did along the way.

Your body falls graciously on his mattress, and he removes your black dress, throwing it somewhere inside his room. He removes his belt so quickly, like he really wanted this. You can see his cock inside his underpants, which makes you smile.

"Do you like the view, huh?" He provoked, sucking his fingers and making them touch your already wet pussy. "Is this all for me?"

"Shit" you moan louder when you feel his fingers circling around your pussy, tasting you. You sighed with pleasure, leaning back your head, biting your lower lip.

"Don't worry, we have all night" he whispers, his wet lips meeting your skin between kisses, making your body joint and shiver.

You feel him sucking and licking your left niple, his hand holding your other breast while his other hand was still circling slowly your clit. Your moans were so loud, so pornographic that you knew his neighbor would here your scandal. But God have mercy, he was very talented with his hands.

And then, without any warnings, you finally feel him inside, slowly sliding between your legs. You groan, letting him know you needed time to adjust to his size. Your nails found their way into his skin, leaving scratches that would take time to heal — a reminder about this night.

When you feel comfortable enough with him, you nod slightly, and he starts to move between your legs, penetrating you so softly and yet so caring. His eyes observe you, sometimes his lips meeting yours in a smooth kiss, and sometimes moaning in your ear.

You follow his pace, and when you notice, he's moving faster inside you. One of his hands holding yours so tight that it's almost impossible to escape his grip — which you don't intend to do. You wouldn't mind be his bitch for a night.

"You're taking me so well" he moans again, leaving marks on your breasts and smiling as his hips hit yours harder.

"Oh, fuck..." you moan again, biting your lower lip and closing your eyes, already feeling a wave of pleasure running through your body.

"Oh, be a good girl for me" he teases, his free hand circling your clit again, making your body joint.

And he kept teasing you for a very long time. Each time you were close to orgasm, he stopped what he was doing to make you beg for him and your pleas were almost insignificant to him, despite the fact that he was enjoying seeing you beg to cum.

"Please, let me cum" you begged again after the fifth time he denied your orgasm. You were almost crying at this point, unable to hold the ache in your pussy. "I need you, please"

"Such a baby girl begging for me" he said, smiling and starting to circle you clit again, making you whine. "I'll let you cum if you take me in your mouth right now"

He stood up on the edge of his bed and you crawled into him, opening your mouth to put his cock inside, sucking him while your hands massaged his balls. You can hear him moan, grabbing your hair to force you to keep sucking him. You started to tear up, gasping while his cock was inside your mouth.

He didn't care.

You kept sucking him until he released his cum inside your mouth and he didn't had to say anything. You swallowed him, like the good girl you were. And with his smile of approval, you knew you earned your time. He made you lay back in his bed and started to suck your clit, tasting yourself in his mouth.

"So good" he said, holding your thighs against his shoulders, sucking you, licking your wet pussy.

"S-shit" you moan again, holding his sheets with violence, wanting desperately to cum on him. Your moans get higher and again, you started to feel the warm pleasure in your body.

"Cum for me, baby" he orders smoothly again, giving the attention you required, his tongue doing such a great work on you.

Finally, with his approval, you had the liberty to release yourself. You felt something hot coming out of you at the same time that your body reached the peek and you finally had the orgasm of your life. You had to control yourself, your body almost collapsing while his mouth was still between your thighs.

And after you had your orgasm, releasing your cum on him, he smiled at you, licking his lips to savor you and then crawling his way to your side on his bed.

"You're okay?" He asks, going to his bathroom to grab paper to help you clean yourself. "I hope I wasn't that hard"

"You kidding me?" You ask him, cleaning yourself from the mess he did. "You were great, I'm impressed"

The moonlight cast a soft glow through the curtains, filling the room with a gentle, silver light. Leon and you were laying side by side on the cozy, disheveled sheets, your breathing slowly returning to normal.

Leon turned toward you, his eyes filled with tenderness as he reached out to stroke your hair, his touch feather-light.

"Are you okay, really?" he whispered, his voice filled with concern.

You smiled, your eyes shining with a mixture of contentment and affection.

"I'm more than okay. That was... amazing." You said honestly to him. And it was entirely true; despite his age, he was the best sex you ever had.

Leon's smile mirrored yours as he continued to run his fingers through your hair, tracing soothing patterns along your back.

"I'm so glad to hear that," he said. "But I want to make sure you're comfortable. Is there anything you need right now?" He asks, sounding curious and kind. You felt he came from a fairytale. He was too good to be real.

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.

"I just need you here with me, like this."

