#like the prof wasn’t in his usual room

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ❞

❝ PROF. GOJO SHOWS YOU JUST HOW THE LAWS OF ATTRACTION WORK !! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!gojo x f!reader (part one of the prof gojo series)

✧ summary: satoru gojo was only stuck at this weeklong conference to appease his new boss, so what happens when he finds you at the bar and can't stop thinking about just how attractive you are? and what happens when the conference is over?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, hooking up at an academic conference, reader is a professor, fingering (f! receiving), oral (m! receiving), gojo getting very horny around you, so much flirting, amateur's take on physics, art by found on Pinterest (pls let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ wc: 10,878

“Come here often?”

If someone had asked Professor Satoru Gojo that a few months ago, he would have said—no he would have scoffed and asked if he looked like a professor who had to beg for funding — and he didn’t. But now, he swirled his drink, ice cubes clinking against the sides of the condensation-ridden glass — who knows?

His new department head might have his termination papers drawn from the moment he returns to the university from his very extended research trip — with no results to show for it. Normally he wouldn’t be worried — not with his renowned academic record, but he had extended this trip twice — and one of those on the university’s payroll.

And it wasn’t a cheap payroll.

To top it off, the new department head was doing a lecture here today at this conference hosted by his university, He had heard the new head was a real hard ass, a person who had straightened out the department while he had been away — garnering more grants, but also cutting funding to continual failures. And he and his research had been asked about.

Fuck. He downed his fruity mocktail, the sweet syrupy fruit juice doing little to soothe the bitter aftertaste of failure that lingered on his tongue.

He usually wouldn’t be so worried. He was Satoru Gojo — he had been the youngest in his field to achieve a Ph.D. in the field of Quantum Physics, a respected expert and renowned lecturer, and one of the scientists most likely to win a Nobel prize within the next few years or so. Or so his biography on LinkedIn said.

But that had gone up in smoke — his research on the potential curvature of quantum space-time as a method to slow or speed up time between two points of matter had been a complete failure.

One of his first major failures.

He sighs, and here he was feeling sorry for himself — alone. Or relatively so. His glass clinked against the sticky bar top of the tacky bar of the hotel they decided to hold this conference in — the rings from long-gone drinks lining up and down the relatively empty bar, other patrons having left for their rooms.

But not you.

He hadn’t met you before — not really. Although it was not as if he had made a habit of befriending people at any academic event, he knew if he had seen your face before, he wouldn’t have forgotten. He stole a glance as he sipped at his drink, eyes flickering over your form as you approached the bar.

Honestly, if he had, he wouldn’t forget someone like you.

He had seen you earlier during the conference, a particularly biting question asked during a keynote presentation that had wiped the obnoxious grin off the pretentious guy’s face, his reply then ripped to shreds in seconds with a smile on your lips.

And you had left so quickly he didn’t get to thank you for your daring rescue of his captive audience as he finally ended his victory lap with a scurry out the door. But maybe now, he could thank you with a drink — eyes flitting to those pretty lips that hid your sharp tongue — or something more.

You order your drink, sitting a stool away, the creak of the rusty seat catching his attention, as your eyes slide to his, “And another of whatever he was having,” Satoru tilts his head as you shrug, “looks like you could use it,”

He gapes at you in mock offense, “Eh? I’ll have you know I’m the most excited person here,” he replies as the bartender places both drinks in front of you, “who wouldn’t be excited to be in some hotel for this prestigious academic conference?”

“Almost every sane person?” and he chuckles, swirling his drink with his straw, “and the good news is that it’s only just begun. We still have the whole week to be bored to tears and have our brains turn to mush when pretending to be interesting to get funding from stingy donors,”

“I don’t need to pretend — I am interesting,” his lips curl, and you snort, downing your drink, before setting it down, ice rattling at the bottom.

“Well, I’ll say your face is more interesting with a smile on it,” you take money from your bag and pay off the tab with a tip.

You’re slipping from the stool with ease, stepping past his stool, nearly brushing against his back, as you make your way out of the bar, and it almost feels as if you're slipping from his fingers, “Is that a compliment?”

You pause, looking back over your shoulder, “You’ll know when I’m complimenting you,” and your smile is far better than his is, a heat settling over his cheeks at the sight of it, “see you around,”

And you’re gone, and he’s left dumbstruck, bitter taste in his mouth slowly beginning to fade — but he knows that the only way it would completely sink into sweetness is if he could have your name roll off his lips — maybe something even sweeter.

He paid for his drink with a tip, sliding off the stool himself, running a hand through his hair.

He could only hope you came here often now.

~~~

It was pathetic how often he had found himself frequenting this bar over the weekend. How frequent? The bartender had learned his name by memory the third time he showed up, his order already known and being prepared by the time he walked in.

So his drink was present — but you weren’t.

He hadn’t seen you around, but he had walked the floors of this conference and hadn’t seen even a glimpse of you. But why was he so desperate for a stranger that he met once? He wasn’t one for people — even from when he was a kid. People always saw him and his intellect as something they could take, they could use — an attraction that he only wished he could repel just as magnets did. He always had been shelved as a commodity in his field, but never trotted out for events because he never wanted to bother kissing up — he was better for a blunt word than mindless dribble.

Fuck him.

And now here he was — possibly at the end of his career and all he could concern himself with was this mystery woman he met at the hotel bar. Maybe because it was easier to think about — motion was the only thing he knew how to keep doing. Easier to keep in motion after a force acts on him than to keep still.

And you were a force.

“Y’know when I asked you if you come here often, I didn’t think I’d have come here to see you again,” the now familiar squeak and groan of the bar stool makes him want to bite his lip, “how long you’ve been here?”

He bites back his own grin, hoping not to look so desperate as he felt — was this a distraction from his own impending problems? Yes. But you were a welcome one.

“One drink, about fifteen minutes,” he replies, “I haven’t seen you around either — get stuck inside a conference room?” And you order your drink, “put it on my tab,” he tells the bartender, and the man nods wordlessly, but adds a raised eyebrow when you’re looking away.

“Something like that,” and you’re wiping the counter with napkins before leaning against it with your arm, “but more like I was always doing something—I’m not one to—“

“Stand still?” you raise an eyebrow, as the bartender sets your drink in front of you, “staying in motion is the only thing I know how to do, especially these days,”

“Staying in motion?” you repeat, and Satoru shakes his head.

“I’m the type to go from thing to thing — my best friend always joked that I was no better than the first law of motion—”

You snort, cracking a smile, “Being in motion is better than being at rest,” you sigh, swirling the liquid in your glass, toying with the straw stirrers in your drink, “it’s easy to get used to stay still once you are,”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” and you’re sighing, downing the rest of your drink, as the ice clinks against the bottom of the empty glass.

“Ever have a failure that feels so deep it feels like there’s no going back? Not even a failure — just even a gap, and it feels as more time passes, the chasm widens before you and it becomes harder to see yourself making it to the other side,” you order another drink, turning to face him again, “soon you become more preoccupied with the abyss than thinking about how to make it across,”

“If you asked me a few weeks ago, I would have said no, but now,” he sighs, as he asks for a refill himself, “now I’m in that sinking ship with you,”

“Who said I was still there?” you reply and he’s gaping at you, before a laugh escapes your lips, “I got to shore, you will too,”

“And how do you know that?” And you only shrug, a smile on your lips that makes something in his heart stir that hasn’t in far too long.

“You don’t look like the type to drown,” and he tilts his head, “you look like the type who stubbornly figures out to swim, despite the odds,” and he snorts, as his drink is placed in front of him, “so maybe don’t give up so easily, after all the first time is the hardest,”

And he chuckles, “Personal experience?” You shrug, tracing the rim of your glass, “No, I always get what I really want the first time,” as you pause to catch his eye, a smile on your lips.

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I didn’t really want it,” you smile, as you get to your feet, “I have a dinner to get to, but I’ll leave you with this,” you wrote something down on the napkin you had gotten with your drink, folding it and handing it to him.

He takes it, but his eyes remain on you, “You’re always disappearing — want to keep me wanting, Professor?”

“You’d want me anyway,” and Satoru is turning in the stool to watch you walk off, a glimpse of a small smile on your lips, as he looks at the writing on the napkin.

—because he knows you’re right.

~~~

“You want me right, Professor?” you murmured in his ear, hot words said as your warm breath fanned across his skin, but your lips were more sinful than your words — pressing torturously chaste kisses along his jaw, your front pressed to your back, as your hands ghosted along his chest. One of your hands toyed with the top button of his shirt, while the other traced along his collarbone, “you followed me after all.”

And he did, Satoru had caught you by wrist, a graze that had your head flicking back, finding his blue, and your lips curled — and he just knew he was fucked.

He just didn’t know how well.

You had him sat on the couch, back to the armrest, biting back needy noises that he refused to let leave his lips, not yet at least, “Y’know I want you, sweetheart,” a small shiver crawling up his spine as your lips graze the soft skin of his ear, “I’m not exactly playing hard to get by coming up to your room, am I?”

And your hand drags lower, brushing against his growing bulge, a low groan in his chest, “Oh I’d say you’re fairly hard, Toru,” and your forefinger presses teasingly against his clothed slit, “so hard already, wonder what would happen if I got you in my mouth, flicked my tongue over the length, made you moan my name as your cock fucked my throat?” And fuck, maybe he was wrong — maybe your words were worse, his dick twitched against your touch, desperate as he felt for more of your touch, “where’s that mouth of yours now, Satoru?”

And you’re rounding him, guiding his legs so he’s sitting properly on the couch now, feet on the ground, but he certainly wasn’t clear-headed — not when you climbed into his lap. A grunt left his lips, a weight that’s a comfort rather than a burden, something he welcomes because he only needs you closer and closer until there’s no space left between you at all.

“My mouth is desperate to do something other than talk, baby,” and his fingers winding their way through your locks before resting against the nape of your neck, and the other trying to slide down the swell of your hip only for your hand to stop him, “but only if you’ll let me I guess,” his lips curl into a smirk, one that you drag your thumb down.

“I will,” your lips are barely a breath away from his own, noses bumping, as the anticipation grows thicker than honeyed molasses one that seems to consume every one of his thoughts at a snail's pace as he remains stuck on two things — you and your lips, “once I’m done teaching you my lesson,” and your lips brush.

“Sir?” The bill is slapped down in front of him, as he snaps back to reality, the sounds of bar stools thumping against the counter as they are mounted on top jars him, as he shakes himself free from his thoughts, “bar isn’t for sleeping, go to your room,��� His cheeks burn.

Satoru pulls several bills out and leaves a generous tip, before sliding off his stool with a shake of his head, and a distinct ache between his thighs, that he quickly hides with his suit coat draped on his arm in front of him.

“Not anything you serve here.”

~~~

You’re like a daydream, Satoru realizes when he’s making his way to the hotel bar again. One that he’s using as a distraction — but a lovely daydream all the same. His conference days are spent waiting for a respite at the bar in the evenings — the only time he felt intellectually stimulated at a mechanically orchestrated event like this.

And one that he couldn’t get out of his head. The daydream he had was so vivid, he could swear it was reality if he hadn’t been so rudely awakened. And right when it was getting to—

Oh, what the fuck was he thinking? He shakes his head as if it would rid his head of his thoughts (it doesn’t).

He ran his fingers through his hair, what was it about you? You were gorgeous, sure, and brilliant enough to match him barb for barb, but you were just —- gravitational. He could feel him pulled in by your orbit and he found himself not resisting your force in the slightest — only hoping to accelerate.

Was this the phenomenon of quantum entanglement? He knew it was true for the tiniest of particles, the very same forces that pulled him close, he knew were pulling you close too — doomed in the same downward spiral without having to spare a glance. But did he?

He didn’t know the first thing about you — he only knew you were someone related to the field of physics — you had to be a professor, far too smart to be a generous donor. He only knew your first name, and you knew the same about him — and there was a part of him that preferred it that way. He had grown used to the attention given to him for simply his name — and he felt as if it was as if he had been placed on a pedestal that no one would dare to climb to speak, but instead only looked up. He almost chuckled at the thought of you ever doing that — but you were more the type to kick the pedestal out from under him, and force him to meet your gaze.

And he much preferred that — and you.

And now, he glances at the bar as it came into view, a double take almost warranted at the sight — was he dreaming again, even before his head had even attempted to hit the pillow? Or was it true that you were sitting at the bar nursing a drink alone? Pretty eyes glancing at the time on your phone and he bit back a smile, stepping towards you — eager remark about how long you’ve been waiting for him? Even though he wasn’t one to talk — as he had spent his whole day waiting for this.

Waiting for you, rather.

He stopped when another man approached you — Satoru paused, and he supposed he had to wait longer. Who was this now? You didn’t seem to know him, leaning away as he stood near you, not too close, but he seemed to be talking shyly, and yet his words never seemed to stop. Even though it seemed you wanted them to.

And when he caught a glimpse of the man’s face, he realized just who the man was.

Well, well — he knew just what to do to get rid of him — appear.

“Hey,” Satoru walked over, leaning on the bar, meeting the man’s gaze with a smile, before his eyes slid back to you, “make a new friend?” He orders his drink with the bartender as he slides his gaze back to the man lingering, whose face had grown both soured and pale all at once.

“Sort of, yes, this is—“

“I actually must go, please excuse me,” the man abruptly says, bowing politely to the two of you before shooting a glare at Satoru before heading off towards the elevators.

“Nice seeing you too, Gege!” Satoru called after him, smirking at the man’s flinch just before he turned the corner, “that guy hates me,” he orders his drink, taking a seat beside you, “don’t know why,”

“I can see that,” you chuckle, glancing back where the man had disappeared off to, “he’s some sort of author?”

Satoru nods, as the bartender places his drink in front of him, “He is — a mangaka fascinated by physics, he pestered me with questions, but he didn’t like when I did the same,”

You snort, only imagining what kinds of questions he had bothered the man with, “You freaked out the freak?”

“Well, he couldn’t match me,” you smirked, as he leaned against the counter, sipping his drink, your head tilting, “can you?”

“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” you raise an eyebrow, as he grins, “think I’m doing a pretty good job so far,” and you shrug, a wry smile pulling at the corners of your lips as he pouts, “so cruel to treat the man that saved you from an uncomfortable conversation,” and he sighs dramatically, “maybe I’ll call Gege back down,”

You raise an eyebrow, “He wouldn’t come if you called,”

Satoru pauses, “He might if I promised to leave,”

“Is this your way of trying to get me to ask you to stay?” You were far too quick-witted for his own good.

“No this is my way of getting you to tell me that you want me to stay,” but lucky for him, he had the same biting tongue to match.

And you laugh, and he wants nothing more than to make you laugh again and again — a better achievement than any academic accolade that graced his walls, “Well I do owe you one,” you order another round.

“I think I earned more than a round of drinks,” and you raise an eyebrow, as you down the rest of your drink.

“And that is?”

~~~

“When you said we would be doing research, I assumed we would be doing research related to your speciality in physics, not—“

“This is important research,” Satoru led you through the streets, the stuffy halls of the conference growing more distant, “crucial to the furthering of our goals, our destinies,”

Satoru grinned, his smile somehow brighter than the sun itself, and even more obnoxious — but begrudgingly charming. He truly was a paradox incarnate — somehow bright but blinding, sweet but sharp, and enticing yet out of reach. Even more so in the casual white t-shirt and dark blue jeans he had opted for today, sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose as he looked at you over the rim with that irritatingly endearing grin.

And that grin must have been hypnotic because how else would he have convinced you to skip half a day of this week-long conference that you had been preparing for months to attend (that and you had grown tired of simply chugging your drink of choice between workshops and keynotes and skipping almost every meal except for some stale pastries offered at one of a dozen talks).

“And this crucial research is the best sweets shop in the area—“

You snort, as you eye the crowd of people in front of this particular shop, “Because that’s a question the physics community has been pondering — not dark matter or Baryon asymmetry—“

“Well, I know your specialty is astrophysics now,” and you roll your eyes, as his hand finds yours, fingers laced together, as he pulls you into the throng of people in front of the shop, “don’t wanna lose you there,”

“Is that your excuse to hold my hand?” You reply, lips nearly pressed to his ear with how loud it was.

He leans closer, his body pressed against your side, lips brushing your ear, “was I that obvious?” He grins, and pulls away as quickly as he had come, fingers parting yours as you both reach the front of the line. And why was it — your heart sinks ever so slightly at the absence of his warmth — that you mourned his touch as if you’d had it all your life instead of the first time?

“You coming, sweetheart?” and you snap from your thoughts, and follow up to the counter — brushing your thoughts aside as you occupied your head with the sweets in front of you — instead of the man obsessed with them beside you. You realize what he’s said and you’re not one for pet names, but the way it rolls off his tongue and sticks syrupy sweet in your head almost makes you like it

“Noooo, don’t!” You shield your strawberry dessert from his fork, as it prodded gently at the back of your palm, “you already ate so many desserts, why do you want mine?”

You had watched this grown man down half a dozen different cakes, pastries, and cookies — he was a walking advert for what not to do to contract diabetes. For as sharp as his tongue was, you watched him lick a bit of frosting from his lip, it probably tasted twice as sweet.

“Exactly because it’s yours,” he still tried but you caught his fork again with your own, “it’s so much sweeter when you steal it,”

“So we’re adding thievery to your list of crimes,” and he clutches at his chest in mock shock, “theft, harassment—“

He gapes at you, “Eh? When did I harass you?”

“Gege,” and he rolls his eyes.

“He loves me, he lives for me,”

“I think he wishes you would do the exact opposite,” and he pouts only to dart his hand out quick and steal a dollop of the airy frosting from the top of the cake on his form, he grins in victory, but you only lean forward, grabbing at his hand and lick it from his fork, “you’re right, it is sweeter, when you steal it,”

His eyes find yours and fuck, your heart nearly contused itself against your ribs, what was it about him that made you never want to look away? It was a game of chicken for you — stare until the other flinches, because then you could see them and they would never see you — and you had never lost—but he made you want to lose. But you also couldn’t bear to look away all the same.

“Suppose that was my first lesson for you, sweetheart,” and that sweetness seems to stick with you, the pet names growing on you.

“You do have a way of making me look at things at a different angle,” you admit, and you wonder why a man like this was so lost as he seemed — he was definitely seen, wherever he went, but never understood, “is that a talent of yours?”

“I tend to do my best with my back against the wall,” and you can’t help but imagine how he’d look with his back to a wall — it’s not a bad image.

Your lips curl, “I bet you do,” and you continue walking off, taking another bite of your cake, not noticing the way his eyes watched you — the same way you had.

~~~

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me to choose a place for dinner,” Satoru sighs, as the two of them are seated at the bar for dinner, the tables all full for the night, “I could have found us a place that would have given us an actual table,”

“For all I know, you would have somehow found a place that only serves dessert,” he scoffs, and the two of you order your drinks, as the waiter parts to bring your orders, “Don’t scoff at me, I know you probably know at least one place, if not ten,”

“I don’t know—” and you tilt your head, eyebrow raised, and he shrugs, a small smile pulling at his lips, “none of them are in the area, but there is a good ice cream place—”

You snort, not glancing up from perusing the menu, as the waiter brings over your drinks, and the two of you order — and to your surprise, he orders something savory and not sweet, “Surprised you didn’t ask for the dessert menu first,”

“Well, I do like to take my time, after all,” his lips curl into a small grin, as he lifts his glass to his pretty lips, “dessert is better when you’re patient,”

Oh? Oh.

“You don’t look like the type that’s used to waiting for what he wants,”

“You keep saying I look like this or that, screw that,” he leans back in his chair, “I can wait for the things I really want — and I always get what I want, sweetheart,”

You were toeing a line you shouldn’t be toeing — it was Schrodinger’s cat, and a box you shouldn’t look inside — because until you did, there was always a chance the cat was alive, and there was always a chance that this wouldn’t be a mistake — but once you opened it — there was no going back. But still — the words are pulled from your mouth as if you had no choice, the box tipping open of its own accord.

“And what is it that you—”

“Huh? Gojo?” your eyes snap over to a woman — a far too gorgeous woman, in a long black dress that floated down to her ankles, her black heels clicking against the wood of the floor of the restaurant, her silver hair in a tight high ponytail, bangs framing her face.

“Mei Mei,” his attention falls to her, and you’re left sitting, fully out of the loop and completely irritated, but you didn’t know why, “I didn’t know you were in town,”

“For good reason, then you might have a reason to avoid me,” Mei Mei smiles, “I saw Geto recently. He told me you were coming back soon from your sabbatical,” and you see a flicker of emotion cross his expression and disappear as quickly as it appeared, “and who’s this?”

You offer your hand and introduce yourself, “And are you a professor as well?”

“No, I’m a donor,” and you nod, “and what do you—” but then her friend is calling her back, her head turning.

“I should go back to my party, it was nice to meet you,” Mei Mei offers a smile before her gaze slithers its way back to Satoru, “I’m sure we’ll be speaking soon, Satoru. Let me know about that night out we had discussed.” Her fingers brush his shoulder, giving you a wry smile before slipping off.

And a sinking feeling settles over you — as he waves at her — a night out? Was this all this was? Another night out?

And your skin crawls as she walks off, Satoru turning back to look at you, your lips a thin line as you force your gaze back to his, “What were you saying again? And the waiter comes soon enough with your meals, placing them in front of them.

“Nothing,” your lips curl, perhaps this box was better left unopened, “nothing at all.”

~~~

“What’s wrong?” This was why Satoru didn’t care to get invested in others. When he couldn’t make heads or tails of himself — they expected him to make heads and tails of them. It was easier to write people off, put distance between him and them, than it was to draw close. He was used to too many being far too close, gawking as if he were an illustrious painting, unable to make out a single brushstroke much less who he was. But he never cared to explain or have anyone understand and he paid others the same courtesy.

Except you.

“I told you, nothing,” you sighed as you and Satoru made your way back to the hotel that was hosting the conference, “it’s just been a long day,”

And he could let this go, fall silent with a sharp remark that would only push you away, the same distance but eons further than you had ever been — a space-time curvature of his own making.

“You’re a terrible liar,” but he doesn’t.

“Well, my specialty isn’t lying I guess,” you snap, scrubbing a hand down your face, “sorry, I—“

“What do you think I lied about?” and you pause, as the two of you stand a few feet from the hotel, people filing in and out of the structure as bellmen and cars pull up to help them in and out of their cars, “about my brilliance? I know it can be hard to believe how someone can be so handsome and—“ you glare at him, and he sighs, “c’mon sweetheart, just tell me—“

“Who is Mei Mei to you?” your question surprises him, but seems to surprise you more, words falling from your lips without a first thought, much less a first, “I-I mean, uh—“

And he can’t help the grin that spreads over his lips — “I didn’t take you for the jealous type, sweetheart,” and your words failed you for once, “or maybe I should be calling you, Princess, because being jealous isn’t usually so sweet,”

“Satoru—“

“Except maybe when it’s you,” he takes a step forward, and fuck, you look so cute like this — your eyes unable to meet his with the usual defiance or smugness, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “think you’d be sweet no matter what you do,”

“I’m not jealous—“

“Uh-huh,” he smirks, “Mei Mei is just an old friend and tycoon of business — and she tends to have a night out to discuss opportunities and investment into education for a mutual benefit—“

“She wants a tax break?” And he nods, but your brow furrows, “then what was with the shoulder touch?”

“The shoulder touch?” and you click your tongue.

“She touched your shoulder, intimately,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it was! It was like this,” your fingers gesture over his shoulder, your thumb barely grazing over his shoulder blade.

He tilts his head, “That’s what you consider intimate?”

“Yes! Like,” you step forward, and he refuses to let his breath catch, but your perfume floods his senses, fingers nearly twitching to touch you — but he can’t, yet that makes it all the more tempting. Your fingers ghost over his shoulder, featherlike almost, and heat floods his body as if it’s his first time being touched by another — and it wasn’t, but it was his first time being touched by you.

“Like this,” and your words warm his skin, and it would be so easy to touch you — give you a taste of intimacy, and show that the only touch he craved was your own.

“I think I missed it, could you show me again?” he can’t help but tease when it’s so easy to do when you’re like this, “aw, come on, Professor, isn’t this supposed to be a hands-on lesson?”

Your body is far too close, yet too far all the same — had you managed to create the very phenomenon he had failed to study?

Your eyes finally found his, a spark of want that was only another match struck for the kindling, and your fingers drifted to his cheek. And he couldn’t help but lean into your touch, flames licking at his skin, but it was a burn he wanted more of, one he wished could consume him.

He leaned closer—until a group of people passing by, rowdy and drunk, made you flinch apart. And the moment was broken, flames extinguished—“I should go,” you murmur, and he nods, both of you taking a step back, “but if you’re not too busy falling asleep at keynotes, come to room 188 at 11:00 AM — I’m on a panel,”

“And you want me to come ask all the hard questions?” A smile graces your pretty lips, one he wishes he could memorize and map with his fingers — because it’s your smile and he’s the one who made you smile like that.

“I expect nothing less,” you turn to go inside as he calls after you.

“Was that a compliment?” and you cast a gaze over your shoulder yet again.

“Like I said, if and when I compliment you, you won’t need to ask that, Professor,” and with a flash of your smile, you were gone, and he was left outside in the humid air of the summer and the distinct sounds of cicadas and faint laughter and chatter of people outside the hotel. His fingers brushed against his shoulder, the ghost of your lingering touch still haunting him in the best way.

The flames were out, but the spark was still there — and that’s all you both needed.

For now.

~~

Fuck, he was late — and this time not on purpose.

Usually there was nothing more Satoru would like than to be late for a moderated panel — it was an excuse to skip altogether, to get lunch, a treat, a drink — anything other than sit through another session of educators and researchers alike stroking their own egos. But this was different.

It was for you.

He tugged off his crooked and badly tied tie and stuffed it in his pocket, sprinting to the conference room where you said you would be doing the panel. He had to oversleep — but it really was your fault. He couldn’t get to sleep, not after last night. The scent of your perfume still clung to him tauntingly, the phantom of your touch still haunted him, and the sight of your smile etched onto his eyelids each time he closed them.

He was so fucking screwed.

He wasn’t the time for sentimental bullshit. No, the world had bullied that deep inside of him, softness only reserved for the few friends he had and his students. But you had ripped it all to the surface. And now he was stuck moving at the same pace you were — a quantum coupling without the couple.

He gets to the door and he bursts in, a dramatic entrance much too loud for a conference. The room fell pindrop silence as all eyes stared at him. But his eyes, flitting like comets, finding their landing with you, and he would burn up in your atmosphere all the same with the glare on your face.

“Sorry, got a little lost,” he offers a small smile, before taking his seat, his eyes unwavering from you.

The moderator clears his throat, turning his nose up at Satoru, “Well, let us continue,” he turns to you, “you were saying, Doctor?”

Oh, a doctor.

He leans back in his chair, how was it you got so much hotter? If that was possible somehow.

“I was explaining our current understanding of Hawking radiation, the theoretical thermal black-body radiation that releases out a black hole and its theorized to cause black hole evaporation,” and yet as you spoke, he felt himself grow hot, a slight flush settling over his cheeks — he was right when he guessed astrophysics was your specialty. And he should have known you would have been an expert while he was at it — how could you not be? Even now your lips and tongue formed sentences he could only dream of making, and he did dream of your lips before.

“There are many unknowns about quantum fields and electromagnetism, especially regarding black holes in particular — one of the counters to electromagnetism—” the other speakers go on to interject and bristle at one another, but Satoru barely hears any of it all — too preoccupied with you.

You were far too pretty for your own good — how was no one else completely distracted, shifting in his seat as he carefully adjusted himself — and turned on.

“And now we open it up to the audience,”

The first few questions are fielded by the others and then the one of the last questions is for you. A person stands from the audience, fiddling with the question card they had in their hand, “when you were speaking about electromagneticism, you said there are many mysteries still — there is a theory called the law of attraction,” there’s a few distinct murmurs and even a few chuckles, but even so Satoru still finds himself looking at you, “they say the energy you put out into the world is electromagnetic waves, and when that interacts with the quantum field, which helps you attract what you’re looking for, what do you think of this theory?”

And for the first time, your eyes find his, the corner of your lips tugging upwards, before your gaze settles back on the audience.

“I don’t think there’s anything in physics that can explain what brings something or someone into your life,” you lean back in your chair, “if it were that simple, I think a lot more physicists wouldn’t be married to their labs,” Satoru snorts, and you garner a few chuckles from the audience, “but although all that stuff about quantum fields and electromagnetic waves isn’t rooted in physics, I think there’s something to figuring out what you want and letting yourself have it,” and he found your eyes on him again, and he wondered if he could let himself have you — even if he felt like he didn’t quite deserve you.

And his phone buzzed in his pocket, he glanced at the name and groaned — why was Ijichi calling him now? He lets it go to voicemail, but then messages come through.

Four-Eyed Annoyance: please reply. I have some news for you about the department head.

He bites his lip, but hauls himself to his feet, slipping out right as the panel wraps up. He presses the callback button and grumbles as Ijichi picks up, “this better be good or I’ll slap the shit out of you when I get back—“

“Huh?” Ijichi cried, aghast, “you told me to call once I had news,” and Satoru groaned.

