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#pining for professor masterlist
hier--soir · 7 months
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a lover's pinch | three
joel miller x f!reader
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pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.
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Thursday.
A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.
Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.
The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.  
And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.
It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.
As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.
Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.
Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.
Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.
Him who you were hellbent on impressing. 
Joel, Joel, Joel.
And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.
Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.
Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.
And it seems today was that day.
You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.  
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The pin on his shirt is blue.
Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.
Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.
It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.
Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.
The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.
It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”
Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.
“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.” 
A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.
Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.
“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”
He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.
“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”
And you try to listen, you really do.
Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.  
Birthday, birthday, birthday.
As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.
It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.
A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.
He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.
“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.
The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”
“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”
“Oh,” you blink.
You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.
“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”
He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.
Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?
She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.
You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.
He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.
And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.
The thought has your thighs pressing together.
“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”
You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.
“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.
Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.
Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source. 
Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.
Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.
Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.
No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.
You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.
That can’t happen again.
Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.
Happy Birthday Professor x
You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.
It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.
When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.
Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.  
You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.
With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.
There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.
Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.
“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.
“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.
Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.
“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”
You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.
“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.
“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”
“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.
“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”
Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.
Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”
Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.
He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.
It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.  
Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.
You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.
“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.
“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”
“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”
A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs. 
“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”  
Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.
“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”
A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.
“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.
“I want you,” you gasp.
“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.
“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.
The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.
“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”
“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”
“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”
A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.
“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.” 
Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.
There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.
Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration. 
“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”
You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.
“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”
A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.
Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.
Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.
Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.
“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”
There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.
His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.
“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—
“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.
“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”
You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.
You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.
Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.
Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.
There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.
Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.
“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.  
But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.
You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.
And then Joel surprises you.
This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.
There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.
“Liked your essay.”
You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.
“You’re only saying that becau—”
“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”
You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.
“Happy birthday, Joel.”
So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.
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Friday.
A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.
Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.
“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.
Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.
Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.
You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.
They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.
Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.
Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.
The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”
In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.
It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.
“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips.  “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”
You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.
“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”
And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—
“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”
“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.
“—Rita—"
“Rose.”
“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”
“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”
“What do you think of that?”
“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”
“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.
You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”
Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.
“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.
“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”
“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”
Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.
You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”
Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.
“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”
You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.
“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.
“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.  
“The rest?”
“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"
Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.
“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.
“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.
“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”
Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.
“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”
There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.
“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.
“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”
Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.
“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”
A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.
And then a text appears.
Are you drunk?
Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.
yes
that wasn’t for you
Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.
Doing okay?
tired
ate bad food, drank alotta wine
Probably time to go home.
cant drive
thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev
bad profeseor
Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.
Where are you?
You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.
“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.
“How are you getting home?” he frowns.
“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.
The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.
Be there in 20.
You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—
“Get in.”
You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.
“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.
“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.
“Hey."
“Were you in bed?”
“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”
“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”   
“Who was?”
“Pete’s friends.”
“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.
“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.  
“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”
“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”
Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.
“What?” he asks, voice too loud.
“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.
“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.
“Mm.”
You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—
“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”
You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.
Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.
“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.
“Let me help,” he says from behind you.
“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.  
“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I can do it.”
“Just let me help you.”
You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.
“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”
“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”
The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.
As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.
Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.  
“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.
“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.
“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.
“M’not.”
“You better not.”  
“I won’t.”
“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.” 
But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.
“What’re you—”
“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.
Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.
There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.
“Seventy, right?” you tease.
An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.
“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.
Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.
“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.
“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”
“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.
“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”
The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.
“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”
Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.
“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”
Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.
“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"
Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”
Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"
“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”
You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.
“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”
The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.
“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”   
His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.
“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”
“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.
“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.
“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”
You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.
Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.
“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”
Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.
You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.
And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.
And that’s warm enough for you.
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tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5
thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]
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3lli3l0v3r · 14 days
Text
how soon is now? | part one
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READ THIS FIRST 🇵🇸
teasers: one. two. see the series masterlist here!
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♡: hallway crush!ellie x uni student!reader
☆: listen, i know this timeline is kind of ridiculous, but i’ve organized it all best as i can! this is the expanded story based on those first little blurbs introducing the au (reads fine on its own though), and this part specifically was originally going to be one huge fic, but i've ultimately decided to split it up and drop the first part now, because i feel like it ends in a convenient enough space where i can make a separation not so jarring. so that means this will have a direct continuation (how soon is now? 2 ? lol this is so stupid-), and that will be posted soon enough once i finish it! but yes that means after so much waiting, it's finally here for y’all. i literally thought up this silly idea right before i passed out on new years, and never expected y’all to love it so much…but i keep my promises, so here. also love the smiths and felt the title sort of fit. i feel like not too much happens but eh anyway, thank you for waiting, thank you for reading, and please enjoy!
♧:4.6k word count
◇:suggestive but not explicit - horny descriptions and tension, however no smut (for now?….BUT DON'T HOLD ME TO THAT.) no descriptions of reader’s physical appearance, no use of “y/n”, slow-burn construction and loooooads of pining, a lot of build up but stay with me, attempts at occasional foreshadowing, smau elements(text messages lmao), savage starlight is a plot point lol, hallwaycrush!ellie is sort of a mix of loser/modern/university au/dorky-ish ellie I DON'T EVEN KNOW. abby is your bestie, girl what else do i put here- this is just kinda plot, plot, and more plot progression about the whole ordeal, and me indulging my obsession with modern!ellie. (lmk if there's anything to be added!)
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“Abbyyyyyyyyyy.” 
You rolled around your lifelong best friend’s bed, babbling her ear off while she studied away at her desk, or tried to at least. This situation has been a daily occurrence for weeks at this point.
Laying on your stomach facing away from her, you could hear her scoff in annoyance. “What?” “Please give me some advice..I don't know what I'm even supposed to do. She's driving me up the wall." This crush was the sole thing occupying your poor mind, so naturally, you had to drown your bestie with your troubles as well. That's what friends do. Abby spun around on her chair to face you, with a clearly fed up expression on her face, and leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. 
“Well I don’t fucking know man, I’ve already given you my best advice, and that's either introduce yourself, or suffer.” She said coolly. You sat up and groaned. Wasn't there an easier way? One that didn't involve actually taking initiative and doing something? Maybe, hypothetically, you ace a test, and the professor announces it in front of everyone as he emotionally congratulates his star student, and she bounds over, beaming. Then tearfully confesses her love and admiration for you- hold on, where the fuck is this going?
“Oh come on, you know I can’t do that..” You gulped a burning bundle of anxiety down as you replayed the scenarios with your obsession for the thousandth time that day, the mere crumbs you were forced to fixate on until you saw her next, the first sighting that started this whole fiasco,  and shook your head to clear it and listen to what your best friend had to say. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, slamming her textbook shut and making her way over to sit next to you.
“Listen babe, I love you, but you really gotta get ahold of yourself, alright?” She spoke sternly, looking you straight in the eyes to make sure you understood and absorbed every last word she said. “Listen, here's what you're gonna do. when you pass her in the hall, smile, it's simple but it's a classic, okay? And then you listen to the lecturer as normal, right? I have no idea what you nerds do in astrophysics, but that's besides my point. Make sure to pay attention and not stare only at her like a stalker or something, I cannot stress enough how normal you gotta be. But here's where it gets good, you still with me?” 
You're listening to her for sure, and nod vigorously. Crystal clear. She continues, “Okay you said you sit as far as possible from her? Sheesh, why'd you do that? When the class is over I want you to go over to her, and introduce yourself. Catch her on her way out, tap her on the shoulder if you're feeling bold. Ask for some of her contact details, play it cool. Just don't shit yourself, got it? All you gotta do." 
Abby finishes her speech, smirking and looking smug. She's positive she got through to you this time. On the surface you're totally chill, confident even, ready to snatch this ethereal being for yourself, however underneath all that you knew you didn't have an ounce of the courage that was required for this seemingly impossible task. 
Breathing deeply to calm yourself and try to take in her helpful words as best as possible, you give Abby a hug. “Thank you Abs, really. I'll do my best. Oh, but what if I freak out and start stuttering- or what if I trip and fall on her…I can't do this what the hell.” Swarmed with worry, you start doubting yourself yet again. Burying your face in your palms, you feel two strong hands on either side of your upper arms and you look back at Abby, who's really not playing around anymore. 
She was so serious about this it almost scared you. Either she cared about you more than anything, or she wanted to hear the end of these pathetic, lovestruck rambles. You prayed it was the former. 
“Suck it up. You can do this. You've had crushes before haven't you? This should be a piece of cake c’mon, I believe in you. Make sure to keep me updated every step of the way! I need to hear every last detail.” She lightens up at the end and releases you from her grip once she sees you've relaxed. 
Unsurprisingly, your best friend always knew what to say to snap you out of your spirals. Maybe most would disagree with her methods, say she was being rough, but they worked for you. Heart rate returning to a normal pace, you reply genuinely. 
“Okay, okay I got this. Yeah, it'll be fine.” She was getting through to you, this time you felt sure of it. “Good, good. Now will you let me finish this stupid assignment? Then we can watch something or do whatever." Abby chatted as she got up and sat back at her desk, resuming her studious endeavor as she left you with your thoughts. 
Immediately you heard her mutter, “All this and you don't even know her goddamn name…good grief.” For the sake of preserving the peace you chose to graciously ignore that one. She said she wanted some quiet, didn't she? 
Drifting away into a sea of daydreams, your thoughts inevitably returned to being clouded by this cryptic figure. It was like she'd cast a love spell on you. Did she even know who you were? Or did she shoot everyone those insufferably charming looks of hers. Was she even aware of how fucking cool she was? 
Dressed in that deliciously grungy style, you yearned to know what floated behind her greener-than-grass eyes. Her hair looked so smooth and soft, the wispy auburnette strands framing her refined features, intriguing fern tattoo decorating her lean forearm…. You felt your cheeks begin to heat up as a portrait of her materialized in your mind's eye. Nestling into the comfortable atmosphere of your best friend's room, you sunk deeper into your thoughts.
Like Abby had mentioned, it certainly wasn't as if you've never had crushes before, you've certainly had your fair share of them, like most people. But that was a sort of flaky, surface level interest, whether it be for their looks, their little quirks, or ways they treated you. Maybe it has been a while since you'd had a proper crush, but you couldn't recall a time when the infatuation, the pure limerence, had hit you this hard before. You almost felt helpless, just besotted by her.
You simply needed to act on this. Right then and there you steeled yourself, and decided you were going to follow Abby's advice after all, and go after this hallway crush. Worst comes to worst, she turns you down, you get over it eventually, bla bla end of story. It wasn't going to be too complicated, right?
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You and Abby had stayed up all night, dusk till dawn, gossiping about things other than your hallway crush, shocking, and you were greatly regretting that decision the very moment it was time to gather your books and get to class.
You really did not feel like stunning everyone around you with a gorgeous outfit today, you were just trying to make it through the day in one piece to be honest with yourself. 
With a pounding headache you threw on some mismatched sweats, and ran out the door to be on time. Your bag felt unreasonably heavy as you made your way down your apartment stairs, and you cursed your past self for choosing a building without an elevator. Sure, exercise is healthy, but it can’t be when you’re feeling like a zombie, and wish for nothing more than a good, long nap.
Luckily the lecture hall was a comfortable distance away from your place, not far enough to make it a pain, but enough so you could get a much needed breath of fresh air. The tiredness had pushed all plans of action you and Abby had discussed the previous night to the back of your head, and you weren't thinking of your crush at all. At least for now. 
Walking slowly with your gaze pointed downward, you eventually made it to the hall. Completely dazed and zoned out, you made a mental note to never pull an all nighter again, gross, who’s idea was that- thump. 
Out of nowhere you're rudely jolted from your silent sulking by colliding with something, or someone? It takes a moment to register what happened, and you quickly look up from staring at the ground to sort the situation out. “Oh my gosh I am so sorry..” 
Profusely apologizing while simultaneously being smacked across the face with the realization of who this was. Her. Your words trail off as you’re suddenly winded, and you feel your blood run cold. You’re transfixed by the intense eye contact, and it feels like time has stopped. Goodness, this is dramatic. 
In the time it takes for you to briefly die and come back to life, the young woman has lowered her chunky headphones so they rest around her neck, Morissey’s vocals faintly floating out of them, and is looking at your stunned state with an indiscernible sneer playing on her face. Was this actually happening? Holy shit you and Abby did not discuss this scenario…you weren’t looking where you were going and had collided with an actual Earth angel. Great.
Still gawking at her like an absolute buffoon, akin to a deer in headlights, she breaks the tension first, with a smooth voice that you would obey virtually any command for. 
“Nah, you’re good.” And a wink. Your heart skipped a beat, or four, when you witnessed her wink at you. Did you imagine it? Was she being suave on purpose or did she have an eyelash in her eye…Was your life a literal rom-com or what? 
“Um..” Your mouth opens and closes in an attempt to form a coherent sentence, but your brain is much too fried to do so because, well, you had just made physical contact with the literal girl of your dreams. And gods did she smell good…while you’re unable to tear your eyes away from hers, she keeps talking as if nothing happened.
“I think the prof had an emergency or fuckin’, I dunno.” She stops to gesture around the two of you at the crowd that had formed in front of the auditorium’s double doors with elegant, ring adorned fingers..holy fuck you needed those inside you right fucking now- WHAT. 
Briskly shoving those thoughts down to the deepest depths of your subconscious back to where they belong, you turned your attention back to her, and put on a brave front. Hyper aware of how searing hot your face felt, her pretty self didn't show a hint of caring that you were making a fool of yourself. They say that any situation is always worse in your head than it was in actuality, well you hoped so. 
“So, what are we supposed to do now?” Clearing your throat you managed a sentence back, hooray. You were doing this. Good job. Although, of course, before the gorgeous nymph before you had a chance to respond with her own assumptions, a substitute lecturer you had never seen before pushes his way through the crowd and unlocks the door while people file in, separating you from her. You felt like Rose, viciously torn away from Jack from Titanic, what a cruel, cruel world this was.
And once again you didn't get to ask her name. Re-slinging her bag with one arm, she looks back at you one final time and throws you a “cya around.” Before disappearing into the auditorium with everyone else. You meekly nod at her and force a lopsided smile, before leaning against the wall to steady yourself after that fiasco in the now empty hallway.
Wasting virtually not a moment of time, you pulled your phone out and began furiously texting Abby with a recount of the events at a speed faster than the speed of light. 
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Once that excruciatingly torturous class was over, you applauded yourself for containing the stares in her direction and keeping your eyes fixated on the professor. Whether you actually retained any information, now that was a different story. Picking up your bags and laptop, you stay behind for a moment as everyone else files out, no need to crowd and suffocate amongst the other students, and you had nowhere to be except catch up on your favorite shows and relax all by yourself. 
Filing out the auditorium with everyone else, you see a familiar face pass by you, and vaguely hear Abby’s voice in your head urging you to seize the moment. Now’s your chance, go! And so you gather every little bit of strength you possess to do just that. 
After a couple deep breaths you jog up to her. “Uh, hey.” She turns around and gives you a warm smile, making your legs instantly turn to jelly. You subtly checked her out and took in her outfit, another bulky jacket and lightly distressed jeans. Fingers studded with layered silver rings, and those big ole headphones seemed to be magnetically attached to her, she always had them on her. Note to self: ask for some music recommendations.
She was even hotter up close…with a beautiful galaxy of freckles scattered across her fair skin, you wanted to place a kiss on every single of them. “I, um, never caught your name.” “It's Ellie.” She sticks out her hand for a handshake and you accepted it, you finally had a name to the face you've been pining over so intensely for so long. Abby was going to lose it once you tell her about this. You steady your voice and hide the glee that was likely evident from this interaction going so smoothly, and introduce yourself to her as well.
After some time of idle chit chat and standing there, neither one of you knowing really what to say, Ellie pipes up, facepalming, tsking, and furrowing her brows. “Oh yeah, I don’t mean to spring this on you outta nowhere, but would you wanna study sometime?” She flushes a dusty pink, “I don't know anyone else taking this course and am having kind of a hard time with it...when I chose it, I expected it to be more about space and the planets, and less about numbers and math, my head hurts.”
Her demeanor was making you feel rather comfortable with her, even though the two of you had just formally met a few minutes prior. “I would love to, yeah!” Maybe you were being a little too enthusiastic, but at this point you were operating on pure instinct and not thinking critically of what was coming out of your mouth. “I actually don't have any plans now, or today at all, so if you want to, we can get a head start before the next class?” Well that just slipped out. Go you, blurting things out. 
You had no idea why you'd said that because your place was an absolute mess, clothes strewn everywhere, trash can still full, you'd been too preoccupied with your studies, and well her, to do much about it. To your horror, Ellie exclaims, “Hey, that's perfect! I don't have anything to do right now either, and it would be good to act on it while it's still fresh in my mind, y’know?” Her face morphs into an adorable toothy grin as she taps on her skull comically, you were becoming more obsessed by the second, if that was even possible.
Every little sliver of her personality you got to see under the stoic one you had assumed she had just grasped at your heartstrings. You smiled back at her so hard you almost pulled a muscle in your cheeks, “Awesome! Follow me, then, my dorm isn't far.”
The walk there was mostly fine as the two of you made it to your place, Ellie occasionally making comments about how she hates the class even though she adores outer space and learning about it on her own time, and you were nodding and acting as if you're listening, agreeing with her robotically while she rambled away and you daydreamed about what her lush lips would feel like on yours. You wondered if she was gentle with it, or if she’d kiss you hungrily, devour you like her very last meal….gulp.
Leading her to your place was an automatic task, not much navigation needed, and when the journey was done you had to legitimately stop short for a moment in an attempt to soothe the pounding in your chest. 
The crush that has plagued your mind for ages, who you've just met formally today, was about to be in your room. The two of you were about to be alone. That was totally fine, yeah, she can't be a murderer…..right?
“You good?” She asked sweetly, why did she have to be so nice, “Those stairs were killer, I totally get it, phew.” “Oh for sure, gets me every time.” Covering up your panic smoothly, you unlocked the door and went inside with her. When she walked inside, Ellie took a glance around your room and set herself down at the edge of your bed, immediately making herself comfortable, while you still lingered in the doorway, awkwardly swaying and staring at her, unsure of what to do with yourself. 
Suddenly you had completely forgotten why she was here in the first place. “No way, you read Savage Starlight too???” She spotted the figurine on your desk and snatched it up in her hands to inspect it thoroughly, with a childlike wonder in her eyes. “Wow, this one was a limited edition and it sold out in like an hour, I'm so jealous you got this!! How much you want for it, I'm serious.” She was so excited, and you couldn't believe it. Savage Starlight has always been one of your favorite comics ever, you've loved it since you were a young teen, and now this seemingly perfect human before you, who you're hopelessly obsessed with says she loves it too? Could she get any more flawless, is all you could wonder.
Her happiness because of this little thing you two bonded over was infectious, and some of your nerves slowly began to go away.  Grinning genuinely, you sheepishly said, “I've never met anyone else who likes it, that story has helped me through lots of phases in my life, and Daniela was my gay awakening.” Ellie gaped at you for a beat, making you almost doubt revealing that information.
“No. Fuckin’. Way. Mine too! Her suit was just- damn. And those action scenes in the third volume had my thirteen year old self’s brain just mush for, I don't even know for how long. This is crazy, I can already see we’re gonna get along so well.”
You wanted to talk to her about everything and anything forever, and her glee made you want to squish her, but there was unfortunately work to be done first. “There’s so much we have to discuss, but we gotta get some studying done first if we wanna make it out of this course alive.”
You were sitting at your desk, hunched over the sprawled out textbooks and messy notes, as you drew the graphs and talked to her about the concepts she was struggling with. Your desk was so small and you only had one chair, and you were the one using it, so Ellie was forced to hover over you to see all you were doing.
Focusing solely on the subject before you was proving to be more difficult as studying time went by, because you were a little too aware of the way she had caged you in against the desk to watch, her oversized shirt grazing your upper back. You gripped your pen ever so tightly to minimize any trembling, and kept a steady voice as best you could while explaining it all.
She was so, so close, the tension in the tiny room was palpable, she didn't seem to notice your nervous tremors or the proximity she’d created, and the low murmurs of, “ohhh, mhm, yeah,” as you embarrassingly stammered over your explanations made you flushed and to be frank, needy. You could feel her warmth radiating off of her, could faintly hear her breathing just above you. You didn't dare move a muscle. Was she feeling this too?
At this point you swore the delicious gravelly vibrations from her voice this close to you would be plenty enough to make you cream your pants. The air in the enclosed space was getting hotter and thicker by every passing moment, it took everything you had to keep yourself from losing your mind right now. If you moved back a petty few inches, you’d be pressed flush with her front. What would that be like, you wondered. Oh, no. Your throat felt drier than the desert when you swallowed, the thought of that making you weak.
Since your focus on the work was lapsing, you were beginning to make some little mistakes and blunders, compelling her to take the pen right from your hand and fix them herself. “No, no, this one’s supposed to be like this instead, see? Then you're able to get the right answer which is…” She stretches over you further, you nearly whined, someone save you, and grabs the textbook to review the solution. “Like this, yeah, I was right. Honest mistake though, don’t worry about it.”
You nod your head and make a pathetic murmur of approval, ignoring the fiery tingles spreading all the way up your arm when her hand bumps yours to return the writing utensil, and the blistering coil of want forming in your stomach. This all had to be deliberate, right? She couldn't lack that much spatial awareness, could she? Well, it wasn’t that you minded, she could get as close as she damn wanted to, you'd let her throw you around like a ragdoll even- you were just afraid your heart was going to give out if she kept it up. “Could you show me this work you guys did? Of course the one day I'm late, the prof talks about something new and I miss it.” 
What feels like an eternity later, you hear her groan above you and she returns to her earlier spot on your bed. You can finally breathe properly. Glancing at the clock, your own headache begins to set in. Crap it was late, how time flies. 
“We’ve been studying for so long, it’s getting late.” “Shit, you’re right, I’ve definitely overstayed my welcome. Sorry about that, and hey, thanks for this. I understand it all a lot better now, see you tomorrow.”
She stands up abruptly and ushers herself out of your door in a flash, to which you clumsily stand up, knock your chair over, and hastily run after her, not wanting her to go just yet. “Wait, Ellie!” “What's up, did I forget something?”