"I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere," he promised. Leon leaned in and kissed your forehead gently, his lips warm and reassuring.

You two lay together in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow of their intimate moment. Leon's caring touch and reassuring presence were all the aftercare you needed, a reminder that your connection ran deeper than the physical. As you both drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, you knew that this bond was something truly special, despite the fact that you both also knew it wouldn't happen again.

As the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, you groaned and slowly opened your eyes. The unfamiliar surroundings of Leon's apartment briefly disoriented you until the events of the previous night came flooding back into your memory. You'd met him at the party you went with your best friend, and one thing had led to another. Now, you were here, alone in his apartment.

With a groggy sigh, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, rubbing your temples to soothe the pounding headache. Your mouth felt like a desert, a testament to the amount of alcohol you'd consumed the night before. Your bleary eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of Leon.

A folded piece of paper on the coffee table caught your attention. You reached for it, your fingers trembling slightly, and unfolded the note. Leon's neat handwriting greeted you:

"Hey, stranger. I hope you slept well. I had to head to work early, but I didn't want to wake you. There's coffee brewing in the kitchen to help with your hangover, and I left some pain relievers on the counter. Make yourself at home. There's my number if you need anything. Leon"

You couldn't help but smile. Despite the awkwardness of waking up in a stranger's apartment, Leon's thoughtfulness warmed your heart. You stumbled out of bed and followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen.

As you sipped the steaming cup of coffee, the pounding in your head began to subside. The pain relievers helped, too. You glanced at your phone and gasped when you saw the time. You were so late for your college classes.

With newfound energy, you left your phone number on his desk and rushed back to the bedroom, desperately searching for your scattered clothes. You managed to piece together an outfit from the items you found strewn across the floor. It was far from your usual put-together look, but it would have to do.

Once dressed, you scribbled a quick note of thanks to Leon and left it on the kitchen counter. You grabbed your bag and dashed out of his apartment, promising yourself you'd explain everything when you saw him again.

As you hurried to catch a bus to your college, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected turn of events. Meeting Leon had been a whirlwind, and while your head still throbbed with the remnants of a hangover, you couldn't deny the spark of excitement and curiosity that had ignited between the two of you.

As you ran down the hall, your heart raced with anxiety. You knew you were late for your history class, but your unexpected encounter the night before had left you disoriented and sleep-deprived. With your disheveled hair and the remnants of last night's makeup still on your face, you approached the classroom door. The chattering of your fellow students stopped abruptly when you entered.

The professor, his back turned to the door, continued writing on the chalkboard. You sighed with relief, hoping you hadn't disrupted the class too much. You scanned the room, searching for an empty seat. Most of your fellow students had already found their places, and the only available desk was in the front row.

You tiptoed down the aisle, trying to make as little noise as possible, and took a seat at the front. The professor turned around, ready to begin his lecture. When your eyes met, your heart dropped into your stomach. It was Leon, the man you had met at the college party the night before, the one you had shared an unforgettable night with.

"Fuck" you muttered in surprise, your face going red like a tomato.

Leon's expression changed from one of stern concentration to one of recognition and shock. You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you realized that he was your history professor. The sounds of your obscenes moans echoed inside your head. You wanted to evaporate.

"Good morning, miss" he said, his voice tinged with surprise, but trying to sound polite. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I...I didn't realize this was your class," you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

The rest of the class watched the exchange with keen interest. You could feel their curious eyes on you. Leon cleared his throat and attempted to regain his composure.

"Well, since you're here, you might as well stay," he said, attempting to sound professional despite the awkwardness of the situation. "We'll discuss your tardiness later. Now, let's begin our lesson on the American Revolution."

As the class continued, you tried your best to focus on the lecture, but your mind kept wandering back to the night you had spent with him. It was going to be a long semester, filled with more than just history lessons.

At the end of his class, you were so nervous that you felt you could explode right there. Leon hesitated as he watched you from across his desk, where he had papers and books strewn haphazardly. Your presence filled the room with an electric tension, one he couldn't deny any longer. You were his student, and you both knew the boundaries you both had crossed were dangerous. And when everyone left his room, you stood up to leave as well, until you heard his voice.

"Sit down," he said, his voice trembling slightly as he gestured to the chair in front of him. You took a seat, your eyes locking onto his, searching for answers.

You never felt this nervous before. You were shaking, and your palms were sweating cold. You wanted to disappear forever.

"We need to talk about last night," Leon began, his gaze never leaving yours. "What happened between us was a mistake, and I shouldn't have allowed it to happen."