“Just spit it out,” he sighed, rubbing his head.

“The department head said they would like to see you attend the mixer for professors in the department — a chance to meet you more informally — it’s the day after you return,” and Satoru scrubbed a hand down his face, and a chance to grill him about his failed research, “I thought you should know so you could prepare—“

He spots you disappearing around the corner, and hes curses under his breath, “Ijichi, you’re in for a serious slap later,” and the man doesn’t have time to react before Satoru cuts the phone. Great, not only was his career definitely in jeopardy, without a buffer to bullshit, but now — he rounds the corner, following after you, but in the throngs of people he doesn’t see you — he had lost you.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket. Not that he really deserved you.

~~~

Satoru doesn’t see you for the rest of the day — he didn’t know how long he spent waiting for you at the bar, About how long it takes him for the bar to close his tab and the bartender to shoo him away, until he meanders back to his room. Were you upset? You had noticed he came in late and then he left before it was over—and now he hadn’t seen you. And he couldn’t even ask you because he hasn’t seen you and he doesn’t even have your number—

Because he was an idiot, who wanted to play coy, instead of being direct.

He strips off his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, a heavy sigh caught in his throat, as he tosses the button down onto the desk chair nearby, knocking over his bag and spilling papers onto the floor.

Great. Was this supposed to be some grand metaphor for his life? He knelt down to collect them, maybe he should call Suguru and have him give him some philosophy bullshit to make him feel better. He picked up something scrunched underneath the papers, and it was a napkin — but not just a used one.

Well not exactly.

One free pass to take what you want.

He snorts at your scrawled handwriting — for how perfect he thought you were, your handwriting certainly wasn’t.

He continues to pick up the rest of the things scattered on the ground until he finds the cover sheet for his research. Messy doodles littered the sheet — ones he had messily scratched in frustration — including one of his own face breathing fire.

He presses his hand to his lips, how was he going to turn this into something remotely useable? The basis of research was that most of it never leads to great revelations or huge discoveries — it was a domino effect of building upon other research and one study tips it over. And research was also about framing — about seeing what was there and making something of it.

He was flipping through his research — and he pauses at a particular page that had the tables of his research, the one he had ruminated over for nights and days, but now — it seemed far less daunting.

You do have a way of making me look at things from a different angle.

Your words fill his ear, as if you were there whispering it to him — a different angle. He pulls his laptop out and gathers the papers in his hands before he pockets the napkin you had written on.

Maybe that’s just what he needed.

~~~

You had avoided him.

It was so fucking embarrassing. What were you? A rejected teenager hiding from her crush? And you down another drink at the bar, the alcohol burning down your throat as if it could erode away the words you had said during the panel.

But it couldn’t.

It shouldn’t have happened. The moment the night before, with his lips a breath away that hung like a promise in the air — if magnetism existed between two people, it was in that moment — because you never felt so drawn to someone, as if there were actual magnets between you both. But as much as magnets attract, they could also repel just as well.

And you supposed, as you swirled the bits of your drink with your ice melting at the bottom of the glass, that was what had inspired him to run after your little show. You hated being a fool — but you hated not taking a risk more — you drank the rest of the watered-down drink before setting the glass down — so you had made the right decision.

So, why did you still feel like shit? You hiccuped slightly, the buzz now settling into a haze over your head, clear thoughts lost in a slight fog.

It might be the alcohol.

But even so you ordered another drink, pushing the empty one forward, avoiding the bartender’s dubious gaze. What was it about this man?

You didn’t know the first thing about him — aside from the fact he was a professor, just as you were, and his first name was Satoru—and fuck, you didn’t even catch his last name. But you knew how his lips curled into a smile that was far too infectious, that he was flippant to a fault but he only used it to hide his vulnerabilities, and that for someone so intelligent and knew of his own abilities — he found his own failures and shortcomings unforgivable.

But you wanted to forgive all the same — even now.

Even after not seeing him, and avoiding this very bar like the plague for the last day and a half. But now, it was the last night of the conference, and you don’t know what possessed you to be here — but you did — it was him.

“Come here often?” your eyes don’t need to look up from the drink placed in front of you by the bartender to know who it is, “let me have what she’s having,”

You raise an eyebrow, “This isn’t the fruity mocktail you prefer,” and he slips into the stool beside you, his arm brushing your own, as the bartender heaves a sigh at the sight of you two, “think you can handle it?”

“Well even if I can’t, I have you to take care of me, don’t I?” and you snort, licking the salt rim of your glass, before washing it down with the drink, “c’mon sweetheart, I thought you were opening yourself up to me,” and you choke on it, a distinct heat settling over your cheeks and it wasn’t from the liquor.

You choose your words carefully, as you wipe your mouth with a napkin, “I did, but that was before someone ran out,” and you wish your words significantly less slurred.

He bites his lip, “would you believe that it was a life threatening emergency and only I, Satoru—“ and you cut him off with a glare, and he sighs, “I’m sorry, I got tied up on a call and by the time I had finished, you were gone,”

“And here I thought my little soliloquy scared you off,” you mutter, “but a phone call? Was it a life threatening emergency?” The bartender comes with two drinks for the both of you.

“Not exactly, it was about my research. Found out my department head wants to meet with me right when I get back,” but his lips were curled in a smile, until he lifted his drink to his lips and took a sip, a grimace replacing it.

“You don’t seem like you’re dreading it anymore,” you sip your own drink, pressing the cool glass to your too-hot cheeks, alcohol roasting you from the inside out.

“Well, someone said I had a knack for looking at things from a unique angle,” he gives you a grin, “so I just did what I did best,”

“I see that ego of yours has recovered,” and his gaze catches yours, “I’m glad this conference was good for something at least,”

“I don’t think that’s all it was good for,” and your eyes can’t pull away from his — a current that sparked between your gazes that only wished to pull you closer than further apart, “you’re selling it short — moderated panels, the workshops, the stale coffee, the networking opportunities,” and his fingers brushed yours, “what’s not to love?”

And any sluggishness from your intoxication is chased away by his touch, a live wire pressed to your skin, “Networking?” You repeat, the warm brush of his fingers against your skin feather-like, “what chances have you had to network?”

He decides to down his drink, a flinch as he swallows, “Not many, well, not many that hadn’t ended without people glaring or fleeing,” you snort, but still liking his thumb rubs across the length of your knuckles, “but the ones that went well have been more than satisfactory,” your eyes flit to his hand and then to his lips, before settling to his gaze.

“And you’re satisfied? With the conference?” you add, and it’s a dangerous game to play, fingers curling around his as if by instinct, a current completed by its circuit, and you were needlessly addicted to the feeling.

He hums, in mock contemplation, as he leans closer, until your knees brush, “Not completely, but that’s because I don’t think I’ve taken what I want yet,” and he pulls a napkin from his pocket, handing it to you, and you see your words scribbled on there.

And you know it’s already far too late for you.

You’re close. Too close — as you can see the specks of dark blue that you could map like constellations in his eyes and you were sure his cologne was melting every brain cell that told you this was a bad idea, and leaving only behind need — but still you spoke.

Your fingers brushed his as you took the napkin, next words far too breathless for your own good, as if the spark between you had caught fire from your touch and sucked the oxygen from your little bubble — and you were just waiting for it to burst.

But it didn’t. Instead, he leaned closer, a breath away, fingers cupping your cheek, “can I?” And you nod nearly out of reflex, and he kisses you — despite the alcohol, you can taste the hint of sugar from the sweets he undoubtedly had before. It’s chaste and much too brief, but you two fall into a second as if it’s second nature.

“Well, are you going to take it?”

~~

“This is a such a fucking bad idea,” you manage to huff out right as the elevator doors close, but not before Satoru has you pressed to the mirrored wall of the elevator, “we shouldn’t do this—“

But all the same, your hand cupped his cheek, mapping the contours and curves of his jaw until it melted into his hairline, fingers running through his soft white locks with reverence, and his cheeks are flushed red, and even warmer than they look, “did one drink affect you this much?” you chuckle, and he pouts, drawing a full laugh from your lips, “oh this is definitely a bad idea,” not only because both of you were drunk, but he was far too cute to resist.

His eyes flutter close for a moment at the sensation of your touch, lips parted as he relished in your touch — and when had he been touched so softly before? Your noses bump, as the heat is engulfed in honey for a moment, caught between breaths.

“I have nothing but good ideas, Princess,” his nose brushes your cheek, as he inhales — fuck, how did you smell like everything sweet, even after a full day of conferences and two hours at a rundown hotel bar, “you may be my best one yet.”

“Flattery, Professor?” And his lips dare closer to yours again, as the elevator finally reached his floor, “you’ll have to do better than that,”

And as he steps forward out the elevator, fingers finding yours, he grins, cheeks warm from intoxication — and whether that’s the alcohol or you is a mystery. “Y’know I’d do just about anything for you, sweetheart.”

You follow him out, as he leads you to his room, tugging you along as your lips curl, “Anything?”

He catches a glimpse at the wicked curve of your lips as you grin while he unlocks the door, that curve soon pressed against his neck, and he knew he wanted nothing more than to be pulled into your orbit — because there isn’t a thing you could do to repel him.

“This isn’t—“ Satoru bites his lip, as he watches you sink to your knees, a shaky gasp parting those same lips, spit slick from your kiss, as you dragged your thumb down the kiss-ruined flesh, “what I had in mind when you said anything,” his words are slurred, and you’re seeing the glow settle over his cheeks, making you only want to litter the red flush with kisses.

“I see why you don’t drink often if one drink does this to you,” your nose bumps against his, “we don’t have to do this if you’re—“

“I’m fine, I promise,” he cuts you off gently, his fingers closing around your wrist, before bringing your hand against his cheek, “I don’t want to stop, please,” and your thumb rubs along his cheekbone, “do you need me to solve an equation? Motion? Velocity? Force?”

You snort, your fingers ghosting over his jaw, “There’s something else I’d rather do,” and you undo the button of his slacks, “or someone,” and his lips curl — which only makes you want to wipe it off his face, until his lips are only parted with your name on his tongue.

You had stripped him down to his boxers, every button of his shirt undone painfully slow, as your fingers ghosted up and down every inch of exposed skin, “such a good boy, Satoru,” you had murmured, as you finally had reached the last button of his shirt, choosing to kiss your way up his stomach and chest — and fuck, it was hard enough not to blow his load then and there, “gonna make you feel good, baby,” your hand slid up his body, dragging over his chest, and onto his cheek until sliding into his hair again, tangling in the locks before you tugged, hard, drawing a pretty gasp from his lips and sending a wave of heat throbbing between his thighs, “but not before you earn it,”

You take a step back, his hands twitching as they reach for you, “Just watch,” You strip slowly, your jacket already tossed aside, as you undo the buttons of your blouse torturously slow, as your lips curl at the sight of his pout.

Muscles winded and tense like a spring ready to snap at your word, but you didn’t let him, and when you step out of your slacks, his boxers strained against his erection, a dark patch over taut pulled fabric, “look at you, I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already about to rip through your boxers?” You click your tongue.

And your careful steps back to the bed have him swallowing thickly, resisting the urge to bite his lip as he watches you, “Please,” he’s murmuring, “please, baby,”

God, he looks too fucking pretty begging, and you were only that much sure he would look prettier with tears in those eyes of his, whimpers and moans parting those pretty pink lips.

“Please what?” you leaned closer, your knees pressing his legs apart, brushing against his inner thighs, teasingly close to where he wanted them most, “gonna have to use some of those big words you got your degrees with, Satoru,”

Your knee grazes his clothed bulge, “Fuck—“ your fingers find his undercut with ease, nails grazing the nape of his neck as you did, a delicious shiver running up his spine. He was so sensitive for all the bravado he had — for how intelligent he was, how high he held himself, it only took a few of your touches to reduce him to this.

And fuck, it was so hot.

“Not that word,” your hand draws up and down his thigh, tracing the muscle, before drawing a path over the elastic of his boxers, “tell me what you want — my fingers? My mouth?” Your fingers dip inside his boxers only to snap the fabric against his skin, earning a sharp hiss and a jerk of his hips.

His eyes flicker up to your lips, and you know what he wants, but you’re still waiting to hear the words, “your mouth,” and you tilt your head expectantly, “please,”

“Good boy,” you don’t miss the way his dick twitches at the praise, as your fingers tug his boxers down, pooling around his ankles. His cock slaps against his stomach, pretty precum dripping down his length — and how’s it possibly that his dick is as gorgeous as the rest of him? Pretty red tip that melted into a blush pink length, lovely veins that wrapped around as if it was made just for you. And you didn’t believe in the law of attraction — but you knew you’d welcome his dick inside you anytime.

You sink to your knees, and the sight must be pretty by the way his gaze grows dark, “Like the idea of me on my knees for you?”

“Can’t I like the idea of using that smart mouth for something other than a verbal lashing, sweetheart?” And your tongue darts out to lick the precum from his tweeting tip, making his head loll back.

“You can,” and your fingers ghost over his balls, “but don’t forget who’s in control, Satoru,”

You press a kiss to his slit, before letting the length slap on your tongue. And already his chest is already heaving, as your fingers curl around the base, slowly pumping and smearing precum along his dick. You hear the crumple of the sheets as he grasps at them.

“You’re so fucking big — can’t wait to feel you inside me, g’nna feel s’good,” and a pretty moan parts his lips, hips bucking into your touch, boneless nearly, as you watch his precum slip down your fingers and wrist, “does it feel that good?” your teasing only draws a pout to his lips that’s quickly fading into another moan as you thumb at his slit, making him whine, “so fucking whiny,” you goaded, but no snark can find it’s way from his lips.

“F-fuck, sweetheart, can you blame me?” And your lips curl, as his tip bumps against your lips, dragging precum along them, “you’re gonna be the death of me,”

“And you’d thank me for it,” and you finally let his cock slip past your lips, and his mouth falls open, muscles tense as he feels his length settle along your tongue, until it’s tracing up the bottom, flicking against the tip.

“F-fuck, baby, you take me so well,” and you do, so fuckinh pretty as your head bobs along his length, messily sucking and licking, cock growing impossibly larger, just as his tip grazes your throat, “shit, ngh,” and he’s threading his fingers into your locks, beginning to buck his hips so that his swollen tip bumps against your throat, even deeper.

His lewd groans send a wave of head straight to your needy core, and you can’t wait, a hand slipping up to grasp at his waist, but the other slips into your panties and your fingers brush against your drenched folds.

You’re a fucking vision when he glances down to watch his white pubes brush against your face, half spit and half pre dribbling from the corner of your mouth. He’s practically fucking your mouth at this point, tears slipping down your cheeks, he’s not sure if he’s drunk from the alcohol or from his cock anymore. And when he sees your fingers buried in your cunt, fucking yourself because sucking him off was too much—it was too late.

“F-fuck, not g’nna last much longer, need—“ but that only makes you suck around his length, letting his tip hit your throat, and his nails dig into your scalp, as he finally cums, hard, your name on his lips. Thick ropes of his cum paints your mouth, hot release burning down your throat. You swallow every drop, relishing in the soft groan of your name that leaves his lips, enough for you to hit your sweet spot with your three fingers stuffed in your cunt before cumming.

You’re panting around his cock nearly as you pull your mouth off, strings of spit and cum stick to your lips and his dick, as you hear the creak of the mattress as he lies back against the bed, probably too fucked out to think. And you’re getting to shaky feet after easing your fingers out, ready to have him taste your own juices. But no, you can’t.

He was too fucked out to be conscious.

“Satoru?” You asked slowly, but you were only met with soft snores and the easy rise and fall of his chest that told you he was asleep.

Well fuck.

~~~~

Satoru never drank. And it was for good reason.

He always felt shitty afterwards. Headaches, nausea, and body aches. And that didn’t account for the side effect that had afflicted him the most — regret. The events of the night flash through his mind, a slideshow movie of the worst kind as he shoots up in bed to find himself alone in bed. He glances around, rest of his body still frozen in place, as if he had stopped moving, you wouldn’t see him.

But no, you wouldn’t see anything — because you weren’t here.

Not a single sign of you. The bedside beside him empty, and no trace of your clothes left behind — you had left. His eyes flickered to the time, 10:00 AM, far too early this morning. But what had you expected? He scrubs a hand down his face, cheeks burning — especially when he had cum down your throat and then had thanked you for it by passing out like a virgin.

And still he woke up hard. He glared down at the erection tenting in the blanket, as if it was the reason for his own downfall, but it didn’t have the courtesy of falling down itself.

Oh, he was never going to live this down.

And then the phone rang, and his heart leaped, likely bumping against his ribcage, as he reached for the hotel phone, wondering if it could possibly be—

“Hello? Is this Mr. Gojo?” The receptionist asks.

No, of course. Perfect.

“Yes, this is him,” he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, this day could only get better, couldn’t it?

“I’m calling to remind you that you had selected the early check out time, and your check out time is in exactly an hour, and we are unable to extend it due to other guest check-ins,”

He shouldn’t have bothered to hope.

A frantic packing job and harried check out, he had slumped in his taxi to the train station. He didn’t even get your number. And he scoffs at the thought, like you’d give it to him after last night. He leans against the cool glass of the window, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone to see you that night. Maybe it would have been better to stop. But the two of you were always in motion — night by night rushing by each other, and last night was no different.

But now you both are still in motion — just not together.

And maybe it was better that way. But if so, his eyes open to take in rushing outside, why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

~~~

Satoru forgot how much he hated this department.

Satoru found himself sipping his drink by the makeshift bar again. He had waded through the questions of the other professors, wanting to know the details of his research. He saw the sharp gazes behind plastered smiles, and they were just hoping to learn something to tell the new department head. But he told them nothing, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his glass at their sour glances. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

And then he spots a familiar figure.

“Oi,” Ijichi tensed at the sound of Satoru’s voice, he makes his way to Satoru’s side, “I thought you said the department head would be here,”

“She’s on her way. She got stuck in a meeting. Haven’t you been checking your email?”

“Who checks their email when they’re away?”

And Ijichi mutters under his breath, “People who are actually responsible,”

Satoru glances at him, “That reminds me, didn’t I owe you a slap?” And Ijichi squeaks in terror, before he takes a step back, as his phone goes off.

“The department head is on her way now,” and Satoru raised an eyebrow.

“Her?” And Ijichi frowned.

“Have you really not checked your email the entire time you’ve been away? The new department head’s name was announced months ago, and she’s sent consistent emails, and Satoru runs his hand through his hair.

“I’ve had all department emails sent to spam,” and Ijichi gapes at him, as Satoru pulls his phone out and opens his spam folder, scrolling through the hundreds of unread emails, “what’s her name?”

And just then the doors open, and he wonders if he’s dreaming, if he’s back in that hotel room again and he would wake up any second beside you.

But he doesn’t, as your eyes find his, stepping through the crowd of other professors, as Ijichi steps forward, “Ma’am, this is—“

“I know,” you smile, before your eyes slide back to his, “come here often?”

And he knew he was far too deep already.

✧ a/n: this took so long to write — I thought I would be done last week but I was not haha. I hope you guys enjoy. there will be a part two! I have plotted out part of it. thank you guys for being so kind :)

✧ taglist: @dazailover1900, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @satorusmochis, @dreamtardisspace, @mixmatcheds, @kxouri, @kakashineedstotouchgrass, @happystrawberrytyrant, @mynahx3, @destinyrosexoxoxo, @iwannaeatthewolrd, @parkeronii, @nanasukii28, @9419x, @5sos-wdw, @zeee26, @saintlesssaint, @forest-fruits-jam, @cowgirlcujoh, @somrou, @satowooo, @buddhas-bunny, @spider-fan72, @daintyfaintyy, @flyingtranscatofeffed, @nightfloweruponahill, @xxemmarldxx, @hanxyy, @caramelmac-chiato, @faeryli, @penutjuice, @waterfal-ling, @buttercupblu143, @ilikeweedalot, @amy-chaan, @johannakhalafalla, @alexithemiyatic, @theshylittleelfgirl, @kittykattysstuff, @shervinss, @catsgomurp, @notgoodforlife, @anth0nyx, @caelestine-the-caelicatto, @fackeraccount, @fushitoru, @svt-backup, @suguwife, @mua-for-now,

[little-diable]

Who prays for Satan? - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

This isn't our usual dark!Tom, he's still fucked up, but not as dark as the other priest fics. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Priest Riddle is the reader's theology professor, a man she has always found herself interested in, but things escalate when she joins his church for her internship.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, guided masturbation (f), spanking, forced confession, smut in a church/in a confessional, choking, degrading, unaddressed age gap, power play, professor x student, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (about 3k words)

"Please remember that you only have time until Friday to tell me, where you will do your internship. Have a good week, and don’t forget the essays, please.” The sounds of students hastily rising to their feet echoed through the room, but while some were desperate to leave, getting away from the professor who looked like God’s finest creation, but spoke like the Devil himself, others were desperate to catch his attention with bland questions he found himself annoyed by. 

“(Y/n), do you have a moment?” His voice drew her closer, past the group of students who looked at her with hate swimming in their pupils. She didn’t look at them as she walked past them, coming to a halt in front of the tall man with a soft smile glued to her lips. “Walk with me.”

Neither of them spared the others another glance as he strode out in the hallway, expecting her to follow him. It wasn’t the first class of his (y/n) was visiting, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, as she found herself awfully drawn towards the priest, who had taken on a few theology classes at their university. Something about him was different. Something she couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard she tried to. 

“I knew you’d turn in your essay days before the others would even begin writing it, but I was pleasantly surprised by your work this week. It was smart of you to use the famous Mark Twain quote: “But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?” It always stuck with me.”

“Thank you, Professor Riddle. You once told me how much you think of this quote, so it only felt right to use it for this week’s focus on sinning.” The throaty chuckle rumbling through him left her feeling surprised, not used to seeing him this giddy. His smile didn’t waver, not as they came to a halt in front of his office, not as he guided her inside, not as they plopped down on their designated seats. 

“Your essay isn’t the reason for this chat, though. I was thinking of what you said to me, and I decided that you can join my church for your internship. But I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell others I’m allowing you to do this, I never give out internships, and I’m only taking you on because I know how dedicated and smart you are.” Heat rose in her system, crawling up her throat to force (y/n) to avert her gaze. She had been desperate to find a church to join, not wanting to spend her internship as a simple office help, she needed practice, something to help her figure out what she actually wanted to do with her life.

“I highly appreciate this, thank you, professor. I promise, I won’t make you regret your choice.” Her eyes flickered back to his piercing ones, instantly sucked into his mesmerizing grasp. He was like a siren, luring her into his trap to feast on her darkening thoughts – thoughts she hadn’t been able to shake ever since meeting the tall priest. 

“I know you won’t, (y/n). You will start Sunday morning to join me for the first service of the day, and then we can go through your task for the upcoming two weeks.” 

……

“Professor?” Her voice hallowed through the empty church. It was still dark out, an early morning she had struggled to adjust to, and yet her nerves had managed to get her out of bed, finding her way towards these holy halls. Her sneakers met the ground as (y/n) walked up to the altar, letting her fingertips dance over the cold marble, appreciating the grounding sensation she was instantly taken over by. 

“You’re early.” Professor Riddle's raspy voice made her jump, she had been too distracted by her surroundings to hear him approach, slowly turning towards him with wide eyes. He was wearing his black signature suit, paired with the white collar she’d see in her darkest moments, making heat pool between her thighs. 

(Y/n) clawed her fingernails into her palms to rip herself out of the hazy fog calling for her, needing to stay focused before she could do or say something that would end her internship right there and then. 

“I thought you may need some help preparing for the service.” A sickly sweet smile tugged on her lips, forcing his teeth to rot from the mere possibility of tasting her. He took a step towards her, with his hands clamped together behind his back, giving him an extra authoritarian touch. But while her body screamed at her to take a step back, to find shelter behind the altar, her mind murmured to (y/n) to hold still, not daring to give in to his intimidation scheme. 

“I certainly appreciate your help, (y/n). I knew it was the right choice to pick you for this internship.” He towered over her, staring down at her with his gaze reminding her of a snake, ready to pounce, to sink its poisonous teeth into her quivering body. At that very moment, she was Eve, tempted by the eternal sin, and he was her downfall. She stood closer to him than ever before, front about to touch his, seeking the warmth he emanated in a place as cold as this church. 

“So, what should I do?” (Y/n) needed to get away from him, no longer trusting herself with ignoring the shameless whispers ringing in her ears. But the tall man didn’t back off, he kept watching her with that smirk that told her he knew exactly what she found herself bothered by. A losing game (y/n) had never been destined to win, burning out like a cigarette setting a petrol station ablaze, destined to burn to the ground. 

“Why don’t you choose this morning’s prayers?” He reached for the Bible resting on the altar, way too close to her. His front brushed hers as he leaned forward, reaching for the leather-bound book before pushing it into (y/n)’s grasp. Their eyes kept holding contact, even as his hand disappeared inside the pocket of his jacket, pulling free a black rosary. “Oh, before I forget. Here, I want you to have this.” 

(Y/n) didn’t get any time to react or to ask questions as he pushed the rosary over her head to let it rest on her chest. His hand kept holding onto the dangling cross, while his eyes flickered back to her confused ones. “They will know you belong to me, wear it whenever you are working here.”

……

Her eyes were focused on the bright laptop screen as she was typing away her notes for this day, promising to give them to Professor Riddle before leaving. Even though her thoughts were still all over the place, (y/n) found herself growing more comfortable around the tall man most students were scared of. He treated her kindly, and yet something was hiding behind his words and expressions she couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Are you done with your notes?” Professor Riddle’s voice filled his office as he stepped inside. (Y/n) didn’t lift her gaze at first, hastily trying to type the last sentence before she gave in and dared to look at him. 

“Just finished, should I print them?” He didn’t reply to her question, eyes fully focused on her upper body, trying to locate the missing rosary. With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) watched him approach, rounding the desk to find his way towards her. (Y/n) struggled to breathe as the scent of his expensive cologne clashed against her frame, forcing her to get lost in his darkening eyes. 

“Where is the rosary?” She knew that she had forgotten it at home this very morning, too tired to care about any rules and regulations, but her hand still snapped up to her chest, trying to find the missing piece.

“I’m sorry, I forgot it at home.” He didn’t give in to the soft smile (y/n) shot him, didn’t pick up on the exhaustion dripping from her words, solemnly focused on the way she had gone against his rules. His tongue kissed his teeth before he took a step back and stretched his ringed hand out for her to take. “Where are we going?”

“I wanted to go over this with you tomorrow, but it seems like tonight is the perfect time to do so.” (Y/n) was led out of his office and down the hallway towards the dark nave. They walked up to the confessional, and as he opened one door for her, he shot her a look that made her tremble, letting any protests die on the tip of her tongue. 

“Have you ever confessed before, (y/n)?” She was engulfed by darkness, and could barely see her own hands, let alone the man who was sitting close to her, behind the wooden construction keeping them apart. The scent of incense hung in the air, sticking to her like a second layer of skin, a reminder of their sacred surroundings.

“No, professor.” (Y/n) had been addressing him as “Professor” for the past days, not daring to use any other title, let alone his first name. But the second she used this very title to address him, (y/n) could tell that it would be the last time she’d call him that tonight, a shift was happening, something she was now taken over by. 

“It’s Priest Riddle to you.” The barely audible gasp clawing through (y/n) left him chuckling, followed by the sound of him shifting around on the bench, making himself comfortable as she grew more tense. “You sinned, you went against my rules. I must punish you for that, (y/n).”

“Punish me?” She hated that his words pushed excitement through her, forcing her to sit even straighter as if he could see her. Her fingertips began to tingle, her legs were quivering, unable to hold still as something she had only dreamt of slowly began to unfold right at that very moment. 

“Honesty will be the price of your foolishness, (y/n). I notice the way you look at me, how you seem to long for something you aren’t allowed to even reach for. Tell me, (y/n), what is it you so desperately seem to want?” Embarrassment flushed through her, followed by anger she couldn’t shake. How dare he ask something like this? How dare he try to embarrass her for a simple mistake? She should have left the confessional, stormed out of the church, and reported the man for overstepping. And yet she didn’t, already stuck in the trap he had laid out for her months ago.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She didn’t know what she wanted from him if she was merely longing for his touch, or if something even more desperate was guiding her on. She didn’t know if she wanted a simple taste, or to be swallowed wholly by him. She simply didn’t know. 

“How far are you willing to go, (y/n)?” Her mouth felt dry, unable to swallow as his words began to sink in. (Y/n) was grateful that he couldn’t see her, the way her pupils were dilated by the lust flushing through her, the goosebumps covering every visible part of her body as if she was engulfed by an icy wind. 

“Farther than I should.” A part of her expected him to break the spell they were now connected by, to pull her out of the confessional and scold her for giving in this easily. But the priest didn’t move, and neither did (y/n). 

“Spread your legs, I want you to touch yourself like I bet you keep imagining me doing.” With her heart in her throat, (y/n)’s hand disappeared beneath her skirt, slowly pushing her damp panties aside. A soft moan clawed through the student, grateful that the others had left the church hours ago. “Good girl, fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Another moan left (y/n) as she pushed two fingers into her tightness, spreading her walls as if she was preparing herself for his cock, desperate to take every inch. She kept moaning for him, choking on her sounds that grew heavier with every passing moment. 