She pats her pockets and looks at you with concern. Round puppy dog eyes, and lips in a miniscule pout, so cute. You were in front of her now, but did not process what you actually wanted to say. Just ran after her like the smitten nincompoop you are. Upon feeling your face go hot, you look at the ground to mutter, “Uh- nothing. See you later.” Realistically, what were you planning on saying, or doing?
After stumbling over your words you two finally part ways and you slump down against your door, missing her presence already. You simultaneously wanted to jump around or open your bedside table drawer to release the energy you'd accumulated, and wanted to fall into the deepest sleep of your life to recuperate from the experience. This was just, a lot. You wanted to scream and screech like there's no tomorrow, but did not want to deal with noise complaints from the others living on your floor. Gosh she was so close, she shares your niche interest, your hands touched, albeit accidentally, lo and behold you were in love with her.
Maybe it was early to call it that, but you were going to plan out your future together. Preferably a quaint, peaceful farmhouse, the one you two lovebirds renovated together exactly how you envisioned, where you could ogle her doing the farmwork. Ugh. Cook all her favorite meals, make sweet, sweet love under the moonlight. Take strolls through the flower gardens you two planted, receive her curated bouquets as gifts, you two are going to have such a tender, domestic life. 
You had to mull it over some more, and didn’t dare wish to forget how close she was to you, you were still buzzing from her essence. You were pointlessly pacing around your room now, unable to stop looping the study session's events in your head. The simplicity, the eroticism of the encounter. One-sided or not, you had yet to find out more about her, the impatience was going to take over. The day almost seemed too good to be true, but for now you had to force yourself to relax and think about something other than her. Time to browse Pinterest with striking kitchen ideas for your beautiful future. 
What were you going to say to her the next time you see her? You were eager to know how, or if at all, this new friendship was going to progress. Part of you was dying of impatience, but the rest of you wanted to take it all as slow as possible, savoring every little moment and making the most of it. 
You sighed, this was going to be a long, long, year.
lovely taggies: @amiorca @mostlyhornyandsad @lasting-lover @radioheadfan699 @sophie-thefrog8 @machetegirl109 @ellieschair @aouiaa @wavesgocrash @tangerinngi @elliesbitchvenus @dinaissoprettyoml @rxreaqia @camicocom1a @elliesexual @ellslvr @boobdrug @writing-on-a-bathroom-stall @bready101 @yourelliewillms
.......really hoping this doesn't flop because it isn't smutty, yall wanted more fics that are plot soooo
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reiding-writing · 4 months
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Ok hear me out read is an art professor and she invites the team to come to a showcase she planned for her student and the whole night is filled with her and her student laughing with each other and her fawning over her students and Spencer is in awe at the relationships she’s built while teaching
(Sorry for the long ask🤍)
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Summary:
You’re in the final preparations for your students’ art exhibition, all you need now is as many people to attend as possible, leading you straight to your fellow professor and major mild work crush, Dr. Spencer Reid, to ask him for a personal favour.
WARNINGS: n/a
pairing: professor!spencer x fem!professor!reader
genre: fluff, two pining idiots in love
wc: 3.5k
masterlist!!
a/n: did i hyperfixate on this request bc it was so damn cute and proceed to write the whole thing in one sitting instead of over multiple days like i usually would? yes, yes i did.
thank you for requesting <33 the idea that someone genuinely thinks my writing is good enough to specifically want to read more of it makes me cry happy tears inside
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Three days.
Three days until your class’ art exhibition, scouted by some of the most profound Art Directors in the country.
It was incredibly important, and you were pulling every string you could to make sure that your students got the absolute best results from it.
You’d asked almost everyone you knew to be in attendance, hoping that the more people who attended the exhibition, the more likely the scouts were to pick up your students from the amount of attention their pieces were getting.
That’s what lead you here. Stood outside of Dr. Spencer Reid’s office.
You had always been fascinated with his roots as an FBI Agent, not to mention his overwhelming intelligence in every subject you could possibly think of.
You can vividly recall the first time you met almost a year ago, and how he talked your ear off for almost an hour about the intricacies of the print of Monet’s ‘Woman with a parasol’ hung up in your office.
How it was actually a painting of Monet’s wife and son that he’d painted to capture one sunny and slightly windy day that they’d spent as a family.
How Monet helped create the genre of impressionism paintings through his works in the early 1860’s.
How oil paints were, and continue to be, some of the most widely used mediums due to its sheer versatility, and how easy its materials were to find.
And you explicitly remember how you questioned how this man wasn’t at all educated in the fine arts despite knowing so much about it.
You give three short knocks on Spencer’s office door, praying that he wasn’t currently in a lecture or busy with something else.
“Come in,” You give an internal sigh of relief at his voice on the other side of the door, pushing it open and peeking your head inside first before entering and closing the door behind you,
“Oh,” Spencer blinked up at you as you entered, clearly not having expected it to be you, but his expression showing that he wasn’t disappointed that it was you either. “Are you alright?”
“I need a favour,” You cut straight to the point as you walk across his office, noting the copy of Vincent Van Gogh’s biography on his desk as you pull out the chair on it’s opposite side, it definitely not being something he’d usually read on his breaks.
That’s something you’d remembered about him. As much as Spencer Reid could talk for hours on practically any subject you could possibly think of, he was not one for small talk.
Spencer raised an eyebrow at you slightly. “A favour?”
You nod with a slightly pleading expression, silently begging him to accept before you even ask him the question. “So my students have their final exhibition this Saturday and it’s being scouted by some really important people and I really want it to go perfectly for them so I’m trying to rally as many people to attend as possible because popularity means attention and attention means a higher likelihood of getting scouted-”
You fall into a ramble of a tangent, only stopping when you’d physically couldn’t keep going due to a lack of oxygen, taking a sharp breath in through your nose.
“Long story short, I am practically begging you to come. You can bring anybody you want, you can bring everybody you know if you want to.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes desperately pleading with him to humour you. “I just really want this to go well,”
Spencer almost melted at your expression. You were clearly very passionate about your students and their futures and the expression on your face made any resolve for him spending his Saturday night curled up in his study like he usually would fly straight out of the window. “What time should I be there?”
Your shoulder’s visibly relax at his question, and you reach a hand across his desk to grasp at his, giving it a small squeeze. “Oh my god thank you you have no idea to much this means to me,”
Spencer mourns the loss of your hand on his as soon as you pull it back into your lap.
“The exhibition starts at six, but I want to give my class a test run of what the experience will be like before they’re actually bombarded so could I ask you to be there for around five-thirty?”
“Five-thirty is perfect,” His tone matches his expression, soft, pure, and completely willing to help you out with whatever you ask of him.
“I really owe you one for this, thank you so much Dr. Reid,” You sing Spencer’s praises in your head as you stand, clasping your hands together as you make a mental reminder to pay him back later.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
“You’re down bad huh?”
He’d expected Morgan’s teasing, but that didn’t mean that his cheeks didn’t flush red at the comment. “She’s just a friend Morgan,”
“Just a friend my ass,” Morgan rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t that new episode of Doctor Who come out tomorrow, at six o’clock? You know, the one you’v e been raving about for the last two weeks about not wanting to miss?”
He couldn’t really deny deny that. He had been going on about wanting to watch that new episode, and how he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Yet here he was, declaring to the team that he was going to be spending his Saturday evening at a university art exhibition instead.“I can record it and watch it when I get home,”
“Mhm, sureee lover,” Spencer rolled his eyes with a small sigh at Morgan’s tone, beginning to regret his request for the team to accompany him. “Are you going to come or not?”
“Oh I’ll be there alright,” Morgan gave Spencer a sharp pat on the shoulder as he vacated to the kitchenette, and Spencer glanced towards JJ and Emily who both served him a short nod and knowing glances.
He was doing this for you. He could endure some teasing from his team. It’d be fine.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
He noticed you before you noticed him, kneeling on the floor behind one of your students pieces to adjust the angle of the standing light so it would best show off the painting’s vibrant colours. You’d always had an eye for details like that.
He didn’t notice the unconscious smile that breached his features as his eyes landed on you, but Morgan definitely did.
“Ooh, look at you all blushing and smiling,” Morgan elbowed Spencer in the side lightly, to which Spencer cleared his throat and subconsciously adjusted his shirt collar, straightening his features out once more. “Shut up Morgan…”
“It’s the pretty lady with the skirt right?” Garcia leaned up on her toes to look over Spencer’s shoulder as you got up from your kneeling position, floor length skirt swaying loosely with your movement as you walked around the canvas to see if the change in lighting had made a difference.
Spencer had to consciously suppress a sigh. Maybe bringing the team here to witness him silently fawn over you was not the best idea. “Yes, she’s- the one with the skirt,”
He rubbed that palm of his hand down his face, turning to the group. “Stay here, i’ll be back in a minute,”
He gave them a glance as he made his way over to you, silently warning them to behave themselves like they were a group of children in a sweet shop.
“Hey,”
You turn on your heels at the sound of Spencer’s voice, your skirt twirling with you as your eyes first land on Spencer’s chest before looking up towards his face. “You’re here, oh thank god,”
You take his arm and pull him to stand beside you, turning his body to look at the canvas. “Do you think the lighting is right? Or is it still too shadowed on the bottom right hand corner?”
Spencer’s mind goes completely blank as you physically move him to where you want him to be, caught up on the warmth of your hand on his arm rather than your question. “It uh…”
He takes a second to recompose himself as he stares at the canvas in front of him, an array of vibrant coloured dots arranged in the vague silhouette of an autumnal park. “It looks perfect to me,”
Your nod indicates he gave the right answer. “Good, okay, that’s good,” You tap your hand against his arm for a second, biting the inside of your cheek as you analyse it for a few moments more.
“I uh- brought some friends with me-” Spencer nods towards the team with his head. “Well- they’re technically my co-workers but i’d still say they’re friends-”
Your eyes follow Spencer’s nod towards the six people gathered by the entrance, greeted immediately by a wave of smiles, and you mirror them with your own as you look back at Spencer again. “You are a literal god among men,”
You give his arm a squeeze before breaking into a half jog towards his team to introduce yourself, leaving Spencer to follow you with his eyes as he tried to hide the blush covering his cheeks.
“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you all, I hope i’m not interrupting too much of your Saturday night,” You won’t lie and say you’re not nervous to meet them, especially considering Spencer had mentioned the group being his co-workers and therefore FBI Agents, but you keep a positive expression on your face nonetheless.
“Oh don’t be silly, this is probably the most exciting Saturday night any of us have had in a while,” The petite blonde woman at the front of the group waves off your concern with a small laugh, one that you mirror with a small sigh of relief.
A few short introductions later, you send the group on their own personal missions, each set with a printed out sheet of paper containing various questions about the art pieces to ask your students, hoping to prepare them for the inevitable onslaught they would endure when the exhibit opened in 18 minutes.
18 minutes.
The glance at the clock hung on the wall reminds you of your time constraint as you eye the hall for any of your students in need of help.
Sure enough you find yourself repositioning a line of clay pottery whilst one of your students adjusts the small carpet under column they’re perched on to make sure they don’t fall off balance and accidentally shatter before the doors open, caught in pleasant conversation as you explain the best way for the glazing to gloss in the light.
“You really are down bad aren’t you?” Morgan’s voice interrupted Spencer’s unapologetic staring in your direction, and he sighs as he turned to give Morgan a pointed glare.
“Oh come on Reid, it’s so obvious,” Spencer has half the mind to stuff the sheet of paper in his hand in Morgan’s mouth to get him to stop talking.
“She likes you too you know,” Both Morgan and Spencer turn in tandem towards the new voice, one of your students who’d incidentally overheard the conversation as he focused on hanging up a black backdrop behind his full-body sculpture. “She talks about you in class all the time,”
Spencer’s cheeks automatically blush a dark shade of red at the revelation, not at all helped by the muffled chuckles coming from Morgan. “She’s sketched you a bunch too, she uses them as examples in our realism classes,”
Spencer thinks he might implode in this moment. You’ve talked about him in your classes? You’ve drawn him and shown them in your classes?
“Apparently your hair is perfect and she really likes the shape of your nose,” The student shrugs, only half invested in his own explanation as he staples the black fabric to the wall.
Spencer subconsciously brings his hand up to the bridge of his nose, tracing his fingers down it as he imagines what else you might’ve said without him knowing.
“Ooh, looks like the lover boy’s got a chance,” Spencer nearly does stuff his paper in Morgan’s mouth at that statement, pushing his arm as he shook his head, only causing Morgan to laugh further.
“Five minutes guys! Pack everything that you’re not using away! Remember, your art is your baby, treat it like it’s the most important thing to ever exist, and don’t forget to compliment your own abilities!”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
“You’ve really got your whole heart in this haven’t you?” Spencer catches you mildly off guard as you lovingly watch your students promote their art pieces to the viewers of the exhibition from afar.
“Why wouldn’t I?” You chuckle softly at the question, turning your head slightly to look at him standing next to you. “I find no greater achievement in life that watching aspiring artists take their shot. Especially if i’m the one who’s had the pleasure of guiding them.”
“It’s really sweet of you to put so much of yourself into helping your students, i’m sure they’re all really appreciative,” Spencer could read the love you had for your students all over your face, and it only served to drown him deeper in his adoration for you.
To see someone put so much time, so much effort, so much love, into something that they ultimately had no benefit in was really admirable, and it was one of the things that he’d come to adore about your character.
It wasn’t just the fact that your hair shone in the overhead lighting, or the fact that you smiled like an angel sent down from the heavens. It wasn’t the lingering touches between you when you’d spend time together or the fact that you’d gone out of your way to read one of his favourite books during your lunch breaks so that you’d have something to talk about.
It was just you. You as a person. Even your flaws were flawless and he couldn’t understand how it was physically possible for someone to be so… perfect.
“Do you really like the shape of my nose?” The comfortable silence between you is broken by Spencer’s question, the words falling out of his mouth before he has time to think them over.
“Wh- I-” You immediately fall into a state of mild panic, your features flushed and your eyes darting around the hall as you attempt to maintain your composure. “How did- Who told you that?”
“I uh…” Spencer mirrors you in his flusteredness, internally punching himself for allowing the question to leave his mouth. “One of your students did… With the sculpture-”
He half-points in the direction of the full-body sculpture, a small semi-circle of people surrounding it as they examine the art and talk to your student about it, and you purse your lips as you make a mental promise to yourself to out the plethora of sketches he’d made of his classmate at his graduation as payback.
“You- have a very drawable face,” You nod exaggeratedly as if it was going to get you out of the conversation, although Spencer’s apparent obliviousness rendered that strategy useless.
“..Drawable?” His eyebrows furrowed slightly, leaving small wrinkles above the bridge of his nose and casting his eyelids in a small shadow that you would die to take a picture of and recreate in charcoal.
“Uh, yeah, drawable, you’re an easy person to draw,” You shrug slightly, trying to offset your awkwardness as nonchalance, as if you drawing Spencer whilst he was bent over a book in the lunch room was a totally normal thing for anyone to do. “You’ve got nice facial features…”
You will yourself to stop talking because you know if you continue you’ll end up saying something that throws you right in the deep end and you’ll never mentally recover.
“Oh-” Spencer’s face flushes further if that’s even possible, a beautiful rose colour painting his cheeks that would make an absolutely perfect art piece. “Thank you-”
“No problem-” The two of you fall into a slightly awkward silence after that, and you find momentary solace in watching one of your students fall into what seems like an enrapturing conversation with one of the scouting directors about the nature of her painting.
“Hey uh- Dr. Reid,” You tear your eyes away from the exhibition and back towards Spencer again, surrendering to the inevitability of you having to push your way through the awkwardness between you if you wanted to continue your conversation with him. Which you did. Very much. “I’m uh- sorry if I made you uncomfortable by sketching you without your permission, that wasn’t my intention at all,”
“Oh- no it’s completely fine-” Spencer waved a hand in front of him as if to wave away all of your worries. “It’s really flattering actually,”
His sentence was joined by a small laugh as he raked his fingers through the curls at the base of his neck, the curls covering the inside of your most prized sketchpad. “And you don’t have to call me Dr. Reid all the time, Spencer is perfectly fine,”
He offered you a soft smile that made your heart flutter, and you find yourself only capable of responding with a nod, unable to form a coherent string of words in your head.
“Maybe you can show me them some time,”
You blink up at him for a second before you realise he’s talking about the sketches. “Oh, uh, they’re not very good-”
“I’ve seen some of your pieces, you’re incredible,” Spencer shakes his head at your assessment of your drawings. “’Don’t forget to compliment your own abilities’, it’d be a little hypocritical to tell your students that and then downplay your own don’t you think?”
You mentally curse his judgement as you’re reminded of his eidetic memory, something you’d found entirely fascinating when he’d first explained it to you.
“That’s not fair-” You let out a small laugh of exasperation, tucking your hair behind your ear.
Spencer smiles at your internal panic, and he decides now is a good of a time as ever to just make the leap. He liked you, and he was fairly certain that you liked him too.
“Do you remember saying you ‘owe me one’ a few days ago when you first asked me to attend the exhibit? If you show me your sketches we can call it even,” Spencer’s eyes trailed over every one of your features as your micro-expressions changed whilst you deliberated the question.
“And whilst we’re at it, maybe we can- go and get coffee together or something…” Spencer tried to ignore the pounding of his heart against his chest as he extended his proposal, and your eyes immediately flicker up to his as he finishes speaking.
“Like- a date?”
“If you’d like it to be…” The two of you were both horribly flustered by now, both of you practically radiating your emotions for each other.
“I- Yeah… I’d like that,” You smile that gorgeous, perfect smile up at him and he swears his heart melts into a puddle at the sight.
“Perfect..”
Thank god for mutual favours.
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Note
Going flower picking with Sebek, Vil, and Rook, seperately please, headcanons or just a drabble is fine! gn reader :3
Flower-Picking the Heart
Characters; Sebek Zigvolt, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Rollo Flamme
Content; Gender-neutral reader, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings
Word Count; 1.4 K (headcanon format)
Author's Note; I included Rollo since you mentioned that you also wanted to include him. I included some of the symbolism behind the flowers, but may miss some; so do be mindful of that! Also deviated a bit, but still stayed on prompt!
Do not put my work into AI. If you would like to read more of my work, please see my masterlist
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Sebek Zigvolt
Sebek was standing by your side in the flower garden; this was supposed to be a relaxed day with no duties or responsibilities demanding your attention. Yet, his back was as straight as ever as the both of you slowly made your way through the botanical garden.
You nudged him in the arm, trying to get his attention, only to garner him giving you the side eye and letting out a quiet grunt.
“Hey, you were the one that wanted to come to the botanical garden,” you offer, giving him your own side eye to rival the one he was sending you.
Sebek sighed, silently questioning why Lilia recommended the garden as a hang-out spot (no, it wasn’t a date as Lilia taunted, that’s what Sebek told himself anyway).
“I don’t need to explain myself,” he said in a clipped tone, but he was eyeing the floral displays.
For today they could pick a single bloom, and he was set on getting the best flower for the dorm; a rose that could belong back at the queen’s rose garden! That’s what Sebek had originally thought he was going to do.
That was until you went over to one of the displays and plucked a flower, and gave it to him with an expectant look.
“What is this for,” he nearly shouted, paying mind to control his voice since others were also attending the showcase and he didn’t want to bring prying eyes to this situation.
You tucked a bright blue bloom into his chest pocket, a bright, cheery, contrast against the black of his jacket. A single morning glory blossom.
You hummed, “No reason. It just spoke to me is all.”
A simple honest answer. But why did it cause his ears to burn?
A favour. I cannot owe them a favour for this! So he did the same, looking among the vast amount of blooms until he chose a pale pink peony, shoving it into your hands.
You eyed the flower, and put it into your chest pocket, to match with him. “Alright then, where to now?” Where will we go? Will we continue in this or will we grow into something else? 
Flower Language - Morning glory; willful promise, affection - Peony; bravery, bashful, happy life, shame
Vil Schoenheit
Vil had received flowers countless times before, so many times that he had honestly lost count. He was also versed in both flower and overall plant toxicology, but also flower language itself.
This flower-picking trip was originally supposed to be for him to restock for both the school (since Professor Crewel trusted him) and his own stock for potions.
And you just so happened to be there, giving him a small wave from where you were collecting your own flowers.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Vil offered, walking over to where you were. “Hard at work I see.”
Vil took note of the flowers in your basket, as well as the dirt on your hands; it was charming. Daffodils and pansies? That’s odd, I didn’t take them as the sort to make poison… Hopefully, they do remember that daffodils are toxic and pansies are fine—
“Good to see you too,” you chirped, dusting off your hands from the dry dirt. You took note of his own basket and patted the ground next to you. “Come on then, join me.”
Vil looked at you and without much thought or other prompting, he knelt beside you in the sea of yellow daffodils. “What are you planning to do with those,” he asked, gently clipping a yellow bloom from its stalk.
You paused, a white flower in your hand. “I was going to give them to someone special to me,” you said quietly, deciding to be honest.
“Hm, you must hold this person in high regard then,” Vil eyed you curiously since the long stalks of the daffodils looked quite awkward next to the pansies. “Respect, regard, unequalled love,” he said, holding a daffodil. “Thoughtful and caring,” he looked at the pansies, before looking to you.
“I do, and he is,” you answered, hoping that he hadn’t caught on to your little plan.
Well, he didn’t until he came back to the dorm to find the flowers in a vase. For Vil; I suppose you already know what these mean. And he did.
Flower Language - Daffodil; respect, regard, unequalled love - Pansy; thoughtful, caring
Rook Hunt
“Rook, where exactly are you taking me,” you asked him, facing in his direction (or at least you hoped you were facing his direction since he had handed you a blindfold to “make the surprise be meaningful”).
Rook just gave you the answer he had given you the entire way, “You’ll see soon, Trickster.”
Eventually, the two of you did stop and Rook took off the blindfold.
Flowers, flowers everywhere. Of every shape and colour. They were blooming everywhere.
You were silent for a few moments, just taking everything in. The slight irritation that you were blindfolded slipped to the back of your brain (you could be annoyed with him later) and you watched hummingbirds and fat bees flit from flower to flower.
“What do you think,” Rook asked you quietly, not wanting to break the spell you seemed to be under.
You looked back at him, and a breathy chuckle left your lips. “What do I think? It’s stunning,” you say in awe.
Rook smiled brightly; either at your reaction or that he was correct in that he thought you would enjoy this.