Your lips quivered, but you remained silent.

"I'm your professor, and you're my student. It's against the rules, and it's unethical. I can't let this continue." Leon continued, his voice softer but resolute.

You looked down, your fingers nervously playing with the edge of your notebook.

"I know, Leon," you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't deny that I felt something for you. It's more than just physical attraction."

Leon's heart ached at her words, his inner struggle evident. God, this was so wrong, and yet, his mind was a battle over what was right and what was wrong. He couldn't deny he felt something for you too — something he thought he would never feel again.

"You don't understand, I like you too," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I also care about your future, and I can't jeopardize it."

You raised your eyes to meet his once more, tears glistening.

"What are we going to do, then?" You asked, feeling sad and, somehow, pathetic. You met him the night before, then why were you feeling like this?

Leon sighed, his resolve crumbling.

"I don't know" he confessed, his voice filled with regret. "But we need to find a way to move past this and focus on your education."

Your eyes locked in a shared moment of vulnerability, the unspoken desire still simmering beneath the surface. Leon had tried to convince you it was wrong, but his feelings for you were undeniable. The battle between his heart and his principles had only just begun.

"I think it's for the best if we keep this as it should be. I don't want to risk anything" Leon said, his voice sounding sad for a moment. "And I'm sorry, but we can't see each other like that again"

You nod and then leave his class. You made your way back to your apartment, wanting a shower, because you felt you could drown yourself in the water and forget everything that happened. He was your professor. You knew it was wrong, but for God's sake, why him? Why did he have to take you to heaven and then throw cold water on your head?

"What the hell happened?" You heard Chloe ask as soon as you enter your apartment. You completely forgot about her.

"I met someone last night" you explained, avoiding details. You were still feeling the effects of the hungover.

"Really? I bet it was good... you didn't even come back home, you naughty girl" Chloe teases you, laughing. "Have you heard about the new history professor? He's really hot"

"Yeah, I got late for his class" you sighed, laying on your bed with Chloe right behind you, excited about the new professor. If she only knew...

"No shit? Lucky you, he's cool. I've heard he was at the party last night and left with someone. I wish I was that lucky" Chloe kept saying, sitting on the small armchair in your room.

"And they saw who this person was?" You asked in panic, suddenly glancing at your best friend, which you regretted immediately.

"No fucking way... it was you!" Chloe almost screams, surprised and then, throwing a pillow on your face. "I can't believe you were banging the new professor!"

"In my defense, I didn't know!" You said, defending yourself. Deep down, Chloe didn't care. She wanted to see you happy. "I found out this morning... but it's okay. He doesn't want to see me"

"Too bad for him. You're too much for him, anyway" Chloe smirks, being the supportive friend you needed.

Chloe always had the ability to make you feel better with few words. You were really thankful for having her; so, you decided to do what he wanted. For the next few weeks, you watched his classes and noticed that, sometimes, he was glancing at you.

How could you both forget that night?

It was almost impossible. He made you feel so fucking good and you wanted so bad to be with him again. You even fantasized having him fucking you all over again, making you completely his. God, this was very hard. They've always said you will always want more intensely what you can't have, and they are so right about that.

And then, after one month since that party, Leon couldn't avoid that anymore.

He felt the urgency to talk to you, to smell your perfume or see your smile. He was going insane for not having you the way he did that day. Why was he feeling like that? He couldn't tell. But it felt good.

"May I have a word with you after class? It's about your essay" Leon says, closer to you and sounding very professional.

"Yes, Mr. Kennedy" You nod your head, already feeling your heart skipping a few beats and your body shaking again.

That was it.

After class, you remained sitting, waiting for your colleagues to leave his room. He avoided your eyes until there were just the two of you. Your breath was heavy, and instantly, you were feeling the heat on your body.

"What is it you want to talk with me?" You ask him, breathing nervously.

Leon gets closer to you, enough to make your body shiver. You look at his blue eyes and the image of him fucking you plays in your head like a movie.

"I shouldn't do this..." he whispers, his breath reaching your face smoothly. "But to be honest, I don't give a shit about morality anymore"

And then, he finally kissed you like he meant that.

It was everything you needed to know. He wanted you, and you wanted him. This could end bad for both of you, but you didn't care. You were weak, and he was weak as well. And right now, he wanted you more than anything.

[oh-stars]

Recognition

Love is showing up when someone doesn’t ask.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1257 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

“What time will you be home?” Eddie asks, perched on the couch like a bird, elbows on his  knees and sitting on his heels, toes straining under his weight. He feels like a little gremlin, body needing a way to expel all the energy his boring day off built up while Steve’s been at work. 