“I can hear how wet you are, I bet you taste so sweet, like the forbidden fruit.” His words guided her on, ringing in her ears as if the Devil was calling for her, wandering through the darkness to reach his open arms, getting lost in his sweet promises. “I should imprint my palm on your skin for going against my rules. You promised you wouldn’t disappoint me, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” Her needy whimpers left the priest chuckling, sounds that almost managed to drown out the ones clawing through (y/n). 

“I’m sure you are, (y/n). Stop touching yourself.” It pained her to pull her hand away, she had been close to giving in, ready to call out his name as her orgasm clashed through her, seconds before she could have reached paradise. The sounds of Priest Riddle leaving his side of the confessional echoed through the evening, followed by the sounds of him opening her side and stepping into the small space. 

She was pulled to her feet and tugged in for a kiss that left her moaning. (Y/n)’s arms found their way around Priest Riddle's neck, trying to pull the tall man even closer as if she were addicted to him. He broke the kiss to turn her around, pressing (y/n)’s front against the wooden wall separating both sides of the confessional. His ringed hands felt cold against her body as he shuffled her skirt up to her waist, letting her panties drop to the ground seconds later.

“I hope you prepared yourself enough for this punishment.” His ringed hand came down on her behind, forcing a yelp out of (y/n) who pressed herself further against the cold wood. Pain stretched itself through her, an unfamiliar kind of pain that made her ache for more. Once again, his palm met her warm skin, knowing that she’d struggle with sitting for the next few days. “I can’t wait to finally fuck you, make you pay for all these times I felt your eyes on me like a needy whore who doesn’t know when to stop.”

(Y/n) couldn’t protest, she couldn’t speak up to beg him for any kindness he wouldn’t offer. Only as she felt him pull away for a moment did (y/n) allow herself to breathe, blinking away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. 

“What do you want, (y/n)? And don’t feed me another lie. I want your honesty.” Chills ran down her spine at his dangerous tone, shaking through (y/n) like an earthquake set on ripping her off her feet. She had to deeply inhale, had to heavily swallow before she managed to put her longings into words, needing to break out of his trap. 

“I want your cock, fuck me, please, Priest Riddle.” A satisfied hum left the man, followed by the sounds of him ripping open a condom, prepared for his very punishment. It didn’t take long until she felt him at her entrance, slowly pushing into (y/n) with a heavy groan that dripped with need and lust clawing through him.

It felt as if they had been created for his moment only, bodies made to fit. 

“I should tell you to never sin again, to stay true to your promises. But you’ve turned me into a sinner as well, no promise could keep me from you any longer.” His words left her gasping, walls clenching around this twitching cock. He fucked her with urgency, set on proving to (y/n) and to himself that she was his, his to guide, his to punish. 

“You take my cock so well, I bet you dreamt of being fucked by me in a holy place, didn’t you?” His warm breath clashed against her tingling skin as he spoke his words, drawing a heavy sob out of (y/n) as she lost her grip on their surroundings. Tom’s hand moved like a snake, slithering back up to her throat to hold onto her, letting go of a raspy, “Speak when I ask you to.” 

“Yes, I did. I dreamt of it.” It was a simple reply, yet it was just enough to make the priest hum in approval. He twitched inside of her as he could tell that they both were ready to let go with their hearts pounding and their limbs aching. (Y/n) struggled to breathe on as he tightened his grip on her throat, forcing her head to rest against his broad chest. The priest stared down at (y/n), her lighthouse in the darkest nights, the burning bush to rely on. An anchor of safety. 

“Let go, (y/n), be honest once again.” She came with a gasp, with her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted. A sight so ethereal, the priest followed her moments later, letting his teeth graze his lower lip to draw some blood. He pulled out of her all too quickly, to turn her back towards him with his bloody lip finding hers, “Now you’re truly mine, bound my blood.” 

And who was she to deny a sinner a wish this pure? At least it was on them to pray for Satan that night, since God no longer would pick up on their calls. 

[cherriesformatt]

first mother’s day || matt sturniolo

summary: little blurb about celebrating your first Mother’s Day it’s Matt and your daughter

warnings: none just fluff

world count: 759

a/n: just a little part to the pregnancy series 🤭 since it’s mother’s day tomorrow. I didn’t prof read yet

I woke up because first of all I did not hear white noise from the camera monitor and also didn’t feel Matt’s presence next to me. I slept whole night and that was surprising because we came here and Noa was in the room next to us. We traveled to Boston to see Marylou.

I stretched in bed and opened my eyes. I looked at the monitor and Noa’s crib was empty so she must have woke up already. I looked at the clock and it was 10.

“What the fuck?” I stood up from the bed.

I usually was up like at 6 to feed her and get her ready for the day. I opened the doors and smell of bagels and coffee filled my nose.

I was wearing Matt’s tee and pajama pants and I grabbed my glasses before I left my room.

I went downstairs into the kitchen and I gasped.

“Happy First Mother’s Day baby!” Matt yelled at me and I was literally stunned.

“Happy Mother’s Day y/n!!!!” The rest of the family was also there.

There were flowers everywhere. Kitchen was filled with all my and their mom’s favorite food and snacks. There were gift bags and I looked at my little girl. She was all happy in her chair. She was wearing a dress and she had a little bow in her hair. He dressed her up so cute. She squinted when she saw me.

“What is this all? Oh my god guys… you didn’t have to… come here my beautiful baby” I picked her up and kissed her head few times.

“Well…I wanted to do something special for you” he kissed my head.

“Thank you guys…and Happy Mother’s Day” I looked at them and than Marylou and came to give her big hug.

“Oh honey it’s all about you today” She said giving me a big smile.

“Oh no if it wasn’t about you then I wouldn’t have all of this” I smiled and kissed Noa’a cheek.

“Look at you baby….dada picked up such a beautiful outfit for you” I said to my daughter.

“Well… it was Mom and actually she got that outfit from Justin” He said scratching his neck.

“Of course… Matt wouldn’t put her in all pink but uncle Justin got her” Justin smiled and I laughed.

“You’re so cheesy Justin” I said and Noa wanted to go to her grandma so I let Marylou take her.

“I slept till now it’s a miracle” I said to Matt.

“I was hoping you will…” He said and gave me a quick kiss.

We talked and have the breakfast all together as we watched Noa play with Trever on the floor. She was 9 months now and she was so independent already. I had tears in my eyes every time I thought about her growing so fast. I was such a mother.

“Okay so we let mom already open her presents but those are all for you” Matt said when I was sipping my juice sitting at the island when he was cleaning.

“Matt you literally didn’t have to get me anything I am happy we can be here and spend time as family” I said taking the bags.

“I need to make my baby momma happy” he said and I just made a face at him.

“Don’t ever say that” I laughed and opened the gifts.

One of them was a designer bag from Matt and matching shoes from Nick and Chris. Cards and charms to my bracelet from their parents. I also got spa day voucher from Justin.

“You all are impossible spending money on my like that! It’s… thank you” I said and just came and gave Matt a big hug.

“I love you so so so much thank you for making me a mom” I closed my eyes when my head rested on his chest.

“See… that’s a crazy thing to say as well” he said and I laughed.

“But I love you too… and it was all Noa don’t look at me” He hugged me tight to him.

“They all also said we should go out tonight and they will watch Noa for us” he smiled.

“Are you inviting me for a date?” I smiled back.

“Yes… it’s a date” he said.

“Let me think about it” I said just to fuck with him a little.

“I hate you” he said and i stand on my toes to kiss his lips.

He kissed me back and than I smiled even more. It was all perfect today.

[kiss-me-cill-me]

prof!crane x student!reader

they haven’t fucked in a while because of summer break or something and when they finally see each other again in college reader’s getting attention from a lot of guys and crane gets super jealous something along those lines, i just your imagination more than mine! <3

smut ofc ;)

thank u lovey 💌

Yesssss I love Professor!Crane and I love this idea hehe 👀 I decided to go with one really annoying guy giving reader attention instead of a bunch, because that's just the way the muse ended up taking me. Thank you for requesting, anon, and I hope you enjoy!!

Independent Variable

Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After you catch the eye of an unwanted admirer in Dr. Crane's class, your professor happily teaches you a lesson about just who you belong to.

Warnings: Smut, cockwarming, possessiveness, jealousy, harassment (not from Crane, but a pushy student in reader's class), okay Crane is kinda a jerk as well but like when is he not...

A/N: This fic is part of a series of oneshots set in the same AU. However, there is no real plot aside from Crane and the reader being horny, so you can read them in any order, skip around, etc.

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

You tossed a notebook onto your desk, and leaned back down to rustle through your bookbag, looking for a pen. As you did, you felt your dress ride up in the back, but made no move to adjust it.

“Hey,” said a voice behind you.

You shot up quickly and spun around, embarrassment flooding your cheeks at the thought of the unfamiliar man standing there, catching a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have. 

“Is this seat taken?”

Your shoulders relaxed as you got a real look at him. The student in front of you looked like he might have just rolled out of bed, despite the fact that this was a 2pm class. His eyes were half-lidded as he gestured at the seat next to you, and you shook your head with a small, friendly smile.

“No, go ahead,” you replied.

As you both settled into your seats, you reminded yourself to pay more attention to your surroundings. Your thoughts had been wandering, almost without noticing it, to your professor. 

Dr. Crane had been on your mind for the entirety of spring break, and being back in his class now was making it even harder to focus on anything else. 

You snuck a brief look at him now, sitting quietly at the front of the room. He was hunched over, grading a stack of papers while he waited for the rest of your classmates to trickle in. It had been only a little over a week since you’d last seen him - and he had given you quite an intimate send-off to make sure you kept him in mind over spring break. But, unfortunately for you, it had only made sure that you’d had nothing but Dr. Crane on your mind for the whole week. Rather than satisfy you, his extra attention only increased your desire. This was your final class of the day, and you’d made plans to see him right after, as you usually did.

“Hey, did you just transfer into this class?” asked the boy next to you. You swiveled around to face him, slumped in his seat and smiling at you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“No, I’ve been here,” you said curtly, though trying not to let too much annoyance creep into your voice. You weren’t really interested in light conversation, but it wasn’t his fault for trying to be friendly.

“Really,” droned the boy. It was less of a question than an advance. “I woulda thought I’d have noticed someone like you.”

Okay, maybe he was slightly less-than-innocent. And entirely too friendly, if you weren’t just imagining the hint of suggestion in his voice. You pressed your lips into a tight smile, suddenly regretting the fact that you’d let him sit next to you.

“Is this your first class with Professor Crane?” he continued.

“Um, no…” you replied, not really wanting to keep the conversation going, but somehow already too trapped to just ignore him.

“Heh, poor you,” said the boy. “I hear he’s the type that likes to fuck people over.”

You had to bite back a laugh. Somehow you doubted that any of Crane’s other students were getting “fucked over” in exactly the same way you were.

When you glanced over again at your professor, his eyes met yours briefly before darting back down to the stack of papers in front of him. The lingering frost of his stare made your toes curl.

“I like his classes,” you hummed, wary of letting your voice take on too much of the airy, dream-like quality that it often did when you thought about Crane. “I find them… stimulating.”

“Brave girl. You must be smart, huh?”

Before you had a chance to answer, Dr. Crane called the class to attention. As he launched into his welcome-back speech - short and to the point before he got on with the actual lesson - you let out a sigh of relief. You were thankful that this particular awkward interaction would be brief. After this class, you were never going to let this guy sit next to you again.

Ten minutes into the lecture, though, you felt a hand brush over your arm.

“Hey,” breathed the guy, his voice hissing all too close to your ear. “Do you have an eraser? I forgot mine.”

You hummed, too low for him to hear it, but with your teeth grating in anger. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? His hand rested on your arm, and you wanted to pull back and shake it off. Instead, you straightened your back and kept your eyes facing forward.

“No,” you spit back. “I take notes in pen.”

“Ooh, you are smart,” the boy teased, his tone somewhere just past the point of sincere flattery. “Don’t make any mistakes, do you?”

Your teeth mashed together a bit more.

“No wonder you sit in the front row-”

Your one-sided conversation was disrupted, abruptly, by a firm hand slamming down on each desk. You and the boy looked up together, to see Dr. Crane looming over you.

“Is there a problem here?” Crane asked.

“Uhh… no sir,” the boy answered. 

You felt molten heat start to pool in your lap, weaving its way in between your legs. As your eyes trailed up the sleeve of his suit, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself slipping it off of Dr. Crane’s shoulders and throwing it into a corner of the room. This really wasn’t the time or place, much less the ideal situation to be fantasizing in. But the hint of strained possessiveness in his voice had shaken all other thoughts from your head.

“Let’s try to keep personal conversations to a minimum during class,” Crane suggested. He slinked back to his post at the lecturer’s podium.

You almost wanted to fan yourself with your notebook, but resisted the urge. Beside you, the boy let out a petulant grunt, and buried his face in his notes.

As much as you tried to focus on the lesson, you couldn’t help but notice every time Crane’s eyes strayed over to you, studying and astute. Usually he tried not to be so obvious about it. But you caught him staring at you so many times that you started to feel nervous that the rest of the class would notice it too. Somewhere deep in your chest, the thought made your heart flutter.

Unfortunately, you also noticed the multiple times the boy next to you poked and nudged you - always just subtly enough that you couldn’t call him out. His elbow touched yours as he turned to a new page. His foot drifted over to bump gently against the side of your bag on the floor. It was enough to drive you up a wall, but not enough to make a scene.

When class ended, finally, you all but shoved your notebook into your bag, and shot up from your seat like it was on fire. Somehow, Crane was faster than you, and you caught a glimpse of him slipping out of the room as you hurried to follow after.

“Hey! Wait up,” called the guy sitting next to you.

Shit. Not him again. You walked faster, stepping out into the hallway and darting around other students who were still milling about as you made your way to Crane’s office. You were supposed to meet him there, and you really wished you wouldn’t have an annoying little tagalong with you by the time you arrived.

“Where’re you going?” pestered an all too familiar voice.

You didn’t answer, and kept yourself focused on making it to Crane’s office. The walk wasn’t long, but when you arrived there was no sign of Crane. His door was open, though, and you hurried the last few steps to reach it.

“Hey!” the guy called behind you, again. Couldn't he take a hint?

You felt his hand on your arm, and this time you nearly did yank it away. The sheer shock of being touched stopped you, though, and you whirled around to face him, practically seething. The petulant look on his face fueled your anger, and you opened your venomous mouth to speak just as he interrupted you.

“You’re being so rude!” he complained. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

That sent your brain for a spin. You were the one being rude? When he had just spent an entire class harassing you? You opened your mouth again, but this time, you didn’t have to speak.

“Have you considered that maybe she just isn’t interested in talking to you?”

You would recognize that slightly smug voice anywhere, and you were incredibly glad to hear it. Instantly, your shoulders relaxed as you looked up to see Crane, a piping hot mug in one hand as he idly bobbed a teabag up and down with the other.

“Wh-what?” the annoying boy stammered. 

“Is something the matter?” Crane continued, not bothering to acknowledge the question. “I can’t say I appreciate you interrupting my lesson with your unfortunate attempt at… well, whatever it is you were trying to do.”

Clearly at a loss, the boy’s grip on your arm weakened as he tried to come up with a response. You tried to keep yourself from smiling. Too obviously, anyway. And just past the point where the silence had started to stretch into hopelessness, Crane spoke again.

“Well. If you wouldn’t mind moving, I have a private tutoring session to attend with your classmate here.” He gestured at you. “And you’re blocking my door.”

The boy stepped back, finally letting go of your arm in the process. His scowl was a poor retort to the authority that Crane seemed to exude even as he took a disinterested sip of his tea. You felt something stir inside you again, and you suddenly couldn’t wait to get behind closed doors with your professor. Not just because it meant getting away from this situation. And certainly not for a tutoring session.

“Thank you,” Crane said politely.

He ushered you into his office, careful not to touch you in any overt ways. But even as his hand lingered a few inches away from the small of your back, you could practically feel the energy passing between you. He was so going to get it as soon as that door was closed.

“And next time,” Crane said, turning briefly to shut the door, “I’m docking five points from your grade for every disruption in class.”

With a quick click, the door closed, and you were finally left alone with your professor. You could hear a harsh swear and the stomp of angry feet in the hallway, as the boy from class sulked away. You smiled, and took a step closer to Crane.

“Thank you,” you sighed. “You have no idea how I-”

You’d started to bring your arms up to wrap loosely around his shoulders, but Crane stopped you before you could, to your surprise. Hooking a finger under your chin, he forced you to stop short and looked at you shrewdly.

“I see you made a new friend over spring break,” he observed.

“Ugh. Yuck - no,” you laughed, still trying to wiggle closer so that you could hug him. “That guy was so annoying.”

“Annoying, hm?” Crane hummed. “Maybe I’ll have to start using assigned seats.”

He dropped your chin, and brushed past you while taking a sip of his tea. As he set the mug down on his desk, you spun around to see him settle into his huge leather office chair. You followed, swaying your hips a bit to tease him.

“Just as long as you keep me in the front row,” you said, half-jokingly. 

“Yes, we wouldn’t want you getting distracted by anyone else, now would we?” Crane droned. 

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, he looked up and crooked a finger at you, beckoning you to come closer. You did, and just as you came to a stop in front of him, Crane grabbed your wrist.

“Actually, I think I might have to move your seat a bit closer than that,” he mused.

Just as you were about to question what could be closer to him than the front row, he turned you around and pulled you down into his lap, making the hair on the back of your neck bristle as he pressed the side of his face against yours.

“After today, I’m starting to think that I’ll need to keep a closer eye on you,” Crane whispered huskily.

As his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you even closer, you squirmed.

“I wasn’t doing anything, though,” you protested. “It was all him.”

It occurred to you that you didn’t even know the rude boy’s name, and the thought made your cheeks heat up. Would that make Crane more annoyed, or less? He must have seen how bothered you were by the unwanted advances in class. Clearly, he was just teasing you, as he so often loved to do. But… what if he really was jealous, and thought you would flirt with anyone who gave you attention?

Slowly, you became aware of a growing bulge, now pressing up into your thigh. Okay, maybe you liked jealous Crane…

“You don’t really think that anything would happen between me and that guy, do you?” you gasped, playing up the shock in your voice.

You felt your back press fully into his chest as he tightened his arms again, pulling you in.

“Do you know what kind of game you’re playing?” Crane scowled behind you.

You did, and you knew that he knew it, too. Just like you knew he was fully aware that you were only playing dumb. But, that had never stopped either of you from having a bit of fun with it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you sighed, grinding your hips down as your head leaned back to rest on his shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll have to show you then.”

With that, Crane’s hand pushed up the hem of your skirt, swiftly pressing past the fabric of your panties to rub at your slit.

“You’re wet,” he growled. “This had better be from me.”

You didn’t even try to hide the shiver that moved down your spine and straight to his cock, making your hips twist against him again. The armrests of his chair were the only thing available to brace yourself against, and you clutched at them.

Crane swirled his fingers against you again, his other arm keeping you pinned to his lap, and you lost the fight to hold back a shaky breath.

“Already worked up,” he observed. “Were you even paying attention in class?”

“Y-yes,” you insisted.

“Hm.”

Crane forced his hand into the very limited space between your body and his, quickly freeing himself and pressing his now fully-erect cock in between your legs. As you felt it brush against your thighs, you couldn’t help but buck your hips, trying to get a better angle. Crane stilled you, bringing his lips close to your ear as he held you in place.

“Somehow I doubt you were really focusing on the lecture,” he said. “So, I think you and I will have to go over it again. But first…”

He held your panties to the side, repositioning so he could slide himself fully inside of your cunt. It was embarrassing how easily he was able to - your walls offering hardly any resistance as he pressed in.

“Enjoy your new assigned seat.”

You let out a moan as you started to move up and down, slowly at first to warm up to the stretch of him. Almost as soon as you’d started, though, Crane stopped you, hugging you suffocatingly close so that you couldn’t so much as wiggle your hips.

 “No fidgeting in class,” he warned.

You huffed impatiently; the ache that was steadily growing between your legs only somewhat quelled by the way he filled you.

“But we’re not in class,” you protested.

“Didn’t I just tell you?” Crane hissed. “We’re going back over the material. Now…”

He leaned forward to reach for a textbook on his desk, and the small movement caused him to shift just enough to give you a hint of the stimulation you needed. But too soon, it was gone, and Crane had settled back into his chair with you still trapped on his lap, stretched and desperate for friction.

“Do you remember what today’s lesson was about?” he asked wickedly. “Or was your mind already wandering by the time I started talking?”

It was nearly impossible to focus with his voice dripping into your ear like that, and his cock buried so deep inside of you that you were seeing stars. But, you summoned up every last once of attention you could muster to answer him.

“C-clinical trial procedures for use with SSRIs,” you said, grinding your teeth.

“Hm. It almost seems like you were paying attention.”

“I was,” you agreed, quickly seizing the opportunity. “I even took notes. I can show you-”

“Taking notes just proves you can copy down words from a chalkboard,” he interrupted. “I want to make sure you really absorbed the information.”

He punctuated the word with his hips, thrusting up just enough for you to feel it, but so shallow that you couldn’t enjoy the effects for more than a second. You groaned, and felt Crane’s smirk against the shell of your ear.

“Why don’t we open our books to page three hundred and thirty-eight?” he droned, using the same flat, carefully-recited voice that he always did in class. Hearing it so close to your ear made your walls flutter around him, and Crane tapped a finger impatiently on the textbook in front of you, not letting up.

“Can’t you just fuck me?” you whined, not caring how petulant your voice sounded.

“What makes you think I’m going to do that?”

You wished that you weren’t turned away from him, if only so Crane could see the look of utter disbelief on your face. He was balls-deep inside of you, and asking why you thought he was going to fuck you? As if you were sitting across from each other, having an actual tutoring session, and not nearly cumming around his cock.

If only he would let you move.

As you sighed with frustration, an idea came to you. There was one way you could torture him back.

You flexed your muscles, staying perfectly still while your walls squeezed his whole length. You thought you felt him twitch slightly, just a little involuntary movement. But it was hard to tell when your mind was already filling up with thoughts of the way he was sure to bend you over his desk and thoroughly destroy you once you had given him enough incentive.

“C’mon,” you sighed. “Why hold back when you’re obviously dying to make me remember whose cock makes me fall apart? You’re so jealous.”

The smug smile was quickly wiped off your face as Crane’s hands tightened around your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“You think I’m jealous?”

He roughly swirled your hips, not giving you nearly enough friction, but still making you cry out. You wanted to scream for him to touch your clit, move you up and down - do anything. The torture of feeling him inside you, stretching you out with so little movement, was making your whole body burn. And most of the heat was starting to focus right between your legs, on the neglected bundle of nerves that was begging for attention.

“You think it drives me insane to watch someone else touch you?” He moved your hips again, and you felt a sharp pang of frustration. “That I don’t like it when someone else tries to take what’s mine?”

His last word was practically a growl, and you felt yourself clench again, not on purpose this time. The low hiss of his voice in your ear was almost enough to make you come undone, if only he would give you even the briefest hint of physical stimulation where you needed it.

You focused on squeezing him again, rubbing your legs together as much as you could.

“Don’t make me beg,” you pleaded.

“Oh no, sweetheart - you don’t have to beg. Like you said, I’m going to show you just who you belong to.”

With that, Crane’s hips shot up as he bit down harshly on the lobe of your ear. You were shocked to feel warmth spreading deep inside of you - you hadn’t even realized he was close. As he pressed deeper, one of his hands came up to squeeze roughly at your breast, and your mouth fell open.

You sat there together for a moment, Crane breathing a bit more heavily than he had been a few seconds ago. Eventually, you made a move to get up.

“I can’t believe you’re so petty,” you started.

Before you could stand up more than a fraction of an inch, Crane’s hold tightened on you again.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“To clean up.” 

You could feel his cum starting to leak out of you slowly. It dripped down the shaft of his cock, still buried inside you and keeping most of the mess contained.

“I don’t think so,” he said, calmly. He pulled you back, pinning you right where you had been before. “You’re staying right here until we’ve gone over the lesson. And if you still can’t pay attention…” He swirled your hips again in that deliciously infuriating way. “Then I guess we’ll be here for a very long time.”

“You’re infuriating,” you sighed. “I didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“What a shame. Now, where were we?”

As Crane reached forward again to open the textbook, his still-hard cock brushed against your slick walls. You tried to hold back the moan that escaped your lips, but you could feel every inch of him still inside you, and it was no use trying to stop yourself.

Crane brought his lips to your ear as he started to lecture, and you shivered.

Taglist: @cillianslvt, @cillmequick, @dynamitehacke, @franzine-xii, @hanawrites404, @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch, @littlewinter1917, @mothhball, @nnattu, @nocturnest, @red-riding-wood, @sea-star-of-the-ocean, @slut4thebroken

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | four.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

—word count: 5.4k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, oc is getting whiplash from prof. choi's lab culture lmao, very vague/general descriptions of mice research work, prof. choi to the rescue fr,  lots and LOTS of tension, yes i promise the ending counts as foreshadowing because shit will hit the roof in 5!!

A couple of days later, you and Sunwoo are finally putting the newly built behavior rig to use. A couple of days later, you find yourself becoming way too distracted by Professor Choi.

A couple of days later, Sunwoo is asking you to text your professor about some mice issues?

"Can you do me a favor?" Sunwoo pouts. "Pretty please?"

"What?" You tease and cross your arms.

"Can you take a picture and text it to Professor Choi? Ask him if it's okay to move forward with the vet's recommendations for the mice?"

"Text him?" Sunwoo looks at you and nods, flashing you Professor Choi's number on his own phone screen.

"We usually text him if it's something really urgent and needs his attention."

"You guys don't just do this in a Slack chat or something?"

"Trust me, he's probably the worst with Slack. I don't even think the guy has it downloaded on his phone so it's easily accessible." Sunwoo chuckles. "Y/N, I promise. It's fine. I'm not setting you up for trouble." You let out a small sigh and pull out your phone to take pictures. You're not really sure why you're hesitant, it definitely was a thing in Professor Bahng's lab, too. You're probably just used to the older cohorts of professors that required everything to be sent through email, Slack maybe. The new wave? Definitely a bunch of texters.

you: hi professor choi, this is y/n! i'm with sunwoo and he asked me to send this picture to you of one of our mice. the vet said he's really sick and we should go with a different treatment plan for it. it'll cost a little more if we do, but it should help get the mouse back on track. can we move forward?

San is paused mid-workout when he gets your text, sweat dripping down from his forehead when he zooms into the picture, analyzes a bit and lets out a sigh.

prof. choi: yes please!

you: got it!

prof. choi: could i trouble you and sunwoo to make sure there aren't any other sick mice?

you: of course! sorry about that. ☹️

prof. choi: all good, it happens! no need to apologize for anything. thank you. ☺️

prof. choi: also, can you have him charge it to our outreach account? he'll know and could probably pass along the finance info to you.

you: of course!

prof. choi: 😬

"He said it's fine and to charge it to the outreach account." Sunwoo raises his brow.

"He answered you already? I thought we'd have to make rounds in this room before he responded."

"Yeah?"

"Jeez, what's the trick? I feel like I have to bombard him sometimes."

"I literally just got here, I have no trick." You laugh.

"Sure." Sunwoo laughs and shrugs it off. "Anyway, sounds good! Thanks. Let's go take care of these mice and make sure the rest are fine."

"He said that, too."

"Figured! Always gotta be one step ahead of him. That's the only way to survive here." You laugh and follow Sunwoo deeper into the mice room, looking through the rest of the mice to make sure none of them are as sick. You help him wean a couple and split them into different cages, the last half of the walkthrough consisting of making sure everything else looks good. When you get back to the basement, you spend a bit of time helping Belle before starting on the first half of your behavior experiment with Sunwoo. It's a lot of work spent in a dark room, surrounded by bright computer lights— time moves quick, but your energy drains quicker.

When you finally catch a break after the past few hours of working alongside of Sunwoo, you wander down the halls to head to the bathroom and get a snack. You freshen up after relieving yourself, feeling a bit icky after being in a stuffy room, the stuffy basement, all afternoon. You prance over to the vending machine down the hall, grabbing some peanut m&ms to munch to satisfy your sweet tooth. Just as you turn the hall to walk back towards the office, Professor Choi walks out of one of the rooms, damn near colliding with you once again.

"Woah, hey. Sorry." He says, his arm out in case of any minor collisions.

"You're good, Professor Choi." He smiles, eyes shifting down to the bag of m&ms in your hand. 

"Sweet tooth?"

"Need some sugar. Been cooped up with the rooms with Sunwoo."

"You're gonna take a break, right?"

"I will." You give him a toothless smile. "Sorry about texting you earlier. Sunwoo said it was fine, but I don't know. I still feel bad somehow." Professor Choi laughs before shaking his head.

"It really is fine, I promise you Y/N. Especially in that case. You can text or call me for emergency purposes." You pause, unsure how to respond. "I mean it."

"Okay, okay." You chuckle. "I will." He smiles at you before clutching his laptop close to his hip and checking his watch.

