#may the rest of the semester go well for you!

[forhappysake]

Teach Me

A/N: This is my first smut and it is LONG. Sorry y'all, I love a plot. Also, not totally proofread, xoxo.

Warnings: SMUT, professor!reidxreader, implied age gap, mentions of dementia, loss of virginity, bl0wjob, protected sex, use of nicknames (good girl), sub!reader/dom!spencer if you squint

The fact that you’d managed to get into Dr. Reid’s criminology class was an absolute stroke of luck on your part. You’d stayed up until midnight, eagerly waiting for your round of registration to unlock, and you’d immediately submitted your requests and refreshed the page until you got confirmation. You were elated. You had read so much about the young doctor, only in his mid-30s, who had multiple doctorates and over a decade of FBI experience. You were fully aware that taking his class would elevate your resume, not to mention that he was quite easy on the eyes.

Of course, that last part was just the consensus around campus. He polled “hottest professor” on social media every year since he’d arrived. You stared at his professor profile on the university’s website. The picture was undoubtedly a couple of years old, with brown curls atop his head and a cleanly shaven face. However, you’d heard from lots of the older majors that he’d aged like fine wine. With that in mind, you shut your computer before crawling into bed for the night. This semester can not end fast enough, you thought. 

*Seven weeks later*

Returning from Christmas break was never easy, but knowing you were going into Dr. Reid’s class made things that much easier. It was your last class of the day, from 3:00 - 4:15, and you knew you’d soak up every minute of it. Though after surviving two other earlier classes and multiple rounds of icebreakers with your new classmates, you were starting to lose your initial excitement at what Dr. Reid’s course may hold.

You walked into the lecture hall, noting an empty seat about three rows from the front. Claiming the seat as your own, you pulled out your new notebook and a red pen, scribbling the date and course number at the top of your page. You checked your watch: 2:58. You couldn’t help but tap your foot impatiently as your fellow students filtered into the room.

After a few more moments passed, the side door in the lecture hall opened, and Dr. Reid walked out in front of the room. He didn’t look up at the students, whose murmuring had gone silent the moment he entered. Instead, he turned his back to the group as he wrote his name and the course number on the whiteboard. 

He turned back around, this time scanning the students in the hall before clearing his throat. “Good afternoon, my name is Dr. Reid. I’ll be your professor for this course.” He paced around for a moment before coming to a stop and leaning himself back onto the desk. He looked a bit different from his faculty picture. His brown hair had grown out, allowing you to see more of his curls. His once clean-shaven face had evolved into stubble, and the rings around his eyes looked a bit darker. However, you couldn’t argue, he had aged well. 

“First thing’s first, the university requires that I take roll call for the first three weeks of the course.” You waited for him to fumble around on the computer or take up a piece of paper with all of your names on it. Surprisingly, Dr. Reid began calling out names from memory without picking up a roster. “Riley Anderson?” 

“Here,” a light-haired boy in the back of the class said, waving his hand. 

The back and forth of Dr. Reid calling names and students replying went on for another minute before he came to your name, “Y/N Y/L/N?”

You raised your hand and offered a small smile, “Here.” He looked up at you and smiled back. As you looked away, you could feel his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued, making quick work of the rest of the roll call before starting the course. 

The first day’s lecture was relatively tame. Nothing too gruesome was discussed, and thankfully the young doctor didn’t make you play any more icebreaker games. Upon class dismissal, a large line of students eager to make nice with their new professor lined up at his desk. Though you had hoped to meet the doctor personally, you didn’t want to wait around after being on campus all day. You quickly gathered your books and shoved them in your backpack before walking up the stairs and leaving the lecture hall. 

As with all semesters, the work began to pile on quickly as you did your best to keep up. Most of your classes began to blend together. However, Dr. Reid’s class was always your first priority. There was something about him that made you feel the urge to make him proud of your work. Maybe it was the way he’d smile thoughtfully as you asked him questions during the lecture or the time he’d made extra office hours for you when you needed help with a paper. It could have even been the morning you’d bumped into him in the campus coffee shop and he’d paid for your drink. As you pondered this, laying in bed the night before your midterm, you couldn’t help but feel a little silly. He did these things for all his students, right? You did your best to quiet your thoughts before forcing yourself to sleep the night before your exam. 

The next morning, you walked through campus with a certain confidence in your step. Though you had never been a great test-taker, you were confident that you were going to do well on Dr. Reid’s midterm. He’d even been so kind as to offer you a study guide, which you had been working through over the last week. You were prepared, but as you approached the lecture hall, you could see that your classmates weren’t feeling so confident. 

A young boy sat by the door, frantically scanning his handwritten notes in a last-minute attempt to memorise information. Several others followed suit.

Dr. Reid came around the corner, exams in hand. “Good morning, Y/N,” he said with a bright smile. “Are you ready for the exam?”

“Born ready, Doc,” you joked, following him into the lecture hall and settling into your seat. Dr. Reid passed out the exams. Just as you suspected, you finished without a hitch. You dropped the paper on his desk and he offered you a small smile as you turned and left the lecture hall. 