He didn’t say anything though, and just watched you go about the flower field. Even though he wanted to say so many things, he found that he was for once, speechless.
Looking down for a moment something caught his eye; violets. Next to the gardenias, most would not pay them much mind; but Rook gently plucked a few, alongside a gardenia.
“Rook!” Your shouting snapped him out of his own thoughts, and he looked up. “Am I allowed to pick some?”
He blinked before regaining his usual cheery mask. “Oui, but only a few.”
He eyed the flowers he held in his hands before ultimately setting them back down. For although they spoke the truth, Rook wasn’t yet ready to lay his heart bare; not yet.
Flower Language - Gardenia; you're lovely, secret love - Violet; honesty, watchfulness, modesty, faithfulness
Rollo Flamme
Rollo hated that he could feel his heart beat like a bird trying to escape a cage, yet he found himself next to you again, the very person who caused the anomaly; like a moth to flame.
You were taking a path on the outskirts of the city, silent. And while Rollo was often used to the quiet, it only heightened his nerves, causing his heart to beat faster. 
“Why did you invite me along,” you asked, breaking the silence. 
Rollo faltered in his step before regaining his composure. “While the city is our main attraction, I do find the quiet walkways to be more enjoyable.”
You hummed, eyeing one of the numerous hydrangea bushes that lined the walkway, separating it from a lavender field. “It is rather nice, thank you. Although you can stop your sales pitch on your city.”
Rollo blinked at you, brow slightly furrowed. “Sales pitch?”
“Yeah, like selling all the good points? … Damn, I’ve been spending too much time around some people, sorry.” You felt embarrassed, that you had distrusted him when he was most likely just being proud of his city.
“Hmm,” was all he said, moving along. The silence returned, as Rollo was not the type to make simple small talk or force a conversation where one wasn’t needed.
“Pft,” your sudden outburst of near-silent laughter caught his attention and he stopped, turning to you with a curious look.
“What seems to be funny?” He meant it in a genuine manner, but you just started laughing more which only made him more perplexed. Perhaps the fresh air can do you some harm?
You got a hold of yourself, eyes watering from the wind and your little chuckle fest. “Fleur City, your city is literally flower city, and look what we’re surrounded by; flowers.”
Rollo looked at the flowers and then at you. “It is a bit on the nose, I guess.”
You plucked a hydrangea cluster from the nearest bush and tucked it behind his ear. “But it’s fitting nonetheless.”
If his heart was beating fast before, now his face was sure to be red, and not from the brisk breeze.
Flower Language - Hydrangea; pride, gratitude for being understood, frigidity and heartlessness - Lavender; faithful, distrust
~~~~~~~
Tags; @azulashengrottospiano @bloomstruck @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @ithseem @krenenbaker @lucid-stories @moonsoup01637 @ryker-writes @syrenkitsune @the-v-lociraptor @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii
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dreaming-medium · 6 months
Text
Stray Kids Kinktober Day 4
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Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist
Dacryphilia - Seungmin
Word Count: 6.6k
Summary: After pining for you from a distance for years, Seungmin’s world is turned upside down when you approach him to be partners on a semester long project.
————————————————————
Seungmin has always thought about how pretty you’d look when you cum. 
He can picture it so perfectly in his head. The way you would tilt your head back, eyes rolling in your skull, your perfect lips would part and a silent scream would twist your expression. 
If his face was between your legs you would pull his hair so tight it would leave his head aching. 
Perhaps if he was bullying your g-spot with his cock, you would wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a searing kiss. He would swallow each of your moans and refuse to close his eyes just this once so he can see your face when you clench around him. 
He just knows your voice would be music to his ears. Fuck, just thinking about your moans in his ear gets his dick so hard, he has to either leave whatever room he’s in or fuck his fist until he paints his stomach white. 
Kim Seungmin knew for sure that if he ever had you in his hands, he wouldn’t stop until you were utterly satisfied.
He doesn’t even care if he cums once, he just wants to make your body hum with pleasure. He wants to make you see stars and have your toes curling while you pant his name over and over. 
But there’s a slight problem. He’s not even sure you know he exists. 
You, perfect you, are in a majority of his classes. You’re Miss Popular, always talking to whoever sits in the seat next to you. Your hair, makeup, and nails are always done so cleanly and perfectly. 
Everyone was your friend. It didn’t matter where you were, you were talking to someone with that beautiful, bright smile. 
Never him. It was never him, though. It’s not like you’re avoiding him, but he’s not the only person vying for your attention. 
Seungmin has also never been brave enough to approach you. 
So, he sticks to his lonely seat in the back of the class, pining for you from a distance. 
For the entire class he’ll steal glances your way and watch as you chew on the back of your cute little pen, or watch as your fingers fidget with the bottom of your skirt. 
Sometimes he’ll sit by the door so that when you leave before him, he can smell your perfume as you walk by. 
That’s exactly what he’s doing today. The professor just finished the lecture and everyone is packing up their belongings.
Seungmin is making sure to take his sweet time. He’s jotting down last minute notes in his planner, scanning over little details that he may have questions on later. 
Then the smell hits him. That beautiful warm vanilla and coffee scent. It wraps around Seungmin’s nose and invades all of his senses. 
His heart flutters and a chill rips through his body, goosebumps raising on his arms. 
Typically, you walk by so fast he’s only able to inhale the beautiful aroma for a split second. 
But today, it lingers even longer and never wavers. 
“Kim Seungmin, right?”
Oh my god?  
Is this what it’s like to hear angels sing? 
His heartbeat skyrockets and he looks up at you with a shocked expression. 
“Y-Yeah?” Seungmin internally cringes at the way he stutters in front of you. 
But you’re looking down at him with literal stars in your eyes. How are you this perfect?
“I’m Y/N,” You hold out to shake his hand. 
“I know.” Another inward cringe. Yeah, keep putting your foot in your mouth, Seungmin, great job. 
His hand grabs yours and an electric shock goes up his arm. Your skin is so soft, does your lotion smell just like your perfume? Does it smell better?
All you do is giggle in response. 
“I didn’t realize I was famous.” You beam and Seungmin swears his glasses are going to melt off his face from how much his cheeks heat up. 
“Anyway, I’m super sorry to bother you,” You could never bother him, “but the professor talked about that project today and said we needed partners. I really enjoyed your presentation last semester on the causation between beautifying city streets to decrease traffic flow on main roads and increasing them on side streets!”
Surely, he’s died. He’s died and gone to Heaven. Is he alive? If he was hooked up to a heart monitor, he’s sure that it would be flatlining right now. 
“I was wondering if you wanted to work together on this one? You can say no, I’ll totally understand. But, I am a Statistics major after all, I can make it super easy on the analysis side.”
You really think you need to sweeten the pot? All you need to do is ask and he would do the entire project and just stick your name at the top. 
“Sure,” he says weakly.
“Oh, awesome!”
You plop down in the seat next to him, the smell of your perfume is so intoxicating. Seungmin finds himself leaning closer and closer to you before he realizes what he’s doing and his back straightens out. 
He shuffles in his seat to play it off, but you don’t seem to notice in the slightest. 
“I have to run because my next class is across campus, but,” you reach over and grab his pen from his desk. “Here’s my number.” You scribble it down in the margins of his notebook with a little smiley face next to it. 
His head feels so fuzzy. Seungmin is positive he’s about to wake up from a dream. 
The cherry on top is when you grab his hand between both of yours. You’re so pleasantly warm and soft, what if those hands were wrapped around his c—
“Thank you so much!” You chirp happily at him, “Text me ASAP and we can figure out what we want to do! We can meet up and get coffee or something to eat! Thank you, Seungmin!”
And just like that, you stand up and leave in a harmonious whirlwind of vanilla and coffee, leaving Seungmin dumbfounded. 
Did that… really just happen?
-----------------------------------
Just like you requested, Seungmin texted you almost immediately. 
Seungmin: Hey, this is Kim Seungmin 
Y/N: Hey! :) Thank you again for agreeing to work with me! Such a sigh of relief lol
Seungmin: No problem at all. I also liked your presentation on the effect different forms of advertising has on sale numbers for the theatre group on campus. 
Y/N: Aw, thank you! I can’t believe you remember it. I worked for weeks with that group to collect data, but it was totally worth it. 
Seungmin stares down at his phone in the middle of the dining hall. 
He’s… he’s really texting you. So many months of pining, of watching you from a distance, and he’s texting you so casually. 
This morning when he woke up, he had no idea that this is what his day was going to turn out like. Maybe he should send his professor a fruit basket.
Another text comes in while he was staring at the last one. 
Y/N: I’m pretty free this weekend if you want to meet up for coffee to discuss the project! I know it’s a semester long thing and the due date isn’t until finals week, but I think we should get a head start, especially if we want to do a longer study. 
Seungmin: I agree. How does Saturday around 2 sound? There’s a small coffee shop tucked away that I know of. 
Y/N: oooh, sounds fun :) See you then! Can’t wait, Seungmin!
Seungmin drops his phone onto the table in disbelief. 
Even in his wildest dreams, never did he ever conjure up the idea of you approaching him and asking him to work with you. 
He blinks his eyes in disbelief down at the conversation several times. His stomach was doing flip after flip in excitement. 
Saturday could not come soon enough.
-----------------------------------
“Seungmin!” you call out to catch his attention. 
He raises his hand in a greeting and picks up his pace to walk towards you. 
You both agreed to meet outside by the library and walk to the coffee shop together. He told you it was pretty tucked away, so you asked him to show you, who was he to say no?
He’d carry you on his back if you asked him to. If you were on his back, he’d grab your legs underneath your knees, be able to feel your soft skin underneath his palms. Feel your clothed cunt against his–
“Hey!” You smile widely at him as soon as he’s next to you. His heart flutters. “I’m super excited to see this coffee shop, I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it.”
“My two friends work there, that’s the only reason I’ve heard of it, really.” He mutters as the two of you walk side by side. 
“Even better, they’ll know the best things on the menu.”
How are you doing this? You’re so glass-half-full, so sweet it makes his teeth rot. 
The two of you chat on your entire walk to the cafe. Occasionally your arms will brush against one another and each time it goes straight to Seungmin’s heart— and, well, other places. 
He’s always noticed from a different how touchy you were as a person. It didn’t matter if you just met the person or if they were your closest friend in the world, you would reach out and grab their arm for their attention, touch their hands when you laughed, anything. 
Each time you would touch someone else, the ugly curl of jealousy would furl up in his gut. 
But here you were, casually touching him as the two of you walked to what most would see as a date. 
It’s not a date. But, Seungmin is deciding to play pretend and tell himself it is one. 
The coffee shop is so warm when you both enter. It’s not too busy at all, that’s why Seungmin likes coming here so much. 
There’s only about three other customers sitting at tables. 
Immediately, Seungmin sees Jeongin behind the counter. Jeongin, who has heard Seungmin pine about you for years at this point. 
The other boy practically drops the cup of coffee he’s holding when he sees the two of you together. 
His eyes and mouth widened so much you’d think he saw a ghost. 
“No way,” Seungmin sees Jeongin mouth to himself. 
You don’t notice as Seungmin mouths back, “Shut up.” You’re too busy staring at the menu. 
Jeongin immediately sends out the coffee he was working on and practically runs to the counter to take your order. 
“Hi,” he says warmly to you. “What can I get started for you two?”
“Hey!” Your smile mirrors his. “What is your favorite drink right now? Hot, not cold.”
Jeongin’s eyes brighten a bit and he smiles even more. It switches from his customer service smile to his genuine one. 
“Oh, well I’m a huge fan of the maple bourbon spice latte.”
“That sounds amazing, I’ll get that. Can I get it with oatmilk if it’s not too much trouble?”
Jeongin shakes his head in a bit of disbelief, “It’s no trouble at all, you got it. Your usual Seungmin?”
“Yeah.”
“Perfect. Total is $8.17.”
You turn your wrist around to activate your fancy Apple Pay on your watch but Seungmin is faster. He taps his card before you’re even able to blink. 
You look up at him with a mock angry look and grab his arm. “Hey, I wanted to pay since I forced you to be my partner.”
Jeongin smirks and raises an eyebrow, Seungmin sees it, you do not. 
“Don’t worry about it.” Seungmin tries to act nonchalant about it. “Go find a table, the ones in the back are nice.” He smiles gently down at you. 
“Fine, but the next round is on me.”  You squeeze his arm once and walk away to find a table. Seungmin watches you walk away with a lovesick look on his face. 
As soon as you’re out of earshot, Jeongin is bouncing on the balls of his feet. 
“Oh my god! Why didn’t you say you finally grew a pair and asked her out?”
“Because this isn’t a date, she asked to be my partner for a semester-long project in our regression course.”
“That’s even better. Play the long game.”
“Go make my coffee.”
“Min,” Jeongin whines.
“I’m taking your tip out of the jar.”
“Fine.”
Seungmin walks over to the booth you found tucked in the corner between bookcases, both of your coffees in his hands. 
You already set up your laptop and various textbooks and notebooks around you.  
And to top it all off, the most adorable pair of pink, clear plastic blue light glasses are now perched on your nose. 
If he could, he would take a picture of how adorable you look. 
When he places the drinks down on the table, you look up with a grin, “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Seungmin sits down across from you and starts to unpack his own things. 
“So, I‘ve been thinking about ideas,” you start, grabbing his attention. 
“Whatcha got?” He asks, taking a sip from his coffee as his laptop boots up. 
“The library started a new program this semester to keep it open 24 hours instead of closing at midnight. I think we should study the amount of students that come in during those hours around various points of the semester.”
“That’s… a great idea, actually.”
You giggle at the small bit of praise, “Thanks! I was thinking we could find a list of events that the library and student centers are hosting and make a schedule based on that. But, of course, this does mean we’ll have to spend more than a couple days monitoring the library at ungodly hours of the morning.”
Seungmin can’t believe his ears. It’s like good news after good news. This entire week he’s been practically walking on air, and it just keeps getting better. 
“I think I can handle that,” he responds with a smile of his own. 
“Perfect!” You squeal and reach across the table and grab both of his hands. “You’re the perfect partner, Min!”
The nickname is not new. All of his friends call him this. But hearing it tumble from your lipgloss covered mouth goes straight to his head. And not the one on his shoulders. 
“T-Thanks,” he stutters out. He’s basking in the warmth of your hands. “I think this is the first time I haven’t had to come up with the idea myself.”
“I’m chock full of them.” You squeeze his hands once more and bring them back to your laptop. “Now, let’s compile the list of events. Also, maybe we should see if there’s other studies done at different schools like this.”
-----------------------------------
Research continues for weeks. Each time you and Seungmin see each other, his attraction for you only grows. And he didn’t know that was possible.
Another plus is that now you go out of your way to sit next to him in every single class you share. 
It’s distracting but in the best way. 
Now when he goes back to his apartment after class, he can still smell your perfume on his clothes. So many times he’s brought his shirt over his nose to fuck his fist just to smell you and picture it was your hand. 
He’d moan your name out loudly and have some of his most powerful orgasms of his life just having your scent surrounding him. 
Yes, he’d feel a bit of shame the next time he saw you knowing that not even an hour before he was picturing you underneath him with your cherry flavored lips around his cock. 
But he just can’t help it. 
Tonight was another night when you two were going to pull an all-nighter in the library. 
Seungmin is carrying two fresh coffees in his hand, several snacks packed in his bag for your stay in between the bookcases. 
Your face lights up as soon as you see him. 
It always does. 
No matter what. 
Even if he had just seen you a couple hours before, you always perk up. It tugs on his heartstrings in a way that nothing else ever has. 
“T-minus five minutes until the count begins,” you joke with him as you take a coffee from his hand. 
He has since blocked you on Venmo ever since your first “date” at the coffee shop. 
“Anyone even here?”
“I think there’s one person down in the basement. But I haven’t seen anyone else. It’s bid night for most frats plus it’s the Friday before holiday. I’m imagining no one else is going to come in.”
Seungmin nods and sets up his laptop at the table in front of you two. 
He pulls up Netflix, clicking around to the show that you two started the first night in the library. One earbud is handed to you and he takes the other one. 
This routine that you’ve both settled into makes his soul warm and curl up in a happy comfort. It feels so horribly domestic. 
Seungmin dreads the day you finish this project. What is he supposed to do after that? Go back to pining after you from a distance? Watch as someone else takes the seat next to you in class? 
He shakes the thoughts from his head and presses play on the show. It’s just a silly cartoon that keeps you both awake. 
About an hour later, a student comes up from the basement and leaves through the front door. 
“And then there were two,” you giggle and look over at him. 
“The things we sacrifice for research.”
You laugh at his joke and turn back to the show. Reaching in the snack bag, you pull a piece of popcorn out and eat it. 
Two hours later, Seungmin feels your head lean on his shoulder and his heart stops for a moment. 
You’re not asleep, your eyes are still focused on the show with rapt attention. No, you just decided to rest your head on him. 
Seungmin gulps quietly and tries his best to focus. 
He was doing well until you and your tactile nature decided to wrap your arms around his. So now, not only was your head leaning on his shoulder, your two arms looped around his one.
Did you do this on purpose? Was it absentminded?
Your hand comes down and your fingers begin to gently play with his. 
Seungmin thinks his heart might explode. Can you hear how loud it’s slamming against his chest?
What’s even going on in the show anymore? 
His mind completely blanks out when you begin to trail your nails over his skin. 
He turns his head slightly and inhales the smell of your shampoo. It’s just like he walked into a beach vacation home. 
Seungmin shifts on his chair as he feels his pants begin to tighten. It was only a matter of time, really. 
You notice his movement and you bring your head away from him; Seungmin almost cries out from the loss of contact. 
“I’m so sorry,” you stutter a bit. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Oh, geez. Sorry I should’ve asked first, I’m just such a touchy person I forget to ask—“
Seungmin cuts you off by grabbing your hand firmly, “It’s fine.” His voice comes out a lot more confidently than he thought was possible. “I, ah— I don’t mind at all. Actually, I was really enjoying it.”
Your worried expression quickly morphs into a relieved one. “Really? Oh, awesome!”
You hug his arm against your chest and rest your head against his shoulder once more.
It’s sick how much he focused on the way his arm squeezes against your breasts. The feeing shoots straight to his dick and his pants feel even tighter. 
His face is so hot he thinks he might explode. 
“Ugh, can I get so sentimental, Min?”
That nickname again. Jesus, please, not now, Y/N. Sweatpants can only conceal so much. .
You don’t wait for his response. “I’m so happy we got to work together.” You reach down and lace your fingers in between his. He squeezes your hand after you hold his. “You’ve always been in most of my classes and I always enjoyed seeing your projects and everything.”
You pause, then hum wistfully, looking at the laptop and not up at him.
“I have such an easy time approaching people to talk to them.” Another pause, you laugh under your breath. “Except you, Min.”
His heart drops; was he unapproachable? What did he do?
You must’ve noticed his reaction from how he tensed up, so you pull back and look at him closely, your arms and hands still intertwined. 
“Not because of anything you did!” You quickly say and he relaxes a bit. Averting your eyes, you look down at the table, “If I’m being honest I just was so nervous that you would push me away. I’ve just… always um… admired you from a distance. Interpret that how you want.” You laugh, your cheeks turning redder and redder by the second. 
Is he… reading into this correctly? Are you admitting what he thinks you’re admitting? 
“Y/N…”
“Sorry, God. I told myself I was going to wait until after the project to say something.” You pull back away from him a bit. Seungmin is so flabbergasted by your words that he can’t react. “I like you a lot, Seungmin. And I’m super sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I can … I can finish the project on my own if it’s too much—“
Seungmin’s brain finally rebooted and he shuts you up by pressing the most urgent kiss possible against your lips. It’s sloppy and he practically misses your mouth with how fast he swooped down. 
He’s surprised your teeth don’t clack together. 
A surprised grunt comes from your throat, but you melt into the kiss not even three seconds later. 
Seungmin is on cloud nine. Your lips are the softest thing he’s ever felt in his life. It’s better than he even imagined. No fantasy could ever compare to the real thing. 
His free hand comes up and grabs the side of your face, bringing you closer to him. 
The kiss slowly turns from a messy press into something more heated. Mingling exhales and swapped spit.
You grab his hand tighter and slide your other one up into his hair. 
Your touch on his body already feels so sinfully good and you’ve only grazed his face. 
His eyebrows pinch together as he focuses on the feeling of your mouth gliding over his. On the way he can already taste your chapstick in his mouth. 
“Seungmin,” you pant in between kisses. 
He doesn’t open his eyes, he never wants to tear his face away from you. He wants to die with his lips pressed to yours and his hands on your body. 
“Seungmin,” you repeat. 
“What?” He rasps against your lips, bringing them back in for another searing set of kisses. 
Your hand tightens around his. 
“Do you … do you feel the same, then?”
He laughs out loud and presses his forehead against you. 
“Your favorite color is mint green. You take your coffee with oat milk but only if they use Oatly brand, otherwise you don’t like it. You always chew your pen when focusing. No matter how hard you try, you can never spell the word ‘restaurant’ right on the first try.”
Your eyes stare deeply into his, they’re unwavering and caring. 
“I’ve wanted you to be mine for so long that it hurts, Y/N.”
Instead of responding, you surge forward and eagerly kiss his already swollen lips. 
You clamber out of your seat and onto his lap, both arms wrapping around his neck and his arms loop around your waist. He physically cannot pull you closer to his body.
Both of your mouths are frantic over one another as if you’ll die if you don’t devour each other right there in that moment. Seungmin kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to breathe. 
His hands move up and down your sides, up your neck to thread into your hair and then back down to your hips. He can’t decide where he wants to hold you, where he should put his hands.
He’s been dreaming of what you would feel like forever, and now that it’s happening his brain is kicking into overdrive.
Your tongue comes out and licks the seam of his lips and Seungmin’s hips jolt up and his clothed erection presses right into your groin.
Both of you moan together into each other’s mouths.
His tongue eagerly slithers out to meet yours.
You taste like popcorn and coffee. His new favorite combination. 
One of your hands comes down and slides down his chest, he feels every single touch and his body keens, skin singing. 
Down, down, it travels until it gets to the bottom of his shirt. Your hand snakes up underneath the fabric and onto his bare skin. 
His muscles jump at the contact and he whines into your mouth. Both of his hands grab your hips tightly, thumbs pressing into the bone. 
“Want you,” you moan into his mouth.