"Good. I'll see you later, gotta run off to prepare for this symposium with Professor Bahng."

"Symposium?"

"Mhm. He's leading one next month."

"Are you doing a talk?" He nods.

"Yeah unless he boots me out of the agenda for whatever reason." You giggle and shake your head. "You'll be there whenever it happens, right?"

"Yeah, of course. Can't miss that."

"Good answer." He smirks. "And Y/N?"

"Mhm?"

"Hope that's not gonna be dinner for you. Don't skip meals on me, please." You silently nod, waving him off before turning on your heel to head back to your desk.

That same evening, you have never been so grateful for having listened to a professor. It was such a tiny detail when Professor Choi told you to save his number for emergency purposes, and here you are experiencing said emergency purpose. 

You were wrapping up your behavior experiment in one of the lab rooms, excited to finally leave the small room and the darkness behind. You had set your mice down on the cart, taking a few notes on an index card to jot into your lab notebook later on— which, you probably shouldn't have left your notebook in the office area in the first place. You needed to reference something mid-note-taking about the mouse's behavior, but you couldn't. When you decided to run out and grab your notes, the door handle flew off and locked you inside.

Fuck.

You tried your best not to panic, but the room felt like it was closing in on you with how small the space was. How dark the room was, felt like it was getting darker by the minute despite the computers giving off light in the far corners. Trapped between these behavior rigs and the gazillion computers, microscopes and lasers. There was no way to re-attach the handle, or so you couldn't see any possible way, and there was nothing that could help you unlock the door from the inside. The worse part of it all is that none of your texts or calls to Sunwoo are going through due to the sucky ass service in the basement, and you know he's busy doing some neuron culturing off in the wetlab room nearby.

He's definitely not checking his phone, and he's probably not going to check on you anytime soon.

Your mind immediately goes to Professor Choi next. It could be a long shot, but you decide to pace the room, hoping the call could go through at some point. This could be considered an emergency purpose, right? He wouldn't think you're silly for contacting him because of a door handle, no?

You definitely should save the facilities and security numbers, too.

"Hello?"

"Oh. Hi!" You're wide-eyed when the call actually goes through in this one spot of the room, Professor Choi's sultry, deep voice picking up on the other end.

"Hey Y/N. Everything alright?"

"Um, no? I'm kinda embarrassed to say this but I'm stuck in the W072 behavior room. The door knob inside flew off so I can't even open the door." He smiles to himself before letting out a small breath.

"Sorry, yeah. That door's been having major issues. I'll have to ask facilities what's going on with that. I'll be over in about 5 minutes."

"I'm so sorry. I really am embarrassed, I hope I'm not pulling you from—"

"You don't need to worry." He chuckles. "You're not pulling me away from anything. I could use the break anyway. Be there for you soon. Hang tight for me, hm?" You bite onto your bottom lip and nod as if he can see you.

"Mmkay. Thank you."

"You're welcome." And with that, the call ends. You're awkwardly sitting on the computer chair in the dark room, nothing but the sounds of computers whirring in the background; sounds of the mice scrambling around their cages, a little desk lamp and the computers the only source of light. You barely have service down here, and you're eternally grateful the call actually went through to Professor Choi's phone. 

You'd be stuck here until Sunwoo decides to randomly pop in, if he randomly pops in. Until who fucking knows when, really.

Professor Choi arrives within that 5 minute mark, and he startles you by the way he swings the door open. He's wearing a Stussy shirt and jeans, sporting that same, dimpled smile of his that you're finding is becoming a weakness for you. 

"Hey you." He says. "You okay?"

"Yeah, thank you." You stand, the broken door handle in hand. "Uh, I have this?" He laughs before wedging the small trash can in between the door frame and the door itself.

"Let me see." He says, gently taking the door handle from your hand. You watch from behind as he crouches down to see if he can temporarily re-attach the damn thing. I mean truthfully, he is also trying to look useful and attractive in front of you somehow. Even though he doesn't know what the fuck is going on. "Uh." He hums, making you giggle.

"Maybe you should leave it for facilities." He turns to you with a playful glare.

"Saying I can't fix it?"

"I mean, doesn't look like it." He playfully tuts and stands, setting the door handle aside. "We might both get stranded here."

"That wouldn't be too bad, now would it?" He looks at you with such a shit-eating smirk, it causes you to shy away and release eye contact before you break. "But, you're right. There are things I'm better off with and that's not fixing door handles." He pouts and you shake your head.

"We can't always be great at everything, Professor Choi." You tease.

"Yeah." He lets out a small laugh. "Were you finished in here?"

"Uh, yeah. I just need to put the mice away." You lazily point at the cart behind you with a few cages sitting on top.

"Let me help."

"Oh no, I promise, I'm okay."

"I wanna." He slips on some gloves and starts dragging the cart towards the opposite end of the behavior room where the mice are housed. They sit behind blackout curtains and on ventilated shelves, some sitting a bit higher up that require a small step-stool to reach. You start setting the cages into their open spots in the middle row, but the last three need to be placed on the very stop shelf. "Where do these guys go?"

"Up there." You point and he smiles, grabbing two of the cages for you. 

"Got you. Careful, your head. I'm gonna reach over." He says from right behind you, his long arms reaching above to slip them into the open slots. You freeze, eyes watching him grab the last cage and slip it onto the shelf. "Good?" You turn to face him. He's still standing in the same position, not giving you much room to work with in this tiny corner.

"Mhm." You look up at him and god, does he like looking at you from this angle. "Thank you, Professor Choi."

"You're welcome." He matches your soft tone. With how close you are, you can smell his cologne lingering in the air. 

"You're always coming to my rescue."

"I don't mind. I'd do it again if I needed to." He ticks his head to the side. "Gotta give Sunwoo a little talk about not taking care of you properly."

"He's doing a very good job, I promise." You don't know what the hell comes over you, but you tap him against the chest lightly— and you almost lose it. First, out of embarrassment, but second, because of how firm his chest felt. You knew he worked out, but damn; you were wondering how well built and toned he actually was. He doesn't do anything, though. He's still looking at you with a small smile etched on his lips. You can tell he's having a slight internal debate on whether or not he should also tease and play around. 

He knows he can't. Doesn't mean he won't.

"Oh yeah?" He starts as he steps a little closer to test the waters. His eyes are flicking across your features as if he's trying to study you and study you well. It's a bit obvious he's itching to do something— brush your hair back, put a hand on your waist. Something, anything—

"Yo, you all good in there?" You hear Sunwoo's voice at the door, causing you to abruptly step aside and wipe your sweaty palms down your pants. "Oh shit, woah! Professor Choi out in the wild! What's going on?" Sunwoo fully steps into the behavior room and places his hands on his hips, San giving off a hearty laugh at his comment.

"The door handle flew off." Is all you say while pointing at it sitting on the edge of the table. "I tried calling and texting you but none of them went through. Professor Choi had to come save me." Sunwoo nods nonchalantly. Luckily, it doesn't seem like he thinks anything is strange or odd. Definitely didn't catch you two being only inches away from each other, damn near pressed up against one another. You're curious as to what Professor Choi would've done next, and now, you may never know.

Welp.

"The hell did you do?" Sunwoo laughs. "Just started and already breaking things?" He teases.

"You know that door's been an issue since forever." San chimes in.

"I know, I'm just teasing." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, are you all good in here?"

"Mhm. I uploaded everything onto the server."

"Sweet. I'll take a look in a bit." You watch Sunwoo as he starts to leave the room, grabbing your notebook and laptop from the other table before following suit.

"Thank you again, Professor Choi." You give him a cute smile that he finds himself admiring, being last to leave the room.

"Of course, Y/N. I'll come save you any time you need me to." You let out a small laugh before shaking your head and catching up to Sunwoo. He bites onto his bottom lip as he sheds off his gloves and tucks his hands into his pockets, letting the both of you be as he heads back into his office. Once he's inside, he lets out a hefty sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose because fuck.

He needs to control himself better.

"Fuck." He finally says outloud, slightly stressed over you and those pretty eyes. 

Pretty lips. 

Pretty smile. 

He plops back down onto his office chair, shaking off the thoughts before proceeding to check his inbox and review his final draft of the progress report. He needed to find any distraction right now; his thoughts, judgment even, slowly being clouded by you.

—FLASHBACK

"I think I'm getting this all wrong." You rest your head on the library table, reviewing your journal club presentation lazily.

"Why do you think that, Y/N? The way you interpret the paper is gonna make sense to the lab. Journal club is meant for you guys to build off of it and have a discussion." Jiung continues to work on his homework across from you.

"I know, I'm just nervous for some reason."

"Then just send your email to Professor Choi to see if he'll go over it with you. Give you peace of mind." You sigh.

"Yeah. He's probably gonna be so done with me after the past few days." Jiung snorts.

"Imagine if he hadn't saved you." His laugh grows. "How the fuck would you have gotten out?"

"I'd like to believe that Sunwoo would have at least checked on me." He nods.

"Yeah, maybe. Glad you're okay, though. What did Professor Choi say?" You shrug, completely [and obviously] leaving out the details about the close moments you've had with him.

"Nothing. He just came to get me and that was it." Jiung nods silently, giving you the opportunity to type away on Outlook to send Professor Choi an email.

From: yn@atz.edu To: choisan@atz.edu Hi Prof. Choi, Do you have some time to go over the paper I chose for journal club on Monday? I just want to make sure I'm getting the format and processes right. Here's my presentation attached. Best, Y/N

You minimize the window and continue to work on other things, hoping you can meet with Professor Choi and talk about it soon—

To: yn@atz.edu From: choisan@atz.edu Sure! We can go over it tomorrow if you'd like? 11am good?  - San

"He responded." Jiung hums as a response.

"Nice. What did he say?"

"We can meet tomorrow to go over it."

"See, that's good! I'm sure it'll be fine, but at least you can get Professor Choi's input for your first journal club." You nod.

"Yeah. Hopefully it is fine."

—END

You take your knuckles to the surface of Professor Choi's door, giving it a good two, three soft knocks before you hear a faint 'come in' from the other side. You swing the door open, finding Professor Choi diligently typing away as he sits at his desk. His brows are tightly knit together, and he's wearing a simple white button-up; but today, he's got black glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

"Hey Y/N." He says. "Sorry, give me a sec. I just need to respond to this email really quickly."

"No worries." You sit on the couch. "Take your time." His lips curve into a small smile just as he types away, then clicks to send it off. 

"Alright. Hi." He smiles his usual, dimpled smile, black strands framing his forehead. "How's it going?"

"Good. How about you?"

"I'm alright, can't complain." He chuckles. "So, you wanted to talk about journal club? I checked your powerpoint and everything seemed fine. What's wrong?"

"I just feel like I'm not getting it right."

"Why do you think that way? You know, journal club is for us to discuss the paper as a lab. You don't have to get everything right, Y/N."

"But, still." You pout and San almost melts into a puddle in his seat. Fuck, he thinks. This is gonna be difficult. "I just wanna make sure I'm at least getting the process or the concept of the paper correct." Professor Choi stands and walks around his desk and it's your turn to internally lose it. He's got on black slacks but they fit him so well— his outfit fits him so well, you don't think you've ever seen someone built so.. perfectly.

"Wanna walk though it?" You barely hear the question as your eyes continue to [subtly] glaze over his figure, and he surely catches on.

How much more obvious can you be?

Well, how could he not know how attractive he is? Him and his friends are a consistent, hot topic on campus.

He's so damn fine. He knows it.

"Y/N?" He leans back against the edge of his desk, snapping you out of your thoughts. He's got a leg crossed over the other, arms crossed tightly against his chest. His head is tilted while he watches you, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips while you shift your eyes back up to meet his. You're sure you aren't seeing things. You're almost positive Professor Choi's subtly feeding into this, right? "Lost you there?" 

"Yes. Sorry." You purse your lips together. "Got distracted."

"Hm." He hums, licking his lips. "Over what?"

"Nothing." You smile and shrug it off like it's nothing even though it clearly isn't. He knows, and he's not entirely mad about it one bit. It's a relief he's not the only one; question is, who's gonna be the first to break? San knows he can't, and it's a game he hates to play. 

Doesn't mean he won't.

"Didn't seem like nothing."

"Swear." You stand to walk over to the whiteboard on his wall, grabbing a colored marker to start doodling out your thoughts for the journal club paper.

"Lying to me again?" He teases.

"I would never lie to you, Professor Choi." He chuckles, coming behind you as you continue to write. 

"That's nice to know. I hope you know you can tell me anything, though." You pause, letting his words marinate. No, you don't know that. You don't think you can tell him how fine he is or how much you wanna jump his bones, not at all.

"I'm just confused." You continue your writing. The statement goes for a couple of things: the journal club paper, some of the data that you and Sunwoo have from recent behavior work, Professor Choi himself. "I need to know if I'm understanding it correctly." You point to the board, slowly turning over your shoulder to look at him. "I don't wanna misread anything." He subtly bites onto his bottom lip before stepping closer and taking the marker from your hand, drawing a huge circle around your writings.

"You're not." And for San, that statement can also go for a couple of things: your overthinking, the way you feel silly for questioning your understanding of the paper, you. "If it's one thing I can tell you Y/N— it's to not overthink and question every little thing. You'll waste time doing that when you've had it right all along." He looks at you and gives you one final reassurance: "You're not misreading any of this."

"Okay." You respond softly, eyes shifting to his lips and back up to his almond-shaped eyes. For some reason, this no longer feels like it's about the paper. For some reason, it feels like he's telling you he's on the same page, like he wants you just as bad as you want him. For some reason, you no longer feel like you're just delusional and in your feelings— even though, everything about this is completely wrong and against the code. It could fuck everything up for the both of you.

But, you don't care. 

He doesn't either.

"So, tell me again." He clears his throat. You watch his adam's apple bob when he swallows, capping the marker as he sits back on the corner of his desk and looks at you. "What's your understanding about their process?" You continue to write on the board, explaining your understanding of the paper. Professor Choi continues to sit closely behind you, nodding in agreement as you talk him through it. He saw your presentation and he didn't find any flaws with it; he's not sure why you're second guessing yourself when you did everything correctly.

You've done everything perfectly.

"Y/N." He says lowly, almost near your ear. "You've got it down. Don't second guess yourself."

"I can't help it."

"Trust me, don't. You'll make it more complicated than it needs to be. That was perfect. Your presentation was great."

"Should I fix anything?"

"No."

"Professor Choi. Are you lying to me now?" He chuckles.

"Is that what you think of me?" He's fighting with himself, closing his hand into a fist to fight the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear. He continues to keep his eyes on yours, though. "You know I could never do that."

"I'll take your word for it." In the end, you've gotten the reassurance you felt like you needed, you yearned for. But, in the end, you've also grown more confidence— enough to believe that Professor Choi was in the same boat as you. Because he is, he just can't say it out loud right now. This has nothing to do with the lab. His work. Your rotation, your projects.

This is all about you, and just you.

"Good." His tone drops before he checks his phone. He lets out a sigh, a small frown growing on his lips. How the hell did 30 mins go by so fast? "Shit. I gotta run to another meeting." He says softly, eyes quickly shifting around you facial features. "Is it okay if we continue this on the phone later? Just to make sure you've got everything before journal club on Monday?"

"S-sure." You quickly look at his lips, back up to his eyes. "Yeah, sure."

"5pm okay for me to call?"

"Dinner time for you?"

"Mm, not really. Dinner is whenever I feel hungry." You chuckle and nod. "What about you?"

"I can eat after."

"Okay, 5pm."

"Thank you, Professor Choi."

"You're welcome." He smiles toothlessly, watching as you carefully walk past him and grab your things. Again, he fights the temptation to pull you by the waist and press you flush against his body—

Doing things only he can imagine in his head.

"Are you walking out or are you doing a Zoom meeting?" San forces himself to snap out of it, lowly clearing his throat as he walks around and plops onto his computer chair. 

"Zoom. Talk later?" You smile before waving, leaving San to his peace. The tension in the room feels like it's finally gone, finally been lifted. He almost felt a little suffocated in his own office while having you there— but it's only because of how you make him feel, and now obviously, how he makes you feel. He lets out a hefty sigh, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes before hopping into the Zoom call about budgets and the status of his current grants. 

The meeting goes on for so long, it feels like. The whole afternoon is a drag and San feels exhausted by the time it hits 4pm. He's skipping out on the gym today, still a little sore from yesterday's workout. As soon as he wraps up his last meeting, he packs up and leaves, saying goodbye to the one or two heads still lingering in the office area. 

He still has enough groceries at home to make it through to the weekend, so he doesn't take any pitstops on the way home. He lets out a huge sigh when he finally pulls into his garage and parks the car, stepping out of his shoes and setting his bag aside in his office. He jogs upstairs to take a hot, steamy shower— enough to help relieve the stress from the week's activities. He throws on some flannel pajama pants and a white tee, heading back downstairs to throw some salmon and vegetables in the oven before cooking rice. 

While waiting for his dinner to finish, he settles back down in his office and pulls up your contact info from the text thread just as it's about to hit 5pm. He leans back against the chair, listening to the phone ring on the other line.

"Hi." You pick up so sweetly and it immediately brings a smile to San's face despite his long afternoon.

"Hi. Still a good time to talk?" You sit on your couch, presentation popped up on your laptop. 

"Yeah, it is." 

"How was the rest of your afternoon?"

"It was okay. I just finished working with Belle on a few things after our meeting."

"Is that going well?"

"Yeah." You chuckle a bit. "I really like working with Sunwoo and Belle."

"I'm glad to hear that. That's all that matters." He pulls up your presentation, clicking through it as his eyes skim each slide. 

"How was yours, Professor Choi?"

"Ah, well. Really long. But, it's over with." He laughs. "So, I'm skimming through your presentation and everything looks fine. I think the one thing I'll say is, maybe you should add another slide to talk about the results that didn't pan out well. I know we typically don't do stuff like that, but it helps us discuss what went wrong and what they should've done to get the end result they wanted."

"Oh, yeah. I was thinking about that but wasn't sure if I should."

"You definitely should. Remember what I said about not second-guessing yourself?" He says in a light-hearted tone that has you rolling your eyes and holding in a big smile.

"I know, I know." 

"I think the only other thing I'd add is a slide on Figure 2 and 3. It isn't much, but it does relate a lot to what we do in lab. Think you can handle that?"

"Yeah, I can."

"Yeah?" He repeats, sinking into his seat with his legs spread. "Good." He hears you typing away before you sigh, pausing the conversation for a brief moment while you gather your thoughts and take notes.

"What else are you doing this evening, Professor Choi?" You finally break the silence after a few.

"Hm." He hums. "Just talking to you." You can hear the smirk through the phone, see it even. You bite your bottom lip and shift your position on the couch, heat rising to your cheeks— pooling at your core replaying the deep tone he speaks in.

"Nothing else?"

"Don't really need to do anything else while I'm on the phone with you, no." You sit on his statement, hand toying with the string from your sweats. He doesn't need to do anything else because he's on the phone with you? You take it as a compliment, one that has your heart beating through your chest, palms all sweaty again. He was going to be the death of you.

"Y/N! Let's go! I'm hungry!" You hear Felix from the other side of your door, and San does, too. He lets out a silent chuckle, a little sad he's gonna have to let you go eventually.

"Is there anything else I should do?"

"For?" He questions because his mind is running through a million thoughts at once. You are very much talking about journal club, but he's very much thinking about other things; ways to push you and him forward.

"The slides."

"No. That's all, Y/N. It's perfect."

"Thank you."

"Y/N! Please! They have the best menu tonight, we need to go before everyone gets there!" Felix whines, making the rest of your friends laugh as he pounds on the door. "What are you even doing anyway?!"

"I gotta go." You sigh and shut your laptop. "My friends are about to bust my door down." He chuckles.

"Well, hope the call helped, Y/N."

"It did, Professor Choi. All of this did. Thank you again."

"Course. Have a good night." 

"You too." San subtly nibbles on his bottom lip as he hears you breathily respond, the tone and sound of your voice immediately doing things to him. He clears his throat to rid himself of the thoughts, to rid himself of the feeling, distracting himself with the unread emails sitting in his inbox and the random announcements for the week.

Well now, Namjoon's sudden group text with him, Jongho, Christopher, Mingi and Yeosang.

namjoon: my brilliant, all-star fellas

chris: oh lord, what is it?

namjoon: 😀 need ya'll to attend the happy hour event

yeosang: to babysit? yaaaay love this time of the year...... !!

namjoon: lol no, just to hang out! please 🥹 gotta show the students we're involved in student life esp at the start of the new quarter. you know this!

jongho: they run around in our labs and play w/ our equipment

jongho: how much more involved do we need to be exactly

san: 🤣 what're the details again? sorry i totally glazed over that email. it's probably in my trash bin actually

namjoon: all that energy put into announcements just for you to trash it 🫤

namjoon: tomorrow, starts at 7pm at the monroe bar

san: i'll be there

mingi: same

yeosang: 🫡

jongho: 👍🏼

namjoon: knew i could trust my boys!

jongho: make the dean give me and san some real estate

namjoon: putting my phone on dnd now 😅

namjoon: jk yes don't worry, i'll work my magic ok. give me a bit of time, but i got you. 

namjoon: thanks guys, have a good evening!

San lets out a breath when he sets his phone aside and runs a hand down his face, mustering all the energy he has left to get his dinner together and onto a plate. He can't, though. His thoughts are too stuck on you, and the way you look. The way you act around him. The way you sound on the phone.

With how big the welcome back happy hour event tends to be, there's no doubt you'll be there with your friends. And as much as San is excited to see you outside of the lab, enjoying yourself in a bar with your friends—

He knows it's equally, incredibly dangerous for him.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thespiffynerd @vixensss @santineez @nopension

[paradox-the-unimpressed-nun]

🍓Taking matters into your own hands Human!Sick!Muzan x f!Wife!Reader (Not proofread)

🍓◌𓆩☽❀☾𓆪◌

Summary: You just want your husband to show you love and affection

Warning: Smut, Breeding kink, Overstimulation, Oral sex M!Receiving, Shower sex, sub!Muzan Dom!reader, slight orgasm denial, your deranged A/N: I don't usually post nsfw nor do I take nsfw request, then why did I make this? simple, I just really like Muzan. Also I'm still taking non f!reader request, I just made this because I want to. This is my first nsfw post so that’s why it’s ass

You have been married to Muzan for approximately a year now. Despite his sickness, cold demeanor, and occasional outbursts of yelling, you held onto the hope that your marriage would take a turn for the better.

You craved a family with Muzan, hoped to have living prof of your love with a child. However, intimacy between you is scarce having only being intimate on one occasion, your wedding night. You've grown increasingly frustrated with the fact of love in your relationship. Despite your attempts to reignite the spark and deepen your connection, every effort was met with resistance from Muzan, who has even refrained from simple acts of affection like embracing you.

Now you are desperate, his health has been declining and you've still have yet to bare his child. At this point You aren't even concerned if he loves you, you just want him, his body and his child. Tonight you would take matters into your own hands.

＊✿❀❀✿＊

Your movements are filled with a mix of urgency and longing as you hurriedly remove your clothing. You've waited far too long and now, finally, your deepest wishes are on the verge of becoming reality.

You quickly step into the bath, and you see Muzan sitting there, waiting for you. Soap bottle's were places neatly on the ledge beside him. "Y/n what are you waiting for? come in" Startled by being snapped out of your thoughts, your cheeks heat up in embarrassment and you hurriedly make your way towards him.

The water feels unbearably warm, intensifying your nervousness. As you reach for the bottles of soap, your hands tremble, causing you to stumble. Muzan's gaze grows increasingly irritated, and in a fit of frustration, he abruptly grasps your arms. His eyes bore into yours, their coldness piercing your soul. The sound of your name escaping his lips sends a jolt of mixed emotions through your heart. "Just pick it up, Y/n," he says curtly, his voice devoid of warmth. You find yourself whispering an apology, though you doubt he even hears it.

You squirt some soap onto your hands. Gently you grab muzans hair and brush your fingers through his hair, making sure to get the soap all in his hair. Picking up a bowl you pour water on him, making sure you get out all of the soap. One last time you run your fingers through his hair seeing if there is any soap left, there wasn’t any.

Muzan rises from the water and takes a seat on the bath ledge, he looks like a god. However, beneath his stunning exterior, you are reminded of his unpleasant nature, to say the least. You reach for another bottle of soap you assist Muzan in cleaning his skin. Gently and attentively, you apply the soap, rubbing it onto his skin with care. Your hands gaze over his thin arms, moving down to his chest and then lower down to his crotch.

You slowly sit into the way the water, you grab his shaft. A jolt of surprise evident on his face and his cock twitches in your palm. "What are you doing, Y/n?!" Muzan's gaze locks onto you, his eyes widening in astonishment. Your current actions seem to deviate from your usual character, leaving him perplexed. "I'm cleaning you up," you assert confidently, your voice clear and resolute. Your statement carries a sense of purpose and determination, leaving no room for doubt in your intentions. Lowering down to his shaft you lovingly kiss the head, a free hand moves to play with his balls. This causes him to cover his mouth and whimpers -he’s sensitive- you look up at him, Tears begin to well up in Muzan's eyes, on the brink of spilling over.

Again you kiss the head of his cock, immediately after you give a couple generous licks to his pretty pink tip. His cock becomes hard on your tongue, which makes the pool in-between your legs grow. Generously your free hand plays with his heavy balls. Your mouth is skillfully working on pleasuring him while he's near tear filled and struggling to keep his composure, he's failing miserably.

Putting his tip fully into your mouth you slowly lower your self down to his base, he moans as he feels his shaft hit the back of your throat. Tears of pure joy and endearment develop in your eyes, you're thrilled that he's enjoying this.

He places a hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you to continue. straight away you bob your head up and down, you try not to gag on his cock has it hits the back of your throat. Muzan wraps his legs and arms around your head, he's struggling under the sheer pleasure that your lovingly providing him. "Oh-oh God!" he chokes out a sob, in response you fasten or pace. A ring of drool and pre-cum form around your puckered lips, this giving you the sign that he will be cumming soon.

“F-fuck…I’m close!” He was about to release into your mouth but you pull away before he can. His pretty pink cock twitches from the lack of release. Muzan gazes fixates on you while tears fall down his flushed cheeks. The look in his eyes is a look of complete and utter betrayal. Usually such a look was stir up concern in you but this time, his tears are from the deep yearning of wanting a release. “Don’t worry my love, you’ll get to cum soon” you smile ever so softly at him, soon he’ll fill you with his love

You arise from your original sitting position and wipe away the pre-cum from your chin. You seat yourself onto his lap cautious of the amount of weight you put on him. Gripping his cock you line it up to your neglected soaking hole. Straining longly into his eyes all you say is “soon baby, soon”. Finally you lower yourself down onto his perfect member. You both let out a moan how much louder than yours. Your walls squeezes trying to already squeeze him of all of his worth. Your mind is a fog all you can think about is his cock filling your womb up to the brim, telling you how much he’s gonna love seeing you full with his seed.

You slam your lips onto his, shoving your tongue into his mouth while wrapping your arms around his neck. Surprisingly Muzan responds by kissing back, he's a lousy kisser but just the fact that he is returning affection to you makes you melt into him.

He places a hand on your ass and squeezes it, the other deciding to rest on your hip. It's not long before you start to lift your hips, trying to start a rhythm. Soon you find the perfect rhythm your moves are now bold as you start quacking up speed. Muzan throws his back it's just all too overwhelming for him. He struggles to keep his body up as he already feels himself weakening from the pleasure. You feel completely enveloped in his love as you hear him moan and beg for you.

"Aah-Y/n please!" he yells while fat hot tears pour down his puffy cheeks, you hips stop moving abruptly and you lift yourself off of him. A lovely string of pearls connect your dripping pussy to his shaft, your walls try to clutch on his cock but only clutches onto hair. "Please what? use your words my love" your voice is filled with a mixture of longing and determination. You yearn for Muzan to say those words you've been craving for far too long. You'll continue to deny him just how he knowingly denied you until you hear him say it. "p-please..." he has long pause as he struggles to catch his breath "please...let me fuck a baby into you..".

That's all he had to say in order for you to promptly snap your hips back down and riding him like your life depended on it. You didn't even bother to try and hit your sweet spots, just knowing that soon he'll release into you was already sending jolts of unimaginable pleasure to your core. Muzan then suddenly grips your hips with all of his strength and bucks his hips up into you causing you let out a loud moan, he had hit your sweet spot. "fuck! I'm cumming!" Is all that he said before you and him both came. Keeping his promise he spilled hot sticky ropes of cum into your womb.

Tears stream down your cheeks as the realization sinks in—you are on the verge of having the family you have always yearned for. The journey may have been long and challenging, but now it is finally coming to fruition. Determined not to burden your husband with your emotions, you swiftly wipe away the tears that cascade down your face. You want to ensure that he does not worry, focusing instead on the joyous prospect that lies ahead.

Muzan, utterly exhausted, lays down on the floor. The shadows of unconsciousness gradually creeps up on him as he's on the edge of passing out. He's shaken up by the sudden action of you starting to ride him again "I'm sorry, I know its not exactly sexy to do the same position again but it's the only one we can do with your current state!" You gaze down at him, your eyes filled with an intense and unhealthy devotion that borders on obsession. A deranged expression manifests on your face, reflecting the depths of your distorted love for him.