You made your way to the library to study for your fifth and final midterm. You chose your typical spot in the corner of the room, hidden behind a large bookshelf. As you settled into study, you put your headphones in. As you dove into your reading, you became oblivious to the world around you. An hour passed, and it was only when you felt a tap on your shoulder that you were pulled from your work. 

You turned to face whoever had tapped you, and you failed to hide your surprise when you were met with the dark eyes of Dr. Reid. “Oh, hey!” you said, trying to be casual as you paused your music and took your headphones off. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down at you from his standing position, offering an awkward shrug. “I’m not sure, really. I guess I just thought I might find you here.” 

You furrowed your brow. “Is something wrong? Did I mess up on the exam?” 

Dr. Reid shook his head, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Goodness, no. You did wonderful. The grade is already in, actually.” “Oh,” you mumbled, smiling a little at his compliment. “Well then, what’s up?”

He stumbled around for a second, working up the confidence to utter his next sentence. “I was wondering if you were free tonight.” 

Your eyebrows raised and you felt your jaw drop a little. Was this happening? “Uh… f-for what?” you asked, trying not to get your hopes up. 

He pulled his hands from his pockets, fiddling with his tie as he shook his head. “Ah, you know, this was silly of me. I should go,” he turned to turn from you, but you reached out and grabbed his hand before he could walk away. 

“For what?” you asked again, ignoring his previous comment. You locked eyes with him, trying to read his expression.

He stood up a little straighter, your obvious interest seemingly bolstering his confidence. “I’ve been working on an article for a journal publication here at the university. I was wondering if you’d be willing to look it over for me,” he said. There was silence for a moment before he added, “I will also be cooking a new pasta recipe I found, and I would like it if you would stay for dinner after that.”

You felt a small smile creeping on your face, but you tried to contain your excitement. However, you could tell from the blush growing on his cheeks that he noticed. “I would love to do that, Dr. Reid. If you could send the address to my personal email, I would be more than happy to be there in-” you looked down at your watch, “roughly an hour.” 

A smile spread over his face, “Great. I’ll do that right away.” He looked around the library for a moment before he seemed to realize where he was, snapping back to reality. “Right, well, I’d better go straighten up my place a bit. I’ll see you soon, Y/N.” With that, Dr. Reid turned from you and headed for the library door. He glanced back at you once, the blush on his cheeks evident as he walked out onto the quad. 

—

After Dr. Reid’s departure from the library, you quickly gathered your things and rushed to the parking lot, making quick work of the drive back to your apartment. You jumped in the shower and rinsed the day off yourself before drying off and standing in front of your closet. 

You examined your clothing choices. This wasn’t a date, was it? Maybe you should go with business casual… or should you choose something a bit more scandalous? Scandalous seemed to be the winning choice. If anything, you could lie and tell him you were going out after leaving his place. He wouldn’t think anything of it, right?

You settled on a shorter black dress that had a low-cut top. It exposed the tops of your breasts in a way that wasn’t wildly distasteful but wasn’t too subtle, either. You decided to skip on the underwear for the evening, the idea of being exposed underneath your dress enough to excite you. You’d never been with a man before, and you figured tonight wouldn’t necessarily be any different. You might as well have some secret fun of your own. 

Checking your watch, you realized you were running short on time. You dashed back out the door to your car. Checking your phone, you saw he’d emailed you as he promised: 

From: Spencer Reid Here’s the address you asked for, along with my apartment number. I look forward to seeing you soon.  -S.R.

You couldn’t help but smile as you entered the address into your car’s GPS before taking off. The fifteen-minute drive felt like an hour as you tried not to let yourself get too nervous. You entered the lobby of his apartment building, catching the elevator to the fourth floor. 

“Apartment 424,” you mumbled to yourself as you stepped off and walked down the aesthetically lit hallway. The carpeted floor was pristine, and the view from the window at the end of the hallway told you that living in this building was not cheap. You shook the thoughts from your head as you reached the last apartment in the hallway, closest to the window. This is it, you thought, don’t fuck it up. 

You knocked twice and stopped to listen for any motion on the inside. You swore you could hear the soft lull of classical music from behind the door, and you suddenly heard footsteps fast approaching. The dark wooden door swung open, unveiling the wild curls of Dr. Reid. “Y/N!” he said, a smile spread wide across his face, “I’m so glad you’re here. Please, come in.” He stepped back from the door, ushering you into the room. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” You stepped inside, examining the room around you. It fit his personality wonderfully. The green paint on the walls was accented by large bookshelves and dark furniture. You smiled when you noticed the lack of a television and instead, a record player sat in front of the sofa. “You have a lovely apartment, Dr. Reid,” you whispered, in awe of the way his personality was infused into the design of the place. 

He furrowed his brow at you, tucking his large hands into his pants pockets once more. He must be nervous. “I appreciate that. But please, call me Spencer.”

“Spencer,” you said, testing how the name felt in your mouth. “I can do that.” He smiled at you before gesturing to the couch, offering you a place to sit. You followed his lead, sitting on the far end of the couch as he perched in the middle. You felt him watching you closely, so you turned to look at him. 

Spencer noticed that you’d caught him staring, so he cleared his throat to diffuse the awkward silence that had fallen over the room. “Here’s that piece I’ve been working on, if you’d still like to look over it.” He leafed through some files on the table before pulling out a thick stack of papers, held together by a large paperclip. 