“Do whatever you want,” he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, gently pulling on it. “I’m so serious, Y/N, fucking do whatever you want to me, please.”
You gulp, he watches your throat bob. Both of you are panting from the heavy kissing. You quickly look over your shoulder.
There’s absolutely no one in the library, and you’re positive no one is going to come in either. They don’t even have a security guard posted in here.
While you’re scanning the room, Seungmin is only looking at you. His eyes are tracing every single inch of your face, every freckle, every curve, everything. The way your eyelashes curl and the asymmetry of your eyes.
Everything about you is so perfect.
He pulls himself up and travels up your neck with open-mouthed, heated licks and kisses. A low hum of pleasure rumbles in your chest and your hips roll down into his.
A bolt of pleasure shoots through his groin, Seungmin moans into your skin.
Warm vanilla and coffee; your skin smells so fucking sweet he could almost cream in his pants. Your smell wraps around him and invades every single sense. 
His tongue licks a fat stripe up your throat and your head tilts back to give him more access.
“Please, Y/N,” he murmurs when his mouth gets underneath your chin, he nips at the skin. “Use me, please. I need you to feel good.”
Every word goes straight to your head. Kim Seungmin is begging you to use him for your own pleasure?
“Are you sure?” you ask, panting. 
His hands tighten on your hips in a bruising grip, “Please.” He basically cries into your skin. He’s squirming around underneath you, writhing like he’s already in the throes of pleasure. “Please please please.” 
With a gulp, you take one more look around the library. Seungmin continues to kiss at any inch of skin that he can reach, his hips basically humping against your core.
You pull his mouth away from your neck by his hair; he whines, he actually whines at that. His eyebrows screw together and his eyes glaze over.
Quickly, you bring your mouth down to him and kiss him again, your tongue finding his immediately to twist together and slip over one another.
Seungmin’s mind is so fogged over he’s not sure if he’s awake. With every kiss, he’s shoved further and further into a lustful haze.
Your kisses are intoxicating, like he was crawling through the desert and you’re his oasis. 
From underneath his shirt, your hand travels even further south until it gets to his bulge. When you cup him through his sweats, Seungmin has to pull away from the kiss to throw his head back with a pitiful whimper. 
His mouth drops open and his eyes screw shut.
You squeeze him even tighter and he bucks into your hand.
“Fuck, you feel so big.”
That goes right to his head and his ego. Every inch of him is buzzing, right down to his fingertips.
“Can I tell you one of my favorite things to think about in class?” you whisper to him and Seungmin nods.
“Please.” Desperate.
“I like to imagine sitting in the back with you, no one else is in the same row as us. I’m wearing one of my shortest skirts.”
Seungmin gulps, your hand is rubbing him so well. He opens his eyes to meet your eyes. He’s so far gone. He’s somewhere else entirely. 
“You reach over while the professor is talking and run your fingers up my thighs, feeling every single inch of exposed skin.”
Would you look at that, you’re wearing a skirt now. 
The hand that’s not on his bulge comes out of his hair and down to your legs. You do what you just described, Seungmin’s eyes watch closely, mesmerized by the action. 
Up, up, up, your fingers go until they reach the hem of your skirt. 
“In the middle of class, you’d reach your long, beautiful fingers underneath my skirt and up to my panties.”
Seungmin follows your hand as it does what you say, the fabric flips up and he groans, pushing his cock into your hand to relieve some of the ache he’s feeling. 
“When you got to my cunt, you’d feel that I already soaked through my panties just thinking about you and the filthy things I let you do to me.”
Your fingers rub against your clothed cunt and your mouth drops open in a sigh.
“You’d then pull them to the side and touch me during class, playing with me, making me squirm. Maybe you’d lean over and tell me I’m being too obvious and to pull it together. But you always make me feel so fucking good, how am I supposed to be quiet about it.”
Just like in your fantasy, you pull your panties to the side and Seungmin moans at the sight of your dripping wet core. You’re already soaked, true to your word. Slowly, your fingers inch over and run through your folds gently.
The sound is something of sin but it makes Seungmin squirm around, his hands staying firmly on your hips.
You reach over and grab one of his hands, bringing it up to your mouth, then you take his middle and ring finger into your mouth and begin sucking on them.
Seungmin almost loses his fucking mind and cums right there on the spot. His back arches off the chair. 
Your tongue swirls around his fingers and makes his head spin. His hips squirm around underneath you when you take your hand off his cock.
His nerves are on fire, firing pleasure through his veins. 
“Fu– uck, Y/N.” he whimpers out when you suck on his fingers.
You smirk with them still in your mouth, teeth grazing over the skin gently.
How are you able to make him feel better than when he jacks off just by sucking on his fingers?
When your tongue slithers between his two fingers, his thigh muscles tighten and he has to physically stop himself from cumming. 
“Hng– Y/N!” He cries out. 
You release his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, but you don’t let them go, no. You trail them down your body and under your skirt. 
“Will you touch me, Seungmin? Please?” You say as you press his fingers into your soaking wet folds. “Pretty please?”
He moans at your voice and the wet warmth coating his fingertips. 
Immediately, he moves his fingers around, pinching your clit and then rubbing it gently with his thumb. 
Your eyes squint shut and your mouth drops open. 
Fuck, if only he could take a picture of you right now. Angel. Beautiful. Goddess. 
You move your hand from his to run up his arms and over his neck. 
He stares at you like you hung the moon. Each sigh of pleasure and twitch of your eyebrow eggs him on further. 
The faster he rubs at your clit, the more your hips twitch and buck against his own. 
Seungmin is panting with you, your hot exhales fanning over his wet lips. 
“Inside, please.” You request. Seungmin wastes no time sliding his middle finger inside you.
Both of you moan together at the sensation. Your head tilts back and once more he latches his mouth to your throat. 
He cannot get enough of the taste of your skin.  
“Fuck, Seungmin…” you sigh and your head rolls around on your neck.
His speed picks up when you moan his name, he slides another finger inside you and curls them slightly to press on that spongy spot within you. 
Your hips jerk against his wildly. 
“Min… oh, fuck, Min…”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” he pants into your neck. “Fuck yes,” he groans when you clench around him. “Fuck yes, baby, that’s right.”
The amount of pleasure he’s getting from just touching you has his head spinning. 
With each flick of his thumb and thrust of his fingers, you approach the edge. Toes curling in your shoes. 
“Min… wanna cum on your cock.”
Said cock jumps in his pants, he’s sure there has to be a wet spot showing from how much he’s oozing precum. 
After a few more thrusts, he brings his fingers out of your core. You whine at the feeling. 
Seungmin brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks around at the juices that cover your hand. 
You taste so fucking sweet he could cry. 
One of your hands grabs his wrist and you lean in, licking your own essence off his fingers at the same time. 
He whimpers and every time your tongues meet around his fingers, sprawls fly behind his eyelids. 
With your free hand, you reach down and pull his throbbing cock out from his pants. 
When your skin makes contact with his, Seungmin hisses and his mind whites out. 
Holy shit. Holy shit. 
“Sit on my cock, please.” He begs shamelessly. It comes right out of his mouth before he can even stop it. “Please, please god, please. Need to feel you around me, Y/N.”
You watch him beg for a moment, he’s completely lost in the throes of pleasure and lust. His face is scarlet, eyes hazy and half-lidded. Lips swollen from kissing you relentlessly. 
“You wanna feel me cum all over your cock, Min?” You whisper to him and his eyes roll back at your words. 
“Please!” He begs. “Ride me until I fucking break, Y/N. I can’t fucking take it anymore.”
His hands slide everywhere all over your body again. 
With a smirk, you lift off his lap and position your pussy right over his cock head. He can feel the humid head radiating down over him. 
“Please, please, please, please— hnnnng!” 
The stretch is so delicious and Seungmin’s head falls back as you drop down onto him. Your mouth drops open and your eyes squeeze shut. 
“Fu— uh— uck.” You moan out and plant both hands on his chest. 
“Mmmmoooove…!” he whines out between swollen lips. 
Leaning forward, you bite his bottom lip and at the same time you lift your hips just to bring them down again. 
Seungmin’s face twists up almost like he’s in pain from how much pleasure he feels. His legs feel numb. Every nerve is on fire. 
You’re so hot and wet around him. It’s the only thing he’s able to focus on.
Just as soon as you’re lifting off him, you’re coming back down. 
It’s so intense, every bounce on his lap sends Seungmin’s mind into orbit. Where is he? Are you both still in the library? Is he in a void of pleasure now?
“Wanted you for so long,” he cries out. “Thought about this every single day.”
“Yeah? You thought about fucking me?”
“Yes!” His head falls forward and his forehead rests on your chest. “Yes, yes, I did.”
“Thought about you all the time, Seungmin. Every time I would touch myself I would wish it was your fingers or your tongue.”
Seungmin whines so loud.
“Would stare at those beautiful lips, see your tongue come out. Wanna suck on it like candy.” yu continue.
He feels so powerless at the moment. His body is singing such a sinful song; moans, whimpers, whines, and groans all fall from his lips so easily. Like water spilling from a cup. 
His head is spinning, he can’t think of anything else. 
Warm vanilla and coffee has him in a death grip. But he would so happily die right now, completely consumed by you. 
His eyes begin to glisten from the overwhelming pleasure, everything hitting him like a ton of bricks. You’re bouncing on his cock so well he thinks he might die. 
The grip he has on your hips is so bruising, his fingers curl into your shirt. 
Tears bead up in the corners of his eyes and he can’t do anything but let them fall, his face buried in your chest. The fabric of your shirt absorbs his cries of pleasure. 
You grab his face and bring it away from your chest, looking down into his eyes. Seungmin’s pupils are blown out, tears freely falling down his cheeks. 
“Feel good, puppy?” You moan out. 
His eyes squint closed and his cock jumps inside you.
He can’t even form words to respond to you, all Seungmin is able to do is babble a few jumbled moans and grab you tighter. 
How is he ever going to fucking walk again after this? Any time he ever smells your perfume he’s going to ruin his pants. 
“So close to cumming all over you, Min. How would you like that? You want me to cum on your cock? Then you can fill me up?”
He’s gone, his bones are not in his body. 
More tears spill down his face, you lean down and lick all the way from his jaw to his cheekbone. 
A grunt punches from his chest. 
“Close, close, close.” You pant in his ear before your walls clench down on him so hard, Seungmin sees white. 
His vision is gone. 
He’s cumming so hard he’s not sure he’ll ever come down to Earth. Your cunt is milking him for all he’s worth. 
Is he making noise? He can’t tell. Seungmin could be screaming, he could be quiet, but he for sure has no idea. 
A long few moments pass before his mind reboots and he feels you panting against his chest. Your fingers are carding through his sweaty hair gently. 
He then picks up on your gentle coos in his ear, “So good for me, you did so well, Minnie.”
Seungmin’s arms move and he wraps them tightly around your waist. 
“There you are, baby…” you whisper warmly into his ear. 
Your fingers continue to scratch his head and comfort him closely. Eventually, you begin humming lowly. 
Everything you’ve done tops the last. 
After a bit, you pull back and look down at him. Seungmin stares up at you with an exhausted, fucked out expression. 
“Hi, baby.” You whisper, running your fingers down his cheek, over his lips, then his chin.
“Hi.” He mutters back. 
“Good?” You ask.
“Jesus fuck,” he groans and his head rolls into your hand. “I think I passed out.”
“Hmm,” you hum happily. “That is good, then.”
He turns his head and kisses your palm. 
Both of you sit in silence for a few more moments. 
“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” He suddenly turns shy even though he’s still buried inside you.
“Yeah, you’re not getting rid of me, Min.”
812 notes · View notes
vulpisnocturna · 6 months
Text
Masterlist
NSFW 🍷 | Suggestive 🌹 | HCs 🦋 | Fluff 🌸 | Angst ☕️ | Crack post 🔮
Naruto:
Bribe for chores 🍷
How he sleeps with his s/o HCs 🦋🌸
Shisui:
Mirror Sex 🍷
How he sleeps with his s/o HCs 🦋🌸
Ideal girlfriend HCs 🦋
Cringe habits 🦋🔮
Secret Turn-ons 🌹🌸
Sasuke:
Ideal girlfriend HCs 🦋
Being best friends (massacre/non massacre AU) HCs 🦋☕️
Madara:
Office sex 🍷
Corruption kink, virgin reader 🍷
Fucking louder than the neighbours to establish dominance 🍷
Dirty talk 🌹🍷
Yandere Madara dealing with you breaking up with him 🦋🌹
How he sleeps with his s/o HCs 🦋🌸
NSFW Alphabet 🍷
Kakashi:
Rope play 🍷
Humiliation kink/Bratting 🍷
"I don't want you to be gentle, I want you to ruin me" 🍷
Aphrodisiac 🍷
Mirror Sex 🍷
Lingerie 🍷
Biting 🍷
NSFW Alphabet 🍷
How he sleeps with his s/o HCs 🦋🌸
Ideal girlfriend HCs 🦋
Obito:
Teasing while he plays videogames live 🍷
Yes, Sir 🍷
Fake Dating 🍷
NSFW Alphabet 🌹🍷
Itachi:
Lesson learnt - Power imbalance 🍷
Hate Sex 🍷
Edo Itachi meets his s/o and their child ☕️🦋🌸
Itachi Jealousy HCs 🦋
Reaction to an Edo s/o 🦋☕️
With a nerdy/STEM s/o HCs 🌸🦋
Somnophilia 🍷
"I don't want you to be gentle, I want you to ruin me" 🍷
Dirty talk 🌹🍷
Mirror sex 🍷
Interrogation (CNC fantasy) 🍷
Leash 🍷
Surprise 🌸🦋
College Professor Itachi x College student reader 🍷
Insecurities 🌸
Pining Itachi (HCs) 🌸🦋
Reader breaking his heart ☕️🦋
Reader has ADHD and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria 🌸🦋
Drunk Itachi and horny reader 🌹🍷
Dealing with reader having a panic attack (HCs) 🌸🦋
Dealing with reader ignoring him on purpose (HCs) 🦋☕️
Yandere Itachi when reader breaks up with him 🦋☕️
First date HCs 🦋🌸
Itachi likes you, you are Sasuke's best friend 🌹🍷
Hot mannerisms HCs 🦋🌹
How he sleeps with his s/o HCs 🦋🌸
Somnophilia II 🍷
Dating an emo s/o HCs 🌸🦋
Ideal girlfriend HCs 🦋
Squirting/bratting 🍷
Itachi in a relationship HCs 🦋🌸
NSFW Alphabet 🍷🌹
Secret Turn-ons 🌹🌸
Uchiha Clan:
How they would react to finding out their s/o has an IUD HCs 🦋🔮
Who has the best sex game? HCs 🦋🌹
Captured S/O who develops PTSD HCs 🦋☕️🌸
Akatsuki:
Beach Shenanigans HCs 🦋🔮
Reacting to reader wearing a pink bonnet to sleep HCs 🦋🔮
Where they like to have sex HCs 🦋🌹
There was only one bed HCs 🦋🌹
Who is actually good at sex HCs 🦋🌹🔮
Ideal partner’s personality traits HCs 🦋
Chrollo:
Binding Vow: Part I, Part II, Part III (Yandere Chrollo) 🍷☕️🌹
Bloodstained Rubies: Part I, Part II , Part III, Part IV (Yandere Chrollo) 🌹☕️
Thigh Riding 🍷
Overstimulation 🍷
Nanami:
Make-up sex/Corruption kink 🍷🌹☕️
Toys & Voice kink 🍷
Gojo:
Sensory Deprivation 🍷
Voice kink 🌹🍷
Hate sex&Corruption Kink (virgin reader) - Part I, Part II 🌹🍷
489 notes · View notes
Text
Before You Go
Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: Reader is a grad student in college trying to work hard for her degree, but a certain green eyed stranger keeps showing up and turns her life upside down. Will she push him away? Or will she finally realize that he’s not going anywhere? (I’m so bad at summaries please forgive me!)
Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Age Difference (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early 30's)
Word Count: 5.5K (I have an addiction don't judge me)
Warnings: Some swearing (once or twice), mentions of sex (not explicit at all), implied sex, self-deprecating thoughts (Dean),  Dean might be a little bit OOC.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. I’m not going to lie, this one is a little self-indulgent. This is only my second supernatural fic, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.
Masterlist
Part 2
********************************************
"Did you understand anything from that lecture?" Tim asks nudging your shoulder.
 The sour smell of beer and sweat fades in and out of your nose as you make your way to the Science building through the mass of students on the way to the football game. It was a Thursday night, Thursday night for everyone else meant tailgating, cheap beer, and face paint, but Thursday night for you meant four hours in the anatomy lab surrounded by the oppressive smell of formaldehyde and bent over a table examining the internal intricacies of the human body.
It wasn’t unwelcome, you knew what you signed up for when you decided to go to medical school, but you still wished that the lab was earlier in the day instead of at 6 pm.
The air is filled with the dull throb of energy, pulsing with the music from speakers all over campus, and through the throngs of people that pass you on the way to the stadium. The buzz of excitement in the air vibrated through your nerve endings. If you paid attention to how well the football team was doing, you would have known that tonight was the championship, but the closest you got to pigskin was the bag of pork rinds in your backpack and the occasional football player that asked you for help finding research materials during your shifts at the library.
"Nope." You reply jostling past a group of guys toting a giant stuffed pig wearing jersey of the school’s rival while they catcall some girls up ahead dressed from head to toe in bright red.
"Then why did you keep nodding?"
"Because Professor Drake was staring right at me!"
"You didn't have to make eye contact."
"It's a little late for that don't you think?" You smile up at him. He's taller than you, with dark hair falling forward into his glasses and a lean build. "But it's alright, I'll just binge watch YouTube videos."
Tim laughs adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You had been lab partners since your first year, randomly assigned and forced to collaborate, but after many late night study sessions and mental breakdowns, Tim was one of your only friends.
“You seem to spend a lot of time on YouTube." He smiles.
"It's free education."
"Seems ridiculous to pay all this money just to learn it on YouTube."
"If YouTube handed out degrees for watching videos I’d be a doctor by now. I’d probably also have a degree in culinary arts.” You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You were both running late for lab. Dr. Welsh hated it when students were late, in fact, he was notorious for locking the door. Each week there was always some poor soul that banged on the door for entry, but Dr. Welsh knew no mercy. One time, you witnessed another student attempt to sneak in through the window an hour late. Dr. Welsh made them go back out the way they came, despite the lab being on the third floor.
At least the student brought a ladder with him.
“Culinary arts?”
“I like pie. Plus baking helps me cope with my stress.” You knock into his shoulder to shut him up. “What? You don’t watch anything weird on YouTube?”
“I usually start watching videos to understand the lectures and suddenly it’s been 7 hours, it’s 3 am and I’m watching a timelapse of metal rusting.”
“We’ve all been there buddy.”
"Hey doll-face!" You hear from somewhere behind you, but you ignore it, believing it to be another group of guys who splash beer over the sidewalk.
You glance down at your watch again.
"We're not going to be late." Jake says sensing your anxiety. "We've got 5 minutes."
"Early is on time, on time is late, late is inexcusable." You sing-song.
"Dr. Welsh embroider that on a pillow for you?"
"No it’s just-"
Someone grabs your backpack and pulls you back a step. What the- You whirl around prepared to cuss out a drunken frat boy, but you weren't expecting Dean Winchester.
"Dean." You say in surprise.
He looks better than you remember. Dean's wearing a red flannel covered by a black jacket, his hair tousled just the right amount to look effortless, his green eyes crinkled around the edges as his mouth pulls into a smile that makes your knees weak.
Your relationship, if you could even call it that, began your first week of classes, two years ago. You had just moved into your apartment and met your new roommate, but instead of going out to the new student mixer with her, you decided to stay in and unpack. It was past midnight when you heard a commotion in the apartment next door and when you opened your front door to investigate, you found Dean in the hallway leaning against the wall. His clothes were torn, he had a knife in his hand, blood was soaked through the front of his shirt, but when his eyes met yours, you weren't afraid. He looked so broken, so small that you had to help him. So you pulled him into your apartment and stitched him up the best you could, while he tried to lie about how it happened and explain why he looked like he'd been through a blender. Dean had never been good at lying to you, not even then. He was also the biggest baby you had ever met when it came to wound care.
In the months that followed Dean continued to show up, each time with injuries less and less life threatening asking you to help him, until one day he showed up perfectly fine and continued to show up. You would spend every minute together for a few days and then he would leave like nothing happened, only to show up again in a few weeks and it would start all over again.  Sometimes you thought that he wanted more than just a few days together, but then he would just leave, not giving you any other explanation. You hadn't expected to fall for him as hard as you did, but each time he left it broke you. You found yourself hoping each day that he would show up, only to be disappointed when he didn't. Days would drag by fading into shades of gray until finally Dean would show up and everything went back to color, only to sink back into monochrome when he left. The last time you had seen him was a month ago, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and told him not to come back.
But now he was here, again.
"Hey Doll-face." Dean smiles wider.
You try to ignore how your heart stutters in your chest when he smiles at you.
"Do you know this guy?" Tim asks you taking a step forward to put himself between Dean and you.
Dean's eyes trace Tim, smile slipping into confident smirk as he sizes him up. He opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever thought was about to come out.
"Unfortunately I do." You sigh. "Tim can you give us a minute."
"Sure. But-"
"I know." You say, understanding that he was going to remind you what time it was. "We won't be late."
"I'll be over there." Tim puts a healthy distance between the two of you, far enough to give you space, but close enough that he can see you.
Dean is still smirking at him. "Boyfriend?" His eyes flit to yours, amused.
"Lab partner." You adjust your grip on your backpack unsure what to do.
I said everything I needed to say the last time. I thought that was it. Did he think I didn't mean it?
You think about the last time he was here, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and when he finally left, how you skipped all your classes and stayed in bed for two days clutching a pillow to your chest and wishing that it was him. It had felt like the end. The end of whatever the hell this had been. Sometimes you wished that you had defined it the first time you slept together, wished that you had told him you didn't do that ever, that you didn't just sleep with people without feelings because you knew sooner or later it would end up like this.
Then again you knew that you always had feelings for him, since the moment you locked eyes with his the night you met.
"He’s cute. If you’re into that geeky kind of thing. Though you could always date Sam-"
"What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood. Plus I didn’t want to miss the big game.”  Dean's eyes flit to the mass of people swarming around you, shouting and singing as they stumble down the cracked pavement. The dark shadows of the buildings stretch long over campus, illuminated by the lamplights that line the sidewalks.