Muzan is completely worn out and drained, so it doesn't take much for him to already be a blubbering mess under you. "goddamn you woman! are you trying to drain me?!" all you do is giggle in response. Muzan's eyes widen with the dawning realization that this will not be the last round, he just continues to lay down and take it.

placing his hand on your tummy as you continue to ride him all you say is "let's shoot for twins"

＊✿❀❀✿＊

A/n: its 3Am rn so sorry if this is ass but I'm exhausted and I can't tell what I'm doing

@ttt0w5 @dumblizardboi @jubilee40 @queenesther996 @scaraza @aoizaraka @lunaeclipsethesimp @nikki-11 @chuuberrysworld

@lovingyeet

Sneak Peak for Yoriichi x reader ←

[xervn]

like a french girl 🎨

part 2 - like a | art major ellie x dance major reader

first chapter | next chapter

ao3

summary: ellie had been struggling with finding the perfect model for her art final. that was until she saw you

18+ MDNI | 3.7k words | tags; college au, pining, still sfw for now, texting, no use of y/n, not proofread

a/n: if you're not imagining the prof as nick offerman you're not doing it right.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The song finally ends and all the other dancers in the studio scatter, just as breathless and exhausted as you are, leaving the room reeking with sweat and the remnants of unbridled passion.

You try to steady your breathing, leaning forward with a hand bracing your thigh, fanning yourself off by pulling at the collar of your tee. Today’s practice was more exerting than usual, especially since you were the one leading it. 

You might’ve showed off a little because you overheard some of your classmates undermining your talent; claiming they could do your own choreo better than you can. It wasn’t like what they said bothered you, however, you needed to set the record straight.  

You’ve always been an amazing dancer, you have the awards, the scholarships to prove it. You’ve scraped your knees bloody to get to this point in your life. You weren’t gonna let a few shit talkers ruin a great thing. So, yeah, you’re absolutely winded because you wanted to prove a point, but you don’t regret a second of it. The looks on their faces was enough to clear any doubts for the rest of the year, for sure.

You drag your feet over to your stuff huddled in a corner, dodging past everyone else in a rush to leave. You pick up your water flask, taking a much needed chug. Mid-drink, you hear the doors of the now empty studio swing open and you swivel around only to see Dina in her black leotard, clutching her bag on her shoulder as she jogs towards you with a suspiciously wide smile.

“Hey, D. You don’t look like you want anything at all.” You say sarcastically, scoffing as you set your bottle down. 

“Oh, come on! I can’t see my best friend?” Dina asks, resting her hands on her hips. All you can do is stare at her with an unmoving expression of doubt, folding your arms with a perked brow. 

“My best-est friend in the whole world. Ever.” Dina adds on. 

You don’t think Dina could make it any more obvious so you decided to wrap it up yourself. “Dina, what is it? I swear to god if you say Jesse…” 

The expression on Dina’s face pointed in every direction that it’d be about him. You groan, amazed that you’re having this conversation again. She’s been pestering you for weeks now about meeting this “amazing” guy she’s been recently dating. She insisted that he’d be like another gal pal, but obviously you doubted that. You’re sure he’s as great as Dina says, but you find it awkward to meet him like that anyways. 

“Just hear me out!” Dina practically begs, clasping her hands together and everything.

“Dina— I love you, but I don’t wanna be a third wheel for an hour.”

Her wide grin returns, looking oddly ecstatic to hear you bring that up. “Okay, well, what if I told you that you won’t?”

You already told yourself you made up your mind the minute this conversation started, but you gesture for her to continue anyway.

Dina’s face lights up as she goes on, “Jesse’s going to bring his friend too, then it’ll be the four of us!” 

You’re not sure how to feel, it does cancel out the one annoyance you had, but now it sounds like a straight double date. The thought alone makes you cringe a bit. 

Dina can tell, rolling her eyes before speaking, “His friend’s a girl, and she’s cool.” 

You just silently make out an ‘oh’ and Dina snorts at your expression. Well, now there’s nothing keeping you from going, but you don’t feel like letting Dina have this one that easily, so you intensely rub your chin as if there’s something else to be considered.

“I’ll buy you food! Cinnamon rolls!” Dina exclaims with a hint of desperation. You giggle and stop the act, finally giving Dina a smile and a nod. She’s already pulling you in for a sappy hug and you return it with an eye roll, making sure she doesn’t go too crazy now that she’s finally convinced you.

“So, when are we doing that?” You ask.

“Today. You're so sweaty, gross.”

“Rude— Today?!”

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After a nice shower and a trip to a small on-campus bakery, it was time to go meet Jesse and his friend with Dina. Just to make conversation, you tell Dina about your embarrassing encounter last night as you two walk around campus. 

“You mooned a stranger?! Listen, when I said you should hook up with someone while I was gone, I meant through a party or an app. Not the window!” Dina exclaims, not even attempting to hide the amusement in her voice. 

Honestly, you were amused by the situation too, it was hard not to be. “Shhh… I didn’t moon her, she just happened to be there. Plus, my ass was mostly covered.” You reply with a playful grin before biting into your promised cinnamon roll. You didn’t really have anything to be embarrassed about, either way it’s an emotion you deal with often. First of all, you’re a dancer; you’ve tripped during a routine before, danced a few humiliating moves. It’s a part of the process. Second of all, your ass is fucking great and we’re ending on that note. 

Dina tsks and shakes her head at you in pretend disappointment. Unable to take her seriously, you dissolve into laughter. 

You two walk across the courtyard and into the school commons; a tall and open building, with the walls of it being large windows. For the time of day, it wasn’t that busy. You decide to scope out the small crowd, and play a little game with yourself to see if you can find out who Dina’s man is before she tells you. 

Not him. Definitely not him. Maybe him? Nah. Who is that?

“Over there!” Dina taps your shoulder excitedly and points in the distance, but you were already looking that way. 

There was a girl, maybe an inch taller than you in a black, patch-covered varsity jacket that definitely didn’t fit her, facing a taller guy that looked exactly like Dina’s type. You weren’t positive why you were drawn that direction, all you knew was that there was something vaguely familiar about that girl. You tried to put the pieces together, but you gave up not even two thoughts later; shrugging it off. 

The guy looks towards you and Dina, smiling brightly as he beckons you two over. Dina links arms with you and drags you along before you can even acknowledge it. As you two start approaching, the mystery girl finally turns around and offers a small smile to Dina, only for it to drop the second she lays eyes on you. 

Your eyes lock on hers and you’re absolutely mortified. It was definitely that girl. Y’know, the one you saw through your window? That girl. Even if you didn’t see her all that well last night, the struck look on her face gave her away. This funny situation was getting less and less fucking funny as you and Dina stride closer. The panic starts to override your sensory abilities, the unusual feeling etching into your thoughts. Maybe you should just own it? Pretend you don’t remember? Should you run away? You think you should—

“— meet Jesse!” Dina says, looking at you expectantly. You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice you stopped walking. Now the girl is way closer than she was last night. You could keel over and die now, really. 

It’s not like you’ll see her again. You wish you could turn back time and slap yourself for jinxing you like that. You glimpse up at her, and, fuck, she was looking back at you. You guys needed to stop doing that. Even worse, she’s just as hot as you were hoping she wasn’t. The hair, the outfit, the decorated carabiner hanging off the loop of her jeans? She’s a fucking lesbian wet dream. 

You whip your head away, and unbeknownst to you, she’s still staring; gawking, even.

For Ellie, ever since you walked up, all that’s been going through her head was, ’I wanna draw her’ over and over again. Seeing you up close was even better than she could’ve ever imagined. Your… everything was better than she imagined. She initially locked eyes on you when you were still passing the courtyard and she was in awe of that smile of yours. She was obsessed with how you laughed, how you threw your head back as you did. For a moment, she wondered what was funny. For a moment, she thought about what she’d give to hear it. She had to look away and face Jesse so her whole body didn’t turn red from just watching you. 

She only understood the gravity of the situation when you finally approached. What were the chances you were Dina’s friend? You were really in front of her now, an arm distance away. She has literally never been happier to go out before. She was genuinely glad Jesse dragged her out here for once. 

For as long as she could, she admired you; already color-matching the shade of your skin, your eyes. Appreciating the plumpness of your lips, how expertly your gloss spread across them. She wants to appreciate more of you, but from the way you looked away from her, she worries you might think she’s a pervert and honestly, you’d be well within your rights to think so.

Ellie catches her stare, dipping her attention onto her feet instead. You catch the sheepish action in the corner of your eye and it automatically tells you everything you need to know. If she hadn’t seen anything, she wouldn’t be acting like that, right? Let alone remember you. You wish you weren’t agonizing over this, catching these little traits was only making things worse. 

It’s painful; the situation. The whole thing didn’t even cross your mind until recently. You can’t make eye contact with anyone in front of you anymore, so you nervously say hello along with your name while looking out of one of the several windows. 

Dina forces a smile, since she already introduced you herself, giving you a quick ‘what the fuck’ look on her face before turning back to Jesse who still hasn’t caught a whiff of the tension. Your behavior was incomprehensible. You’ve never acted this way around new people. The whole reason Dina begged you to come was because you were so personable, so you can only imagine her confusion now.

Jesse and Dina exchange looks before Dina attempts to continue the convo. “So, Ellie, what’s your major again?” Ellie. Now the (extremely good-looking) face has a name, great.

“Uh, drawing. Art.” Ellie says, awkwardly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes darted everywhere but you. You were making it awkward, she was making it awkward, and all for different reasons. 

Dina nods along to Ellie before saying, “Oh, really? Didn’t think you guys left your rooms.” Dina teases, slow-turning to Jesse who already has a fist bump waiting for her. 

Ellie shakes her head with half a smile. “Ha, ha. Very funny. Yeah, I guess I needed some sunlight.” 

“Yeah, right. I had to bribe you out with a DC comic.” Jesse chirps in, his tone taking a dramatically repulsed turn. 

Ellie immediately punches him in the arm, “You haven’t even read the comics, asshole.” 

Jesse’s hand shoots up to soothe the spot as he laughs.

“Well… I think DC is better than Marvel if you ignore the movies.” You spit out and Jesse and Dina are immediately groaning at your comment. The only reason you said anything was because you felt inclined to take Ellie’s side since they were ganging up on her. Not to mention you might’ve traumatized her, so you might as well attempt to make buddy-buddy. You weren’t lying though, you read enough comics in middle school to know; even if your appearance and style might’ve indicated otherwise.

Ellie teeters at the side, not expecting you to speak at all, let alone take her side. She didn’t think she deserved to hear you speak more than she has already, but here you were, making her blush over a silly shared interest.

Ellie stuffs her hands into her jacket’s pockets, twisting her lips before gaining the courage to speak to you. “That’s because it is. They haven’t read Sandman yet.” 

“Oh, shit. Sandman was really good! Death was definitely my gay awakening now that I’m thinking about it.” You respond, glancing off as you dwell back on it.

Ellie definitely blacked out for a moment after hearing “gay” and “awakening” leave your mouth in the same sentence. Now there’s a part of her wondering if she has a chance with you.

She doesn’t say anything, she can’t say anything since she doesn’t trust her voice. You can’t tell if she’s super awkward or homophobic, but she doesn’t look like the latter. She just gulps loudly and you take note of… this whole interaction and store it in your brain for a later date, like a sleepless night.

With the sudden silence befalling, you both look over to see that Dina and Jesse are still passionately ranting and raving about how trash DC is, so passionately they look like they might kiss about it. Like, their faces are inches away from each other. You and Ellie are absolutely baffled at how this is even possible. They’re talking about superheroes. Superheroes! The sight makes you wanna hurl. You scowl and look elsewhere, catching Ellie grimacing in the process. 

Her brows are furrowed, lip upturned, and her nose is slightly scrunched up to the point where she kinda resembles a squirrel. You snort to yourself at the comparison. Okay, she’s adorable, so it took everything in you to contain your laughter. Obviously, you did a poor job since Jesse and Dina turn to your stifled giggling, following your eyes to see a plainly disgusted Ellie judging them. 

They get flustered, shyly laughing it off while Ellie pretends to scold them. “Welcome back. Now cut it out.”

Ellie turns to you with a surprisingly bewitching smile that catches you way off guard, and mouths out ‘gross’ while stealing a glance at the couple. 

“Pfft, I think it might be time to change topics.” You say, biting back the smile forming on your lips. Ellie is unintentionally endearing, you can tell because, well, she’s growing on you. Maybe you’ve been overthinking the whole thing? From the looks of it, she might’ve just needed to warm up to you. You like that conclusion much more than anything else. Anything else being a possibly unflattering angle of your ass cheeks.

Dina chuckles before nodding, “Okay, well,” Dina puts a hand on your shoulder and looks between Jesse and Ellie, “She’s a dance major too. The trendy kind.” 

“Trendy kind?” Ellie asks, focusing on you as she waits for an answer.

You roll your eyes at Dina for the silly description and fixate back on Ellie, finding yourself unusually nervous under her stare. “I’m focusing on commercial dance choreography. For singers, concerts, things like that.”

“She also did ballet for ages.” Dina chimes in. You nod reluctantly, since it was a long time ago, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t still use those skills. 

“Oh, that explains it.” Ellie says, looking directly at you, clearly without a thought. She doesn’t mean anything bad by it, it just explains why she was weirdly infatuated with your back; your posture. Either way, that was supposed to stay in her head and not for you to hear.

You raise a brow, barely tilting your head to the side as you ask, “Explains what?”  

You hold your eye contact with Ellie this time, silently waiting for an answer. 

“Oh— err—“ Ellie stammers. She has no idea how to save herself. Even if she did, she doesn’t think she’d be able to say it when you’re looking at her like that. Looking up at her quizzically, slightly pouting out your full bottom lip. You’re a bit intimidating, you’ve always been a bit intimidating to everyone. However, Ellie finds herself oddly attracted at the same time and it’s really fucking with her brain. You aren’t even trying to be threatening though, you only want to know what she thinks of you. For no particular reason. 

Ellie, flustered beyond comprehension, can only shrug and manage out, “Uh, nothing? I guess, um, that’s how you two met?” 

You calm your expression, afraid Ellie might melt if you put any more heat on her and for the record, she would’ve, but not for what you think. You couldn’t read her at all and it made you wanna rip your hair out. 

You end up giving her a small nod while a trace of curiosity lingers on your face. 

Coincidentally, Ellie can’t read you either. Do you know she was the one “creeping” on you last night? If you don’t, then maybe all hope isn’t lost for her. But, of course, she can’t fucking tell. One second you’re looking at her like she’s a ghost, the next you’re giggling at all her jokes. But she’s not an idiot, she knows that as long as she doesn’t completely scare you off; she can complete her final. The only question from here is if she’ll ever gain the courage to ask you. 

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The answer to that is no. No, no, no. You’ve been integrated into Ellie’s life for weeks now. Although it hasn’t been daily you always show up at least twice a week, over three when she’s lucky. It’s been weeks and she still can’t ask you. 

In her defense, you guys are never alone. You haven’t even walked by Ellie since the dance wing and art wing are nowhere near each other. You’re always with Dina, she’s always with Jesse. All four of you occasionally meet up for lunch, or spot each other at student events and parties. Never just you and her. Ellie has tried to rehearse just asking you casually with Dina and Jesse around, but that sounds like a fuckin’ humiliation ritual. Imagining you saying “ew, no” or bringing up how she was ogling you through your window in front of them. 

It’s not like you’ve been giving her the impression that you would. It’s actually far from that. You’re a walking ray of sunshine. You always, and I mean, always say hi to her first. Ellie might be a little nuts, considering it’s only between her and Jesse, but she swears you do. Sometimes, you even avoid him to get to her first and she thinks it’s the cutest damn thing ever, but as far as she knows, that’s just her imagination playing a sick prank on her delusion.

Good news is that her work has improved since she still gets to see you often. She steals glances at you, taking mental pictures of you whenever she can. If someone told her to draw you eating a damn french fry, she’d be able to do it perfectly. 

Her professor leaves less marks on her work than usual, and with finals rapidly approaching, Ellie thinks this is the best she’ll ever be able to do. It’s way better than before and the chances of you modeling for her are slim to none, so she’s trying to convince herself she’s perfectly fine with wrapping it up here. Acting like it doesn’t eat away at her to not be able to draw your full body, all its perfections and imperfections. 

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You’re chatting with some friends as you gather your stuff up to leave, when your professor calls out your name. Your head shoots up in that direction and you quickly excuse yourself as you walk over to a scruffy looking older man shuffling around paperwork.

“Yes?” You stand neutrally at his desk, completely unaware of what he has to say to you. 

“You’re failing. Failing horrendously,” He shifts in his seat to look at you better, “You know you are human right? You labeled the rectus femoris the tibialis anterior for fuck’s sake.” 

The… what? You had absolutely no idea you were failing and no idea what he was saying. Yeah, you spent zero time studying, but it’s human anatomy. It’s just a stupid mandatory course. The classes with actual dancing are what you put your time and effort into. What type of asshole teaches a science course at an arts school, then fails the students? Whatever.

You bite your tongue before speaking, forcing a faint smile. “Oh, well, can I make up the grade…?”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose before pulling out your paper from the stack and in front of you. “You’re not understanding, out of 640 muscles in the human body you got one correct. The pectoralis major.”

Honestly, you have no words. Seeing the paper in front of you was pretty humbling. 

He laces his fingers as he continues to gruffly speak, “I don’t know if it’s because you’re gay or something and the only thing you can identify are boobs, but this is an easy grade. You had to get at least 200 correct to pass.”

Did he just? Your jaw dropped ages ago, and you start to say something but he immediately cuts you off. “I don’t wanna hear it, take your paper. Study, and I’ll let you retake it. Do not make me have to fail you.” 

You purse your lips, conflicted with how he called you out and how he’s giving you a redo. You just snatch the paper and storm out of the classroom. 

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dina: LMFAOOO

you: its not fucking funny

dina: is it becus ur gay or something

you: STFU!!!!

you: what do i do ffs

you: finals week is coming up soon and im stupid

dina: you shouldve taken the course with me last semester

you: help me study

dina: foh i barely passed 

you: 😭😭😭im so screwed 

dina: no ur not

dina: don’t worry

dina: ask ellie 

Ask Ellie? Your thumbs shake over your screen. How could you ask Ellie? The amount of strength it takes to talk to her in real life without turning into putty is insane. You guys don’t even cross paths enough for you to comfortably ask for a favor, but you really need to pass this class. It definitely wouldn’t be the worst to finally talk to her one on one... hang out with her more… see her more… Fuck it.

you: what’s her number?

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what's this? click!

tag list: @bready101 @pascals-doll @macaroni676 @khai-le @pedropascalsbbg @seraphicsentences @starlight-savegery @snowy-vee

a/n: marvel solos but i think ellie would love dc

[whatwouldsylwrite]

At least I got you in my head (1)

prologue

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

Notes: take a shot every time Abby experiences ~gay~

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

It all had started when Abby’s nice, perfect, amazing roommate decided to get married at the ripe age of 21 - which Abby didn’t understand at all, but she got invited to the wedding, so she kept her mouth shut about it. Except the marriage meant that her nice, perfect, amazing roommate would move out and go live her dream life with her sweetheart. And although the money wasn’t really a problem - Abby’s dad was a neurosurgeon, which meant he was loaded and Abby didn’t have to worry about anything financially - Abby really didn’t want to bother her dad and spend his money on the whole apartment when she could find a roommate. 

That was how Abby ended up with you as her new nice, perfect, amazing roommate. She didn't even care that the first thing you said to her was that you were a lesbian - which she didn't mind at all, 70 percent of her teammates were not straight, she was used to it, even though she was straight. But after Abby gave herself time to think about it, she understood why you said it right away - not all people were nice, and not all people were okay with living with someone who potentially could be attracted to them. 

Abby was absolutely cool with it.

What she actually cared about was if you left your dishes in the sink, and you didn’t. 

The first week living together was what Abby expected it to be: you both were getting used to your respective schedules, your habits and pet peeves, not talking much - Abby wasn’t sure if you even wanted to be her friend or you’d prefer to just stay as roommates who saw each other twice a day for five minutes. The most you spoke to her was to ask where something was or if it was okay to use something and where you could put all your things. 

Abby thought you were chill and confident with the way you carried yourself - it reminded her of some of her teammates, who were confident in a way girls were not expected to be confident. More like dominant? And they had nothing in common with you. Well, except for the gay thing. Abby wasn’t sure if there was a correlation. 

You both weren't at home a lot, but usually when Abby'd get from practice you'd be already at home and just out of the shower. Abby felt a little awkward when she saw you in a short towel and she tried not to look at you or anywhere dangerous. You didn't seem to notice how she only looked into your eyes when you walked from the bathroom to your room, water running down your neck and your thighs as you said your hellos. Abby didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with her, because she showered with 20 girls on regular basis and it didn’t make sense that she felt the need to look away from you, but who had time to reflect on it? Not Abby.

Abby would hit the shower next and come back to the smell of food in the kitchen - you told her on the first night that you didn't mind sharing your food with her or even cooking for both of you, and Abby quickly agreed to your offer. 

That was a first ritual you two established: Abby'd come home, take a shower and then hang out with you in the kitchen while you were cooking dinner. Today you looked a little tired, and Abby got it - it was Friday and the whole week was hard for both of you with getting back into studying mode. 

“How are you on this god-awful day?” You asked Abby with a small smile while you fried something on the pan. 

“Happy it’s the end of the week.” Abby sighed and leaned back on her chair, relaxing. “Profs are already talking about the finals, so annoying. We just had one class, calm the fuck down.” 

“Yeah. It’s bad for you med students.” You said with no actual compassion, but with a smile. “Sorry, I’m going to remind you that this misery is your choice every time when you’ll be on the brink of death during finals.”

Abby laughed at that.

“Unfortunately for you I’m not the one to complain about my choices.” Abby shot back and you laughed. 

“That’s admirable.” You nodded your head in theatrical appreciation. “Then you can make fun of me during finals because I will be complaining about every little thing. In a funny way, don’t worry.”

“Thanks for clarification.” Abby chuckled. 

“Do you want to watch something after we eat?” You asked casually and Abby felt her heart beating faster - you wanted to be friends with her after all!

"Yeah, sure."

You smiled at Abby and turned the stove off, taking the plates from the cabinet to put your food on. Abby was cool. She was sweet, a little of a scaredy cat with you - you didn’t think anything of it, you just met, maybe she was just awkward with new people. Abby looked confident with her friends and when you saw her in the corridors of your university Abby looked downright intimidating, tall and strong, commanding. At home though? She seemed shy. You supposed she'd get more assertive when she'd get comfortable with you, but even now she seemed like a genuinely cool person. 

You were still dealing with how attractive Abby was, your eyes always lingered on her shoulders and arms - you had a thing for athletes, what can you say - but you tried to suppress it as best as possible. The fact that Abby was so sweet around you didn't really help either, but what we can’t act upon makes us better at repressing, so that was what you were doing for the past week. The best strategy you had was to remind yourself Abby was straight, and it was working, especially if she gave you compliments the way only straight girls did, with this high tone at the end - if Abby wasn’t that buff she’d probably ask where did you get something just to finish you. Thank god you had a very different taste in clothes.

You finished your dinner making a small talk, still getting used to each other's mannerisms and sense of humour, with yours being more dark. Abby was surprisingly good at keeping up with you and not stuttering in shock when you’d say something awful, and it made you smile every time she'd make a comeback that was just as good. Again, it wasn't helping. 

"What do you want to watch?"

"I like horrors, actually." You said as you sat on the other side of the couch, keeping the distance. 

"Yeah, we can watch some horror." Abby shrugged as she sat down and gave you the blanket. "More cosy that way."

You smiled and put it over your lap.

Not. Fucking. Helping. 

Abby watched you getting comfortable and something filled her chest with pride, like providing comfort for you was something important to her. Well, Ellie always said Abby was a mom friend, and she was. She liked taking care of people around her, and now that you were her roommate she'd take care of you too. 

"Do you like horrors too or do you want me to hold your hand during scary moments?" You asked with a smirk, and Abby huffed. 

"Are you trying to trick me into holding your hand?" Abby smirked too, pleased with your little surprised reaction. 

"I'm more of a cuddler." You winked and Abby laughed. She liked how easy it was to banter with you even though you knew each other only for a week. "No, really, are you okay with horror? I don't want you to have nightmares after."

"I'm okay, don't worry." Abby murmured and gave you the remote. "I'm not a big fan, so you choose."

You shrugged and went through the list of horror movies while Abby got comfortable on the other end of the couch, leaning on the arm rest. It felt a little awkward, to be that far away from you - Abby was so used to always being close with her girl friends, but to be fair, you weren’t even friends yet. The movie you picked wasn’t a slasher (“i want to be scared, not grossed out”), but more of a psychological horror that actually made Abby uneasy. And then this movie had a fucking jumpscare that made you both jump and curse out loud. Abby let out a small chuckle and you shared a look between you, silently bonding over a scary feeling. 

“You sure you don’t want to hold my hand?” You teased and Abby rolled her eyes at you, but her heart was still beating too fast from the sudden scare. 

“I’m not a little bitch.” Abby said and smiled when you laughed. 

“Okay, big bad Abby.” You murmured and focused on the movie.

Even though the movie was unsettling, your little bitchy comments were making Abby laugh way more than feeling scared. 

"Do you really enjoy getting scared or are you just choosing something to complain about?" Abby asked with a smile. 

"Horror movies are like straight sex, you know. In theory you get scared shitless, in practice you complain about men not knowing how to scare you." You shrugged and Abby snorted, feeling like this was too real. "Sorry if I'm being crude, I got too comfortable for a second there."

Abby noticed your look, like you were trying to read her reaction if you crossed a line, but Abby only laughed. 

"Do I look like someone who can't take a sex joke?" Abby teased as she stood up, stretching. 

"Should I assume you're tough as fuck because you kick ass?"

"Yeah, you should." Abby murmured and looked in your eyes. There was a second of silence while you just stared back at her, surprised, and Abby felt something warm in her stomach. "Tea?"

"Yeah." 

After that movie night things got so much easier for both of you, and after three weeks of living together you already fell into the routine like you lived for three years already. You became friends very fast, quickly moving from spending evenings in your rooms to spending evenings hanging out in the living room together. It was like you just clicked in all the right places, balancing each other out, and you couldn’t feel more relieved. You were getting used to Abby and your first intense attraction finally ebbed away: you were not going to chase after a straight girl - you were not, in fact, an idiot. And you weren’t going to question her sexuality or try to “turn her gay”, because who were you to tell her who she was? Abby told her she was straight, and that was it. You still enjoyed looking at her and flirting with her, and Abby was an amazing person so it wasn’t hard to like her. But otherwise? Abby was an amazing roommate and even better friend. 

The end of September came around so quickly you didn’t even notice, too busy with classes and tutoring and maintaining some kind of social life, because Cait really needed someone to drag her out from the fucking library and ventilate her big brain. You admired her study habits, but sometimes she’d forget to sleep, and you had to kick her ass and make her take care of herself. That was the price of being friends with the smartest woman on campus.

It was again a Friday night when you cooked and Abby sat at the table while you chatted about your days and plans, now so much more comfortable with each other. You were right, Abby just needed to get used to you in order to stop being so shy and you basked in her confident personality now. 

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“I don’t kno-o-w.” Abby sighed like tomorrow's plans were torturing her. “Ellie wants to go out, but I don’t know if I’m in the mood.”

“Well, I plan to go out too, actually. Maybe we can join forces?” You asked curiously. “I feel like Cait would enjoy Ellie’s company if she is the nerd you’re saying she is.”

“She is an embarrassment.” Abby shrugged and you laughed. “I’m still shocked how she has any game at all.”

“Listen. Is she hot?”

“I guess?”

“Then there you go. She has game because she is hot.”

“That’s kinda shallow.”

“Do you really need to get to know someone better to hook up?” You scrunched your nose in doubt. 

“I mean, some people do.” 

“Then it’s not a hookup anymore, no? I mean, if I just want to get some stress relief do I really have mental space to learn about someone’s political views?”

“So you’ve fucked republicans.” Abby nodded and you laughed. “That’s fucked up, (y/n).”

“You see, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Obviously you won’t miss the fact that they’re an asshole, so if it’s not the case, why not? Dating is a different story though.” 

“Yeah.” Abby nodded again. 

“So are we going out tomorrow?” 

“Well, when I’m attacked on two fronts I don’t feel like I have a choice.” Abby chuckled the way it made you hot, but yet again you pushed the stupid feeling down. 

Abby watched you cook as she was digesting what you’ve just discussed. It was the first time you acknowledged your sex life and Abby felt a little uneasy. Sex talk didn’t make her uncomfortable, and other people’s experience didn’t make her feel insecure, so she really couldn’t place why she felt just a little icky. Maybe your crudeness finally crossed her line? But Abby wasn’t sensitive to such topics, Ellie talked her ear off with her sex escapades, so why did she feel so strange? Her stomach growled and suddenly everything made sense: she was just in a low, sensitive mood because she was hungry and tired. 