You took the article from him. “Twenty-seven pages front and back? That’s quite the article, Spencer,” you joked, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

He blushed sheepishly. “You don’t have to read it all if you don’t want to. I just thought that-” 

You waved your hand, cutting him off. “Of course, I am going to read it all. I’ll get started right away if you want to go work on something else.”

“Actually, I think I’m going to start that recipe I mentioned if you’re still interested in dinner,” he rose from the couch, watching for a sign of your approval. 

You looked away from the papers to smile up at him, “Certainly, thank you.”

As he walked away, you continued scanning the papers he had given you. You weren’t sure why he wanted you to review it, you could find no issues. You let out an audible sigh, which Spencer heard from the kitchen. 

“Are you doing okay?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes! I’m not sure why you wanted me to look over this. It’s flawless,” you said, sounding almost disappointed. 

“I would take that as a compliment if you didn’t sound so let down,” he said jokingly, a nervous tinge in his voice. 

You shook your head, “I feel that I wasn’t much help.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been a great help on this project. In fact, the questions you asked about the behavior of female abusers in class were what got me thinking about this in the first place.”

A blush spread over your face, “Really?”

He smiled, trying not to make it too obvious that he noticed the blush on your cheeks. “Really. You’re easily my best student. Your drive is unmatched, and your work is some of the best undergraduate writing I have ever seen. You should consider graduate school if you aren’t already.”

I shrugged at his words. “I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. We’ll see where life takes me, I reckon.” Spencer nodded before padding back to the kitchen, checking whatever he had put together in the oven. Almost on cue, a kitchen timer dinged, letting him know creation was complete. 

He pulled an oven mitt onto his large hand and pulled the dish out of the oven, setting it carefully on the stovetop before he turned back to you. “If you’d like to come sit at the kitchen table, I’d be happy to serve you.” You did as he requested, picking one of the two seats set at the table. Two glasses of wine were readily poured and thick, black cloth napkins were placed at each chair. You spread the fabric over your lap, noticing the careful vines embroidered along the trim. 

“Are these hand-embroidered?” you asked. 

Spencer nodded, “My mother used to live with me. She enjoys doing that sort of thing. I came back one day and she’d done these floral patterns around the edges.” He held up his cloth, gently tracing his finger along the vines and flowers. 

Despite your evident interest in her handiwork, you couldn’t help but wonder about his mother. “Your mother used to live with you?” you asked. “Where is she now?”

Spencer sighed as he looked down, gently laying his cloth across his lap as you had done moments before. “She stays in a nursing facility where they can give her the attention and care she needs. Between working at the university and consulting on cases for the Bureau, I wasn’t doing enough.” As he looked up at you again, you could hear the implication of his final statement: I wasn’t enough. 

You reached for the hand he’d placed back on the table, gently covering it with your own. “I’m sure you did everything you could for her. I’m certain she knows how much you care for her.” 

He offered you a sad smile, turning his hand up under yours and gently wrapping his fingers around your hand. “Thank you, Y/N.” Spencer trailed off, seeming to zone out for a minute as his eyes glazed over. You gently pulled your hand away from him, bringing him back to reality. 

“Well, uh,” he cleared his throat, rising from the table. “We can’t have dinner without the food, how silly of me.” Spencer gently picked up the dish from the counter, setting it on the table in front of you. You examined the dish of pasta. “May I?” Spencer asked, scooping up a healthy spoonful. 

“Sure, thank you,” you picked up your plate, offering it to him. He placed a large helping of food on your plate along with a piece of bread before passing it back to you. You waited for him to serve himself and get reseated before you took a bite. “Oh my god,” you mumbled. 

Spencer’s eyes shot up from his plate as he dropped his fork on his placemat. “What’s the matter?”

You shook your head, eyes wide in amazement. “This pasta is incredible. Where did you find this recipe?” 

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a small laugh of relief. “Oh, I got it from a coworker. He’s a true Italian – cooks this sort of thing all the time.” 

You lifted the glass of wine he’d set out for you earlier. “Cheers to this mysterious coworker and your ability to replicate authentic Italian cuisine.”

He mirrored your movements, and your glasses gently clinked together. You locked eyes with him as you both took sips of your drinks. Something about the moment was wildly intimate and laced with flirtation. 

You forced yourself to look away, examining the cloth on your lap. “So, uh,” you stuttered, “are you looking forward to the end of the semester?”

Spencer took a bite of his pasta, mulling this over for moment. “Well,” he started, “yes and no. How about you?” He looked you over. You wondered if he was trying to profile you based on his careful examination of your body language and facial expressions. 

You chose to shrug, “Yes and no.”

“Why’s that?” he asked. 

“Oh, I’m not sure. There are some classes I’ll miss. Yours, of course.” 

He smiled shyly, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. I love your class, but it’s really more than that,” you mumbled, refusing to make eye contact as you fiddled with the hem of your dress. 

He quietly rose from the table and approached your side, looking down at you carefully. “Tell me,” he whispered. He leaned down to you, putting a hand under your chin and forcing you to look at him. He placed his large hands on either side of your face, as one of his thumbs gently caressed your cheekbone. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he whispered. His dark eyes scanned your own. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong and we can forget this. We’ll never talk about this again.” 