Steve sighs and adjusts his tie in the mirror by the door. “If all goes well, eight?” 

Eddie groans and falls back, limbs flailing. “If they expect you to go to school after hours, they should at least pay you,” he says, face squished into the fabric. It’s miserable being on different schedules. He’s been working at the plant until the construction is done on his shop, which means weird hours and being completely off rhythm with Steve. He barely sees the man! 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Steve huffs as he smooths down his shirt, walking towards him. He carefully bends over to kiss Eddie’s pouting lips, laughing at him. God, Eddie’s so glad this man is his. He’s too precious to let go. “I’d stay if I could,” Steve says softly. “You know I hate going to these things.” 

Eddie sighs, giving him a small smile as he touches up the few strands of Steve’s hair that were betrayed by his hairspray. “I know,” he says. “I could always come with you.” 

Steve shakes his head, cheeks pink. “Thank you, but you, uh, really don’t want to go to a boring PTA meeting. All they’re going to do is fight over which classroom should get the crayons.” 

“I’d go for you, Steve,” Eddie says. He sighs again and pushes Steve away. “Go so you can get back.” 

“I love you,” Steve says, stealing another kiss before he finally stands up. 

“Love you too,” Eddie says, smashing his face back into the couch. “I’ll be here, rotting away until you return, my sweet knight.” 

Steve shakes his head and grabs his wallet and keys off the coffee table. Then he’s gone, with the rumble of the Beemer and the faint sounds of David Bowie announcing his departure. 

Eddie lasts a whole three minutes before he’s shooting up off the couch and pacing around the living room as he thinks of something he could do to occupy his time. He’s done about as much housework as he could manage for the day, he doesn’t think he could practice anymore today or write at all with how depleted his creative juices feel, and he knows nothing good comes on TV on Tuesdays in early January. 

That’s how he ends up piddling about Steve’s desk. Steve keeps all his papers that need to be graded meticulously organized, with the ones that are fair game for anyone to grade (aka the ones with scoresheets) in the blue folder. On days where Eddie’s brain was too much, when he couldn’t even look at his guitar without feeling pain or pick up his pencil to be creative in any fashion, he needed something to do to get the excess brain energy out. Robin’s much the same way, so Steve started setting aside his pop quizzes and multiple choice tests in the blue folder for either of them to grade if they needed. Otherwise, he’d get to it eventually. It’s mindless enough to calm their brains, they feel good helping Steve, and it helps give Steve more time to focus on the essays and presentations that need more time to be graded. It’s a win win all the way around. 

The blue folder isn’t as full as normal, but there are a few worksheets Eddie can take care of for Steve. He reaches for the sticker book and the purple pen (Steve’s signature grading color) in the mug Wayne gave him that’s an apple with a little worm for a handle that he uses as a pencil cup. That’s when he sees the PTA flyer. It’s jam-packed with information and minutes from the last meeting, but in big, bold letters at the bottom of the flyer, Eddie reads:

Join us to honor this year’s Teacher of the Year, Mr. Steve Harrington, eighth grade English. 

Eddie puts down the blue folder, the pen, and the flyer. He’s still for exactly one minute before his body goes into flight or fight mode. Within ten minutes, he’s dressed in his nice date clothes and his hair is tamed back into a tight bun, threatening to snap the band. 

Time crunch or not, he drives like a bat out of hell. He has plenty of time to get to the school, they live close enough, but he needs to make a few stops first. All in all, he gets there right as the principal is starting the meeting. 

He tucks himself in a corner in the back, watching the whole thing patiently. The problem is, he can’t really see Steve. Eddie cranes his neck and bounces on his toes, trying to find a way to make it to one of the seats in the center of the auditorium, closer to the stage. 

His opening comes after the chorus does a performance, when the parents at the front scurry their students away before the meeting can continue. First off, rude, but it works in Eddie’s favor. Steve’s award is next and Eddie isn’t missing this. 

Eddie slips into the front row as the principal starts shifting gears, whispering to the vice principal as the crowd settles. 

She announces Steve to a polite applause, but that’s just not good enough for his Steve. 

His palms ache with how hard he’s clapping, just shy of letting out a loud ‘whoop’ – and he’d do it if it wasn’t for the pretty way Steve’s face and ears are pinkening up. Their eyes meet as Eddie beams. 

“Hi,” he mouths, trying so hard to not vibrate out of the seat. 