"You should have called"
"I did. You never pick up" He arches a perfect eyebrow.
"Most would take that as a hint"
"Well Sweetheart given my profession you not picking up made me worry."
By now you knew exactly what he did. Despite Dean not acting like he wanted a relationship, when all was quiet and it was just the two of you laying in bed he confided in you, told you things about his life that made you hold him close and wish that you could make him forget all about it. You loved those soft moments with Dean, when it felt like more and you could imagine that Dean wanted to be as wrapped up in you as you were in him.
Your heart clenches in your chest as you try to forget it all, forget the day he walked into your life, and forget how much you like him.
"I can’t do this with you right now, I’ve got a lab in 3 minutes." You turn towards where Tim is standing, prepared to leave.
"Come on you can blow off one lab.”  Dean grabs your backpack turning you back to face him. “We can go to the big game. You know I can’t say no to free beer-“ The look in his eyes is joking.
He doesn't understand.
You shake him off. "No I can't Dean. This is important to me. This is my life. I can't drop everything just because you show up out of the blue."
"It wouldn't be out of the blue if you picked up your phone." His smile dips into an attractive pout that makes it very difficult to think.
"Dean why are you here?"
"I told you, I was in the neighborhood-"
"We talked about this. I can't do this anymore."
"I remember you talking about it."
"Yes and I remember you leaving." You snap as the memory of the last time you saw him rises in the back of your throat. You think about the days that followed, when you couldn't focus and flunked a test. 
"Y/n-“ Dean sighs.
"Look, I like spending time with you, but I can't keep doing this to myself. You show up, we spend every second together for days, and then you leave. It would be one thing if we were trying to do long distance, but we’re not.  All I get is radio silence for weeks and then you show  up all over again like nothing happened, expecting to pick up right where we left off, and the cycle begins all over again."
"I don't go radio silent for weeks. It’s you that doesn’t pick up your phone or text me back.”
"Yes you do and I can't do it. I won't do it. Because every time you leave I wonder if it's the last time I'll ever see you and-" You take in a breath to stop the ball of emotion that lodges itself in your throat. "It does something to me. And I'm not saying that what you do is any less important than what I'm trying to accomplish here. I’m not telling you to stop hunting. But this is my life Dean, my future. And I don’t want to put that in jeopardy because you show up every few weeks when you’re feeling restless. I want more than a few days every few weeks. I want more and I'm worth more. And if you can't give that to me that's fine, but please stop coming around and so I can find someone else who can."
The expression on Dean's face shifts, it's no longer the playful smirk or attractive pout, it almost looks heartbroken.
But that can't be right. Dean doesn't see me that way.
You look at where Tim is waiting for you to avoid Dean's gaze. He’s looking down at the watch on his wrist and you can feel his apprehension.
"I've got to get to my lab." You turn away from Dean, but stop halfway to Tim. "It was good to see you Dean. I wish you the best."
As Tim and you begin to walk away, you can feel Dean's eyes on you the whole way up the stairs into the science building, but you refuse to turn back.
"Are you okay?" Tim whispers.
"I will be. Let's just go before Dr. Welsh locks the door." You mutter while pushing down the guilt that rose when you thought of how Dean looked when you walked away.
********************************************
Despite Dr. Welsh’s attempts to lock the door, you were far too angry with Dean to let another man stand in your way, so when you and Tim arrived to lab 10 seconds before the clock struck 6, you shoved your boot in the door before Dr. Welsh could shut it. And by some miracle he let you in. Maybe it was the murder in your eyes.
Tim had been stunned, you were usually more reserved, not quick tempered. But everything that happened with Dean rubbed you the wrong way.
You couldn’t decide if you liked him or hated him. Right now the hate was winning.
How dare he? You thought to yourself, hand clenching on the scalpel so tightly that Tim backed up. How dare he just show up again after I told him not to?
“Y/n, are you okay?” Tim had asked.
“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” You’d snapped at him.
Even Dr. Welsh had given you a wide berth through lab.
 After you cleaned up everything it was 10:26 pm, which meant you had a little time before your late shift in the library.
“Did you want to go see if that shawarma food truck is still parked around the corner?” Tim asks hesitantly.
“No. I’m just gonna go to the library and study before my shift.” You mumble, shouldering your backpack and ignoring the urge to think about Dean.
Hopefully he took the hint and he’s gone. The thought brought a prick of guilt. Would that be the last time I ever saw him? Would those be the last words I ever said to him? You fight the urge to call him, to apologize, because the one thing you had wanted to say was that you liked him and you didn’t want him to go, you wanted him to stay in your life permanently. Sure long distance was hard, but for him it would be worth it.
“Oh.” Tim pauses for a minute. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Huh?”
“Well that Dean guy. You seemed kinda upset.”
“I was- am. But it’s okay, give me a few hours I’ll be over it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
“Make sure to send the link to that Timelapse of metal rusting.” You try to smile, but the joke falls flat.
“Okay.” Tim watches you go.
The library was only a 9 minute walk from the science building, but it still felt too long. You longed to be lost in your notes, to think of anything else other than Dean, but you couldn’t.
Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have just let it lie? I was doing better- You think about the weeks that followed his last visit, a haze of homework, tests, and work. Well, I was doing okay.
The thrum of music is still in the air, but now less people pass you as you walk down the sidewalk, and the ones that do are holding hands and laughing. Your thoughts shift to Dean again.
I like him, but I have to get over him because it’s not going anywhere. You think about the first time you slept together. Maybe this is my fault, maybe I should have defined this from the beginning. I mean, I know the kind of person he is… That thought makes you pause. Sure the first few times you’d patched his wounds Dean was sexy and flirty, but all the times that followed he seemed, sweet, charming. It wasn’t that you spent every moment in bed, he had taken you out to dinner at the diner down the street, fought with you over the last slice of pie, took you to a bar for drinks  where he shamelessly beat you at pool, other times he waited for you to be done with your classes to make sure that you didn't have to walk home alone at night. You remember how mad he had been when you told him you did that, but gas was so expensive and it was easier to walk the four blocks.
Someone grabs your arm from behind, pulling you out of your memories, and you finally snap. Using the only self defense move you knew, besides S-I-N-G from Miss Congeniality, you knock off the hand and flip the offender over your shoulder prepared to spray them in the face with the mace in your pocket.
But then you realize who it is.
Dean frowns up at you from the ground. “When I taught you that, I didn’t expect you to use it on me.”
“Just be happy that I didn’t pepper spray you.” Your eyes narrow.
 Maybe I should. It would make me feel better.
“Would have been the highlight of my night.” He stands up from the ground brushing off the front of his clothes with a pointed look.
“Dean what are you still doing here?”
“I want to talk.”
“I’ve said all I need to.”
“But I haven’t.”
“I don’t care. You’ve heard what I need to say and I’m sick of you not listening.”
“Y/n-“
“Fine, I’ll say it one more time, but listen this time.  I've never, never depended on anyone else in my life. It's been me, me for a long time.” You poke your finger into his chest to emphasize your point. “Then you just sauntered in and changed everything. You made me care about you, worry about you, and you made me depend on you showing up in my life. Every time you leave it breaks me. Every time I’m in a funk for days. The last time you left, I cried for two days and I didn’t go to any of my classes! I'm trying to be serious about my life. And I can't do that if you show up every few weeks and make me expect something and then leave a few days later and I'm devastated.”
Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”
“I have to get over you Dean, and I can't do that if you keep showing up. So please just go.” You turn away from him.
His hand comes down on your arm again to turn you back to him. “I don’t want you to get over me.”
“What?”
“Do you think I like leaving you? Do you really think it’s that easy for me?” He looks hurt.
“It certainly seems to be when you walk out after a few days with a smile like it means nothing! Like I mean nothing-“ You fight the tears that burn against your eyes. You wanted to be something for him just as much as he was something for you, but you were afraid. You hadn’t depended on anyone since you graduated and moved away from home. You weren’t used to needing someone in your life this much.
"You mean everything!” Dean shouts grabbing your shoulders. “It’s me that means nothing."
You blink your eyes for a second, not comprehending what he’s trying to say. "Dean what are you talking about?"
"I didn't think you wanted that-" He looks down.
Your eyes trace the slump in his shoulders, the frown on his handsome face, and the way he won’t meet your gaze.
What is he talking about?
You try to think of a time that you’d seen him look so vulnerable, but the only time you imagine was the night you met.
"Wanted what?"
"Me.” Dean’s voice is a whisper.
"I'm confused."
His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m nothing like you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re a little younger than me and you’re smart and you’ve got this bright future ahead of you. You don’t need someone like me dragging you down-“
“Someone like you? Dragging me down? Dean what are you talking about?" You can't comprehend what he's saying. You reach up to cup his cheeks, but Dean pulls back from you, glancing away.
“I didn’t go to a fancy college, I barely finished high school. I’ve spent most of my life in motel rooms  committing credit card fraud and trying not to die.  And then I met you. You’re funny and caring and so smart, and  I just thought that you would like it more if I came by every once in a while to relieve some tension. I didn’t think that you would want me to stay.”
He didn’t think that I would want him? That can't be right. Dean is so confident usually. You search his face and see the genuine vulnerability behind his green eyes.
“Are you serious?” You ask him.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Dean, you are smart-“
“Not the same way you are”
“Dean.” You can’t help but take his hand. Dean’s green eyes focus on yours for a second, wide and open. “You don’t have to go to college to be smart. You’re resourceful and you know more about supernatural creatures than anyone else. Even the top scientists and doctors in the world don’t believe in them and they went to stuffy old colleges and fight with one another over who’s smarter. I don’t care that you didn’t go to a fancy college. What you do is important, probably more important than what I’m going to do. You protect people, you’ve saved the world more than once, and sure maybe it’s not glamorous to some people but it is to me.”
His eyes widen in surprise.
“Have you thought that maybe I like spending time with you because you’re so different than the people I see everyday?” You ask him softly, squeezing his hand.
“No.” Dean mutters.
“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I don’t have lavish wealthy parents bankrolling me. My dad is a mechanic. I work two jobs and send him money so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes I feel like a fraud. But when you show up I don’t feel like a freak. With you I feel like I don’t have to pretend, I can just be me. And I like you, a lot. This has never just been about relieving tension or sex for me. Ever. I mean it’s nice-“
“Just nice?” Dean raises an eyebrow.
You flush bright red. “I like spending time with you without that too. All the times we spent laying in bed or went to a bar or went to get food, and we talked were equally as wonderful for me. I like talking with you. I like hearing about your life. I just assumed that you had someone in every state that you visit when you’re feeling restless and that you didn’t want a relationship.”
“There’s no one else. Hasn’t been since I met you.”
Deans eyes lock with yours as you comprehend what he just confessed.
“Really?” Your voice is only a whisper.
“Fuck I’m not good at this romantic comedy shit-“ He mutters to himself shaking his head. “I like you too. I wish that I could be here all the time. I hate leaving you. It’s too quiet. When I’m not here all I do is think about you, what you’re doing, how your day was.”
Your entire body explodes with his words, heart beating so fast you think it’ll grow wings and take flight.
“When I was younger I used to laugh at Sam because he wanted a normal life, but with you I understand.  You’re so different than anyone I’ve ever met and it hurts me when I’m away from you.” Dean continues with a soft smile that makes you lose all feeling in your legs.
He takes your other hand. “I understand that what you’re doing is important and I’m not asking you to quit school. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance. I want to make this work. I know that long distance isn’t easy, but I want to try.” His eyes search yours, begging for a answer, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. You watch his face fall as he takes your silence as your answer. “But I understand if you don’t want to, because you are worth more. You’re worth more than a few days, than a phone call or a text. You deserve someone who can be here with you all the time. You’re worth more than what I can give you. And you shouldn’t have to settle-“
You grab the front of his flannel because you can’t think of anything to say and pull him down to you for a kiss. Pins and needles trace down your spine as his soft lips move against yours. He smiles against your mouth, folding you into him, his large hand on the small of your back just under your backpack causing warmth to shoot down your spine. You lose yourself in the way his body fits around yours
“I’m not settling.” Your hands cup his cheeks as you look deep into his eyes. “I never want you to feel that way, because you are worth a hundred of any man I have ever met in my life. And if it’s my cross to bear to make you understand that every day of my life, then so be it. Because I would be lucky to spend any amount of time with you. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you, Dean. I’ve wanted you since the day we met and every day after. And I’m yours as long as you want me.”
Dean’s smile breaks open something in the pit of your stomach and goosebumps scorch across your skin. “I can’t imagine not wanting you.” He presses his forehead against yours.
You stand there with his warm hand pressed into your back trying to think of another time that you felt even a fraction of what you feel for him. You think about your high school boyfriend, about a few of the guys you dated in during your undergrad years, but you come up with nothing. Because you can’t compare him to anyone else you’ve ever met. And it hurt you to think that Dean thought so little of himself in the grand scheme of things.
He leans down to kiss you again, pulling you against his chest so tight that everything blissfully falls away.
“Are you hungry?” He whispers against your lips after a minute.
“Yes, but my shift at the library starts soon. I’m there til 2.” You tighten your hands at the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go.
“Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“Dean it’s okay if you just want to go back to my apartment and sleep. I can give you the key-“ You notice the dark circles under his eyes, but you know that Dean wasn’t one to complain about being tired.
“It’s worth being tired if I get to see you.” Dean smiles. “But I’ll go get us some food, because I’m hungry too.”
“Don’t forget the pie.”
“Have I ever?” He brushes his lips to yours one more time, but you don’t remove your arms from around his neck. “You’re going to have to let me go doll.”
“Just 5 more minutes.”
********************************************
You spend the weekend together in your apartment. All those blissful moments together solidify the thought that this is real, that this time it’s going to be different. Every night going to bed with Dean tucking you against him and waking up every morning with your head on his chest feels like a dream, and you never want to wake. Every kiss and intimate moment between you feels like more, and you have to keep reminding yourself that it isn’t just sex, hasn’t ever been just sex. Dean wants to be there with you all the time, hold you close to him and share things with you. And this time you finally understand that you do help him forget and know that you do bring him as much comfort as he brings you.
When Monday comes and Dean has to go, you try not to think of it as the end.
Dean leans back against the door of the Impala, his hands on your hips, green eyes blazing in the sun, but it’s his eyes that warm you more than the sun’s rays.
"Sweetheart-" Dean begins, sensing what you’re thinking. His thumbs rub smooth circles against waist where your t-shirt rests.
"I know." You press your face into his flannel, inhaling the scent you ascribe to Dean. He smells like oil, leather, and the spicy scent of the soap he uses that tickles your nose.
"Hey." His free hand comes under your chin to raise your gaze back to his. "I promise I'm gonna come back. I promise that we're going to make this work. It’s going to be different.” He cups your cheek, eyes soft and understanding.
“I know, but you’re still leaving.” Your tighten your arms around his chest.
“I wish I didn’t have to. But Sam called, he needs me-“
“I know.” You breathe.
You don’t want Dean to feel any worse than he does about leaving, especially when you remember what he said to you a few days ago, about you deserving more and about how he wished he could be more for you. Deep down you know that both of you are determined to make this work, so you put on a smile.
 “It’s okay.” You gently rub his back.   “You’ll be back in 2 weeks and I’ll be on spring break in a month.”
“Does that mean I’ll get to see you in a bikini?” Dean grins.
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Hmm. Well until I see you-“ He raises his right hand from where it rests on your hip to remove the large silver ring from his finger. "Don't panic, it's not an engagement ring." Dean's smile breaks you a little.  "Just me promising that I'll come back, that I'll call and text you so much that you'll be sick of me." He slides the ring onto your thumb, the weight comforting.
"I could never be sick of you."
“Just you wait.” He winks, holding your hand to his chest. “I bet I can prove you wrong.”
“I welcome the challenge.”
The kiss goodbye is bittersweet, but you hold yourself together, refusing to cry as Dean gets into his car and leaves. You watch the Impala disappear around the corner, taking your heart with it, but just as it does your phone rings.
“Hello?”
“I miss you.” Dean’s voice fills the line and this time you can’t stop the tears.
“I miss you too.”
“I promise I’ll be back in two weeks.”
“Okay. Please be careful.” You remember all the stories he's told you over the time you’ve known him, all the horrible things that happened to him and Sam. Sometimes you wish he hadn’t, because you can’t help but worry.
“I’m always careful.” You can hear him rolling his eyes.
“As the person who has spent the past 2 years patching you up, I can say with certainty that you are not always careful.”
“Then I promise to be more careful than usual.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” The wind picks up, pulling your hair from the ponytail at the back of your head.
“I’ll call you when I make it back to the bunker.”
“Good.”
“Bye y/n.”
“Bye Dean.”
Your gaze drops to the heavy ring on your thumb and you hold tight to the hope and belief that this time is different, allowing the memories of the past few days to brush away any doubts that threaten the thought of what the future will bring.
********************************************
Thank you so much for reading!  I am considering doing a series with this reader and Dean, but let me know what y’all think!
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cupid-styles · 6 months
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cupid-styles fic recs!!!
I read a lot of harry fic.....like a lot.......so here are some of my favorites on wattpad and tumblr!! enjoy ! :)
wattpad
breaking the ice by sarbearfive: long form fic, hockey player fmc x hockey player harry
boston by witchysunflower: long form fic, SMUTTY (like check content warnings before you read bc the kinks explored aren't for everyone), cheating teacher fmc x cheating hockey player harry, angsty with a happy-ish ending
boys don't cry, posted by cuddlingzjm: was originally posted on tumblr but this user uploaded it to wattpad when the author (oxygenstyles) deleted. long form fic, lots of back and forth and angst with a happy ending, university au
love, sex, dreams by tempress_: short story, stripper fmc x rich harry, smutty!!
pierced by tpwkmila: long form fic, SMUTTY!!!, piercer/gang harry x innocent fmc. for some reason I can't hyperlink, so here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/255321426-𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃-𝐇-𝐒.
devil's due by petit_cerise: long form fic, broke my heart a million times and put it back together just as many times. gang harry x artist fmc, super angsty with a kind of happy ending. (there's a sequel currently being written with really slow updates)
earned it by alisonfelix: long form fic; if you haven't read her work yet........ you need to. escort/sex worker fmc, make sure to look at content warnings before reading!! contains A LOT of cheating, smut, and angst, but such an original plot (and a happy ending!).
informed consent by alisonfelix: short fic; university au, innocent/shy fmc x experienced harry who is kind of mean at the start. (read her extras for informed consent here!)
one night stand by alisonfelix: short fic; I told you, everything she writes is INCREDIBLE. pregnant fmc x (sort of) mean harry, some angst and a lot of back and forth, smut, but a happy ending :)
daydreams by temptress_: one-shots with some of THE best smut I've ever read. I know they have an account on here and posts some of their writing to tumblr, but I believe they have more on wattpad!!
ecstasy, misery by kenneedyxx: long form fic, work in progress. I don't usually recommend WIPs but WHEN I TELL YOU THIS BOOK IS AMAZING..... SUPER smutty, set in the 90s, so much fun. updates are slow tho!
tumblr
thinkin' bout you (pt 1) and pink + white (pt 2) by @angelisverba (florist!h, super cute, lots of pining)
love on tour: the groupie by @meetmymouth (smut!!!! groupie!yn x famous!harry, a series of blurbs and I love them)
love's an ache in the jaw by @harryforvogue (TA!h x TA!fmc, I would die for them)
this relationship of ours by @harryforvogue (dom!h x sub!fmc, second chance romance type of deal — again, I would die for them)
serendipity by @adorebeaa (such a cute plot, smut and some fluff!)
wake up call by @harryistheonlyoneforme (smut, nhl!harry x wife reader... what can I say, I love hockey au harry)
the devil is a gentleman by @1800titz (smut, if you're not reading this you're probably living under a rock, SUCH a good plot)
professor harry by @novelistrry (smut and fluff, professor!h x student!yn, short form fic)
literally anything on @freedomfireflies masterlist
tangointhenight by @teaspoon-full-of-sugar (on going short fic, erotic audio recorder (??)! harry, smut!)
anything on @haaarry masterlist
obviously anything on @moonchildstyles masterlist
pleasing by @stylesloveclub (chef!harry x waitress!yn, smut and fluff)
sunshine by @stylesloveclub (grumpy!harry x shy virgin!yn, a classic trope for the girlies, lil bit of smut and fluff)
anything on @jarofstyles masterlist, but some of my favorites include: -reaper (gang/biker!h x innocent-ish!yn) -sk8er boi (high school au, skater!harry x popular!yn) -level up (nerd!harry x popular!yn, high school au)
anything on @jawllines masterlist, but some of my favorites include: -mechanic!harry -boxer!harry -witch!harry x witch!yn -bookstore owner!yn x tattoo shop owner!harry -dom!harry x sub!yn -pornstars!harry and yn
mutually beneficial by @cherryjuiceblues (ceo!harry, dom x sub dynamics, smut obv)
I'll probably add more to this as time goes on but that's all I can think of atm and I need to go make dinner!!!! enjoy!! :D thanks to all of the incredible writers in the harry fic community for sharing your talents <3
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randomshyperson · 8 months
Text
Another Love II - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots
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Summary: Being late doesn’t always mean you lost your chance. Wanda might not be yours now, but if there’s something an Eternal can do is wait. | Chapter Summary: Finally, the wait is over.
Warnings: (+16) unrequired love, hints of mutual (?) pining; mild angst with happy ending, friends/team partners, canon divergence, fluff, some tension, language.  | Words: 5.051k
Part One || General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |
-&-
Wanda has only been to London on business before, both for the Avengers and the Coven. It's refreshing in a way, just being a tourist, even if only for the short train ride to the National History Museum.
It was Sersei who revealed to her where you were working. For some reason, and to annoy Wanda's nerves, you were much more distant lately both physically and emotionally than she would have liked. 
The place was crowded and perhaps Wanda used a little magic to avoid being recognized by any of the Avengers' fanbase, making her way unhurriedly to the reception desk. 
She could trace your aura easily but was cordial in introducing herself and following the instructions of where your class was taking place.
Through glass windows, she saw you for the first time in months, and couldn't help a soft sigh escape her lips. With her hands held in her coat pockets in an attempt to have some sort of ground, she approached through the open door at the back of the room.