You swallowed nervously. “You’re not reading this wrong,” you answered quietly. You brought one of your hands up to cover one resting on your face. 

You rose from your seat and he followed suit. He stood several inches taller than you, adding to the strange power dynamic between the two of you. 

He lowered his hands, running them over your shoulders and down your arms until he slipped his hands around your hips, holding you in place in front of him as he looked at you. You could see the way he held himself back from you. He was trying to decide just how far he should go. 

You sighed and reached for him. “I’m not made of glass, you know,” you whispered jokingly, hanging your arms loosely from his neck to pull him a bit closer to you. He complied, leaning over you silently as your words hung in the air between you. 

“This entire situation is delicate,” he said in a serious tone. “I just don’t want to overstep.” 

“Spencer,” you laughed. “I’m standing in your apartment, calling you by your first name. Your hands are wrapped around my hips. I’m hanging off your neck. Don’t you think we’ve already overstepped?” 

He considered this for a second, looking around the room. “I suppose. What are you thinking?” he asked genuinely, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. 

“I’m thinking,” you said, pressing your body against his, “that I would love to push some more boundaries with you.” 

As much as he tried to deny it, he found himself giving in to you. Spencer closed his eyes, letting the scent of your perfume flood his senses. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he whispered. 

“Tell me,” you pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. He leaned back, allowing you full access.

“Fuck-” he murmured, “I noticed you from the beginning. You…” His words trailed off into a groan as you gently sucked on his neck. He ran a hand down your body, pressing you against him with a large hand on the small of your back. “You’re always so attentive, so eager to learn.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing to trail your lips up and down his neck. “Is there anything else you can teach me?” you whispered dangerously close to his ear. 

He pulled away, placing a gentle hand around your waist, guiding you into the hallway of his apartment. “Where are we going?” you asked. 

“My bedroom,” he said. His hand tightened around your waist as he reached for the door. 

The two of you stumbled inside, unable to keep your hands off each other. You found yourself falling backwards on his bed as he leaned over you, catching your lips in a kiss once again. You ran your hands through his soft curls and thought of all the times you’d berated yourself for imagining this exact moment. This couldn’t be happening. 

“I’m not going to go easy on you,” he mumbled against your lips. You felt a tinge of anxiety. Was now the time to tell him you really had no idea what you’re doing? He ran his hands up the back of your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress and revealing your lack of underwear to him. “No underwear?” he asked, smile evident on his lips as he leaned over you, leaving your back pressing against his clothed chest. 

You blushed, trying not to let on that you’d secretly been praying for this to happen all evening. Of course, Spencer already knew that. You were putty in his hands. 

He lifted himself off of you, and you rolled over to face him as he stood over you. “Stand up,” he said. You did as you were told, rising in front of him. You stayed still as he circled you a moment, almost as if you were some kind of prey. Spencer found the zipper to your dress. He rested his hand on it for a moment, leaning forward to offer you a soft kiss on the cheek. You took it as his way of asking for your consent, so you nodded, to which he immediately began unzipping the back of your dress. 

The black material fell from your shoulders and soon laid limply at your feet. Spencer let out a quiet moan as he turned you around to face him. You were completely bare before him. “My god, Y/N,” he mumbled. 

His lips attacked yours as he pushed you back on to the bed, your dress forgotten on the floor as his hands explored your body. He placed both his hands around your breasts, squeezing them gently as he began kissing down your neck. Spencer’s descent down your body continued with the utmost purpose, as you saw him lowering himself off the bed and down on to his knees in front of you. 

“W-what are you doing?” you asked nervously. 

Spencer looked up from your body to meet your eyes. “I want to taste you,” he said, matter of factly. 

As hot as the statement was, you couldn’t overcome the insecurity and anxiety that had seeped into your mind. In one flash, the confession fell from your lips. “I’ve never done this before,” you whispered, voice barely audible. 

Spencer stopped immediately, completely removing his gaze from your naked figure to focus on your face. He rose from his knees and sat himself on the edge of his bed. “You’ve never had sex before?” Spencer asked gently, looking you in the eyes the entire time. 

You nodded, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable in front of him. “I probably should have disclosed that sooner. I’m sorry, I know it’s a major turn off,” you started to sit up, reaching for your dress on the floor. As you did, Spencer grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop and look at him. 

“Quite the opposite, actually,” he said. 

You furrowed your brow at him. “Really?” 

He cupped your face with his hands, gently tracing the edge of your jaw with his thumbs. “I know our situation isn’t the most conventional, but if you let me, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

You bit your lip in anticipation. “Okay,” you nodded. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “I want you to lay back for me, and I’ll make you feel good.”

You couldn’t help but trust him as you laid back on to the bed. He dropped to his knees once more, running his hands over your thighs before pulling them apart, exposing you to him. Spencer lunged forward, licking an experimental stripe up your slit to gauge your reaction. You’d never felt anything like it before, and you couldn’t help but moan as he continued his movements, focusing his attention on your clit. 

“Spencer,” you groaned. Your hand found its way to his mess of curls, tugging sharply. He moaned into your center, the vibrations nearly sending you over the edge. “I-I’m close,” you whined, continuing to hold the back of his head. 