And indeed her mood got better after she took the first fork filled with pasta and her stomach was now growling in happiness. 

“There’s a whole whale living in your stomach.” You smirked, but your stomach growled too and Abby snorted.

“Seems like you had one too.”

“Whale to whale communication.” You shrugged and Abby chuckled. “Have you ever listened to whale songs?”

“No. But I heard they’re supposed to help you relax.” 

“Well you’re listening to one now, so you tell me if you’re relaxed.”

“Oh I’m so relaxed I’d listen to the sound of not being hungry for hours.” Abby said and watched you roll your eyes fondly, because you looked so funny when you did it and Abby liked it. Abby’s phone buzzed with a notification and she unlocked it, but the clock caught her eye. “It’s almost 8, don’t you have a lesson?”

You looked up with saucers of the eyes and Abby laughed at how shocked and scared you got.

“Fuck!” You said with a mouth full of food as you jumped out of your chair while Abby laughed at you. “Fuck, how much time do I have?”

“Three minutes.”

“Shit. Fuck, can I ask you to sort this out?” You nodded at the food on the stove and at your plate. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine, don’t worry.” Abby said gently, trying to soothe you. “Go teach poor kids.”

You nodded and ran to your room to get yourself set up, and Abby finished her dinner while texting Ellie. 

from: els

soooo

are we going out tomorrow ?

to: els

you r so annoying 

but yes

(y/n) wants us to go together, she is going out with a friend too 

from: els

oooh

coooool

you mean I’ll meet the smart sexy lady you live with?

Abby rolled her eyes - she mentioned once that you were smart and she was learning some things from you and Ellie couldn’t leave her alone after that.

to: els

yeah 

but don’t be a dick to her

from: els

excuse me

I would never be a dick to a lady

to: els

you’re a dick to me all the time

from: els

who said you were a lady 

The audacity of this bitch, Abby thought as she sent Ellie a not so sweet sticker. She finished her dinner while bickering with Ellie and then tidied the kitchen. Your lessons were usually around an hour, so Abby didn’t need to hurry. She washed the dishes and put leftovers away. Abby thought it was so nice of you to cook for both of them, it was warming her heart - she didn’t like cooking, and having someone to take it off her was so amazing. God if you weren’t busy she’d hug you right now, she was so grateful.

But Abby settled for setting up her favourite part of Friday nights: beating your ass in Mortal Combat. What can she say, seeing you riled up but helpless against her, cursing her but unable to win anyway - fuck, Abby loved it. Now she'd just need to wait for you.

[alovesongtheywrote]

Nightmare Academia | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary:  Have you ever seen the tiktok where that guy brings a typewriter to his class because his prof doesn't allow laptops? Yeah, it's that, but you are the source of the typewriters. In other words, you're Reid's worst nightmare. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings:  Descriptions of emotional vulnerability from a student to a professor, reminders that the world sucks and Gen-Z is fucked when it comes to housing. The reader is. Kind of Mean to Spencer, but I won't say he doesn't deserve it. Enemies to Lovers, but they're just Enemies right now.

♥ A/N: a couple things about this fic. 1) i have no clue when this takes place in the criminal minds timeline???? i just know reid took a some kind of leave from the bau, and this is what he's doing with it 2) reid isn't actually in this one that much. my bad. 3) i've got no clue what university these two teach at. i researched typewriters extensively for this, but i didn't bother googling universities.

♥ Word count:  2371

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

“Alright, my little chilli babies, that’s about it for today. If you have any questions, office hours start now, and please remember there’s an exam next week. It makes me sad when you forget. Got it? Got it. Cool.”

Your students immediately began to stand and file out of the room. They left in groups. Some of them chatted amongst themselves softly, and some called out a farewell to you, but most of them were silent. One or two lingered behind to ask about the administration process of the PCL-R, but that was about it.

Except for this one girl.  

You were pretty sure her name was Opal. She sat near the back of the room in the second to last row. She got good grades and performed well on tests and projects- although she was a touch shy during the one presentation project you assigned during the semester.

Usually, Opal was one of the first to leave, practically running from the room, but today she just sat there, staring straight ahead. You watched her for a second, vaguely assuming that she had a question or something. She didn’t get up to ask, though. She just sat still, staring at her laptop.  You paid her no mind.  Sometimes your students just needed a second, and that was usually nothing to worry about.

You were just about to pack up your own things and head for your office when you heard a sob. You looked up again to see Opal just sobbing into her computer. You winced. A pang of sympathy hit you dead in the chest. University was just like that sometimes- and she wasn’t the first or last student to cry on campus.  

Shit, you cried on campus. Like, all the time. As a professor.  The previous Tuesday you thought about the two-headed calf poem too hard and you ended up sobbing in your office.  

You headed for the back of the room, leaning a hip against the back of the seat beside her. She didn’t seem to notice your presence. Her laptop screen was covered with detailed notes- it was honestly an impressive collection.  

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow, “Everything okay over here?”

Opal gasped, looking up at you with wide eyes, “I-I’m- I-” she sobbed again, “I’m so sorrrrrry.”

“Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m crying in your classroom, and I’m so overwhelmed, and my next assignment is going to be late, and I’m so sorrrrry.”

The poor thing put her face in her hands and hunched over in her seat. You pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. University is stressful. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and crying can provide a cathartic release from that.”

“I- I know. It’s just so- so embarrassing.”

“Again, don’t worry about it. I literally cried in here last week.”

“R-really?”

“Mhmm. Now, if it helps, I can provide an extension on that assignment. Your feedback might be a little less in-depth, but that’s really nothing to worry about. Your work has always met a high standard.”

Her eyes somehow got even wider, “Are you- are you sure, professor?”

“Absolutely. It’s not a big deal- it might not fix your whole problem though,” you pulled your legs up onto the chair, sitting criss-cross facing your student, “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, the school provides free counselling services. They can help you feel less… whelmed.”  

Opal nodded, wiping her eyes, “It’s really just- just this one class I’m in. Our professor doesn’t allow laptops so I have to take notes by hand. But my- my writing is really messy, so then I have to figure out what I wrote, and-”

She was working herself back into a frenzy. You had to intervene. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Which prof is it, maybe we can ask about getting an accommodation made?”

“It’s-” she sobbed, “It’s Professor Reid.”

You froze. Opal continued to sob as a dark, heavy storm cloud rolled into your brain.  

“That fucking bastard,” you hissed, effectively shocking Opal out of her stupor.

“Wh-what?”

“This isn’t the first time he’s- okay, come on, follow me, we’re going to my office.”

Wordlessly, Opal put her things in her bag. You ran to your desk to do the same, snatching your keys and water bottle before heading out into the hallway. Opal followed diligently, but she struggled to keep up with your purposeful strides. Her face was still tear-stained, but now, instead of sorrow, her expression was the ultimate picture of confusion. When you reached your office, you swung the door open wide and ushered the girl inside.

In all honesty, you were quite proud of the space you had created. It was warmly lit, a necessary contrast from the harsh white lights of the hallway (you fucking hated those lights). The walls were decorated with your doctorates and neat little art pieces you found in various places. It was colourful and pleasant, and now was not the time to focus on your choice of decor because you were on a mission.

Opal remained near the door, watching as you rounded your desk and reached for something below it. With a slight groan of effort, you quickly emerged with your prize.

A vintage typewriter.

A heavy vintage typewriter.

You placed the thing down on your desk as delicately as you could. Opal stared at you in confusion as you beamed at the fine piece of machinery.

“Which room is his class in, I’ll have someone bring this to you.”

“Professor-?”

“You use it for one class, just one, and I guarantee he’ll let you use your laptop. Damn, technophobe.”

“I don’t know how to use a typewriter.”

You placed your hands on the desk, leaning forward on it, “Okay, come here then, I’ll show you.”

Opal timidly made her way towards you. You made sure to leave her lots of space as you ran through the tech tutorial. She picked up on it quickly, being the good student that she was. When you were done, you collapsed back in your chair, another bright smile on your face. Opal looked significantly less distraught, but still vaguely confused.

“Can I ask why you’re doing this for me? You- you didn’t even have to give me an extension. Why are you-?”

“Because you aren’t the first student to have this problem.”

It was true. This was the seventh sobbing-student-style complaint you’d had about him in as many months- and Reid had only been there for seven months.  You’d received emails, phone calls, and office hour meetings where desperate and devastated students would explain to you that they were falling behind. It broke your heart a little bit- and it pissed you right off.  

It was ironic that Doctor Reid had come straight here from the FBI- his technophobic nature was slowly but surely murdering your students, and now, you were going to murder him.

“Now about that extension, does five days sound good?”

Opal handed in the assignment two days into her extension. You smiled as you looked over her incredible paper. Your little scheme had worked. You hoped that Reid was pissed.

–

He was! Kind of. Not really.  It was a bit of a disappointment to be honest.

You had only known Doctor Spencer Reid for the seven months he’d been teaching alongside you, and boy howdy were you starting to hate his fucking guts. At first, everything was fine. He’d seemed sweet, and polite, and you were willing to overlook the whole FBI profiler thing to maintain the peace.

Then one of your students passed out during class.  

Thanks to his high expectations and fear of computers, there was a lot of shit for his students to cope with. The worst part was, you agreed with some of his policies- of course, you didn’t agree with the tech thing, that was stupid- but there was other stuff that you liked. He taught your students things that could help them improve- but at what cost.

Your formerly dim-eyed and sleepy students (let’s be real, they were never going to be bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed, they’re fucking college students) were now going through life in a state of anxiety that was not good for their long-term health. That was enough to make you hate Spencer Reid.  

And then one night, over a very full glass of wine you looked up his FBI career. You learned that the BAU used a private jet.

A private. Fucking. Jet.

They didn’t need to use the private jet. They could’ve used trains and it would’ve done the same thing. Shit, they didn’t even have to leave Quantico. They could’ve done their job from their main office. Most profilers do their job from their main office.  Instead, Reid’s team had dumped fucking jet fuel into the damn atmosphere because they fucking felt like it.  Not to mention just. FBI. Ew.

So, yeah. Fuck Reid’s three PhD’s, and fuck his ability to teach. You didn’t give a shit about any of that. You hated the man. You wanted to eat his heart in the main atrium, and given your way, you would.

Taking all that into consideration, it was only natural for the expression on your face to morph into one of absolute joy when Reid came to your office with the typewriter in his arms, and his tail between his legs.

“Doctor Reid,” your smile was a plastic thing, a false beauty with venom hiding beneath it, “What can I help you with.”

“Please stop sending that typewriter to my class.”

You opened your eyes a little wider, playing dumb just to fuck with him, “Typewriter? Whatever do you mean? I can’t imagine anyone in this century would even own a little antique typewriter like that thing there.”

“Little? That thing has to be over a hundred pounds- and it’s not antique, it’s-”

“It is literally thirty-three pounds.”

“Oh, okay,” he nodded. It was very clearly a ruse, “But how would you know that unless you own the typewriter?”

“I do a lot of research. That’s a 1960s Vintage Royal Empress Typewriter measuring about twelve inches in width and weighing thirty-three pounds and eight ounces. Y’know, now that you mention it, I’ve actually been in the market for a vintage typewriter.”

You put your elbows together on the desk and placed your face in your hands, “You wouldn’t know where I could get one would you?”

“Dr. (L/N), this is your typewriter.  Please stop sending it to my classes.”

“Hm, I guess it doesn’t pay tuition, that’s not fair to the other students,” you opened your laptop, “What class do you teach again? I’ll sign it up and pay the price in full.”

Doctor Reid let out the most exasperated sigh you had ever heard in your life- and that was impressive. You taught college kids.

“Why are you like this?” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“I said-” he at least had the decency to look embarrassed, “I said, ‘Why are you like this?’”

Your smile split your face from ear to ear. You emerged from behind your desk slowly, carefully, like a predator eyeing up its prey.

“Why am I like this, Dr. Reid? I’m like this because in the past seven months, I have had to deal with seven emotionally wrecked students, and what did they all have in common? Was it personal tragedies? The pure state of the world and everything in it? The knowledge that very few of the students at this school will be able to afford houses once they enter the working world?  No, Dr. Reid. The thing they had in common was you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Implying- what are you implying, he asks me,” you muttered, “I’m saying that your fear of computers is fucking over your students.”

“Studies have shown that handwritten notes-”

“No, no, stop. You don’t get to talk.  I’m talking now. Handwritten notes might be better for long-term memory retention, but not everyone writes as fast as you talk. Most of these kids don’t have time to switch their notes to a digital format! And that doesn’t account for shit getting lost, or students who get sick and miss class. Look, I get that computers might be scary for you, but in a climate where most of your students are full-time students, who take a mind-numbing amount of courses that cover incredibly difficult material, go home and struggle with the steaming pile of shit that is reality, and then head out for their part-time jobs- or, in some cases, their full-time jobs- you might want to have a degree of sympathy.”

Reid stared at you. He seemed unaffected. You wondered if that was because you were like, an entire foot shorter than him. You pulled up a chair and stood on it.

“Let your students use their laptops, or I swear to god, I will never stop sending the typewriter to class.  You will hear the incessant sound of keys clicking in your nightmares, got it?” 

He paused, his eyes darting across your face from your lips to your eyes and back.

“How old are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re standing on a chair like a child. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Now get out of my office.”

He did as you asked. You could see a small smirk on his lips as he shut the door behind him. The sight of it made your blood boil, and there and then, you decided you were gonna keep sending the typewriter anyway because fuck that guy.

Still, over the next few months, you never heard another complaint about Spencer Reid and his technophobic habits. Your students went from extreme emotional agony to regular, day-to-day emotional agony. He’d stopped making them take notes by hand.

You were still gonna kill him just… maybe a little bit less.

[malebodyexhibit]

En-Coaching (a free commission tale)

“Holy Mackerel,” I said. The words felt odd leaving my mouth, but what else could be said as I looked upon my reflection. Only, it wasn’t my reflection. It was me. But not me. “What’s happening?!” I brought my hands to what was my—this—whoever’s this chest was. The touch of meaty pecs filled my hands. I started to cry out, but I noticed my voice was deeper, growly, and more manly.

The me standing across from where I stood started to act similarly freaked out. He stooped lower and ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t seem to react, just slowly digesting what he saw. Then he brought his hand up to his—my?—chest and looked down at himself in confusion. “Jesus, fuck!” He cried with my voice—a high, whiny sound.

“Calm down, both of you,” Devon stated. Well, technically Dr. Devon, but between him and I, we both used our first names. It was too pretentious for two friends to call each other ”doctor” for their PhDs. “I can explain.” And he did, stopping every now and then to see if we digested what happened. So basically, when the Chad (the college’s football coach) and I (the chemistry professor) volunteered for an experiment with our friend Devon (the “Mad Scientist”) in exchange for a couple beers, he switched our bodies.

Needless to say, Chad and I gave Devon a piece of our mind. On this one thing Chad and I agreed on. Usually he’d tease me for my weak noodle arms or my nerdy glasses. And I’d purposefully make him feel stupid and brutish. But despite me calling Devon swears in several languages and Chad threatening to beat Devon into a pulp (with my tiny fists by the way), Devon told us the switch couldn’t happen just yet. He needed to collect data from us.

I thought I would hate being the dumb, jock coach, but when I had to run the football practice, I found it was exciting. His body already knew what to do. His reflexes were innate to his body and I used my mind to figure out what was supposed to happen. The jocks all fell in line. I used to hate them when they were in my chemistry classes. They were clumsy idiots who always skirted by on the favors of the college to graduate. Now they looked on me like a hero, a leader, a mentor. I worked those boys hard. Eventually I felt myself acting more and more like the coach.

Chad did poorly in my body. He lacked my knowledge and skill, so he blundered his way through the lessons. I should have felt awful (especially since it was my career at stake), but I couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t my problem. Let that nerd figure it out. Because of his poor performance, the students started to respect him less. The boys from the team gave him such a hard time. Chad still thought he was their coach and bro, but he was just some nerd prof trying too hard to relate to jocks. It was pathetic really. Chad was trying to show off his football knowledge in his scrawny body. Trying to be a bro.

When he got his ass handed to him, I got bored and went home (well, Chad’s home). A day after coaching and working out, his body smelled rank. I stripped off his clothes and I admired his body in the mirror. I guess I should call it my body. I felt up his abs. The way his skin stretched tightly over this stomach was so hot. I flexed in the mirror and kissed each bicep. My body was so hot! I laid on his bed and started to fondle his huge balls. I stroked his massive cock. It was amazing how it still looked massive in his large hands. With my old hands it’d look even bigger. More impressive. I was close to getting off when I heard the front door of his house open. I wasn’t worried. His body gave me so much confidence. It wasn’t something to be hidden, but something to be shared and loved.

Chad’s wife came in to the bedroom. By the look on her face, this was a surprise: to find her husband ass-naked on the bed, smelling like a college locker room, stroking his massive cock. But she welcomed the surprise. With a smile she asked if it were her birthday, and I said, “yeah, babe, blow the candlestick.” I made that bitch choke on this cock. I need to call Devon and ask about making this situation more permanent.

[alanjeffbrainrot]

Bending the Rules pt. 1

CW: Student/Teacher AU, eventual smut, minors dni

A/N: idk why im obsessed with this concept. It’s also a soulmate AU cause I’m a slut for alanjeff true mate shit. Enjoy 😌

Word Count: 4.5K

Find it on AO3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~ To read pt. 2

My masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alan takes a different path earlier in life and ends up becoming a college professor. Jeff walks into the first day of class and sits at the very edge of the room, away from all the other students. Alan notices him on day one and doesn’t understand why he’s so intrigued by this new student.

A few days into class Babe (also a prof at the university, he started 4 years after Alan and they became fast friends. Lots of students think they’re dating because of how close they are) pulls him aside to mention that “Jeff, the kid in your Tuesday/Thursday class ? That’s the kid we’ve all been talking about, he’s going places”.

Confused, Alan casts a glance over at Babe murmuring that he wouldn’t be convinced until Jeff says something. Literally anything.

“Oh, that’s just how he is, don’t worry too much about it.” Babe shrugs it off but something about the boys nature still bothered Alan. Why was he so quiet, he thought to himself, and what will it take to get him to talk to me.

Why this mattered so much to Alan he wasn’t sure, but he vowed to keep an eye on the omega and see if he could get him to crack one day.

As the class continues Alan discovers that the Babe’s comments rang true. Jeff was truly remarkable. Just after midterms Alan calls Jeff to his desk, asking him to wait to speak with him.

“You’re the best student I’ve had Jeff and I just happen to be losing my TA after this semester, graduation and all” Alan chuckles. “Would you consider taking the position ?”

Jeff looks conflicted and quietly says he’ll think about it (the most he has said to Alan this whole semester, making Alan’s alpha puff up its chest). Alan nods and says he’ll check in again in a few days before waving Jeff off, wishing him a good day.

A week goes by, still no answer from Jeff and Alan is stressed. He feels like he’s going crazy, anytime he sees Jeff on campus he has to keep himself from bombarding the boy. Maybe he just doesn’t want to do it ? Alan thinks to himself. He’s about to start his senior year, lots of students turn down TA positions.

Babe, who’s usually next to Alan when they run across the little omega, is beginning to notice his strange reactions. Alan stands straighter and can barely keep his eyes focused in front of him, always glancing over to watch Jeff walk by them. The worst part being Alan’s pheromones, subtly being pushed out a tad stronger when the shorter is nearby, a fact that probably hasn’t even registered with Alan yet. Babe doesn’t say anything, just observing his friend become smitten like he never has before.

To Alan’s surprise, however, the next class Jeff is in he walks up to Alan and quietly mutters “I’ll do it”.

“Oh ! Oh my god, okay, yeah. Awesome” Alan stutters. God, why am I acting like a flustered school boy. Realizing Jeff is still staring at him, Alan shakes himself out of his thoughts. “I’ll email you the requirements and the application. You’ll send a copy to me and to student services. If you need any help just let me know !”

Jeff just nods before walking out of the classroom, leaving Alan a confused and flustered mess. And that’s the moment his alpha decides to complicate the situation. (For years Alan had kept that part of himself under lock and key, getting very good at not listening to his instincts.) Mine his alpha growled as if trying to break out of a cage, that omega is mine.

Alan is appalled at his own thoughts, vowing to keep himself together and not cross any lines. He wouldn’t even be interested Alan reasons with himself, it’ll be fine.

What Alan doesn’t know, is Jeff is having the same battle with himself. He had never touched the alpha (he had gotten very good at never touching anyone at this point) but just before beginning Alan’s class he had grabbed his brother, Charlie, by the wrist. And, unfortunately, it triggered a vision. One in which a tall, sophisticated, older alpha just happened to be hanging off of Jeff’s arm. It was a small point, insignificant in the grand scheme of the vision which was centered around Charlie, but it had shaken Jeff to the core. Who was this alpha and why on earth would Jeff let him touch him ??

When Jeff walked into class the first day he had kept his head down, a habit to ensure nobody spoke to him before or after classes. But when he finally popped his head up and looked at the professor at the beginning of class he had to keep himself from sprinting out of the classroom.

There, in front of him, was the alpha from his vision. No way, Jeff had thought, there’s absolutely no way. That vision had to be incorrect, a fluke.

The day Alan asked him to TA, jeff panicked, leaving campus and driving straight to speak with Charlie. When he gets in front of his brother he realizes he has no clue how to breach this topic.

“You remember that vision I had just before the semester ?” He starts with. When Charlie nods he takes a deep breath and continues, “I didn’t tell you everything….. the vision was about you” Jeff emphasizes, “but…. Next to me……. Was this alpha, someone I hadn’t met before.”

“Oh ?” Charlie said surprised, eyes going wide, “Why didn’t you tell me before ? What’s the problem ? Probably someone we’ll meet in the future.”

“Well….” Jeff trails off, not sure which topic he should begin with, “in the vision I was letting this alpha hug me ? Kind of, he was holding my arm like he was hugging a pole. But I didn’t seem bothered by it”

Jeff is interrupted by Charlie squealing, “YOU GET A BOYFRIEND IN THE FUTURE OH MY GOD !”

“Charlie !” Jeff huffs, hitting his brother on the shoulder to get him to quiet down. “You know my visions aren’t always absolute. And I really think this one can’t be true. There’s no way !”

“What, you don’t think an alpha will want you ? Come on jeff, you’re a catch.”

Jeff glares at Charlie but he just smiles back, sincere as ever. “It’s not that, jackass. It happens that I met the alpha when the semester began. But….”

“But” Charlie drags out, “what, is he an asshole or something ?”

“No ! No, hes… he’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. Gentle and so smart” jeff abruptly shuts his mouth. What am I saying he thinks to himself shaking his head before looking up at Charlie, who’s wearing a shit eating grin.

“You LIKE HIM” he teases, “so again I ask, what’s the problem ?”

“Umm…” Jeff looks down, not wanting to see Charlie’s face when he admits this. “He’s my professor” he whispers.

“Oh, okay that really could be a problem” Charlie says, tone nothing but understanding. “But you graduate next year right ? Just avoid him until then and let fate decide once you’re not a student anymore.”

“Well, he kind of asked me to be his TA next year. And I feel like I have to do it. I could learn a lot from him and it would look really good on my resume. Ive seen the places his past TA’s have gotten hired. This could give me a huge advantage getting into a garage Charlie.” Jeff looks up at his brother who seems to weighing what he has just told him.

After a few hours of discussion jeff came to the decision that he would accept the position and just keep his distance as much as he could. I Can do this he thought to himself, I just have to keep my guard up until I graduate.

Jeff didn’t understand why his omega, on the other hand, was resisting this wholeheartedly. Begging him to get as close to the alpha as he could. He’ll be ours soon enough his omega taunts him, just you wait.

Much to his omegas (and Alan’s) annoyance, Jeff goes back to ignoring the alpha. He keeps his head down, scurrying in and out of class without sparing a single glance at Alan. Even during class when Alan would look over, Jeff would avoid his gaze and only look back up when Alan had directed his attention elsewhere. Alan was losing his mind.

Two weeks before the semester ended, Alan was sitting at his desk, neck deep in grading assignments. Babe walks through the door, nose wrinkling at the heavy pheromones in the room. “God lung, what’s got you so stressed.”

Alan glares at Babe, laying his own down and leaning back in his chair. “Unlike some people, I have papers to grade. And more coming soon for finals. So, do you need something or can I get back to work ?”

“Not my fault you don’t teach a practical course” babe shrugs, walking further into the room and leaning on a desk in the front row.

“Someone has to teach the textbooks” Alan sighs. It’s always around this time he wishes he had Babe’s job, teaching practical, hands on classes in the on-campus garage. “Seriously though, did you need something ?”

“Yes, actually. I heard about your TA for next year.”

Alan furrows his brow, “Jeff ? Why, you were right. The kid’s going places.”

Babe nods, crossing his arms and leveling his gaze with Alan. “That’s true but… are you sure you know what you’re doing ?”

Babe’s delicate tone leaves Alan even more confused. “What do you mean? I’ve had TA’s for years and I think he would be great. A little quiet but that’s not a problem.”

Sighing, Babe looks down. “Lung, i'm going to be honest with you. Do you have any idea how you act around him ? You get nervous, you stare at him. God, I’m the only one that would notice but you push your pheromones out !”

“I don’t-“ Alan trails off, not sure how to defend himself.

“Look, it was fun to watch you get all flustered around him. If the circumstances were different I would absolutely be pushing you to ask him out. But… he’s your student, you know ? You just need to be careful.” Babe finishes, glancing back up at Alan to gauge his reaction.

Alan, though embarrassed for being called out, begins nodding. “No, no you’re absolutely right. I’ll keep myself in check, Babe, you don’t have to worry. Besides, Jeff has gone back to ignoring me so I don’t think there will be much of an issue.”

Babe nods, giving Alan an encouraging smile. “Good luck with the grading, lung. Let me know if you need anything.” Babe says before turning and walking out of the room. Leaving Alan to contemplate what he has gotten himself into.

The semester ends with no incident, both Alan and Jeff trying to keep their distance but neither handling it very well. Jeff spends more time with Charlie, desperately trying to push down his feelings despite a lingering feeling of sadness. Alan, on the other hand, is just frustrated.

He spent the last two weeks in an annoyed huff, everything seemingly setting him off. He tried his best, he really did, but each time he has to watch the omega hurry out of the classroom a piece of him is screaming to follow. To not let him go.

The second day of the summer vacation (neither Babe or Alan teach summer classes) Babe let’s himself into Alan’s house and immediately is smacked with rut pheromones.

“Shit” Babe curses, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. “Lung !” He shouts into the house, “Do you need anything ? I can drop it outside !”

A pained groan is heard from the other side of the house before Alan drags himself into view. He’s flushed, sweaty, and looks absolutely worse for wear.

“You look like death Lung” Babe says, scanning the alpha in front of him.

“I feel like it” Alan says from the top of the stairs, scrubbing his hand down his face and sighing. “I don’t know why it’s hitting me so hard. It hasn’t been this bad since I presented.”

Alan gets himself together enough to relay a list of supplies he needed. Babe leaves quickly after getting the list, Alan’s heavy pheromones giving him a headache.

Alan makes his way back to his bedroom, peeling his sweaty t-shirt off before throwing himself on his bed. He’s overheating, fire-like arousal licking through his veins. He kicks his pants and underwear off, hand snaking down and grasping his cock.

“Fuck” Alan breaths out. He begins stroking himself, bringing his hand up to gather the precum leaking out of the tip to make the glide easier. He squeezes his eyes shut just trying to focus on the pleasure, bringing his other hand down to squeeze at the rapidly forming knot at the base of his cock.

As he gets closer to his release, his mind starts providing images of a faceless omega propped on his lap, back facing him as he bounced up and down on Alan’s cock. Alan groans at the image and speeds his hand up. “Just like that baby” he mutters, everything in him wishing the image was real.

The omega in his mind leans back, turning his head towards Alan and suddenly he realizes the image is of Jeff. A sob is forced out of Alan as he cums suddenly, Jeff’s name on his lips. He strokes himself through his orgasm, slowly coming back down to earth. When he realizes what he just did he groans, rolling over and shoving his face into his pillows, embarrassed enough to ignore the sticky release still on his stomach that’s now going to be on the sheets below him.

God Alan, he thinks to himself, what the fuck am I going to do.

Unbeknownst to the alpha, across town a very similar situation is occurring in Jeff’s apartment. He had called Charlie, panicked because his heat hit him early. For most people that wouldn’t be too strange, maybe a change in cycle, but Jeff had just gone through heat a month before.

When charlie got to the apartment to drop things off (Jeff had a tendency to not plan for heats and would surely starve himself to death if charlie didn’t deliver a bag of water and snacks each day) Jeff was curled up in bed. Crying.

“Woah, Jeff, are you okay?” Charlie said delicately, trying not to spook the omega.

“Hurts” Jeff wails out, clearly lost in his omega headspace, “need alpha.”

Charlie freezes. It doesn’t matter how many heats Jeff had gone through, he had never let himself slip fully into his omega headspace and he certainly has never asked for an alpha.