Your monologue about Mesopotamian constructions was lost in mid-sentence as soon as your eyes met hers. Wanda smiles shyly, and you stand there, adorably surprised.
The teenagers present in the class soon assumed curious expressions at the interruption of your speech, and it was one of the boys in the back who looked between you and Wanda before loudly teasing, "Damn, Professor just got tongue-tied because of the Scarlet Witch!" 
The room exploded into giggles, and you blushed awkwardly, eventually chuckling too as you waved for them to calm down. Wanda smiles coyly at the scene, waiting for you to approach her.
"Thank you for this, Mr.Matthews." You say to the student, nodding to the board. "Finish reviewing the chapter, please. I'll be back in five minutes, no fuss, don't you all forget you're in a Museum." 
You walked over to Wanda, and she tried not to show how she trembled at the gentle touch on her elbow to guide her to the coffee table area, but she didn't do such a good job when you were finally alone outside and you hugged her in greeting.
"It's good to see you, darling." You said, pulling away to hold her shoulders for a moment. Your gentle and tender smile and eyes made her feel warm. "I didn't know you were coming to see me. Nothing wrong happened, I hope?" You asked frowning in concern, but Wanda quickly denied it, offering you a reassuring smile.
"No, I just... I wanted to talk to you. And see you." She confesses with a weak laugh. "Can we go out for coffee after your class?"
"Of course, Wanda. It will be over in a few minutes, you can enjoy the exhibition in the meantime." You say, biting your lip when it looks like you're going to say something else. Wanda swallows dryly, nodding, and you take a chance. "You look breathtaking, sweetheart."
She can feel her face heat up, but she handles smiling in appreciation. "You don't look bad yourself, Professor." She teases with a wink, managing to make you chuckle awkwardly. 
You touch her again, squeezing her arm in farewell before heading back to the classroom, and Wanda thinks she replays the feeling in her head the whole way back to the exhibit.
She is facing an exhibit of Ancient Greece when she senses your presence behind her.
"How many of these artists have you met in person?" She asks interested, and you let out a small laugh.
"Not as many as I would like I'm afraid." You reply with a slight nostalgic sigh. "But I did meet Σαπφώ (Sapphō). She was a rather passionate lover." 
Wanda snorts incredulously, patting you on the shoulder in indignation. "Oh my god, you slept with her?"
You shrug, laughing softly and raising a finger in front of your lips in a sign of secrecy. "Kérkolas, her husband, must be cursing me from the afterlife right now." You joke managing a chuckle from Wanda. 
There is a moment of tender silence between the two of you, the long-time complicity of a long-missed friendship where you just stare at some of the displays around, walking side to side with each other. 
It is amidst one of the statues of Ancient Greece that your gazes meet again and no longer waver away. Wanda sighs and you nod towards the exit, she doesn't even need to think for her feet to start moving on instinct, following you wherever you want.
It is to a closed office that you take her, closing the door as soon as she enters.
Wanda swallows dryly at the gesture of helping her remove her coat, placing it on the support as she moves further into the room.
"Can I get you something to drink?" You ask working on the buttons of the sleeves of the social shirt you are wearing so Wanda understands that you are indeed going to prepare something for her. 
"Hm, sure, you can surprise me." She murmurs, and you offer her a mischievous little smile before walking toward the small bar at the corner of the office.
"Not that I'm not happy about your visit, darling, but I'm getting curious as to why." You comment and Wanda sighs deeply in the center of the room, trying to build up the courage. She keeps her gaze on the tall windows that illuminate the room and doesn't face you when she finally speaks.
"I'm getting a divorce."
You stop the motion of cutting a lemon and raise your eyes to her, your frown frowning in surprise. "Oh. I... I'm sorry to hear that."
She chuckles softly, staring at you. "No, you don't." 
"Yeah, I don't." You respond without hesitation, turning your attention back to the lemon. "Not for him, of course. Even though it bothers me that you're unhappy."
Wanda sighs, watching you prepare two drinks that honestly look delightful. "I'm not unhappy, Y/N." She retorts and you hum in a sign that you are listening. "I guess it was only inevitable."
"You're being a little hard on yourself." You comment with a tiny smile, finally holding two cups in hand, of which one you bring to her. "Tell me what happened."
She nods in thanks for the drink, and you raise an eyebrow as she turns the glass over in one gulp, chuckling dryly at the scene. Wanda grunts softly.
"Shit, that was good." She compliments the drink, and you smile as you see her staring at your cup as well. Without saying anything, you also hand her yours and take the empty one away. At least the second, Wanda tries to enjoy it more. After a sip, she sighs and begins to explain: "Vision took your advice. A little after the honeymoon, he went to visit Shuri. I think Makkari was with them. They talked about the safety of the stone and he decided to do the splitting in Wakanda." She counters breaking into a forced laugh. "And apparently without the stone, he runs out of love for me too."
You swallow dryly at the hurt expression on her face and raise your hand to take the cup away, slowly so as not to startle her. Wanda sniffles and you sigh. 
"I'm sorry about the end of your marriage."
She huffs. "No, you don't."
"I never wanted you unhappy, you know that." You insist firmly on her watery eyes. "And if his love lingered to a magic stone, you know it was good to find out about this early. It's less painful this way."
Wanda huffs angrily, taking a step forward. "How dare you, honestly?" She demands bitterly, but you don't flinch in your attitude. "You have ruined my marriage. I should... I..."
You raised a brow, waiting, but Wanda grunted and walked away, hiding her face in her hands. 
Hearing her cry finally breaks your posture, but you dare not touch her yet.
"I really thought I could be happy with him." She confesses low and vulnerable and you sigh. "How could I be so stupid?"
You move closer, circling her until Wanda can see you again. Your hands find her cheeks and she wants to hate the way her skin warms over your touch, but she can't even be angry about it.
"You haven't done anything wrong, my love." You whisper tenderly, wiping her cheeks with your thumbs. "You are so majestic, Wanda Maximoff. You deserve someone better, you've always deserved more than a machine. I could-"
Wanda pushes you by the shoulders, and you shut up at the fury in her red irises. 
"I'll never forgive you for interfering, you had no right!" That's the last thing she says to you before turning her back and leaving.
The drinking cup ends up on the wall with a throw, and half the items off your table as well. Wanda's coat is forgotten in your office for weeks until you leave this job too.
She won't answer your calls anymore.
-&-
There is a cold breeze passing through Massachusetts that makes Wanda shiver in her armchair. She gets up to close the windows and curtains, and her office is less bright than before with the action.
Candles are lit by themselves as she makes her way to her armchair again. On her desk are several documents to be reviewed: some are magical contracts on parchment because witches have quirks they refuse to lose, and others are printouts as one would expect to exist in the 21st century, some contain the symbol of the Avengers, others of the Kamar Taj.
A knock on the door followed by its opening makes Wanda raise her eyes.
"There's mail for you, Maximoff." Agatha announces with a sneer, tossing the items she holds into the air - which float toward Wanda's desk. "They might be late, no one checks the mailbox in this place."
It's Wanda's turn to grimace. "Thanks, Agatha." She retorts wryly, picking up the cards as soon as they reach them.  Her stomach does a complete turn when she reads the name, and it doesn't get any better when she reads the date. "What the...? Agatha, by god, some of these are months old!"
The older witch shrugs her shoulders, approaching Wanda's table unceremoniously. As the younger one opens the older letter, Agatha wastes no time in checking the newer ones, ignoring Wanda's slap of protest about this.
"Hmm, love letters, how sweet." Ironizes the witch as soon as she opens one, and laughs when Wanda grabs the item from her hand with a tug, the warning does not look very effective on account of her pink cheeks. "It's from Miss Immortal, I imagine."
"That's none of your business." Wanda retorts, turning her attention to one of the old correspondences from one of the Coven contacts that everyone thought had given up on making a deal, but apparently had just been ignored by the witch mail. 
Agatha chuckles lightly. "You know you can't ignore your girlfriend forever."
Wanda huffs impatiently. "She's not my girlfriend! She's nothing really. Just go mind your own business, will you? I'm working."
But Agatha ignores the request, leaning on the table to steal the letter back and fleeing from Wanda's hands before the woman can reach her.
"Please, Wanda, please forgive me. I never had any intent to hurt you in any way or cause you any pain-" The reading is interrupted when Wanda's magic does the work of snatching the letter from the other witch's hand, who falls into laughter. "Wow, you’re pissed off enough to rip an apology letter. What did she do, cheat on you?"
Wanda huffs impatiently. "For the last time, she's not my girlfriend!" But Agatha only giggles at the outburst, which makes Wanda sigh impatiently. "We were friends, and she...is the reason for my divorce."
"Hmm, spill the tea." Agatha makes mention of sitting down in one of the armchairs but Wanda rolls her eyes.
"Stop it, I'm busy." Grumbles the witch. "Thanks to you I just earned months of late work."
"No way, it's not my fault that most supernatural creatures don't trust the internet." Agatha retorts as she throws herself on one of the couches. "Every Winter Solstice is a real hell, with so many wolves on the loose and the council bothering us with the safety of mortals..."
Wanda sighs. "Agatha, I'm busy." She repeats, receiving a roll of her eyes in return as the other begrudgingly stands up.
"You know what, Maximoff? You need to get laid." Declares the other causing Wanda to choke in indignation, her ears burning. " Yes, you heard me! You've been a nervous wreck since you took over the leadership of the coven! You don't leave this office for anything and stay working all day, not even joining our festivities! And all this time you have a hot immortal sending you sex letters? It's truly absurd that you're still here." In complete shock, Wanda stares at her. Agatha grins at her expression. "My mortal years were the most fun, you should enjoy them as well. You are the Scarlet Witch, Wanda. One of the most powerful cosmic entities in the multiverse, you are going to have many centuries to focus on work, but your mortal life is only one. You should pay her a visit."
Wanda sighs in defeat, nodding in concordance after a moment. Agatha smiles in victory, and while the other searches for her cell phone, she risks spying on other letters.
"I have to admit that she sounds a lot less terrifying in these passages." Agatha comments as she reads again, ignoring Wanda's protest and continuing to talk. "She scared the girls off when she was here last year, and I heard stories about her strength. But reading this, I think she's just a simp." Jokes the brunette but Wanda doesn't laugh, looking at her with a frown of curiosity.
"She was here last year?"
Agatha snorts through her nose. "Of course, she was, silly." Replies the witch as if it's obvious. "She came as a diplomatic action between her people and ours, full of questions and agreements. It started out well, but you know how witches are. And in general, we don't trust strangers. It ended with her intimidating anyone who threatened to harm you, I believe."
Wanda felt her face warm and stared at Agatha in disbelief. "She... was here for me?"
The other chuckled again. "By all the holy ones, Maximoff, you are impossible! Where do you think I got the impression you two were a couple from? 
Wanda opens her mouth but doesn't know exactly what to say. She babbles something about being married at the time and Agatha laughs in disbelief. "Please, as if a piece of paper means anything to someone like her." Ironizes the older witch. "Especially the union with a microwave." She mutters the last part, but Wanda listens, grimacing.
"Don't talk about him like that. I loved Vision truly." Wanda says but that only brings a glint to Agatha's eyes.
"Hm, ‘past tense’? I think the Immortal one has a chance..." The witch fell into laughter as Wanda tried to hit her with an energy ball, ducking just in time. "Listen to someone who has lived as long as I have. You need to get laid."
"Agatha I swear to god I will use violence-"
But the older witch raises her hands in surrender and finally leaves the room, laughing all the way out and down the hall.
Wanda sighs at the empty room, the cell phone that has been turned off for weeks in her hand. 
She can do this, she repeats to herself. It doesn't have to be weird. She can call you and ask you for a drink and it doesn't have to be anything more than that. You have been friends before.
“This number is offline or out of range, please try again later or leave a message after the tone-”
With a frustrated grunt at the fourth attempt to make contact, Wanda returned the cell phone to her pocket and marched determinedly out of the room. She wouldn't be stopped by technology from finding you, not a chance. If Agatha didn't know how to help, two speedsters probably would.
-&-
The loud music almost made her turn around. It was a generic but addictive electronica, and it was so blasting from the speakers that even before she stepped through the portal she opened to get there, Wanda could already hear the noise that the vast majority of the neighbors in the area of that Spanish nightclub could as well.
Makkari was courteous enough to tell her where you were last seen, going so far as to joke that if Wanda couldn't find you at this party, she should try the next bars down the street. Wanda couldn't laugh at the joke, her stomach suddenly wracked with strange guilt as she heard stories about how your last few months had been spent on intense partying that wasn't at all typical of your behavior, and that had a lot to do with a fight you haven't told any of your friends about, but which Wanda remembered every detail of as if it were yesterday. Makkari tried to comfort her, saying that every Eternal has their period of dissatisfaction with immortality and that parties are a good distraction, but it didn't help to know that not even her best friends were sure of your current location or state of health.
Wanda tried to be positive about the reunion, but as soon as she entered the crowded nightclub, and with the help of some basic telekinesis, she reached a VIP area with clearly magical people, she didn't feel much at ease. And there were you too, in all your melancholy glory sitting on a leather couch watching a gambling game with two beautiful girls practically sitting on your lap.
A security guard made mention of stopping her entrance, but red irises stared at him for half a second and it was enough for him to make room for her to pass instead.
She noticed your lazy eyes, dilated pupils, and easy smile, and hated the hand on the thigh of the girl on the right as if she were suffering the greatest of betrayals. Wanda knew she had no right to feel this way, having been the one to fight with you, to blame you for the end of her marriage, and to have ignored all your attempts to apologize, but this is exactly the way she does feel.
You lean in, whispering something dirty enough in the girl's ear to make her blush and close her legs, and Wanda loses patience.
"Makkari was right. You truly hit rock bottom." She mocks in a tone loud enough to be heard throughout the entire backstage, the music slightly muffled by the walls in the rest of the club. All eyes turn curiously to her, but yours are the ones she's looking for, and they take almost a full moment to focus. Your relaxed posture doesn't change, but your smile fades.
"Look who decided to show up." You returned with a certain coolness that made Wanda swallow dryly. "Greetings to the legendary Scarlet Witch."
Each individual in the room turns their face and greets her at the same second, the hypnotized chorus of 'Hello, Wanda' makes an eerie shiver run through her entire body. She doesn't have time to create any theories about the whole scene, because out of a curtain in the background comes a figure she doesn't know as well as the other Eternals.
Druig's presence is a complete surprise to her. Wanda remembers well all the disagreements you two have had and the stories she has heard about the past. So finding that Eternal in a fancy, expensive suit, controlling an entire nightclub by your side is not exactly a predictable situation.
"Wanda Maximoff, what an honor to meet you again." He comments as he moves closer to kiss her hand, taking on old customs with natural ease. His hand remained holding her for a full moment, and Wanda understood it to be a warning. The attitude made her blood boil. But when Druig turned his attention back to you, he was smiling. "You didn't tell me old friends would be visiting you, sister."
You locked your jaw. "Don't call me that, Druig." Was your warning, detaching yourself from the grip of the girls beside you without any trouble to get up. "And stop trying to scare Wanda. You wouldn't stand a chance with her. Nor with me, brother."
A wicked smile played on the man's lips, but he remained with his hands behind his back and nodded in understanding to your statement. You exchanged a quick glance with Wanda and it was enough for her to follow you to what looked like a balcony of the chamber, which provided a view of the magnificent capital of Barcelona.
As soon as Wanda was beside you at the edge, you gestured back, creating a transparent wall in the doorway to prevent snooping. She recognized the privacy spell and kept to herself the realization of how cold and twitchy your magic felt, very different from the last time she felt your presence at the university in London.
"Why are you here, Wanda?" You asked her immediately, with no patience for small talk. 
"I called." She returned without caring about the aggressiveness, her hands clasped tightly inside her pockets, seeking some warmth in her own jacket to protect herself from the cold night. Not so long ago, you would have wasted no time in offering her a scarf, or taking any action to warm her, and the lack of friendliness and nurturance made her shiver more than the cold. "Makkari said-"
"I can deduce exactly what she said, thank you." You cut her off with a certain impatience. You didn't keep your gaze, rummaging through your pockets for something until you pulled out of your jacket a silver bottle marked with the Asgard symbol. Thor had one of those, and Wanda knew immediately that it was a traditional drink. The way your fingers were trembling made her understand that this would not be the first sip of either Asgardian liquor or an earthly drink.
"I wish you were sober for this conversation."
You chuckled, short and ironic still with your gaze on the bottle you were opening. Your laughter lingered during the big gulp you took, and when you looked at her again, you commented, "You were always funny, Maximoff. Truly enjoyable company." Your gaze faded to the landscape, nostalgic and hurt, and Wanda sighed.
"I didn't come here to fight with you, Y/N." She tried again, though dissatisfied with your distant posture, still determined to set things straight. "But I was surprised to find you so..."
"Miserable?" You complete for her with a weak laugh, still looking out over the city. Wanda swallows dryly, and you sigh. "Don't martyr yourself. No matter how devastating the broken heart feels, it always heals."
"I'm sorry." She declares softly. "I never meant to hurt you."
You clear your throat, pulling away a little to look at her, and with the posture you assume, Wanda almost feels physical walls between you.
"You didn't come to Barcelona for an apology, Maximoff. What happened? Is it something with work?" Your frown is gently worried, but the insinuation irritates her.
"Do you really think I wouldn't talk to you for so long just to show up asking for work favors?" She retorts but you don't flinch.
"I don't think anything, Wanda." You retort indifferently. "I've stopped having expectations of you, or anyone else. That way I avoid being disappointed."
"Is this you or Druig talking?" She challenges, and instead of hitting a nerve, you smile. 
You bring the flask closer to your lips, and whisper, "Always too quick for me, clever girl." before drinking and accomplishing a small smile from her.
"I mean it, Y/N." Wanda insists, though softer than before. "I want to apologize for the last time we saw each other. I shouldn't have blamed you for the end of my marriage, nor put down your attempts to fix things between us."
You study her face for a moment, finding only sincerity in her eyes. Then you sigh, and finish all the liquid in the bottle in one gulp. Wanda opens her mouth to say something, but you interrupt her.
"When was the last time you had fun, Scarlet Witch?"
She frowns, hesitantly. "I'm really not in the mood-"
But you grabbed her hand, grinning. "Don't be boring, Maximoff. We were friends before any of the drama. Come, I'll show you how the Spanish celebrate life."
Since becoming the Scarlet Witch, Wanda had gotten better with crowds because of her job. Still, it was a little hard to be inserted into a fair of bodies squeezed inside a lounge with vibrant colors and loud music. And your hand pulling her close, spinning her around as your body moved against hers to the synchronized beat wasn't helping her nerves at all.
But eventually, Wanda felt all the tension dissipate within the songs - only to be replaced by an equally suffocating feeling. Your hands roamed over her body as your hips slammed together and Wanda found herself unable to think of anything else but you.
She spun again, one last time before you grew tired of ignoring your own will, and grabbed her face, your mouth against hers.
Wanda choked on her own breath, and the world stopped for a whole moment. All the sounds, and all the people around just disappeared. You kissed her and that was all that mattered in that second.
But you let go before she could respond the way she wanted to, and the look on your face made her swallow dry.
"What's wrong?" She whispered half breathlessly against your lips.
Your hand was warm against her cheek, and when you moved it away, Wanda almost let out an audible protest at the lack, her body practically tumbling towards you, begging for your touch.
You shook your head in the negative, turning and moving further into the crowd and Wanda almost lost sight of you. 
The people around seemed to hinder her path to you, but a glimpse of the red glows and the hall cleared a path for the witch. If Wanda began to use her powers with more confidence now, Agatha Harkness had a strong influence on it.
You went outside the nightclub, and Wanda realized you must have spent some time dancing because the street was much emptier than before.
With a hand on your chest, your breathing labored and your shoulders tense, Wanda realized you looked like you were on the verge of a panic attack.
"Hey, darling, talk to me-" She reached up trying to touch your wrist but you pulled away. Your back was turned so far but when you turned around, Wanda saw that your eyes were filled with tears.
"Don't you dare." You raise a finger towards her, gasping and emotional. Then she falls silent immediately, gulping dryly at the fury in your gaze. "You don't... have the right, okay? You just can't."
She sighs, taking a step forward. "You're the one who kissed me."
You chuckle in disbelief, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "Fuck you, Wanda."
"How classy." She sneers to which you only shake your head.
"You did this to me." You retort determinedly, gesturing to yourself. "Look at me, Wanda! I'm a mess! I'm sick! You've carved your way into my heart, and I can't live without you! Do you even realize what you've done? Do you even care?"
Heart racing, Wanda opens her mouth but the intensity of the confessions has left her speechless. She has no chance to speak, however, because you continue.
"Seven thousand years I've been on this earth, and I've never felt like this. Who gave you the right? I'm not made for it, I don't know how to... deal with it. This pain, this lack. The longing... I can't do it, Wanda." You gasp. "I was fine without you! I was working, sticking to my mission. And then you came along and ruined me for good!" Your hand pulled her close again, your forehead resting against hers. Wanda waited and waited for a kiss that never came. Instead, you held her hands against your chest. "Take your love away, Wanda. I don't know where to put it if I can't dedicate it to you."
She smiled tearfully, brushing their noses together. "I haven't lived that long, but I will, my darling. And I want it spent with you." She whispered, holding on tighter as you look at her doubtfully. "I will only take your love with me if I can leave mine with you."
"Wanda-"
"Stop babbling and kiss me for once, you drunken fool." She cuts you off, and you don't waste another second. 
You think all those centuries were worth it for this moment. Wanda kisses and kisses you, and can't believe she resisted this for so long. That she dared to marry another when she could have had this.
You let out an audible moan as she sucked your tongue and she was grateful for your hands around her waist, for she would have slipped to the floor.
When you broke apart, panting and flushed, you stood with your faces very close together.
"You should have married me." It is the first thing you say, and it draws a hearty, husky laugh from the other.
"There's still time, I suppose." She retorts, shy about the look of adoration she catches the next moment. She swallows dryly. " I'm sorry I hurt you before."
You shake your head quickly. "I hurt you first, I know. I should have told all the others to go to hell and run away with you when I had the chance."
She giggles, pleased that you recognize the past. Your mistakes too, not just hers. But none of that mattered anymore now, and she told you so.
You decided that enough had been said and that words could be left for tomorrow.