You heard him speak from between your legs, “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.” Spencer dove back into your core, wrapping his lips around your clit. 

A sudden intrusion caused your legs to jerk, and you realized he’d inserted a finger into you. The mixture of the wonderful pressure he was placing on your bundle of nerves and the new sensation of his finger thrusting inside you sent you over the edge. You came hard, loosing your grip on the back of his head as you did. 

Spencer remained on his knees, lapping up what he could of you release before he rose to meet you on the bed. “You’re such a good girl,” he said, placing a soft kiss on your forehead as he laid next to you. 

You hummed in satisfaction, forcing yourself to open your eyes. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face. You couldn’t help but notice the sinful amount of clothes that were still on his body. You expressed this by tugging gently on his tie, “Why am I the only one who’s naked?” 

Spencer chuckled. “We can fix that,” he said, rising from the bed. He made quick work of his tie, and undid the buttons on his dress shirt as you watched in awe. As Spencer shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, you took in his physique. Though thin and tall, his muscles were pronounced. You noted a few scars scattered about his figure, and wondered if you could get him to tell the stories behind them. His voice brought you out of  your thoughts. “You’re staring,” he said as he slowly undid his belt. 

You shrugged from your position on the bed, “I like what I see.” 

He let out a quiet laugh as he discarded his belt on the floor next to the bed, the hard leather hitting the floor with a loud thunk. Spencer peeled his pants off his legs, neatly folding them and setting them on a dresser next to the door. You couldn’t help but notice the large tent in his boxers, and found yourself wondering what exactly he was hiding under there. 

Before you could stop yourself, you slid off the bed and stood in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at you, indicating his confusion as you dropped to your knees in front of him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he said with a tinge of humor in his voice. 

“Returning the favor,” you said shyly, not wanting to meet his gaze. 

A large hand came to rest gently on your head as he ran his fingers through your hair, “You don’t have to do this, you know. This is about you.”

You shook your head, finally mustering up the courage to look up at him. “I want to. I want you to teach me,” you whispered. 

That statement was enough to bring an end to his objections. Spencer smiled down at you with a sigh, “Pretty girl. Go ahead.” You smiled happily at the compliment and the permission to continue. You placed a few simple kissed above the hem of his boxers before locking your fingers under the seam and pulling them down completely. Spencer assisted by stepping out of his boxers, and he stood completely bare in front of you. You stared at his figure once more, eyes wide at the sight of him. His length was intimidating, especially for someone as inexperienced as yourself. You were unsure of how to proceed. 

Spencer leant down quietly and took your hand from his thigh, moving it to wrap around the base of his cock. “Now, just move your hand back and forth until you find a rhythm,” he encouraged. Like a student eager to please, you followed his instructions. After a moment he spoke again, “You’re doing so good, pretty girl.” 

You weren’t sure if it was your need to praise him or the flash of unadulterated lust you felt at that moment, but you leaned forward and slid the tip of his dick into your mouth. Spencer looked down at you through hooded eyes, the silent act urging you to continue. You opened your throat the best you could, sliding him further into your mouth until you couldn’t anymore. You wrapped your hand around the rest of him and, in time with the bobs of your head, stroked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. 

“Y/N,” Spencer groaned from above, placing an encouraging hand on the back of your head. He held your hair tightly. “Relax, baby,” he murmured. You slowed your movements so that he could fuck your throat at his own pace. You could tell he was holding himself back for your sake, and your heart swelled at how gentle he was trying to be during such a filthy act. 

You closed your eyes, becoming accustomed to the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat, timing your breaths to the thrust of his hips. Suddenly, you felt the hold on the back of your head let up as Spencer pulled completely out of your mouth. “I’d love to keep doing that,” he said, out of breath, “but there are other places I’d like to finish tonight.” 

You blushed at the implication of his words. He reached a hand out to you, helping you stand up from the ground and pulling you into a passionate kiss. Spencer’s tongue entered your mouth as he moaned into the kiss, hands exploring your figure as he pushed you back towards the bed. You let yourself fall, the soft mattress greeting you as Spencer continued kissing you. 

He reached a hand down between the two of you, taking a hold of one of your thighs and spreading your legs open for him. Spencer pulled away from the kiss, meeting your eyes. “Do you still want to do this?” he asked. 

You nodded. “I want to do this with you, Spencer.”

“You have to be vocal,” he said, continuing to look down at you. “I want you to tell me what you feel and what you need.”  You agreed.  

He kissed you gently once more before guiding his hand in between your legs, pushing a single finger into your opening. Spencer thrusted the digit in and out of you slowly, allowing you to get used to the feeling. “Do you think you can take another one?” he asked quietly. 

You nodded, “Yes.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you, the next intrusion stretching you more than the last. He worked his index and middle fingers in and out of your opening as you moaned under him. 

After another minute, he pulled away from you. “You’re doing so good,” Spencer encouraged. He gave himself a couple quick strokes as he reached over to his side table, pulling a condom out of the drawer. He slid the condom over himself and positioned both your legs on either side of his body, lining himself up with your entrance. “Remember, you have to tell me what you’re feeling. Okay?” 