“Alpha ? Who’s…” charlie trails off, not expecting to get an answer from the clearly distressed omega (and if he’s being honest, unsure if he truly wants to know).

He waits a few moments before Jeff finally looks at him, eyes red with tears streaming down his face. “Alan” he sniffles, “please. I need alpha.”

Charlie just looks at him confused, not remembering anyone in their lives named Alan. But then it hits him. He had been helping Jeff with the TA application and had noticed the alphas name, Alan, printed at the bottom. Alan, the same alpha who was in Jeff’s vision from months ago.

“Fuck” Charlie cursed after putting the pieces together. “Jeff, bud I need you to listen to me” Charlie says, trying to figure out the most delicate way to put this. “Alan… can’t be here with you.”

This just distressed the omega more, a new round of tears begin falling as Jeff’s scent sours even more. The small omega buries himself further into his nest as sobs racked his body. Charlie sighs, knowing there’s nothing he can do to ease his brothers mind. He decides to leave the room and camp out in the living room. He doesn’t usually stay but Charlie doesn’t have the heart to leave him so distraught.

Jeff’s heat breaks 5 days later, substantially longer than any heat he's ever had. When he finally drags himself out of his bedroom he curls up on the couch next to Charlie. His eyes are still red, occasional tears escaping and dripping down his face. Charlie is worried to say this least.

“You okay?” He finally asks. Jeff refuses to look at him, just curling further in on himself while sniffling.

After a minute a quiet “no” is heard from Jeff, voice scratchy. A second passes before another round of sobs wracks Jeff’s body, “I don’t know what’s happening to me Charlie.”

Charlie hums, reaching a hand out to card his fingers through Jeff’s hair. The omega presses into the hand, desperate for any type of comfort he could get in the moment. “Let yourself cry, I’ll be here as long as you need.”

And Jeff does just that. He moves slightly to lay his head in his brother's lap and cries. “Why do I miss him” he manages to get out, “it feels wrong not having him around.”

“Alan?” Charlie asks, already knowing the answer. Jeff just nods, flipping over so he can bury his face in Charlie’s stomach. Charlie chooses not to press the topic and just comforts the small and broken omega in his lap.

The next day Jeff runs Charlie out of his apartment, wanting to be alone. The only reason Charlie agrees is an agreement that jeff would call that night to check in. Jeff curls up in bed as soon as Charlie leaves, his heart aching.

He would never admit this to Charlie but part of the reason his heat took so long to break this time was because he refused to do anything, touching himself feeling wrong even in the worst of it. He craved Alan in a way he had never experienced with anyone before, his omega set on the idea that either the alpha would be touching him or no one at all.

“God” he groans, rubbing his eyes, “next year is going to be rough.”

And rough it was. Up until the first day of class, Alan and Jeff had been communicating through email, both men managing to make up excuses to avoid seeing the other in person (and neither feeling strong enough to control themselves if they were to meet up alone).

Alan was nervously pacing in this classroom, chewing on his thumb and just trying to calm his nerves when Babe walks in. “Woah, lung calm down. Everything’s gonna be fine” he says, grabbing Alan by the shoulders and guiding him to his desk chair. Once the older man and sat down babe walks around the seat to perch himself on a desk in the front row.

Alan looks up at his best friend, contemplating how to explain the complicated flurry of anxiety and excitement he was feeling. “This is either going to go really well or really bad, babe.” He lands on, sighing and leaning back in his chair.

“Well, just don’t do anything stupid and it shouldn’t be an issue” babe shrugs, crossing his arms.

Alan glares at him, “I’m not going to-“

Alan is cutoff by the door opening, the small omega walking in with his head down. Alan’s breath hitches, okay, he thinks, this is it. When jeff finally looks up he looks straight at Alan, their eyes locking as causing jeff to freeze.

Babe, immediately noticing the fact that neither man was moving to speak, looked over at jeff, “how was your summer?”

Not realizing there was another person in the room, jeff jumps and whips his head around to babe, “oh umm, good. I guess.” he stammers out, glancing between both men in front of him.

Babe hums out a “good” before fixing Alan with a very pointed gaze, “alright lung. I’m going to head to the garage. Have a good first day”

Alan nods, eyes shifting to babe long enough to wish him the same before they settle back on Jeff. Babe rolls his eyes before making his way out of the classroom, already knowing damn well that Alan’s promise to not do anything stupid would really only last so long.

The click of the door closing behind babe seemed to shake Alan out of his trance, smiling at the omega. He quickly explains to Jeff what his day to day tasks would be before they both start working in silence, neither totally sure how to speak with the other.

They carry on like that for the first two months of the semester, dancing around each other and spending no more time than necessary together. Alan gets jeff to talk a little bit, learning about his brother Charlie and Jeff’s goals after graduation, but it never goes further than surface level. Both men feel a pull towards each other, their bodies and minds seemingly linked in a way neither fully understood.

When midterms hit they began working late, trying to get grading done and working on solidifying the curriculum for the last half of the semester. It was a random Tuesday when things changed. They were working late, clock showing 9pm with both men sitting across from each other in the classroom.

Alan groans, head hitting the desk as he closes his eyes, “why did I become a professor” he mutters.

“Because you’re good at at” jeff responds, shrugging. Alan’s head whips up, staring at jeff who is pointedly keeping his eyes on the work in front of him.

“Thank you” Alan breathes out, noticing a small smile forming on the youngers lips. Clearing his throat, Alan stands, “I’m going to go fill my water bottle. Do you need anything?”

“I’m okay” jeff says, looking up to smile at the man standing above him. Alan smiles back before leaning down and kissing the boy before turning and beginning to walk towards the door. It takes a moment for his exhausted mind to catch up to want he just did, freezing and turning back around immediately.

Jeff is staring at him with wide eyes, neither man totally sure what just happened. “Oh my god, Jeff, I’m so sorry” Alan starts stammering out, “I don’t know why I just did that. I’m so sorry.”

Alan’s brain is going a mile a minute, desperately trying to work out what the fuck just happened and why he did that. It was as if it was a habit, something easy that they just did despite decidedly being something they did not do. Jeff just continues looking at him, making no indication towards how he felt about the action.

“Jeff, please say something, I am so sorry.” As Alan continues stuttering out apologies Jeff stands, immediately shutting the man up. He walks forward, the alpha half expecting Jeff to smack him, which would be justified he thinks to himself.

Jeff stops right in front of Alan, looking up and examining his face. “Kiss me again” he says quietly.

“W-what?” Alan asks, eyes going wide.

“Kiss me again.” Jeff says with more finality behind it.

Alan is a strong man, he expected to be able to keep himself in check. But when an omega, no not just any omega, Jeff, his omega, is asking him for a kiss, who is he to say no ? Alan surges forward, capturing Jeff’s lips in a heated kiss and pulling him in by the waist.

At this point both men are giving into their instincts, neither Alan’s alpha or Jeff’s omega could stand being apart anymore. They stumble backwards towards Alan’s desk, the older man’s hands moving down to under Jeff’s ass and lifting him up and perching him on the edge of the desk.

Jeff spreads his legs, alan immediately taking the invitation and stepping between them to get closer. He pulls back for a moment and rests his forehead against Jeff’s, both men breathing heavily. Alan’s hands come up to rest on Jeff’s hips, rubbing small circles into the soft skin just under his shirt.

“Are you sure” he whispers, finally pulling back to look into Jeff’s eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything” Jeff says sincerely, “please.” Just to make his point, Jeff wraps his legs around Alan’s waist and pulls him closer. The alpha moans with their groins make contact, the little bit of friction sending sparks up his spine. “I need you Alan, I don’t understand it but I need you in a way I’ve never needed anyone else.”

Alan leans down again and pecks Jeff’s lips before moving to mouth at the boys scent gland. “This can’t just be a one time thing” Alan says, still buried in the omegas neck, “god, I’ve never felt this way and if we’re going to do this I need you to promise me that.”

Jeff’s nods, hands flying up to grip Alan’s hair and leaning his head to the side giving him more access to his neck. “I promise” he whines out, “we can talk about it tomorrow but right now” Jeff trails off, pulling harder on the alphas hair, “right now I need you.” he finishes.

Alan groans, sucking harder at Jeff’s neck once he says that. His hands trail further up the omegas body, slowly lifting the shirt up before brushing his thumbs across Jeff’s nipples, drawing a shaky moan out of the boy underneath him.

Alan moves his mouth back up, kissing Jeff passionately as he continues toying with the boys chest. All is fine until they hear the door open, Alan jumps back, whipping around to see Babe standing in the doorway. His eyes are wide, never expecting to walk into a scene like this.

“What the fuck lung” babe sighs, not mad but definitely annoyed, “I told you not to do anything stupid.”

Jeff, face bright red and eyes cast towards the floor, slides himself off the desk. “It’s not his fault” Jeff mutters quietly.

Both men turn to look at the small omega, standing in front of the desk and wringing his hands together.

“I don’t care what y’all do, don’t worry about it, but you can’t do it here. Jesus Christ lung” babe says turning back to his best friend, “what if it was anyone else that walked in.”

Alan nods but says nothing, mind reeling with what just happened. Babe sighs, looking between the two men in front of him. “I came to tell you I was heading home lung. Whatever you choose to do is up to the both of you but…” babe pauses, concern clear in his voice, “just be careful” he lands on finally. Babe turns and leaves the classroom, leaving Alan and Jeff in an uncomfortable silence.

Alan turns to look at Jeff, unsure how to proceed in such a situation. Jeff meets his eyes, a look of determination behind them before he walks back up to Alan and leans up to give him a quick kiss. “Let’s go to your place, lung.”

Alan’s breath hitches, nodding quickly before gathering his things, holding the door open for Jeff. The small omega chuckles at the alphas eagerness before they make their way to the parking lot, both men excited and nervous for the promise of what was to come.

[beebotea]

hey, are you listening? — part 05

pairing : college au!xiao x f!reader . summary : in which uni students decipher vague tweets and emotions... + ie: second-year students y/n and xiao are forced to work through their term project (and feelings) as their friends attempt to meddle with their love lives ‘for the greater good’ . cw : swearing, slut-shaming, suggestive, reader she/her pronouns .

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05. term project reveal

act 1, scene 1

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act 2, scene 1

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act 2, scene 2

In the last 15 minutes of class, the instructor gave time for the partners to briefly meet up and coordinate with each other.

Making her way to the last few rows of seats at the back of the lecture room, Y/N watched as her friends found their ways to their project partners as well. Some groups meeting off to the side of the class and others talking outside of the room.

She spotted her project mate sitting in his usual spot in the back corner. Where he was usually surrounded by his other friends, now he sat alone, the seats beside him empty save for the scattered bags and sweaters they left behind.

Y/N found Xiao, looking dead at his desk. His arms folded under his head, hoodie up.

“Xiao?”

He stirred a little and made a small noise. Y/N took it as a signal that he was paying listening.

His head remained on the desk as she continued to speak. Perhaps he was just too tired to look up. “So I guess for our project we’ll be researching and presenting about the Ethics of Life and Business… it’s kind of a vague topic but perhaps we can talk about the differences between everyday ethics and business ethics and how there are loopholes and such that people may abuse? What do you think?”

No response.

“Uh… Xiao?” Y/N waited a moment to gauge the situation before ultimately deciding to shake him by the shoulder a little. “Hey, are you listening?”

He shot up the moment her hand made contact. He looked up at her, rubbing away the sleepiness from his eyes. He pulled down his hood to run his hand through his hair, revealing the noise cancelling headphones that he had been wearing during the whole conversation.

After a small stretch, he seemed to realize his surroundings as his eyes widened upon seeing Y/N standing in front of him. He quickly removed his headphones and mumbled a quick apology, looking away from her to hide his slight flush of embarrassment.

“Oh… it’s okay. I’m guessing you didn’t hear a word I said then, huh?” He shook his head in response.

“We’re partners for the term project,” Y/N pointed at the projector screen, showing him the assigned topics and partners for the half semester long assignment.

“Oh, I see. Business and Life ethics… cool.”

“What do you think we should research about then? The topic is kind of vague and the professor didn’t put many guidelines.”

He shrugged.

Y/N pursed her lips together in thought before suggesting what she had said before he woke up. Xiao agreed that looking at the differences and loopholes in this topic would probably be the most interesting route to research.

“Okay, great! When should we meet up to work? I don’t have any classes after this if you wanna go to the library today after lunch.” She was doing her absolute best to stay positive during this conversation.

The feeling of distance and absolute awkwardness between them kept growing and gnawing at her as the chat went on. It didn’t exactly help that Xiao wasn’t the most talkative or expressive person either…

“I can’t do today, sorry. The guys and I have band practice on Tuesdays.”

“Oh, then what about tomorrow? I only have one class in the morning from 9 a.m. to 10 a.m.”

“Sure. We can meet up at 1 p.m.”

“Okay, great! See you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, cool. See you.”

Y/N smiled at him and waved before turning around to join her friends leaving the lecture hall.

Behind Xiao, he could hear the snickers of his friends.

“Looks like our prof is better at this wingman stuff than us, huh.” Aether mused as Xiao turned to glare at the boys.

“It’s just a project.” The teal haired boy argued.

“Yeah, well you could always use it to your advantage as an excuse to get to know her better or ask her out.” Gorou shrugged, “at least that’s what I’d do.”

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bonus !

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taglist  — comment to be added!

@ashhh-14​ @sanghyuksgasolinestationscream​ @yuminako​​

—

[mama-qwerty]

Meeting Shadow

So this is kinda/sorta the start of my Shadow story. I was playing around with how Maria would first meet Shadow, and this is what came out.

Remember, in my headcanon, Maria is a private brought in by Gerald to act as Shadow's "handler" since he's still hanging on by a thread at this stage. In reality, the Prof wants the boy to have an actual human caretaker, not just live his life in a tube. (Calling her Shadow's handler satisfies the military's question as to why she's there.) He hand picked her--he knows Maria is his granddaughter, but she doesn't.

~~~~~

The door opened to what looked like an emergency room. Medical monitors flashed vital signs, and machines beeped and blinked all around what looked like a preemie incubator in the center. Wires and cables stretched from the various monitors and computers to the inside of that incubator. Judging from the erratic beeps from the heart monitor, whatever was in there wasn’t doing well.

The young private gave the room a questioning look, before turning that look to General Tower behind her.

“Sir? I don’t understand. What is this assignment, exactly?”

The man lifted his lip in a scowl. Whatever it was, the general had a distaste for it. “The good doctor has spent a lot of taxpayer money to create the . . . thing inside that box. Your assignment, Private, is to do what you can to keep it alive.”

Her eyes widened. “Sir, I have no experience with babies. I’ve only babysat three times in my life, and that was for my ten-year-old neighbor.”

General Tower lifted his lip, this time in a sneery type of smile. “Then I wish you luck,” he said, before pulling the door closed behind him.

She stared at the door for a few seconds longer, before slowly turning toward the incubator. The term the general had used when referring to the occupant of that bit of equipment rang in her ears. Thing. He called it a thing. What exactly was she supposed to be caring for?

The imposing pile of paperwork she’d had to sign before coming to this hidden facility suddenly made sense. With words like ‘highly classified’, ‘non-disclosure’, and ‘under penalty of imprisonment or death’ sprinkled throughout it’s massive stack, this wasn’t some run-of-the-mill secret base. This was a super-secret, I’d-tell-you-but-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you secret base, housing what was slowly dawning on her must have been some pretty damn freaky secrets.

The question was, why was she chosen to join this selective club? She was just a private, fresh out of boot camp. Surely there were more experienced people? Ones better suited for such a task?

Every creature feature horror movie she’d ever seen suddenly flashed through her brain. Secret facilities like this usually housed a captured alien or genetically altered experiment. The scientists or big military brass would want to know how that creature functioned, so they’d send a poor, unsuspecting red shirt in to be the guinea pig. Usually a low-ranking private, who gets eaten or torn to shreds in the first few minutes of the film.

She swallowed hard. Right now her love of alien/creature feature horror movies didn’t seem so harmless.

Okay. Focus. There was no cage, and no two-way mirror for the scientists to study her impending messy death through. There was a little incubator and lots of monitoring equipment. Whatever was in here, it was obviously small.

Which brought to mind every movie she’d seen in which a tiny terrible creature either forced its way into the victim’s ear, nose, or mouth. Or other orifices.

She closed her eyes tightly. Creature features would be off the movie list for a while.

One of the monitors gave a rapid beep for a few seconds, before slowing down to the previous tempo. This was enough to pull her out of her thoughts, and she slowly made her way to the little plastic box with round holes on one side. Wires snaked inside, attached to . . . well, something.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t a small black and red furry ball about the size of an orange.

“What the . . .” she breathed, brows furrowed. “Did . . . did they make a Tribble?”

The wires leading to the incubator seemed to go inside that little furry ball which confused her for a second, until the thing trembled slightly before uncurling and rolling onto its belly. Now she gaped at it, her jaw hanging slack.

It wasn’t a ball. It was a . . . well, she wasn’t entirely sure. An animal of some sort. But . . . not.

It had six spikes on the back of its head, tiny triangular ears, and a peach colored muzzle with a pointy black nose. Its little hands—and that’s what they were, not paws—were quite human, in that they had four fingers and a distinct thumb. Tiny claws tipped those digits, and it curled them into a teeny fist as she watched.

Her previous fears and movie-inspired paranoia forgotten, she moved closer to hunker down and peer in through the access holes in the side of the box. “What are you?” Its closer ear twitched at the sound of her voice, and one eye opened slightly to reveal a red iris. It seemed to see her, as it stared for a few seconds before closing its eye and heaving a small sigh.

She stood, flicking her head to bring her long blonde braid in front of her shoulder to fiddle with the end. A nervous habit she’d developed since letting it grow. “Holy crap,” she muttered, moving around the room. She took care to avoid the wires, and kept shooting little glances toward the incubator. “This is nuts. What am I supposed to do with that? I don’t even know what it is. How am I supposed to take care of something I have no clue about?”

As if the universe deemed it necessary to test her, another monitor gave a long tone. She spun, her eyes floating over all the screens to try and determine which one was crying out. She finally narrowed it down to the one devoted to the creature’s breathing.

And right now, it wasn’t.

“Crap,” she whispered, hurrying over to the incubator. The little thing still lay on its belly, eyes closed and back horrifyingly still. “Oh, no. Nonononono.” She tapped on the plastic lid, directly over the creature. “Hey.” Tap tap. “C’mon, take a breath.” Tap tap tap.

Nothing. As if politely asking the little thing to breathe would have worked anyway.

She moved back to where she had looked in at it a minute before. “Hey,” she called, hoping to see the little ear twitch. It didn’t. “You gotta breathe, little guy.” She wasn’t sure why she called it that, it just seemed to fit. Still no response.

Feeling a bit freaked out, she did the only thing one does when faced with an unknown thing in an unknown situation—she reached in and touched it.

“C’mon, little guy,” she said, and stroked its tiny muzzle with her finger. “C’mon. Breathe for me. Please.”

She continued stroking the soft muzzle, and finally, after an eternity of seconds, it gasped in a breath. The eye opened again, and it looked at her, the closer ear turning her way. She smiled, relieved.

“There you go. Good job. Just keep doing that, okay? In and out.”

It watched her for a few more seconds, and the little fist relaxed. A tiny finger twitched. The monitor stopped its continuous tone and returned to a more even beep. She continued stroking the little muzzle with her finger.

Suddenly the door burst open, and an older man in a lab coat hurried in. She pulled her hand from the incubator, and stood quickly. Out of breath, the man simply looked between her and the little plastic box.

“The alarm went off in my lab,” he said, straightening his glasses as he went to peer in at the little creature. “What happened?”

“It stopped breathing,” she said, standing back to let him examine the various readouts on the machines. “But I . . . it started again.”

He looked up at her over his glasses. “What did you do?”

Her face burned as a blush flared. “I . . . uh . . . touched it.” God, that sounded so stupid.

“Touched him?”

She nodded, the blush spreading down her neck. “I kinda stroked its cheek with my finger.”

“And that’s all it took?”

She shrugged. It was entirely possible it would have started breathing again without her being there. But he asked.

He furrowed his brow for a few seconds, before a smile curled the ends of his lips. They disappeared beneath his bushy mustache. “Well done, my dear, well done!”

“Thanks,” she muttered, and honestly wanted nothing more than to run screaming into the night. This entire scene was surreal and insane.

“This little one has been very, hm, shall we say, delicate. I do believe he’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide as well!” The doctor was making notes on a clipboard she hadn’t noticed from the top of one of the machines. “But he’s the best specimen we’ve ever had. At least the one who survived the longest. I believe if we can get him past this infant stage, we may actually have a chance at full maturation!”

She fiddled with her braid. She understood everything he said, but none of it made any sense.

He turned to her, and must have read the look on her face. He smiled, hugging the clipboard to his chest. “Apologies, my dear. All this must seem quite strange to you. I fear the general has thrown you into the deep end without so much as a pool floaty.” She smiled at that and he continued. “Even though you no doubt signed a stack of paperwork the size of Alaska, I’m afraid I cannot go into much detail regarding what we’re doing here. But suffice it to say, if we can keep this little guy with us, it could be a great benefit to the medical world.”

“Looking for that elusive cure for cancer, huh?”

His smile faltered a tad. “The cure for everything,” he said, his voice soft. “This little guy is the ultimate lifeform. We just need to keep him alive until his system normalizes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ultimate lifeform? Isn’t that a lot of pressure to put on a . . .”

“I can’t divulge how he came to be, but I can say that a lot of his DNA matches the common Earth hedgehog.”

“’Earth’ hedgehog?”

He smiled again, this time guiltily. “Secrets.” He pulled an imaginary zipper across his lips.

She nodded. At least she had a gender and species. “Does he have a name?”

“We’ve been calling him ‘Project Shadow’.”

She glanced down at the little black and red baby. Shadow seemed a good name. “Shadow.”

“Shadow.” The man smiled, then his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I just realized you haven’t the first clue who I am!” She shook her head. He smiled, holding his hand out. “Professor Gerald Robotnik. I’m the lead scientist here.”

“Private Maria Robinson,” she said, taking his hand. His eyebrow twitched slightly, and she raised her own in a question. “Something wrong?”

The man pulled his hand back, uttering an embarrassed chuckle. “No, no. You’ll have to pardon me. You . . .” He cast her a sideways glance. “You just remind me of someone.”

~~~

Like this? Check out my other snippets. Reblogs are appreciated!

[n0t-le4fy]

Rollo and Sebs silly little marriage

Credits: me, Seb for the prompt.

Genre: Twisted Wonderland.

Relationship(s): Rollo and Seb, Leafy and Epel, Azalea and Riddle, Basil and Felix, brief Grass and Ruggie.

By: LEAFY AYAKI THE BESTEST FIC WRITER IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD‼️‼️

For: Sebby Webby 

“You look so beautiful! Handsome? Pretty? I dunno..” Leafy, one of Seb's close friends, is helping him with wedding preparations. 

Currently, Seb is with Leafy, trying on various suits. His current suit consists of a white undershirt, a dark gray jacket, and an “I ❤️ Rollo” tie. Seb is stressing about it. 

Despite being in a relationship with Rollo for a while, Seb still thinks about impressing his soon-to-be husband. 

“You're too twinky for me to compliment you.. but you look good!” His appointed Flower Girl says, fixing his “I ❤️ Rollo” tie. “I wonder when Azalea’ll get here.. didn’t you say they were one of your Maids of Honors?..”

“If they don’t get here soon. I will commit mass genocide.” The amazingly-fashionable groom snaps back at Leafy. 

“WHAT’S UP YOU GUYS??!?!?!?!?” A well-known person bursts through the door with a party hat, streamers, and a sash that reads “Oh my cod! I'm getting married!” Their bright grin slowly fades as they see Seb on the verge of tears, about to lash out at Leafy for poking him. Leafy is also on the verge of tears. 

“Shut your flippity floppity dog garnit mouth before I make you shut it.” Seb, bipolar and death-glaring at Azalea, was making one of his usual threats. “I will shut you up using 37 aborted fetuses.”

“You wouldn’t talk to Rollo like that, would you? Naughty naughty..” 

“Your left kidney will make amazing biscuits.”

___ 

The day of the wedding came. Everyone was dressed up nicely, who wouldn’t be for such a special occasion? Azalea and her plus-one were sitting in the front row. Can you guess who their plus one is? Housewarden Riddle Rosehearts!!! 🙀How original. 

Like Azalea, some of Seb's other friends were there. Including Romeo, Cajit, Basil, Eric, Jasper, and Seb Doppelgänger. 

Why Grass is not there is unknown, they could be off stealing doughnuts or haggling at street vendors with Ruggie. 

Is Leafy there? Of course, they are. Why would she miss her friend's wedding? (and a potential chance to see her multiple husbands.) Who was she with, you may ask? Idia? No. He’s too busy grinding on a new goofy game, and even if he wasn’t he would have an anxiety attack before arriving at the wedding destination. So, who else would she have been able to go with? None other than the silly country boy, Epel Felmier!

“Sebby Webby!! You look amazing!!” Leafy says, leaving behind the feminine-looking boy that is her plus-one date. 

Seb was having a mini meltdown, he never thought the day would come that he would get married to the one and only Rollo Flamme. He felt so many feelings all at once- excitement, overstimulation (not that way, naughty boy.), joy, stress, anxiety, and maybe even a bit of anger. Bipolar disorder doesn’t go away at weddings, you know. 

“glfhvmcbhfsahrjrwkdhlhf- ARARARARARRA.” This is Seb's way of letting his emotions out, his twinky ahh mascara streaming down his face as he becomes more and more overwhelmed. “THIS CORSET IS MAKING IT HARD TO BREATHE. I'M DYING.” 

“You’re the one who chose to wear that goofy outfit. You goofy boy.” Leafy grabs hold of Seb's hand and leads him to a different room. 

“Let go of me this instant! Your hands are as cold as the pizza at school!” 

Leafy does not let him go. Leafy, instead, grips onto Seb's hand tighter. They enter the room, Leafy leads the way. She sits him down on a bench and wraps her arms around him, warmly embracing him. 

“Are you.. a giddy German boy?” 

__

“That’s crazy.” Basil, dressed up in a traditional wedding dress suit, stands hand-in-hand with his plus one, Felix. “Why aren’t you wearing the suit Azalea picked out for you?” 

Seb doesn’t answer, he’s too busy having a panic attack. Leafy answers for him. 

“He said it looked too professional. “Rollo won’t want to take me to bed!” was what he said when I asked him about it this morning, which is why I picked out-” 

“-We picked out a cute ‘lil outfit for Sebastian here!” A familiar voice comes from behind, happy and jolly. (I need to stop saying familiar so much. that’s kinda crazy.) 

“What the fart..” 

Standing in the doorway of the room filled with spectrum-induced queers lies the infamous Grass. For some reason, Ruggie isn’t there. Maybe they’re stealing gold from Professee Crewel or something.. who knows? 

“Yes, Seb asked me to get a new outfit for him, but he was too into his depression era to come with me.. so I asked Grass!!” Leafy explains while Seb sits, still halfway embraced by his friend, wide-eyed. “It’s beautiful, right?” 

“..sure..” Basil responds while scratching his cheek and awkwardly glancing around the mostly empty room. 

__

Rollo’s stance at the altar is rather worryful. Having a touch-starved and traumatized past would make you that way- the poor boy has anxiety. His eyes dart across the room, he begins to sweat. What if his soon-to-be-wed husband had abandoned him at the altar? What if they had run off with Sebek, Floyd, or Baul? What if they were eating all of the croissants at the croissant-exclusive food table in the other room? 

“Where is he.. where is he..?!” The poor, panicky student council president is going insane with thoughts of paranoia as his groom is in the other room, also losing his head. “Have I been... ditched?..” 

Much like Rollo, the other wedding attendees were wondering where the second groom was. It’s not very often that a groom is this late to their wedding. Seb was breaking down in the other room while the two queers, Basil and Felix, look away to avoid him becoming more uncomfortable than he already is. 

__

Seb, with fixed makeup and a wide but terrified smile, walks slowly up to the altar. The flower girl, Leafy, gently sprinkles brown and maroon chocolate-cosmos flower petals over the walkway as Seb’s dear friend, Sebek Zigvolt, walks him up to the altar. 

To Sebek, this is an amazing opportunity to both impress Malleus and bond with Seb. 

The fresh aroma of newly picked cosmos fills the air as more and more petals are spread by Leafy, the various shades were mesmerizing most- if not all guests. 

The scent fades into some fragrance one can not quite place exactly... it’s not a bad scent at all, though. 

Sebek, flashy light-green hair and lime-green eyes, has Seb’s arm hooked around his own as if they were going to see the wonderful Wizard of Oz.

__

Rollo patiently awaits at the top pedestal, (description on his clothes). His specially and carefully picked priest, Robert, remains as well, standing with a perfectly straight posture. Robert was a random man in a bible study group Rollo was also in.  When I say carefully picked, I mean carefully picked. 

Rollo gathered a group of about fifty Nobel Bell College student council members and multiple priests from various places around the world. 

He wanted this special occasion to be special-er than special. 

He wanted his wedding to be so special even Leona couldn’t snooze during it. 