Steve’s smile softens as he gives a wave of appreciation to the crowd, eyes darting back to Eddie. As the principal sings Steve’s praise and when she hands over the microphone for Steve to say a few words, Steve’s eyes never leave Eddie’s. It isn’t until a few of his students get up to speak that Steve finally looks toward the speaker, his shy smile turning into one of pride. Eddie knows he could care less about the words themselves (it’ll be later tonight that Steve will have a crisis and finally let the kind words sink in, where he’ll cower into Eddie’s body and panic over how much these kids trust him), but rather seeing how brave his kids are for speaking to a crowd this big and doing it so well. 

The award is the last part of the meeting, so after another round of applause, everyone is dismissed. Eddie jumps up to meet Steve at the bottom of the stage. 

“You didn’t have to come,” Steve says as he jumps down. 

“I wanted to,” Eddie says. “I’m proud of you,” he adds as he bumps their shoulders together. 

“I’m just doing my job–”

“Stop,” Eddie says kindly, “you deserve this.” He grabs Steve’s hand and gently tugs him toward the exit. “C’mon, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate.”

“What about my car?” 

“I’ll drive you to work tomorrow.”

Steve’s blush is even stronger up close, but he doesn’t fight Eddie. And it’s an absolute privilege to watch as Steve gets all shy again when Eddie presents him with flowers once they’re at the van, stammering his thanks as Eddie kisses his cheek swiftly. 

--

Ao3 Link

Thank you @lady-lostmind 💜

[marauder-misprint]

In that case i would like to request numbers 36 and 48 from your celebration prompts for an Sharp x fellow professor reader ☺️

First time writing for Sharp so sorry if it's bad 😬

lil disclaimer: reader is a fairly new Ancient Runes professor after working as a traveling runes researcher for years.

Nightcap

Professor Sharp x Professor!reader

1.5k words

cw: drinking, fluff

You were finishing up your nightly rounds when light from a cracked open door catches your eye. It’s coming from the Potions classroom so your immediate thought is a student is up far too late brewing. You have your wand at the ready, fully prepared to tell off the pupil and remind them that they aren’t to be out of bed after curfew. You hold your breath as you ease the door open quietly. You scan the classroom. There’s no student in sight and all the stations are clean and empty. 

“Huh,” you breathe, noticing the light is coming from the open office.

So not only was a student out of bed, they were in a professor’s office, likely stealing from Professor Sharp’s personal stores. 

“You know, it’s quite late,” you say as you enter the office expecting to see a student caught red-handed.

There was no student. Again, but worse.

A sigh.

“I suppose it is…” Professor Sharp says, looking up from the pile of essays on his desk.

“So sorry, Professor!” you say quickly, eyes wide. “I thought a student was in here.”

“No, it’s just me.” He looks you over. “Finishing your rounds, I assume?”

You nod. He sighs again, sending worry coursing through you. Were you annoying him by simply being in his office? You really had thought a student was in here.

“I think I will finish these tomorrow,” he says, adjusting the stack of paper and moving it to the side. Then he looks back at you. “Would you care for a nightcap? 

The offer takes you by surprise. Yes, you were coworkers, but Sharp usually kept his distance from the professors. When you started, Professor Garlick described him as a bit harsh and standoffish. Yet, here he was offering you a drink after you interrupted his grading. He could have easily just dismissed you, kicking you out of his office and claiming he was going straight to bed himself. The offer hangs in the air as all of this runs through your mind. You’re not sure if Sharp notices your delay in answer, having stood up to retrieve the alcohol and cups from a cupboard.

“If you’re pouring,” you say, taking a step into the office. 

You remove some things off of a barrel and move it closer to his desk. When Sharp turns around with the drinks, he lets out a low laugh; it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh all term.

“You could’ve conjured a chair, you know,” he tells you and you blush.

You look down at the barrel you’re perched on. “Bit late for that now…”

He sets the drink down in front of you before bringing over his own barrel. 

“Also, you needn’t call me Professor. Aesop is fine.”

“I’m still getting used to being a professor myself, that’s all,” you say, reaching for one of the cups. “Being back here, even after years of being in the field, I feel like a student again.”

“I remember that feeling. At least it wasn’t injury that brought you here.”

You snort a laugh, realizing that it was probably an insensitive response since Sharp’s leg was why he was teaching rather than still being an auror. 

“Yay for needing financial stability,” you say before taking a sip, hoping it will prevent you from putting your foot in your mouth again. 