He rubbed soothing circles on your thigh with one hand as he gently rubbed his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. You whimpered as Spencer pressed his tip into your entrance, body jerking inadvertantly as he continued to enter you. He peppered your collar with kisses as he continued. There was a small tinge of pain which brought tears to the corner of your eyes, but the pleasure was overriding the minor discomfort you felt. After fully entering you, he paused, allowing you to adjust.  

“How does it feel?” he asked. Your eyes, which had been squeezed shut, fluttered open at his voice. 

“Spencer-” you stuttered, “m-move. Please.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before pulling himself back and entering you slowly once again. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned above you. You couldn’t respond, too focused on the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you to begin to form a reply. “I wish you could see yourself right now,” he whispered, peppering your cheeks with kisses, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You moaned at his praise, and you felt yourself tightening around his cock. “You like it when I tell you how good you’re doing?” Spencer asked, a mischievous smirk rising to his lips. “You’re such a good girl, Y/N. You’re taking me so well,” he punctuated the final two words with sharp thrusts of his hips.

Between the words coming out of his mouth and the consistent movement of his hips, you knew you wouldn’t last long. You moaned, dragging your fingernails down his chest in an attempt to let him know. “Words, baby,” he encouraged. 

“I-” you groaned, “I’m gonna cum.” 

Spencer nodded, lifting himself up on his right arm to create some distance between you. “Hold on for me, one second.” He snaked a single hand down your torso, reaching your clit. He began drawing tight circles on your clit, causing your legs to shake as you tightened around him. Spencer leaned down to you and pressed his body against yours, “Let go, I’ve got you.”

With his permission, your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Your back arched off the bed as you squeezed your eyes shut, Spencer’s name falling off your lips. Driven by the feeling of you constricting around his cock, Spencer drove one final thrust into you, pushing himself in to the hilt. 

You felt an unfamiliar sensation as he finished into the condom inside of you, lips parted in a silent groan as he held himself above you, staring deep into your eyes. “Good girl,” he whispered one more time as he collapsed on top of you. You both laid there for a second in a futile attempt to catch your breath. He leaned up, placing a soft kiss on your lips before he pulled out of you, causing you to moan at the sensation. “I’ll be right back,” he said. 

You heard him exit his bedroom, and the sound of water running drew your attention to the bathroom. A moment later, Spencer reentered the bedroom. “Come on, baby. Let’s get cleaned up.” It was then you became aware of the amount of sweat coating your body, as well as the wetness coating your inner thighs. You accepted his outstretched hand as he lead you to his bathroom, allowing you to sink into the bathtub before he followed suit. He climbed in behind you, allowing you to lean back against him. “How do you feel?” he asked. 

You turned your head to look at him, “I feel great.” You sat in silence for a second, a smile spreading across your face. 

“What?” Spencer asked. 

You shook your head, covering your face before letting out a small giggle. 

Spencer’s smile mirrored your own. “C’mon now, what is it?”  

“I guess you did have a lot to teach me, Dr. Reid.” You turned to look at him, eyes meeting for the first time since entering the bathtub. 

Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, lips dangerously close to your ear. “Believe me, there’s lots for you to learn, if you’re interested.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you asking me on a date, Doc?” 

He sighed, leaning back against the bathtub. “Sure am.”

“Maybe next time, we’ll actually make it through dinner and get to dessert,” you said with a laugh. 

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning around to look at you. He lowered his voice, “Now that I know what you taste like, you’re my favorite dessert.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #dr spencer reid #bau x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #luke alvez #emily prentiss #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fanart #criminal minds fic #criminal minds poll #derek morgan #penelope garcia #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #hotchniss #bau team #aaron hotchner #bau fic

[yanaromanov]

pretty little beginnings

- professor!natasha x lawyer!wanda x reader

part summary: the start of the new semester sees you reunited with your best friend, kate, but also introduces you to your surprisingly gorgeous new professor. when you get a perfect score on her first class test, she’s keen to have a conversation with you…

part warning(s): teacher/student relationship, age gap (r is of age), power dynamics, married wandanat (no cheating), pet names, mentions of anxiety, mentions of bad family relations, reader is a perfectionist, minors dni.

authors note: i have no idea about america or their universities so am purely basing this off my own experience at my uk university, so if anything is incorrect i apologise but also let’s just pretend it’s not :)

part one of the inescapable love series

inescapable love masterlist

･ ｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

7.8K words

The beginning of term was always one of your favourite points of the whole year. To most, returning to campus after summer was somewhat of a bittersweet moment, having to come back to the reality of long classes and endless studying. For you, however, it was the start of something new, a fresh look at different courses that hadn’t yet bundled up into countless assignments or exams. The start of term always carried the least amount of pressure and therefore, the least amount of anxiety. Everything was starting from page one again, and it always provided you with a few weeks of sweet relief before you’d once again inevitably realise just how stressful school truly was.

Aside from the pressure of classes, most of your peers also found sorrow in the end of their summer break visiting home and their families. For you, however, this wasn’t one of your mind’s concerns. In fact, the trip back to university provided solace, a well-deserved partition between the people who you’d spent the past few months trying to tolerate.