He wanted his special day to be so fantastic, so remarkable, so wondrous, so staggering, so magnificent, so astonishing, so extraordinary, so marvelous, so astounding, so breathtaking, so splendid, so impressive, so fabulous, so stunning, so stupendous, so formidable, so unbelievable, so stupefying, so outstanding, so mind-blowing, that Vil would be jealous of its beauty. 

He wanted it to be so special, so glorious, that even Idia would force himself to show up. 

He wanted it to be perfect, as you can clearly see. 

__

The terror-struck but flusteredly-excited groom walks up to the altar as he and Sebek part ways, Sebek sits next to Malleus and Seb carefully steps up. 

Rollo lovingly gazes into his ‘husband’’s eyes, forest-green irises sparkling with admiration as his lips tug into a soft smile. You could’ve never guessed that this man, this man, was the one on top of the bell tower. His cheeks, pale rose colored, slowly warm up into a bright cherry red. 

“Do you, Rollo Flamme, take Sebastian here as your lawfully wedded husband?” Robert The Priest asks. 

“I do..” The poor, worried boy answers in a soft tone, the gentle smile never leaves his lips. 

“..and, do you, Sebastian Hartz, take this man, Rollo Flamme, as, also, your lawfully wedded husband?” 

Seb thinks for a moment, Rollo presumes it’s for rethinking their marriage, but it’s really because Seb is panicking so much he forgot how to speak. 

“I do.” 

“Alright, I now pronounce you.. husband and husband!!” The old man named Robert yells pridefully, despite being as homophobic as my parents. 

The two stare into each other's eyes, neither of them willing to be the dominant alpha male and start the kiss. Soft, powder blue eyes staring into deep, forest green eyes, both pupils show signs of nervousness.

Rollo takes a deep breath, and yes, he does lead the wedding kiss. He slowly leans close to Seb, his baby-blue hair flowing slightly as their lips meet. Seb gains courage and does his part into kissing his husband, leaning in as well. 

They eventually part, both smiling wider with each second that passes. 

“I love you.” 

__

After the wedding, everyone besides the two newlywed husbands were eating the diverse menu of food Rollo catered. All of Seb’s friends, Azalea, Leafy, Basil, Felix, Grass, Romeo, Adonis, Zoy, (ect.) were sitting at different tables. Azalea and Leafy were on a mini-double date with Riddle and Epel while Romeo and Jade were gobbling up some home-made rice pudding. 

Rollo made the rice pudding the day before in preparation, he wanted the day to be perfectly perfect. He pulled a few strings and had Kalim convince Jamil to do most of the cooking, but in the end had to order a few dishes from totally legal Fleur City websites. 

“Mmmm nom nom.” Romeo says as he ate his bowl of rice pudding, Jade stared admiringly at him as if he were one of Jade’s terrarium mushroom fungi friends. 

Riddle sits down professionally, his posture straightens as he catches himself lacking in the presence of his lovely Azalea. 

“I loooooove you Riddle.” Azalea says before devouring their pupusa. Riddle reminds her of the Queen of Hearts’ 269th rule not to eat quickly at a wedding or something, Azalea ignores it and chomps down on another pupusa.

“Yum yum yum yum,” Leafy mumbles out with her mouth full of cake, red velvet crumbs all over her. Epel had taken the initiative to wipe up any mess his date makes, so nobody else would have to. 

“Leafy! Slow down, would’ya? Yer getting food all ov’r ya clothes!” Epel scolds Leafy as he, like Riddle, was giving ignored orders. 

“Where’s Seb?..” Azalea asks as they finish their 3rd pupusa. 

“I dunno.. dead I guess..” Was Leafy’s reply. 

Instantaneously, Seb bursts through the door, carrying his newlywed husband in old-fashioned bridal style. 

“HEYYY YOU GUYS!!! ROLLO LET ME CARRY HIM!!” Seb exclaims as he runs over to the groups of tables huddled near each other. “ISN’T THIS GREAT?!!?!?” 

“Oh my cod!! It’s amazing!!” Azalea smiles brightly as she places down a slightly eaten pupusa. 

Rollo blushes, either because of the embarrassment Seb is putting him through or how close he is to his husband. The christian man is canonically touch starved, remember? 

“Let me down! You’re supposed to be the one being carried! You’re the woman!” Rollo forgets he is married to a twinky trans man and brings out his 1950’s relationship sights. 

Rollo and Seb take turns carrying each other while the zest fest behind them watches. 

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” Seb giggles as Rollo spins him around. “Poipiooioipipipopopopipo, I honestly expected you to be a skinny twink like me, but your stronger for eel.” 

Rollo is less athletic than a poor orphan German boy, so he can’t hold Seb for long. He collapses and takes his husband with him. They fall onto the ground on top of each other. Like how y/n fell over onto the bad boy alpha. Out of instinct Rollo  wrapped around Seb like a koala. 

After that.. incident, Seb helps himself to Rollos home-made rice pudding, gobbling it down faster than Seb getting doxxed after saying he’s trans to a 40 year old woman Facebook group. 

“Mmmmmm.. I love rice pudding.”

🙀🙀THE END🐙 

[islaytonlost]

The Jigsaw Museum Part 3

cw: Assault could be seen as sexual, depending on how you take amabs shirts being ripped off.

First part, Part 2, Part 4

---

“The castle itself is large, not every room is dedicated to the day the case closed, so we’ll move through each room by case until we reach the first Forbodium case. Then things get a bit more complicated. Not to worry, I’ll be right there with you, guiding you through the process.”

The audience laughs at Lady Addems’ Joke Lucy doesn’t. She frowns instead, glancing up at the Prof. She wished she could talk to him, know what was going on inside his head. Al had been awfully nice so far.

It was just weird, he was usually snapping, ready to bite anyone and everyone’s head off. Now, he was restrained and, terrifyingly excited about this. He had to know there was no way the museum could do this justice.

They move through the rooms, Lucy keeping close behind Alfendi. Hopefully, he knew what he was doing but when it came to something that wasn’t murder it was quite rare. Running head-on into things was what he thought worked. He was wrong.

They move through the Barbane Street Stabbing room. So far Lady Addems was going over Keelan’s deal with Justin. How him having a motherless child at home meant that he couldn’t afford to go to jail and the deal with Justin was the best thing that could have happened to him.

Al looked excited. Lucy couldn’t help but feel dread pool in her stomach. Had he noticed how she sounded like she was praising Keelan for making such a good business decision? How she was happy that lives were lost because it meant Keelan lived.

Shouldn’t Al be in any way disturbed? She was. Just hearing about Justin’s betrayal hurt her all over again. Just remembering that case…

Lucy had been excited at the time, her blood pumping, ready to take on a real mystery to save Alfendi even if in a way she was betraying him. After was different though… After she’d had nightmares about getting it wrong.

Justin had been so manipulative, so friendly, and then hurt everyone. Maybe Al was just happy his lies were being brought to light.

They move to the next room without even a mention of the victims’ names.

“And now this room is to commemorate the Case of Raymond Tube. You can see here the very 32-inch analog television Keelan used to smash his head in.

It was instinct to grab Al’s arm as the spotlight turned on. There it was, the television, still blooded, out there for a crowd to gawk at. Evidence put out as if a spectacle. As if the crime should be preserved just for morbid fascination.

Al glances at her, “you’ve seen blood before.”

“Where did she get it?” Lucy’s voice came out too faint. She just couldn’t tear her eyes away from the television. Sure she’d seen blood before, she’d seen this before but this was just disrespectful to the families who’d suffered. To the decided.

Lady Addems locks eyes with Lucy from across the room, everyone else were too busy inspecting evidence, evidence that shouldn’t be out there. She knew what she was doing. Reality seemed to smash into her.

“Even you could figure out she has contacts,” he snaps, Lucy felt frozen. She’d known this was a bad idea, she’d told him and he hadn’t listened, he never listened, why hadn’t he listened?

Alfendi hadn’t listened then either, he hadn’t listened when she told him he was innocent, he’d admitted to a murder she’d never committed, one mistake, just one mistake that night-

“Lucy,” Al grabs her hands, “Lucy listens to me, this is just a museum, it’s just entertainment for the people, we’ll get on to the rest, the emotional bits, after. You like that, you always sympathise with the criminal.”

“Dianne was different.”

Al cups her hands in his, his actions were weirdly tender for the purple look on his face, like he wanted to yell at her for her daring to sympathise with Dianne.

They move rooms and again, the victims were not named. Alfendi drops Lucy’s hands as he moves, “Get a hold of yourself. We confront her at the end. Worst case scenario we shut them down!”

Al had only spoken in a whisper, but Lucy understood from the spark in his eye he was deathly serious. They could deal with this, she knew they could deal with this.

A rich lady had nothing on years worth of conspiracy after all.

13 cases later and Lucy was less optimistic.

“And finally we’re up here on the roof. The place where Alfendi Layton got shot and put into a coma,” everyone turns to stare at him.

Lucy stood steadfast next to him. Some people glanced at her, whispering, clearly wondering who she was. They’d find out soon enough.

“Some say you never woke up the same Alfendi,” she used his first name like they were close. It made Lucy shudder, but Al stood firm against that. She shouldn’t know that.

“Some say that a part of you died.”

“I am not dead!” he yells. Teeth bared. The first sign of anger, Addems smiles.

“Now if you’ll come downstairs you can look at the evidence, away from the elements, to preserve them. I have Keelan’s clothes.”

“Just a bit longer,” Lucy whispers. His head tilts, tiny, imperceptible.

“Here you can see Keelan’s clothes,” Lady Addems actually sticks her head in the cabinet to take a whiff. Her fingers trace the bullet hole, then she picks something out of the cabinet, “and here’s the bullet, fired by Justin from Alfendi’s gun.”

The metal was still tinged a coppery red. No, no she was reaching in again she couldn’t be so sick. Lucy holds her breath as she sees Alfendi’s bloodied suit being held up. There was so much blood.

Her fingers find themselves around Alfendi’s arm. Traveling down feeling his pulse. Still alive. The bullet that should have killed him didn’t. Her fears were unfounded she shouldn’t even be having them she was never there.

“Now, I have a treat for us, if Alfendi is willing,” Lucy’s hand slips into his, giving it a squeeze. She could only be there for him. She’d always be there for him. “could you show us your scar?”

Eyes land on him, the room silent. Al stares intently at Lady Addems, “No, and how did you get your hand on all these pieces of evidence? Seems pretty sus to me.”

Lucy grins, immediately catching on, and he used her word!

“Well Alfendi,” the way his name rolled off her tongue, gave Lucy goosebumps, “I brought them.”

“Who did you buy them off?” she stayed cool, calculated, eyes on the prize.

“Detective Lawson,” so she wasn’t on a first-name basis with anyone else. Why Alfenid then? What did she have to gain?

“That’s illegal, I need to take all this back in, and any documents you may have.”

“No that’s alright. Minister of State for Crime and Policing signed off on it himself. Bill Hawks.”

Lucy glances up at Alfendi, there was a blank look on his face, and then through gritted teeth he demands, “Proof,” the Lady pulls the document from her bag. Al scans them, leafing through each page.

“excuse me for asking but aren’t you on break Alfendi,” Lady Addems’ hand had found its way to his chest, just where the scar was.

“How dare you! How dare you do this!” It wasn’t Alfendi yelling it was someone from the crowd, “You glorify the people who killed my son and now you’re going after the detective the one good detective who brought his killer to justice!”

A blonde-haired man walks up, he was shorter than Lucy but built stocky. He could take any one of them in a fight with a good chance to win.

“Apologise, apologise at once for inviting me and my wife!”

“No!” Lady Addems yells back, clearly uncaring for the feelings of those in the room. Lucy averts her eyes, feeling this matter to be deeply personal and if the man were to attack her she at least would not be able to testify against him.

That’s when she saw it, the tiny camera on the wall, more than one, there were a few, observing their every move. Not security cameras. They were obvious for a reason. A thief deterrent reason. She didn’t want them to know they were being filmed.

“Prof.”

“Not the time,” the words came through gritted teeth.

“She’s filing us Prof, surely that’s illegal.”

“Not in a public setting it isn’t. We need something better to catch her, to close this thing down.”

The man punches her, sound echoing through the room. Silence.

“and a camera,” there’s a hint of a smile on his face, “I need to commemorate this dastardly place being created in my name.

Then two stocky men in all black drag the man away, “Call the police! Po0lice that are on duty, I want him arrested, charged with assault.” Lady Addems cries. The man’s wife tries to get involved but only ends up being dragged out too.

“Keep calm Prof, we’ve got to be able to do something.”

“How did you get this information?” Alfendi asks, “Some of it is top secret, not available to the public.”

“I spoke to Justin. I’ve a whole room dedicated to our chats, it was so much fun to visit him in jail, Potty.”

To anyone else that’d seem like an oddly placed insult. To Lucy and Alfendi it was reminiscent of an affectionate, yet slightly offensive nickname Lucy had given him. Before that discussion on boundaries.

“How dare you!” Al had lost it, that façade of calm gone to reveal the mountain of rage that he was, “How dare you go to that lying traitor and not me, why you deserve to be locked away for this.”

He leers at her, crossing the distance between her until they were almost a hairs with apart.

She then does it, something unthinkable, something Lucy hadn’t even thought of in the dozens of worries she had that this would end poorly. She ripped open his shirt in one fell swoop, revealing his scar.

They grin at each other, “I wouldn’t have done that, assault on an officer, that wouldn’t hold up in court.”

“Oh, it will. Bill Hawks said he’d personally back this project,” a long finger traces his scar before digging into the wound.

Lucy wanted to help but Al was more than capable of defending himself besides Lady Addems had already turned away.

“Behold, the wound that should have killed him!” the guests stood there, too stunned to speak.

Alfendi pushes her back and then grabs the collar of her dress, dragging her up until she was balanced on her toes, “apologise!” he hisses at her. Lady Addems doesn’t answer, looking almost amused.

She doesn’t answer, which just aggravates Al more. He slams her against a wall, “I said apologies,” this time it was a yell.

The crowd remains silent, until someone tries to leave, discovering the door to be locked.

---

Right around the 5th case where Lady Addems was explaining how cunning Justin’s betrayals were and how clever Keelan Makepeace was Chelmey decided it was time to leave. Florence, unwilling to leave her new friend joined him.

They found a plush sofa in the lobby and after asking to see if it was the only way out, they both sat there, tired.

“Barton’s going to be annoyed.”

“Alfendi is an adult. He doesn’t need a babysitter.”

Florence laughs, “You’d be surprised, he boils over way too often.”

“eh?”

“He has a habit of losing his temper.”

“Oh,” Chelmey considers a moment, “he’s an adult, that’s his responsibility.”

“Oh, that’s fair, I’m just…”

“He’s your friend?”

“Yes, well, sort of. I care about Alfendi. He’s always paid attention to my hunches, taken me seriously, it’s just…” Florence trails off. Chelmey lets her, not making a noise.

Florence lets the silence drag out before choosing to continue, “I’m sick, like really sick. I go to the hospital all the time. I can’t count how many times I’ve almost died. I don’t know if I can inflict that on someone else.”

Chelmey studies her, “You work at a police station?”

“Yes.”

“With people who risk their lives all the time.”

“I mean not always they use the reconstruction device.

Chelmey sighs, “You ruined a perfectly good speech on mortality. No, what I’m getting at is that you are deciding what’s best for other people.”

“Isn’t that what you’re meant to do you know, as an officer of the law?”

“Ex-officer of the law and no. Too many decisions for other people and you’ve got yourself a very mentally scarred officer who can’t function for fear of what power he had.”

Florence couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking from personal experience, whether or not he had been through something similar constantly chasing criminals, murderers. He’d probably danced with death.

Chelmey continues, “So you need to get out there, live while you're alive and worry about being dead when that happens.

“T-“

“Now, I’m taking a nap,” he leans against the wall, almost immediately beginning to snore.

“Thank you,” Florence whispers, grabbing her IV, and going to look for Lucy and Alfendi.

[alovesongtheywrote]

Nightmare Academia P.22 | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary: In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, you and Reid reunite. And you get a little tipsy. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: alcohol mention, general softness

♥ A/N: im genuinely super happy with this chapter, have fun with it

♥ Word Count: 2741

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

“Where the fuck did you come from?”

Your voice still echoed in the otherwise silent air of the office.  You looked back out the door, down the hallway and around, searching for where Reid might have been hiding.  Spencer didn’t move.  He didn’t answer.  He just stood there, stock still in the office, staring right at you.

“Seriously, where the fuck were you?” You looked down at the bottle in your hands, “I haven’t started drinking yet.”

Again, Spencer didn’t answer, but this time he didn’t stay still.  In a split second, moving faster than he’d ever moved in his goddamned life, he crossed the room.  Before you could process how fast he’d moved, or pause to think, or take a breath, his arms were wrapped around you.  

His grip on you was strong but gentle.   His usual hesitation at human touch was banished by his fear and the intensity of the situation.  He held you close for a second- close to him like you were something important.  Something more than a thorn in his side.  Your eyes widened at the sudden contact.  It was kind of amazing that you hadn’t dropped the wine bottle in your shock.  As it was, you felt a tiny bit stunned and a tiny bit saddened.  You really needed that hug.

“I thought you were hurt.”

His voice was so soft, so quiet, that even with his lips against your ear, you had to strain to hear him.  It was odd, honestly.  Spencer usually had so much to say, but for once, he was silent.  You could feel his hands shaking against your back.

“It wasn’t me.  I’m not hurt, it’s not me.”

He pulled away before you could elaborate, “What happened?  Who’s-”  

“It’s Frank.  Someone shot him, they think it was Adam, but it wasn’t.  Now Adam needs character witnesses, and I-” Your words came faster and faster until there was no more air in your lungs.  Your hands quivered slightly, and Spencer reached out again, taking the wine bottle from you and placing it on the desk behind him before he gathered both of your hands in his.

It didn’t really help much.  Spencer’s hands were still trembling, so your hands just kind of trembled together.  It wasn’t bad, per-say.  The contact did help calm you down, it’s just that nobody stopped shaking.

“It’s okay,” Spencer reassured you, “It’s going to be okay.  Just breathe.”

“Okay,” you choked on air, very clearly not okay, “I’m okay.  I just- look, I know it’s a lot to ask because you’ve met the guy like, one time, but would you be a character witness for Adam?  It’s just, you’re a Fed.  You’re a Fed, and you know him, and that will go over really well with almost any jury, so-”

“Hey, hey,” he brought your hands closer to his chest, brushing his thumb over your knuckles over and over again, “I’ll do it.  I’ll do anything you need me to do, okay?”

“Okay.  Okay,” you took a deep breath, finally allowing yourself some peace, “Thank you.  Thank you.” 

“You don’t need to thank me.”

He gave your hands a final squeeze, almost memorizing the way they felt in his grasp before he had to let go.  You both missed the warmth instantly.  Spencer cleared his throat and took a step back.  He wouldn’t meet your eye.  He looked anywhere and everywhere but you.  It was like he was very suddenly allergic to your face.  You kind of wanted to scream.  Instead, you sighed.

“Get back here.”

“Sorry?”

“I said get back here, you motherfu-” You cut yourself off, burying your face in his chest.  You wrapped your arms around him tightly, trapping him, giving him no chance to escape.  Not that it mattered much.  Spencer didn’t want to escape.  

He returned your embrace without hesitation.  His long, slender fingers brushed long strokes against your spine.  He melted into you, resting his head on your shoulder, and in turn, you melted into him.  You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, trying to drag him impossibly closer to you, and to his credit, he let you pull him in.  The two of you stood there for a moment, letting the universe fall back into place.  Spencer felt so warm wrapped around you.  And he smelled nice.  And you realized you’d never been this close to him without him bleeding out.  And you realized that you really didn’t want him to let go.

“Sorry to jump you with affection, but I, uh-”

“Technically, I jumped you first,” he paused for a second.  His hand paused with him, stilling at the small of your back, “Please never leave me another message like that- at least not one without extensive context.”

“I scared you pretty bad, huh?” you pulled back to stare up at him, a shit-eating grin crossing your face despite the circumstances.

“Badly.  And I wouldn’t say you scared me,” Spencer’s voice pitched up as he lied, “It’s just-”

“You thought I was dead.”

He sighed but smiled, resigning himself to your victory, “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” you mocked, letting your head fall back against his chest with a dull thud.  Right then might’ve been a good time to move, but neither of you did.  You were tired.  You’d been tired for the past twenty-four hours or so.  You were moving through a living nightmare, and now that you’d found a source of comfort, you weren’t about to let go.

Comparatively, Spencer was trying to fight his nightmares- even there, standing up and awake with his arms around you, he was still fighting off his worst fears.  It was kind of hard to blame him for that.  In the past few years, he’d lost a girlfriend and a mentor to brutal and horrific murders.  Even more recently, his co-worker’s niece had been kidnapped, sold on a black market for serial killers, and nearly tortured.  The BAU was fending off a shadowy network of hitmen.  The world felt more and more dangerous every day, and Spencer was terrified that it would take more of the things he cared about.  

And he cared about you.  

“Fucking fuck you were gone for a while,” you mumbled into his chest.  You weren’t super sure that he heard it, but the soft huff of a laugh he let out gave you some confidence.

“Too long, apparently,” Spencer pulled his head away from you for a moment as he gazed back at the smut-filled bookshelves, “Though it looks like you’ve kept yourself busy.”

“Oh, that?” you asked, finally (and reluctantly) unburying yourself from his hold, “That’s been going on since before you left.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “You didn’t notice?”

Spencer was too busy staring at the smut to answer.

“Huh.  I guess you’re losing your edge, Doctor Detective.”

“I’m not losing my edge, I just didn’t think to look for smut in my office.”

“Well, maybe you should have.”

“Where did you even put everything?”

“Don’t worry, pretty boy.  All your books are safe and sound.  I promise.”

He stared at you for a moment.  A light pink blush painted his features- he wasn’t sure if it was because of the book about minotaur sex on his bookshelf, or if it was because of you.  It could’ve been either.  It could’ve been both.  It was probably you.

You picked up the wine bottle.

“So, uh.  Do you want a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.  Besides, the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse found that the rate of all alcohol-related emergency department visits increased 47.0% between 2006 and 2014.  The Alcohol-Related Disease Impact application estimates that there are more than 140,000 deaths caused by excessive alcohol use in a year.  I-in other words, that stuff kills.”

“Oh.  That’s-”

“I’m so sorry, that was weird, I-” Spencer’s already massive eyes got even bigger.  He shook his head as if trying to rid his mind of all the statistics it contained.  For a second, Spencer looked a little bit like a kicked puppy- a little dog who had made a mistake and knew it was about to be reprimanded for bad behaviour.

That look physically pained you.

“That was fine, Spencer.  You’re fine,” you tried to sound reassuring, “And hey, now I know about the dangers of drinking in excess.  My original plan was to down the whole bottle, but now I’m informed.”

Spencer briefly wondered if he was cursed, because you just kept saying things that made his heart have a little freak out in his chest.  Not like, a butterflies in the stomach, he’s in love and isn’t realizing it type of freak out, but a, “Holy shit something is wrong and we lost sight of that, oops,” kind of freak out.  Or perhaps a, “Holy fuck, what is it with this person and saying things that make me panic,” freak out.

“I’m glad I informed you.”

“Me too,” you opened the bottle, “Though I do want to be clear- I decide when I die, pretty boy.  No alcohol is doing that for me.”

“I- that’s nonsensical.  You don’t really get a choice about when you die.”

“Maybe you don’t.”

You hopped up on the desk, sitting with the open wine held between your thighs.  You leaned back, peering at the drawers, but you didn’t find what you were looking for.

“I don’t think we have cups.”

Spencer crossed his arms and stepped towards the desk, leaning against it, beside you, “Do we really not have cups in here?”

You shook your head and pursed your lips, “Apparently not.  Are you sure you don’t want any?  Because I know you have a thing with germs, and once I get mine on the bottle-”

“I’m sure,” he smiled, “I shouldn’t drink, anyway.”

“Oh?  Don’t tell me you’re a sloppy drunk, Spence.”

Spencer choked on air at the sound of you using the nickname.  It didn’t matter that you were teasing him, the intimacy of the nickname was still killing him.

Trying and failing to recover, Spencer stuttered without thought, “I- it’s- someone needs to remember to get more cups.”

“Right.  Cups,” you let out a tiny little laugh, “Well, in that case.”

You brought the bottle to your lips.  The wine was pretty good.  It had been a gift, making it free to you, and free wine can never be all that bad.  While you were having a fine time with your wine, Spencer was watching you drink, studying the column of your throat,  and running his eyes over the spot where your lips met the bottle.  You were gorgeous.  How could someone doing something as simple as drinking be gorgeous?  Spencer didn’t know, but he knew it was possible because you were sitting in front of him and drinking and being gorgeous.  

Spencer kind of hoped someone would shoot him.  

“So,” you set the wine back down, “How are things with you?  I uh, I saw you took down the guy who killed your mentor- Gideon, right?  Jason Gideon?  It was in the news.”

Spencer tilted his head in confusion, “It was in the local news- and it got brief coverage from some national news broadcasters, but I don’t remember them covering it here.”

Your fingers tapped against the glass in your hands, “Well, I mean… that’s because they didn’t.  I may have done a little bit of research on the case.  And then on the BAU.”

“Really?  You researched the investigation of a case that took place several states away from you?”

“It wasn’t just any case,” you took another sip of wine.  You needed it, “It was your case.”

Spencer hoped again that some divine force would just strike him down, because you looked so pretty drinking wine- drinking wine and caring about him, holy shit.

“And then you researched a government agency that you despise?  For fun?”

“For fun.  For you.  And I’ll admit, the BAU might be a special squad of government agents generally perpetuating a fucked up system and abusing their access to a gas-guzzling jet, but… sometimes you use your powers for good.  Sometimes you use your powers for so much good that it doesn’t feel real, but…” you paused to drink, “I’m glad you caught the guy.” 

Spencer’s heart slammed against his ribs so hard that it almost hurt.  

“If you want me to, I think I can get the BAU to look into Frank’s assault,” he spoke so fast that you almost didn’t hear him.

“What?  Is that a thing you guys can do?  Just… investigate whatever crimes you want?  I thought you needed to be invited by local police?”

“Usually we do, but if a case crosses state lines, we can take over- and I think this case might.”

“Fuck- really?” you turned to face him, eyes wide and fist tight around the neck of the bottle.

“I-” Spencer paused.  He wasn’t sure what to say.  He could’ve told you about the hitman network, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do that- and more than that, he didn’t want you to fear for your own safety.  

He made up his mind, “Frank’s case sounds like a few others we’ve had recently.  I think they could be connected.”

“Oh,” you sat up straight, “Fuck.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“So… you could look into this case?  And you could find whoever hurt Frank and exonerate Adam?”

Honestly, Spencer couldn’t guarantee that.  He also couldn’t say no to you.

“Yes.”

You took a deep breath, “Then do it.  Please.  A-and when you find whoever shot Frank, can you do something for me?”

Spencer resisted the urge to say “Anything” by staying quiet and nodding.

“Try not to kill them.  Try to bring them to justice and send them to prison.  Some people who kill can’t be helped, but some of them can.  We… We won't know what has to be done until we know who did it, but please.  Try for me.”

“I will.”

You reached down slowly, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it, “Thank you.”

The two of you sat in silence for another minute, you drinking, him leaning, and his hand still in yours.  It was almost peaceful.  Almost calm.  And then you had to fuck up the silence with some batshit tomfuckery.

“Hey, if I ever went missing, what would you do?”

“I-” For like, the eightieth time in the last fifteen minutes, you stunned Spencer out of his words, “You’re not gonna go missing.  I won’t let it happen.”

The certainty in his voice made you want to press your thighs together.  So you did.  Spencer didn’t notice.  His eyes were on your face- the smile you shot him was fucking blinding, “That’s sweet, Spencer, but humour me.  What would you do?”

Spencer took a deep breath, “I’d get my team to help me find you.  I’d bring you home, and once I did, I’d make sure you’re okay, physically, mentally, emotionally,” he had you clinging to his every word, “And then I’d yell at you for going missing.”

“What?” You laughed out your shock at the sudden tonal change, “Do you think I’d just disappear for fun or something?”

He shrugged, “It wouldn't surprise me.”

“Good.  It shouldn’t, and I might,” you took another sip- a deeper one, exposing your neck to Spencer again.  He crossed his legs.

“But if I did vanish for fun, I would come back.”

“Would you?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, “Nothing could keep me away.”

There was a soft pause in the conversation.  You looked at Spencer.  He looked at you.  You looked at the wine.  Spencer kept looking at you because he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“So, if I got murdered-”

“(Y/N),” he said your name like a warning.  You just laughed and leaned into his side.  

“Humour me!  Humour me.  If I got murdered, what would you do?  And there is a right answer to this one, so be careful.”

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, your phone buzzed.  You picked it up and unlocked it, all with his eyes on you.

A bright smile overtook your face.

“Frank’s awake!” You squeezed Spencer’s hand just as he squeezed yours.  That adorable moment went unnoticed by both of you in all the excitement, “Missy’s with him at the hospital now.  It sounds like he’s going to be okay.  It’s all gonna be okay.”

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