642 notes · View notes
kunikuma · 8 months
Text
ring pop–!
relationship | college student!kuni x gn!reader
synopsis | giving kunikuzushi a sweet treat content | fluff, mutual pining cw | none a/n | something short and sweet i made while on the way home from visitin’ the bf. not much dialogue here because i... didn’t feel like it aha. if you’re unfamiliar with ring pops, they are diamond-shaped lollipops on a ring.
masterlist
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kunikuzushi laid in his bed.
his clothes from today were still clinging onto his skin; typically, he was the type to scowl at his friends if they launched themselves onto his clean sheets with clothes that had contact with the outside world.
the young man was lost in thought this evening as he counted and recounted the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. replaying tonight’s events over and over again.
his lavender eyes gazed at his raised hand as he thumbed the cylindrical indigo plastic that was currently hugging his pale digit.
it was dumb.
juvenile, even.
going to the carnival in town this evening was juvenile.
not that he knew that was your plan. tricking him was juvenile.
when he got your message to meet him at the park, he opened his planner to check if he had any last-minute first-week assignments looming over his head. he trailed his finger down on the dark ink staining the paper and saw crossed-out assignments with some blank sections.
it wouldn’t kill him to spend some time with his irking best friend at the park.
knowing you, you would use him to gossip about cute people from class and talk until his ears bled as the two of you swayed on the park swings. being your best friend granted him that oh-so-lovely privilege of being your emotional and academic punching bag.
you were annoying like that.
so why?
why did he find his shoes scuffing against the concrete sidewalk as he walked closer? why did his shoes continue to shuffle along the rough floor when he noticed the bright lights and loud music filling the evening air the closer he got to the park? why did he continue to walk on the wet grass with a scowl as he approached your grinning visage near the amusement park entrance?
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“surprise!”
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his scowl only deepened when you waved two tickets in his face.
that entire evening was filled with “too many”. as in, there were too many frustrating events.
too many people he had to shove through. he had to snatch your hand not to lose you in the sea of heads.
too many carnival sweets shoved in his face. he had nibbled on each snack you waved at his face, only to grimace and shove it back in your hand.
too many scam games where you begged him to win you the prize if you failed to do it for yourself. he had won almost every game except for the ring toss.
by the time the crescented moon was high in the sky, the two of you sat on the swings like he initially thought the two of you were going to do.
your pile of prizes sat on his jacket that he laid on the park bench so your goodies didn’t get wet by the leftover dew from the rain. the park swings were entirely too low, and clearly made for toddlers. that detail never stopped the two of you from claiming the same two spots whenever late-night chats needed to take place.
the two of you complained about the semester that just started, talking about dumb classes that didn’t closely pertain to your disciplines or how the both of you couldn’t get the best seat at the lecture halls.
kunikuzushi swayed gently on his plastic swing as he idly watched you swing much higher on yours as you kicked your feet against the ground to gain more air.
this is how most of these swing sessions went. you offered a topic, he replied with his thoughts, and you led the rest of the way til you had a new topic in mind.
it was a recipe both parties followed well.
you were going to alter the recipe tonight.
not that he knew that yet.
at some point, he was watching your silhouette swing past the glimmering twinkles of the night summer sky as you complained about a professor who assigned a project so early in the year. your breathlessness between words amused him as he watched you kick the ground to retain the rhythm you had built up.
he thumbed the silicone-coated swing chains between the pads of his fingers. one chain link’s coating had started to peel off, so he found himself fiddling with it as he nodded along to your words.
later, a child scurried over to happily share candy with the two of you. while kunikuzushi silently shook his head in a refusal to the offer and almost commanded the boy to go back to the carnival to rejoin his guardians, your swinging rhythm gradually ceded. you extended a hand out to ask for two candies from the young boy and told him to head back before anyone got worried.
you unwrapped the treat and slid it onto your hand and quietly enjoyed the sweetness you were tasting. your sways on the swing were subtle as you gently kicked the earth beneath you. the young man stared at you for a moment before turning his gaze forward. his eyelids shut as he relaxed, his tense shoulders following suit. his tight grip on the swing chains did not. distantly, he could hear your idle chatter resume. further, the music from the tents droned on.
the sudden sound of the chains and your feet crushing the woodchips and dirt below made him peek in your direction. he watched you brush yourself off and take steps in his direction. your shoes kicked up moist dirt and he rolled his eyes as you stood in front of him.
he broke the silence between the two of you.
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“you’re blocking my way.”
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“you weren’t swinging.”
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the summer crickets and faraway carnival life filled the night air as the two of you stared at each other. he eyed the way you fiddled with the other unwrapped candy as you sucked on the candy attached to your finger. the crinkling of the wrapper was distracting—
“i’d get down on one knee to fake-propose to you,” you started with a snort as his eyes widened, “but the ground is wet. you’re not worth muddying my clothes.”
before a sharp retort could escape his throat, you thrust out your hand in his direction. in the dimly lit park, he saw the glimmer of the park lights in the crystalline blue candy gem. as his eyes drifted from the deep blue sugary gem to your crooked grin, his cheeks felt entirely too warm and he knew you wouldn’t let him blame it on the cool summer night.
the blood rushing through his ears was deafening. he watched your lips move as you asked him a question.
back in kunikuzushi’s room, he rested his head against his right hand as he stared at the pale green stars he taped to his ceiling with you only a few years prior. his amethyst eyes trailed from one star to another, ignoring the occasional illumination of dust that fluttered past his gaze. he thought about how he complained about how dumb it was to be eighteen years old and install those stars in his childhood room. at his complaints, you super-glued three of them.
the city lights from the streets along with the moonlight broke through the glass panes near his bed. if you were sitting at his desk and saw him, you might’ve thought he looked quite picturesque with the way his lashes cast a shadow on his cheeks or the way one eye seemed to twinkle; the moon was doing a lovely job illuminating that side of his face.
kunikuzushi thumbed the plastic ring sitting on his digit, gently twirling it around his finger. the candied gem had long been eaten.
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it didn’t taste too bad.
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floralcyanidee · 7 months
Text
ɪ sᴇᴇ ғɪʀᴇ - ᴊ. ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ ᴏᴘᴘᴇɴʜᴇɪᴍᴇʀ
Cillian!Oppenheimer x AFAB!Reader (NSFW)
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request: scientist reader and Oppenheimer have sm sexual tension between them and trying to hide their feelings for each other cause they're colleagues but then when the Manhattan Project comes up and they both work on it together it just gets too much to handle. by @aporiasposts
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disclaimer: this is a work of fanfiction. cillian's representation of oppenheimer is also fictional to a degree. if you dislike this kind of fanfiction, please keep scrolling and do not interact with this post. otherwise, have a lovely day. ♥
warnings: smut, penetrative sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple positions used, mutual pining, years of sexual tension
word count: 2090
author’s note: please read the disclaimer several times if you must before you decide to comment something snarky or send a dense anonymous ask. (: this is my first time writing smut for Robert so it was interesting!! I rather enjoyed it and I think I'm going to finish the other smut I was going to write for him. also, I changed the request details a little. reader is a historian/ political scientist of sorts instead of a scientist. I feel like there is a lot of scientist!reader fics out there and wanted to be a little different haha. I hope everyone enjoys!
main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here
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Having a doctorate in history has led you to places you never thought possible. One of those places ended up being the University of California - Berkeley. You were given the opportunity to lecture there with some of the brightest minds in the country- one of them being physicist Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer. Your disciplines differed but had the same solid foundation of facts, evidence, and logic. Needing to see things to believe it for yourself was one thing the two of you had in common, which brought you together. You were interested in his lectures and as he was yours. Both of you have learned a lot from each other and have become good friends. However, there were times when you would interact, and it felt intense. You’d grade papers together in comfortable silence, sometimes stealing glances at one another. Whenever you caught Robert staring, you’d give him a small, knowing smile. When he caught you staring, he’d hold your gaze, which made you nervous. 
You enjoyed attending Robert’s political discussions after class to see how passionate he was about current issues. Dr. Lawrence, your other beloved colleague, often warned you to avoid them, but you ignored him. The energy you’d feel toward Robert every time he’d rant about how every person deserves the freedom and the right to choose was electric. It was the very basis of your beliefs as a historian and a professor. The two of you would often go for a cigarette in the courtyard between classes to enjoy the fresh air and discuss politics. Robert loved hearing your stance on things, especially since you knew your stuff about the history of politics and how things work with them. The tensions were high that day, and before you knew it, Robert leaned into you as you spoke. But before anything could happen, it was time for classes to resume. So you went your respective ways. 
When you were contacted by the government to assist on a top-secret project, you were shocked. They needed your expertise in politics and history, as well as your reading and writing skills. You asked if Robert would be involved due to his talent in psychics, but you got no answer. You didn’t take long to learn of Dr. Lawrence’s involvement in the project, and you were ecstatic to have someone you knew tagging along. He was worried about Robert not being present for the Manhattan Project simply because of his mutual and close friends being communists. You insisted you’d speak to Robert about the matter, but Ernest objected. However, after a meeting about the Spanish Revolution that Robert had held, Ernest blew up on him. He mentioned there was a project and that Robert wasn’t allowed on it as long as he was sticking his nose in communist politics. So, Robert stopped the meetings, and sure enough, General Leslie Groves eventually poked his way into Robert’s office one afternoon to discuss the Project. 
Now, the three of you were involved and had to leave Berkeley. Robert quickly assumed the position of Project leader and already had a location picked out for the Project headquarters. You had heard many stories of this location from him and demanded he take you to it before construction began. You and Robert left Berkeley and traveled to Los Alamos via horse, talking and laughing the whole time about your childhoods and times in school. You both decided to camp there overnight and enjoy the desert and its beautiful sky before dealing with the most significant project in human history. As you sat by the fire that night with Robert, you stared at the sky in wonder. Robert watched you with just as much wonder, enjoying seeing you smile. Because pretty soon, there wouldn’t be much to smile about.
By the time you had moved into Los Alamos and started getting to work, the tension between you and Robert was becoming impalpable. The camping trip solidified whatever was going on between you two- even if it was nothing at all as of right now. Robert ensured you were at every meeting so you could give your two cents if it was needed; you were the brains and the empathy of the project. Gen. Groves admired you for it because no matter how steep the project was getting, you never once panicked or got in over your head. He also admired how you managed to keep your hands off Robert despite how you looked at him. And one day, he mentioned it to you.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get out of here?” Gen. Groves asked you one day during a field test.
“Oh, uh,” you hadn’t given it much thought, “I’m not sure. Probably continue lecturing.”
“No one special in your life you want to be with?” Groves asked, a kind smile on his face.
“Not really,” you mumbled sadly, your eyes glanced over at Robert, “Not yet, anyway.”
“Maybe once all of this is over, you can pursue them,” Groves suggested knowingly, “We’re so close now. It won’t be long.”
You nodded, seeing that he knew who was on your mind just by how he studied you, “Maybe.”
After all the hard work and growing sexual tension over the tedious years at Los Alamos, the bubble separating you and Robert finally burst the morning of the Trinity Test. The test was a success, and Robert was basking in the afterglow. Everything from getting his hand shaken to being carried by the crowd of excited and ecstatic workers- it brought him some relief. There’s always sunshine before the rain. 
You invited Robert over to your quaint house on the outskirts of Los Alamos for your nightly glass of wine, but this time it was heavier. It was more meaningful because you finally accomplished what you’d been working so hard for. When Robert sat next to you on the chaise next to the fireplace, his leg touched yours. The sexual energy was like a thick, wet blanket. You took large gulps of your wine as Robert’s eyes stared into yours, his glass pressed to his lips with slower sips.
“I can’t believe it’s all over,” you shook your head.
“Me either.”
“What do we do now? What’s life after this going to be like?”
“I’m not sure about that,” Robert had set his wine down on the floor, “But I’m sure about something else.”
“And what’s that?” you asked, polishing off your drink.
“You.”
You slowly sat back up after putting your empty glass on the floor by your feet, “Me?”
“Yes,” Robert paused, “Ever since I met you, I’ve wanted you in ways I can’t explain. And I can usually explain anything.”
You chuckled at that, nodding in agreement, “That you can.”
Robert leaned in, and your smile faltered. His hand reached up to touch your cheek gently, his thumb pushing some of your hair out of the way. Your eyes fluttered shut as you waited with bated breath for Robert to finally, finally kiss you. It had been years of waiting now. And the second his lips pressed to yours, all that time seemed to drift away. There was an explosion in your chest at the feeling of Robert pressing against you on the chaise, pushing you down onto its cushions. His coat and tie have long since been discarded, so all you have to do is worry at the buttons of his shirt with your shaking fingers. Eventually, you get the shirt opened and off his slender frame as it hovered over you. Robert let his skillful tongue slip past your lips with ease, exploring every centimeter of your mouth. How you had longed for this moment.
“Need you, Robert,” you pulled away for air and sighed as his hands pushed up your legs and underneath your dress, “Always have.”
“I’m here, darling. I’m here now.”
Robert shoved the skirt of your dress over your hips and stomach, revealing your slowly soaking white and dainty underwear. He hummed in satisfaction when his finger circled the wet spot at your entrance, causing a moan to leave your lips.
“Eager, are we?” he teased, pulling down your underwear without hesitation.
“Yes,” you said bravely, “Now, nothing fancy tonight. We have plenty of time for other things, but for now, I need you inside me.”
“Alright then,” Robert chuckles, hastily unbuckling his slacks before pushing them far enough down his legs to be comfortable.
He glided his tip along your slickness, gathering all he could to push inside you with less friction. You whined at the contact, a wanton moan escaping you suddenly as he moved into you at a patient pace. But you were anything but patient, especially at this point. You pushed your hips, causing Robert to enter you further, to which he let out a delicious groan. His hands gripped your sides intensely, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth baring down into the skin as he felt you suck his cock in. 
“Wanted- needed this for so long,” Robert whispered in your ear as his tip finally brushed against your insides.
“God, me too,” you cried out when he slowly pulled back out and then slammed back into you, “Fuck.”
“Such a dirty mouth,” Robert tutted playfully, to which you flashed him a smile, moving your hips to wiggle him further inside you.
Robert had thrust himself into you again, this time a little faster than the last. He kept doing this until he had a steady rhythm, lifting your legs to put on his shoulders to get a better angle. You growled at the sensation of him hitting your cervix, and your hands scratched down his back. Robert picked up speed, almost making the chaise scoot on the floor. He was fucking you like mad, and you were taking every second of it like his cock was water and you were thirsting in the desert. In this situation, the figure of speech wasn’t too far from the truth. The feeling of him repeatedly steering into your stomach made you nearly squeal from pleasure. Robert presses your thighs to your shoulders, the undersides of them against his chest. You were a mess, moaning like a whore and gripping Robert as if you blinked hard enough, he’d disappear.
“Taking me like such a good girl,” Robert grunted, moving a hand to your cunt to swipe at your clit in time with his thrusts.
You tossed your head back, crying out at the sensation. No one had ever fucked you with such vigor and passion. You felt that growing bubble in your gut, expecting it to burst any second.
“Cum in me,” you demanded, “Need to feel you.”
Robert laughed breathlessly at you, “Are you sure?”
“Certain.”
And as if he weren’t going fast enough, he pulled out, flipped you over, and took you from behind even faster than before. Robert pushed your cheek into the chaise cushion, watching you as you side-eyed him with utmost pleasure. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your orgasm creeping up. Robert pushed your lower back down as far as it’d go, your stomach flush with the material of the chaise underneath you. Your ass being in the air caused Robert to hit a new spot inside you, sending you reeling and spilling over the edge. As your cunt suffocated his cock with its walls, Robert followed your release with his own. His hot cum filled you up with warmth, your hips still bouncing against him. Robert panted from behind you, slowly pulling himself out of your now-dripping pussy. 
You rolled back onto your back, now facing Robert, “That was… wow,” you exhaled.
“I concur,” Robert joked, sitting back and pulling you onto his lap.
You hummed in exhaustion, blissed out as you hung your head on his shoulder.
“Want to stay?” you asked tiredly, eyeing the now-spilled remainder of wine Robert had placed on the floor earlier. You’d worry about it tomorrow.
“I’d love to,” Robert muttered into your ear, kissing it before picking you up off his lap.
The rest of your night is spent watching Robert study you as you lay beside each other in bed. He took you in as if he was seeing you in a new perspective- and he was. Robert was as curious about you as he was about the world and how it worked. Except now, he had to worry about not destroying you like he had the world.
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taglist:
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zriasstuff · 2 months
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MASTERLIST <3
updates: every few days (probably)
some things about me and this blog: i will mainly post oneshots/drabbles about the slytherin boys, but i am in other fandoms too, for which i could write (hunger games, tbosas, pjo) feel free to submit requests :)
Have fun reading !!!
Oneshots:
Mattheo Riddle:
Final Blow (tension, academic rivals kinda)
Underwater fun (smut, teasing in public)
True words (fluff drabble, comforting you)
Theodore Nott:
Way too close (forced proximity, 7 minutes in heaven)
The real thing (fluff, ridiculous jealousy, very short drabble)
Baby (Infidelity, tension, baby inspired)
Tom Riddle:
Shower Thoughts (smut, professor x student but only imaginary)
Blaise Zabini:
Tutoring lessons pt.1 (fluff, after a fight comes the clarity)
Friends (fluff drabble, post-break up)
Draco Malfoy:
Mercy (smut, bj, sub!draco)
Lorenzo Berkshire:
First impressions (pt.1, meet cute with a twist)
Second chances? (pt.2, scheming and pining)
Slytherin Boys drabbles/headcanons:
Their love languages
Their fav things about you
When they first really noticed you
Them asking you to be their Valentine
Kinky headcanons (overstim.)
164 notes · View notes
goldenbuckyyy · 2 years
Text
HEATHER
Summary: You watch Draco fall in love with someone else.
Pairings: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader (friends with benefits)
Word Count: 3.5kish
Warnings: Swearing, angst, SMUT(18+), implied past sexual experiences, fingers fucking (!!), dumb idiots in love, anything else? Let me know!!
A/N: My first Draco fic!!! Writing this fic was slowly a 1k fic then quickly became over 3k!! Eeeekkk!! I love this. Hope you do as well!!!! I also got this idea by listening to “Heather” by Conan Gray!
All mistakes are my own. Please do not repost or translate my fics on any other side nor this one.
I appreciate any likes, reblogs, messages, and interactions.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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You walk, no run, into potions class as you stumble into your seat next to your best friend as you apologize quietly to professor Slughorn whom only hums in response as he continues to explain what potion is assigned for the day. You zone out his voice as you set down your books and proceeded to adjust your skirt down as you feel eyes on your thighs, like always, and you try not to look at those pretty grey eyes. You pull your robes over your legs.
You let out a sigh as you tug on the sleeves of your sweater as you peer at your best friend who is already starting to mix ingredients together which you notice include one ashwinder egg, three rose thorns, some peppermint, a powered moonstone, and quite a bit of pearl dust.
You rack your brain for what potion this was as you were fairly good in potions class. Maybe even a bit exceptional.
Your best friend smiles down at you, his pearly whites showing, as you watch him mix the ingredients.
“Like what you see?”
You blush slightly as you roll your eyes at him, “Shut it, Draco.”
He smirks as a blue-green tinted spiraling steam starts coming out of the cauldron.
You sniff as you tense up when you realize what potion this is.
You sniff as you tense up when you realize what potion this is.
“Amortentia,” you whisper as Draco nods at you as he leans in to smell the potion.
You close your eyes as you inhale the sweet scent of fresh cut apples with hints of cinnamon and vanilla, pine trees in the fall, and whiffs of sweet red wine on Christmas Eve.
All which is what Draco smells like to you.
You stiffen up as you peer open your eyes, scared that he noticed you leaning more into him, and watch as he smiles with his eyes closed as he sniffs the air.
Your scared to even ask him what he smells. You know it your gut that he’s not smelling you and it kills you.
You slowly let your eyes wonder to your other classmates as they all gush to each other about what they are smelling. You see Hermione explaining what she smells and notice how she also tenses up when she reveals the scents. Nobody else notices.
Draco opens his eyes and he quietly snickers to himself as if he is laughing at his own inside joke.
“What do you smell?” You ask quickly before you regret it. You grip your wrist in each hand as you lean into him once again.
He bites his lip and smiles, “I smell fresh lilies, lavender, and a hint of some type of fruit. I can’t place it.”
Your heart drops as you realize that’s not what you smell like as you try to keep your face neutral.
You bet that’s what Heather Umbridge smells like.
You peer over Draco’s shoulder slightly to try to catch a glimpse of her.
There she is.
She’s laughing and swatting her friends hand away as she pushes her jet black hair away from her pale face.
You see as her blue eyes keep looking over at you and Draco. Your heart breaks even more as you think about how she’s probably smelling the same scent as you.
“Is she looking at me?” Draco asks you in a whisper as you met his eyes. He has a smile on his face.
You can’t lie to him.
You nod and try to give him your best smile.
“She’s never going to go for me when she notices that you’re wearing my sweater,” he says jokingly as he gently tugs on your sleeve.
Your eyes go wide as you look down at your sweater which is in fact his.
Bloody hell.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you wish class could end already as you try to avoid his eyes. You know he’s joking, but what if he isn’t?
“It’s the first thing I saw after I showered this morning,” you explain as you face him again and he just rolls his eyes at you.
“I’m joking, love. It’s no problem for me, you know that. It looks better on you either way,” he says shrugging as if it’s no big deal.
But you know it is.
This is your favorite sweater and you know some part of you put it on because you want to make your claim at Draco. Even though in public, you don’t have any right to claim him.
But in some ways... you do.
You have parts of him that nobody else will ever have.
You have his first kiss, his first touch, his first time…
His first moans…
You slightly jump out of your thoughts as professor Slughorn announces class is over as he waves his wand in the air to make all the potions evaporate.
“Can’t have anybody using this,” he jokingly says with his signature chuckle and smile to his students.
You stay sitting as everybody shuffles out of the classroom as Heather walks in front of you and Draco.
You watch Draco as he watches her with hearts in his eyes. He’s mesmerized by her as he smiles dumbly to himself.
You wish he felt that way about you.
She’s a sight and everybody knows it.
She walks in her Slytherin colored robes. It looks as if she’s walking on air. You feel jealousy rush in your veins and you hate the way it makes you feel.
You feel like dying as you look at her and back at Draco.
Was this thing between you guys finally going to end? All the late night kisses and the tangled limbs under emerald green sheets?