Now, to say your family were awful to be around would be overstating things, in truth they weren’t all that bad, but spending summer with them was certainly not on your list of dream holidays. Most days you hid away in your childhood bedroom, trying to avoid the bickering voice of your mother, persistently droning on about school and your grades. She’d always taken a great pride in her children and that had certainly extended to you, her ideologies of perfection constantly looming over your shoulder. Your dad liked to drink, not enough to endanger his health but enough to wake you a few nights a week when he’d stumble around the kitchen in a drunken stupor. This itself was rather a hypocrisy, your dad being the one who dragged everyone to church on a Sunday morning to praise the Christian values when it seemed the holy day was the only one he didn’t seek out the bottle. At least now you were thankful that Sunday was the only day you had to deal with your older brother, when he’d join the rest of your family at service. For years, his perfection had been a constant reminder of how you were the disappointing child, despite attending one of the most prestigious universities in America.

In fact, your family was one of the main reasons you had even applied there. Not, as one may think, to appeal to their standards, but in fact, because it was about as far away as possible you could get from them. England was your home country, growing up in a small town in the southern parts of the land. Moving to America had been a big deal, having to completely relocate your life to an entirely different part of the world, but it had been something you desperately needed. At first your mother had been hesitant to let you go at all, but once she’d heard the ranking of the school you’d earned a scholarship for, she was all for having a daughter at a prestigious university in the states.

So, that was how you ended up here, already three years into your university career with only one to go until graduation. Living in America had been just the step you’d needed, finally giving you space from your overbearing family and in the process, also gifting you with one of the closest friends you’d ever had. Kate had been the first friendly face you’d seen at your new school, smiling widely as you’d first stepped into your shared dorm and energetically shaking your hand. Ever since, the pair of you had been practically inseparable, growing closer and closer everyday, and three years later, you still found yourselves sharing a dorm room.

Despite Kate’s skills in friendship, there was one thing about her that one may call a character flaw; the inability to ever wake up on time. It was the first official day of the semester, a few weeks having passed since the two of you had had your happy reunion and redecorated your shared room. The sun shone through the curtains which you had opened almost an hour ago. In all honesty, it was quite impressive how Kate had managed to not only sleep through your alarm, but hers as well. Atop of that, you’d not taken the curtesy to get yourself ready in a quiet manner. Now however, Kate really needed to wake up.

A tress of black hair flew up in the gust of wind that the pillow brought along with it. Moments later, Kate was sitting up quickly, cursing out at you for throwing at her in the first place. You chuckled at her antics as she tried to wipe away the hairs clinging to her mouth. “You overslept, Bishop,” you called, voice light and playful.

Kate scowled back at you, finally free from the mess of her bed head. Seconds later, you were dodging the pillow flying back across the room towards you.

“Hey!” you called back, narrowly missing getting hit in the head. “You’re the one who told me to wake you up, remember? You said this was the year you were getting your shit together.”

Kate’s expression was nothing short of unimpressed. She let out a loud groan as she threw herself back down into the confines of her bed, bringing her hands up to hold her face. “Can we reschedule that to next year instead?”

The chuckle that left your lips was light. “You know there is no next year.”

Your hands reached out towards her, grabbing hold of her duvet and ripping it from her bed. A small scream escaped Kate’s lips as she desperately tried to rescue the cover, albeit she arose unsuccessful. You passed her a small smirk as you threw the duvet to the floor. “If you’re not ready in five minutes, I’m going for breakfast without you.”

The girl passed you a none-too-happy glare but eventually settled on rolling out of bed, groaning loudly as she fell ungraciously to the floor. Simply laughing off her antics, you moved towards the full length mirror that hung in your dorm to check your outfit one last time. The warm weather still clung to the September air, resulting in the floral summer dress you’d adorned for the day, a small white cardigan sat atop of it. As always, your worn-in converse sat upon your feet, tattered from the years they’d spent traversing you to class.

American weather was just another one of the things you loved about living in the states. Summer in England was sticky and gross, the house always too hot, lacking AC and unbearable to sleep in at night. You’d always end up tossing and turning, sweat sticking the shorts to your body. Every street smelled like disposable barbecues and there never seemed to be enough ice in the shops to cool your drink. Overall, it was a rather uncomfortable experience. But Summer in America was a whole different story. It felt like the movies when they’d jump out of school on the last day, sun shining down on top of them. It was warm outside, and you could enjoy the sun before slinking back to a cool room with beautiful air conditioning, rather than you’d dad’s old fan that was louder than an airplane flying overhead.

“Are you almost done?” You finally turned away from your reflection, glancing across the room to where Kate was pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail. She’d dressed in a pair of old shorts and tshirt, obviously forgoing the ritual you’d followed of dressing cute on the first day.

“Yep,” Kate replied breathlessly, moving to put on her trainers, hopping around the room as she pulled them on. Once they sat upon her feet, she stood upright and looked at you with a dopey smile. “Okay, let’s go.”

You smiled shamelessly back, opening the door to your dorm in order for the pair of you to venture out. Kate simply passed you a small thanks as she slipped out into the corridor, followed closely by you after locking up your room. Thankfully, most days you left together as Kate never seemed to remember that crucial step.

———

“Wait, so you’re actually taking Russian this year?”