“You’re still doing what you’re passionate about though, aren’t you?”

“It’s more consulting and writing about ancient runes. I really liked getting to travel and seeing where they are inscribed, discovering new artifacts. That’s a bigger thrill than standing in front of students and lecturing.”

“Better than me. Closest thing I have is tracking down which student had the gall to ‘borrow’ from my personal stores,” he says, using air quotes. 

You lean toward him. “Has someone been stealing?”

“Not recently,” he says, giving you an amused smile. “Hoping to show off some detective skills?”

“Goodness, I don’t know if I would actually be any help with that. More your department of expertise,” you say with a shake of your head. “I had thought I was catching a student red-handed when I came in.”

“Must’ve been a disappointment to find me,” he says, looking away from you.

Your eyes widen slightly. 

“No. No! It’s better I found you… I’m glad I found you… Trust me… Although, I didn’t mean to interrupt your grading.”

“It’s good you interrupted. I was probably giving Acceptable work O’s.”

“And we can’t be having that,” you say with a small laugh. 

Sharp looks over you again, a smile playing at his lips. It’s an unfamiliar look on his face, but you like it. You think you’d like to see him genuinely smile more often.

“Besides the name thing, are you adjusting to Hogwarts well?”

“Oh, I think so. I do enjoy not having to sleep in a tent.” You debate your next words. “It’s also nice to share a drink with someone.”

Sharp gives you a disbelieving look. “I find it difficult to believe that someone as beautiful as you didn’t have someone to drink with.”

“You flatter me, Pro-... Aesop,” you say, correcting yourself as you almost called him Professor Sharp. “But it’s true. I usually drank alone, unless a friend was visiting or I was collaborating on a project.” You take a sip of your drink. “I’m fairly convinced that I’m difficult to approach.”

“Some people are scared of a beautiful woman who exudes confidence,” Sharp says.

With the drink in your system, you feel a bit more confident, which you’re appreciative of.

“Are you, Aesop, scared of beautiful women who exude confidence?” you ask, leaning forward again, your elbows digging into your knees.

Sharp clears his throat. He’s scanning your face, trying to get a proper read of your intentions. When he offered a nightcap, he hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, not that he was complaining. He just wanted to be sure. He smirks at you.

“Don’t get my hopes up, darling, if you’re just going to leave like everyone else.”

You raise an eyebrow with your head cocked to the side. 

“Leave like everyone else?” you repeat, unsure of who had all left him. 

He sighs but his expression toward you is soft. “Being an auror isn’t kind on one’s relationships.”

“Neither is being a traveling researcher,” you say with a smile. “But you’re retired and I’m stationary.”

“Those are… both true.” 

“And I have no intentions of leaving.”

Sharp was looking at you with an intense look on his face. One that was begging you to be serious and sincere. His internal thoughts were asking how he ended up in this situation, with the temptation of you in front of him, saying things he had only dreamed of. Since his auror partner died, he had avoided getting close and forming real relationships with anyone. But something about you had him offering you a drink. Something about you got his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be so closed off to the rest of the world.

You finish your drink and set the cup on his desk. He’s still staring at you. It’s obvious he’s lost in his thoughts of uncertainty. 

“Aesop, just kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice by the beautiful woman in front of him who exudes confidence. He sets his own cup down next to yours before leaning forward toward you. One of his hands gently holds your face as he brings his near. His eyes hesitantly search yours, half expecting you to say “Sike” and pull away. You don’t. You’re waiting patiently for him to close the space between you. 

When he does, you can’t stop yourself from smiling. The kiss was a little too forceful, but he quickly eases the pressure. It shifts into something far more gentle in nature than you thought Sharp had in him. You deepen the kiss, one hand going to hold his arm and the other finding his knee. Your lips move in sync. 

You feel breathless when he pulls away. There’s a nervous smile on his face that gains confidence as he sees your own smile. There air between you is charged with unsaid emotions and the uncertainty of where this left you.

“This is probably my favorite way to end nightly rounds,” you say with a nervous laugh. 

“With a nightcap?” he asks, earning a light shove from you.

“Aesop,” you say, a lightness in your voice. 

“Well, um, if it was late when you first got here…” His voice trails off.

You laugh, “It certainly is late now.”

You stand up and walk to the door, ready to say good night. Sharp follows you, but the confidence in his walk is hindered by the development in your relationship. 

He clears his throat. “So this was a one-night thing?”

You shake your head, going on your tiptoes so you can press a kiss to his cheek.  “There’s no way this was just a one-night thing.”