All the secret touches?
Your heart was already breaking as you thought about what you’d be losing.
Draco stands up as he waits for you to follow.
You gather your books tightly against your chest as you try to calm your racing heart and anxious mind.
Professor Slughorn leaves the room as he bids you both a goodbye.
It’s only you and Draco left. He stands tall in front of you as he looks at you while he fixes his own robes.
“What?” You ask nervously.
“Don’t what me, Y/N. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” you reply as you start walking out of the classroom and he stops you with his hand on your forearm.
“Are you sure?”
You nod as you look up at him and he lets go of your forearm. He’s still watching your every move carefully and you know his mind must be racing. But he won’t question you any further. He knows you.
“I’ll see you at lunch?”
You nod and close your eyes as you see him leaning down. Your breathing hitches as he gets closer and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest.
You feel his soft lips in your cheek as you try not to let your emotions take over.
He rubs your cheek and winks at you once you open your eyes again.
“Are we still on for tonight?”
You know what he means as his hands sneak underneath your robes and itch their way underneath your skirt. You melt into him as he wraps one arm around your waist. He pulls you closer to his body and you set your free hand on his chest.
He inches his hand near your core as you try to suppress yourself. You’ve always been this way to his touch. Always caving.
Always wanting him.
Only him.
His fingers teasingly touch your panties and you know you’re already wet for him.
“Already?” He asks as you feel himself hardening up against you. You nod as he pushes you towards the wall, away from the door, and wandering eyes.
“Always,” you whisper to him as you feel his mouth collide with yours. Your eyes flutter shut as you let his scent intoxicate you. You moan into his mouth while you drop your books to wrap your arms around his neck as he hikes up your leg to feel you more.
His scent blocks out all your other senses as his lips move against yours in an already synchronized rhythm. His kisses always made you feel fuzzy and warm all together. You feel yourself getting wetter as he continues to touch you teasingly over your panties.
You start feeling antsy as you try to rub yourself against his fingers to get more from him. He chuckles into your mouth as he bites your bottom lip.
“Always so inpatient,” he whispers at you as he pulls you closer to him and starts to kiss your neck. You gasp at the feeling as you lean your head back and shut your eyes to let yourself revel in the pleasure.
You bite down on your bottom lip to hold in the moans when you feel his fingers shove your panties aside and slip in between your folds. You grip onto him as he continues to pump his fingers into you as you feel his hidden cock rubbing onto your leg.
“Just like that, baby.” He whispers into your ear as he starts to increase his pace.
“So tight and wet for me,” he says as he sucks on the free skin underneath your robe. You can hear how wet you are as his fingers move inside of you and it only furthers your pleasure.
He continues with his fast speed as he starts to curl his fingers inside of you and you clench onto them. You feel yourself becoming a panting mess as he continues to lick and kiss your neck.
“Draco,” you moan out as you feel yourself getting closer to your release as he starts speeding up both rhythms.
His fingers inside of you go faster and he starts rubbing himself harder against you. Your bodies are both so in synch with each other, as always, and your stomach starts feeling tighter as you both reach for one another’s lips.
You reach down with one of your arms to feel his hardened length and he moans into your mouth when you come in contact with him.
It sends both of you closer to your release as you both start rubbing against each other. His fingers touching your most sensitive area, he muffles out your moans with his mouth, your hand intertwines into his hair, you pull and you see his eyes go back.
You feel his thumb start to rub against your clit and that’s what drives you to your pleasure point. You clench onto his fingers as his thumb rubs against you and you move your hand fast against him.
You bite down on his lip as you cry out in pleasure as you both release against one another. Draco moans into your mouth in pain and sweet pleasure. Your body is shaking to its core as you settle into your release as you let go of his lips, but he pulls you back in with his hand on your neck as he licks into your mouth with force and you melt into him.
You felt numb as he slowly sets your leg down after he pulls his fingers out of you. He watches you as he pulls himself away from your lips. He bites his lip as he pulls his hand in front of both of you.
Your mouth is still agape as you try to slow your panting down as he licks his fingers off. Licking off you.
“Taste so good,” he moans as he gives you a quick kiss.
You bite your lips as your hand is still on his hard cock. You feel the wet spot on his trousers and praise yourself for making him cum like this.
You both come down from your high. You fix yourself up as he adjust his robes to cover his trousers and you snicker to yourself as he shakes his head.
“The things you make me do, Y/N.”
“Do you think anybody heard us?” You ask with a giggle as Draco bends down to pick up your book and hands them back to you.
“I doubt it. This classroom is empty for the next two sessions. But I don’t care if anybody did either way,” he winks at you and you blush at his words.
“I’m glad we have a free period after potions,” you say to him as you both start walking out into the empty hallways.
“Yeah, but now I have class with Heather.”
You feel your heart tug in pain as you look up at him as you both continue to walk. He’s smiling to himself as you feel yourself consumed in hurt.
How can he make you finish like that in empty classroom and then go on to think about Heather? Does he think about her when his fingers are in you??
Your heart breaks silently as you feel tears prick the corner of your eyes.
“Bye, Draco.” You say quickly as you turn into the first corner you see and run into the girls lavatory without letting him say another word to you.
You rush into the farthest stall and fall onto the floor as you clutch onto your books while tears stream down your face.
You gasp in a breathe as you wipe your tears away.
You knew this thing with Draco was never going to last, but it should have never been started in the first place.
It all started back in fifth year when you were both complaining about not having any experience when it came to the opposite sex, but not wanting to be with anybody from school.
No other boy caught your interest other than Draco and Draco found every other girl repulsive.
You already had feelings for Draco back then and you felt as if this was going to be your chance. If you somehow convinced him to be friends with benefits then maybe, just maybe, he’d fall in love with you too.
So thus that’s how you dumbly told Draco that you guys could be friends with benefits, secretly, and experience everything together first so it wouldn’t be weird and awkward to do these things with someone else.
Draco surprisingly agreed with no hesitation and it’s been that way ever since.
Fifth year was when he first kissed you underneath a peach tree at the courtyard in between classes when you two were alone. You both blushed and giggled together after. Fifth year was all about that. It was all learning how to kiss one another and finding the best way to do it.
Sixth year was learning how to do more than kissing. It was more about what to do after kissing. It’s when you both spoke about what else to do and experimented with letting his hands go underneath your skirt and yours above his trousers. It’s when he first made you finish over your panties and he ended up finishing in his trousers. You remember you both couldn’t stop laughing after and during.
It was closer to the end of sixth year when you let him go underneath your panties and you went underneath his boxers. You remember the way you were on his lap, his fingers inside of you, his cock in your hand, and how you both released at the same time that night for the first time.
It was euphoric and wonderful. It was something new for the both of you. You remember the moans he let out that night.
The summer before seventh year, you spent two weeks at the Malfoy manor and that’s when you learned how to make him cum with your mouth and you with his. The feeling was indescribable.
It was also the summer where you lost your virginity to Draco Malfoy. You remember how you both fumbled into the bed on your last night there before you went back home. You remember him asking you repeatedly if you were sure about this.
You remember how he opened you up with his fingers first, slowly and easily, how wet you became and how slowly he entered you the first time. You remember the pain that came at first, how you cried, but then how amazing it felt after.
You remember he never stopped kissing you.
How amazing it felt when he increased his speed inside of you, how you both moved in rhythm, the moans and sounds you both made, the way he moaned out your name and left bruises against your skin, and the way he looked at you when you both finished together again.
That’s how it always was with you two. Always together. Every. Single. Time.
You remember that’s when you realized you were in love with him.
That’s why you had fooled yourself into believe that just maybe he was falling in love with you too.
But then you left back home the next day and when you started seventh year, on the Hogwarts express, Draco told you about how he met Heather Umbridge.
He met Heather Umbridge because of his mother. His mother was friends with Heather’s and she was transferring here from the school of gifted witches. It was some other magic school in the mountains apparently. They had decided to send Heather to Hogwarts after her father got a job with the ministry.
You hated her ever since you heard her name come out of Draco’s mouth. You saw the way his eyes lit up when he said her name and you saw the way he looked at her.
But you still couldn’t end things with him. You knew there were times where they both flirted with each other, but nothing ever came from it. You weren’t sure if it was Heathers hesitation or Draco’s. You doubted it was his.
Now it was nearing Thanksgiving, you and Draco were still doing what you always did and now there was sex involved.
You managed to make it into his bed every night without fail. Draco had managed to gain the title of head boy of Slytherin this year and he got to have this whole gigantic room to himself.
He snuck you in nightly. You wondered how you had managed to fall more in love with him each day and somehow he never did?
You wipe your tears away as you think about everything. You sniffle as you feel so stupid to ever think Draco Malfoy would ever fall in love with you.
All you were to him was somebody to warm his bed every night.
Or at least that’s what you believed.
***
Draco watches you run away from him and wonders if he should run after you.
He doesn’t.
He walks to the courtyard and stands underneath his favorite peach tree, the same peach tree where he kissed you one night back in fifth year.
He remembers how nervous he was back then and how he wondered if you would kiss him back that night.
You did and he laughed at how nervous he was after. You both did.
He sits on the bench under the tree and places his hand on the cold stone, where you always sit, and wonders if maybe one day you would see him the way he sees you.
He didn’t want to keep up this facade that he wanted Heather Umbridge, he felt repulsed just thinking about maybe wanting someone else, someone other than you.
After he met Heather, he felt it would be a good plan to make it seem as if he was interested in someone else. He wanted to see if he could make you jealous.
He wanted to make you jealous because he was in love with you.
He didn’t think you felt the same way.
That’s why he lied about what he smelled in the cauldron earlier during potions class.
He said he smelled lilies and lavender because he knew that’s what Heather smelled like because he caught a whiff of her shampoo one day when she sat next to him in lunch. He hated lilies and lavender.
He didn’t even see you react to what he said and it made his heart deflate.
He wonders what you had smelled because you looked so tense and sad about whatever it was. He wonders about what scent engulfed you and he felt jealousy in the pit of his stomach.
He wants to tell you what he smelled. He wants to yell it at you. He wants you to know what engulfed his senses and made him want to get on his knees for it.
He had smelled you.
You smelled like a warm Christmas night. You smelled like fresh baked caramel cookies with a warm vanilla candle on, you smelled like a new bottle of your favorite red wine that would stain your lips after a couple drinks, you smelled like everything he loved all put into one.
You smelled like love to Draco Malfoy.
He sighs as he plays with his fingers as he notices students filling the hallway, once again, and he knows it’s time for his next class.
He lets himself think a little bit more. He thinks maybe it’s time to move on from you.
He truly doubts you’d ever love him back.
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wnobin · 2 months
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BIT BY BIT… 💭 anton lee socmed! au
pairing: college student! anton x campus crush! reader
genre: college! au, social media! au with written portions, slow burn, pining, strangers to friends to lovers.
series synopsis: in which the quiet girl in anton’s language class who seems to never sit with anyone catches his attention. anton makes it his mission to get closer to her bit by bit and break down her walls. the only issue? she’s the last to arrive and first to leave, never allowing anton the chance to approach her.
series masterlist | 04: mismatched pyjamas
it was 8:57 and seunghan was still nowhere to be seen. anton shook his leg as he bit the inside of his cheek anxiously. professor won had already arrived and begun to set up the projector screen whilst making small talk with the rest of the students. the words ‘self-introduction’ on a blank slide was displayed and anton immediately begun to panic, trying to remember at least one fact about himself. all of a sudden his mind was blank and the only fun fact he could think of was that he’s… a first year? totally not a fun fact.
anton was too occupied with blowing up seunghan’s phones with angry texts to notice you walking in to the class, two minutes late. he lifted his head from his phone screen only to make eye contact with you for a split second, immediately looking at the seat next to him. the seat that had his bag on it. the seat that made it look like he was saving it for someone else. he was about to take away his bag but you had already turned away, sitting at your previous front row seat.
you had left your dorm early in an attempt to make it to class early this time but it just wasn’t your fault that the classroom was all the way on the other side of campus, a 15 minute walk away. when you made it to class, you noticed only 1 seat that wasn’t in the front row was available. you were about to walk towards it when you noticed a black bag on the chair, seemingly belonging to the boy sitting next to it, who had his headphones on and was busy typing furiously on his phone. he was dressed rather nicely, even wearing a beanie, in contrast to the rest of the class who were all wearing their pyjamas since it was a 9am class. the two of you made eye contact for a millisecond before you looked away. the last thing you wanted was for someone you didn’t know to offer you a seat he was probably saving so you decided to sit back down at your old seat.
you rested your chin on your palm, listening to professor won give instructions to the self-introduction activity for the day. “so for this activity, i’ll need everyone to stand up and go around introducing yourselves, your major, and one fun fact about yourself! all in japanese, of course. let’s start with… you, over there in the front row!”
professor won’s eyes had landed on you unsurprisingly, as you were the only one in the front row and first in his line of sight. you cleared your throat and got up from your seat, turning to face the rest of your classmates. “hi, i’m y/n and i’m a first year majoring in nursing, and… i’m a first year…?”
in your defence, this was only your second lesson and your japanese vocabulary was extremely limited, hence the repetition and boring self-introduction. you could tell from the hesitant and scattered claps that even your classmates were confused as to why your fun fact was that you were a first year when everyone in that class was a first year too. you proceeded to zone out for the rest of the class, absentmindedly clapping along with the rest whenever someone finished their self-introduction.
when it got to anton’s turn, your ears perked up at the sound of his voice. he was unexpectedly soft spoken and sounded like he was whispering, prompting professor won to ask him to speak up, making a joke about how old he was getting. “um, i’m anton, a first year majoring in early childhood education, and i like swimming.”
everyone’s introductions went by relatively fast due to their inability to say anything more than a simple five second sentence. seunghan’s turn was skipped when professor won saw him fully sleep, quietly snoring as the rest of the class laughed at the sight. he remained asleep the entire time, only waking up when he heard the word ‘dismissed’. he was gathering his things and getting up when he saw a glimpse of you leaving from your seat in the front row, turning to look behind at anton who was packing up alone in the back row. “you sat alone? what happened?” anton simply walked past the half-awake male without saying a word, glaring daggers at him. “hey, wait for me!”
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taglist (closed due to the limit!): @andromedawillburyyou @imsiriuslyreal @beckiiee00 @dreamiestay @babigriin @kyusqult @eumppappaswife @sserafilms @annswwa @lecheugo @llearlert @nyuoqi @thesunoosshining @yangasm @mmsriza @myizhous @miyawakiblossoms @hyucksdelicate @ilovejungwonandhaechan @snowyseungs @soobiary @ilovejaketoomuch @cla1r20 @darlingz99 @chiiyuuvv @lilacarat @ohmykwonsooyoung @sonjuyeonnie @nicholasluvbot
if i didn’t tag you, please check your account settings > visibility!
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wasn't midnight rain | n. romanoff
about me | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
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series summary: your professor hated you. you hated her. but what was once such a simple relationship full of hate and anger, became much much complicated when it became full of love, and pining, and what ifs. especially when you fell in love with her while dating her son.
warnings: smut (minors, please do not interact); dom!natasha and sub!reader; mommy kink | choking | very very light (and barely perceptible) voyeurism | very very light bdsm (tying, slapping) | degradation | praise | semi-public sex. curse words, fighting, severe parental issues, cheating, jealousy, possessiveness.
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trope: angst, pining, enemies to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, forbidden love
inspired by taylor's midnight rain (midnights) & the way i loved you (fearless)
date started: november twenty-eight
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• chapter one: she is midnight rain
• chapter two: she doesn't think of me
• chapter three: midnights like this
• chapter four: he is sunshine
• chapter five: all of me changed like midnight
• chapter six: slow motion, love potion
• chapter seven: full of cages
• chapter eight: picture perfect, shiny family
• chapter nine: it was paradise
• chapter ten: all the love we unravel
• chapter eleven: (didn't choose the) midnight rain
• chapter twelve: it came like a postcard
• chapter thirteen: she stayed the same
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Always There - Chapter One: S.Snape
Summary: Y/N Potter was left with a baby to care for after her brother and sister-in-law were murdered by Voldemort. One person was there for her, a person she didn’t expect but soon became her comfort person, Severus Snape. During Harry’s third year at Hogwarts and her third year as Herbology professor, a few old friends come around again. Y/N has to handle the feelings of these old friends being around again as well as handle her feelings for a certain potions master all while she tries to hide these things from her godson.
Series Masterlist
My full Masterlist
Pairings: Severus Snape x Female Professor Reader, Potter!Reader x friend!Remus
Chapter Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader(No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, Harry growing up in a loving home, mentions of death and murder, mentions of Azkaban, shittyly written angst,
Series Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader (No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, OOC Snape, Harry grows up in a loving environment, mentions of death and murder, poorly written angst, Remus is a shitty friend, poorly written pining,
Please let me know how I can improve my writing and being more inclusive to POC as I am whiter than white. Please also let me know if I have to add more to the warnings! My messages are open as well as my asks!
Author's Note: It's been a long ass time my friends, but I'm trying to make a come back here. I was a bit out of my comfort zone with this one so I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know how I can improve or if you find any errors! Correct me, don't be afraid to! I want to improve my writing and become a better writer so any feedback or advise is welcomed!
Word Count: 1146
My asks are open for questions, suggestions and feedback!
Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!
Enjoy!
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GIF by red-artemis-jane
not my gif
The year Harry turned 11 was the year professor Sprout retired, in turn, Y/N got the position as herbology professor. She enjoyed teaching her nephew and loved being back at Hogwarts no matter how much it pained her to be there without her brother and his best friends. The first two years went by without much issue, however, in Harry’s third year, Y/N heard whispers of a new professor starting at Hogwarts, an old student from her time there. And she had also heard about the escape of Sirius Black, her brother’s best friend who had supposedly ratted the couple out to the dark lord and got them killed. It was a lot of emotions for her to deal with at once.
She was already at Hogwarts when she got word that Harry was attacked by a dementor on the train ride there. She rushed to the main hall and found her nephew rather quickly. “Merlin Harry, are you okay? Did you get hurt? How did this happen?” She bombarded her nephew with questions before engulfing him in a tight hug.
“I’m okay, Aunt Y/N. I didn’t get hurt, I don’t know what would’ve happened if professor Lupin wasn’t there,” Harry reassured his aunt.
“Lupin?”
“Professor Potter, we are waiting for you at the table, you may catch up with your nephew after the feast,” Dumbledore’s voice interrupted. She planted a kiss on her nephew’s forehead before following the headmaster to the table. She took her usual spot beside Severus, not even noticing the new but familiar face on the other side of the man. Dumbledore began his usual beginning of the year speech, this time including that due to the escape of Sirius Black, dementors would be gracing Hogwarts with their presence. “I would also like to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor R.J Lupin.” Y/N choked on her tea at the name, Severus patting her back gently as he suppressed a chuckle.
“Don’t laugh at me you git,” She said harshly.
“I wasn’t laughing,” Severus replied monotonously.
“Sure you weren’t.” Once the food was put out and she had filled her plate, she took her plate to the greenhouse to get herself ready for another year. She also just needed a minute alone, away from everyone, so she could try and process everything that was going on. As she sat at her desk to begin processing, the greenhouse doors opened. “I really don’t want to talk right now Sev,” She said without looking up.
“Good thing I’m not Severus,” A familiar voice spoke, “It’s been a long time.” She looked up to see Remus standing a few feet away from her. Her mood soured just a bit more at the sight of him.
“And who’s fault is that?” She snapped at him.
“I deserve that,” He sighed.
“Why are you here Remus? Shouldn’t you be at the feast?”
“Shouldn’t you?” Remus retorted, “I wanted to talk to you without your guard dog with you.”
“Then talk. And he isn’t my guard dog, he was there for me when I had nobody.”
“I also deserved that. Look, I just want to apologize for leaving without a word or even a letter. I thought it would be safer for you and Harry if I left, especially with my condition. It was too dangerous for me to be around you two. You didn’t deserve that.”
“If that’s all you have to say, then good night.”
“Talk to me Y/N! Yell at me, throw things, do something!” Remus shouted at her. She shot out of her chair, rushed around her desk and got in his face. Her heart raced with anger, her head spinning as tears sprung in her eyes.
“You want me to talk, fine, I’ll talk. You left me when I had nobody! My brother just died and you up and left! And then Peter died and Sirius got thrown in Azkaban and I got a baby practically thrown at me and you left me! The only person that was there for me, that got me out of bed, that got me to eat and took care of me, when I couldn’t do it myself, was Severus! He helped me and you were nowhere to be found! So fuck you Lupin, get out of my greenhouse!” She yelled at him, tears flowing down her cheek, chin trembling as she held back sobs.
“Y/N ple-”
“Get out! Get out of here before I do something I regret!” With that, Remus walked out of the greenhouse, leaving a sobbing Y/N alone, once again. That was the way Severus found her about 20 minutes later and, once again, he was left to pick up the pieces Remus had left behind.
“Darling, what happened? Why are you so upset?” Severus asked her, his voice filled with concern. When she didn’t answer, Severus became even more concerned but connected the dots. “Lupin came to see you, I’ll kill him.” She let out a teary chuckle at the threat he said under his breath.
“He came into my office, I thought it was you at first because I hadn’t looked up but I was wrong. He apologized and then wanted me to say something to him and I just screamed at him. It felt good to finally get it all out but it still hurts,” She finally explained. 
“I’m glad that the foul git got what he deserved. Do you want to talk about it?” She had nodded her head and the two talked for nearly 3 hours, about everything that was going on. Severus reassuring her as they talked and validating her feelings and her thoughts as the conversation continued. They had moved their conversation to a sofa she had in her office, eventually talking until they fell asleep. That was how Minerva found the pair when she had been wanting to chat with Y/N about Remus’ new position in the school. In all of the years she had known Severus, she had never seen the man sleep, let alone even yawn, so imagine her surprise seeing one of the most beloved professors sleep on a couch with the most dreaded professors together, not only just sleeping but snuggled together. Severus had his arms wrapped around her in a seemingly protective manner, Y/N’s head dipped down, resting on his chest, one arm around his waist, the other tucked into her chest.
Minerva just knew that she had to tell Albus and Sybil about the sight she took in. Before leaving the greenhouse office, she made sure that the lights were out and the two of them were covered in a blanket Y/N had lying around in her office. Minerva finally left the office with a smile on her face and a warmed heart at the sight.
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