Your eyes rolled as the question rung out. “Kate, we’ve talked about this so many times.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders. “I just don’t get why you’d take a random language, that’s all.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you watched Kate take a bite of some scrambled eggs. As she did most mornings, she’d chosen to load her plate up from the breakfast trays, paired perfectly with a full glass of orange juice and a large mug of coffee. On the other hand, you’d only had a slice of toast, simply buttered, then a coffee of a similar size that you’d already downed. For someone who liked to attend meals so close to classes, one would expect Kate to choose smaller portions that she could maybe finish without shoving it in her mouth two minutes before she had to leave.

“I told you, Kate,” you repeated with another sigh. “I had to pick up some credits and the only thing that fit with my timetable was either Russian or a programming class.”

Your face screwed up at the last words you uttered, the idea of such a thing enough to turn your nose up. Kate could have taken some offence, considering her major was computer science and she was in such programming class, but it seemed she was too focused on finishing her half-eaten eggs.

“I thought you said there was a Spanish class you could take?” Kate said, talking around a mouthful of food.

Your eyes rolled in your skull, not only at her actions but at the fact she’d only remembered that small detail of your previous conversation. “There was,” you replied, crossing your arms on the table. “But I just thought Russian sounded more interesting.”

Kate raised a brow as you shrugged a shoulder. She didn’t have much time to judge you however, as you checked your phone to see there was only a few minutes until your first classes. Kate scrambled to finish the food on her plate as you collected your things, downing the rest of her coffee before pulling her backpack on to her shoulders. In the end, she had to run after you out of the dining hall after you’d already left, not letting yourself be late because of her antics.

The pair of you walked across campus together, Kate branching off to her first class and promising to meet up at lunch. You continued on to the building in which your timetable indicated your Russian class would be held. It was all rather new to you, a building you’d never been in before on campus. You supposed it fit with the class that you’d be taking now, stepping into something entirely new.

Thankfully, you found the lecture hall quickly, not discouraged by your unfamiliar surroundings. A lot of the seats were already filled up, the class just a few minutes from starting. You found a space down near the front, a usual spot for you in your determination to never miss anything a lecturer was saying, persistent on never having a blank spot in your notes.

The remaining minutes passed as you set yourself up for the class, pulling out your notebook and pen and setting them neatly on the desktop. Remaining students filed in, filling up what had to be one of the smaller lecture theatres on campus. It seemed there were barely thirty students who had decided to take the class, a small number compared to your usual large English lit course.

Noise bubbled in the room as the clock ticked by. At the exact second the hour struck, a door to the left opened wide.

“Good morning. If you could all settle down now, please. I need to take attendance.”

All attention fell upon the person who walked through the door, silence befalling the room as their voice echoed through the hall. As your eyes lifted from the scribbles on your notebook, they too sought out your new professor, but what they found was certainly not what you had been expecting at all.

The woman that approached the desk at the centre of the room was perhaps the most gorgeous you’d ever seen. Her hair fell perfectly in cascading curls, a brilliant red draped across her back. She wore a pair of black slacks, paired with a light blue dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. Her heels clicked meticulously across the polished wood as she set a laptop down at the centred desk, opening it up and glancing down at the screen.

It seemed you were not the only person affected by this woman’s presence as the entire hall fell silent as she began to call register. Most professors at this school were old men, droning on about things tirelessly. Even when presented with a female professor, none ever compared to the power and lure that this woman seemed to radiate across the class.

Once she’d finished calling names and assured everyone was marked down correctly, the red-haired woman moved towards the front of her desk, leaning back against it as a pair of arms came to cross over her chest. Your eyes found particular interest in the very expensive looking watch that sat upon her left wrist.

“Okay, my name is Professor Romanoff, as you have probably seen on your timetables. I will be your teacher for this class on introductory Russian.”

All ears seemed to be on the professor as she spoke, her voice confident in the space it held.

“I will start off by saying that this class is not easy so if you have taken it for that reason, I suggest perhaps changing.”

A tight smile appeared on a pair of red painted lips as the professor continued talking, the curtness behind it clear.

“This class is not impossibly difficult but it is certainly not a free ride. Anybody who treats it as such, is likely to fail.”

You weren’t sure what it was, maybe something in the air, but your attention seemed to cling to everything that fell out of the professors mouth, practically drinking up every word that she said. Your eyes found themselves particularly focused on her lips, adorning a shade of red so perfectly you even questioned if they were naturally that colour.

Professor Romanoff continued to rattle off expectations for the class, bringing up exam dates and testing styles before discussing an outline of everything the class would cover. Your pen jotted down everything she said, almost working faster than your brain could keep up, that ever persistent need to be perfect taking over once more, just like it did every time the new semester rolled back around.

Overall, the class seemed to be mostly an introduction. Professor Romanoff outlined specific topics you’d cover, before beginning to teach the difference between the English and Russian alphabets. Whatever it was she said, every word was jotted down into your notebook with persistent attentiveness.

The class seemed to pass by quickly, the order to pack up echoing out earlier than you thought it would, but with a quick glance at your phone, you realised that an entire hour had indeed passed. You tidied up your belongings, throwing them all into the old backpack you carried about everywhere, then got up to follow the crowd out of the lecture theatre. Your mind found itself satisfied with the enjoyment of the class, finding everything taught very interesting. Some part of you even found yourself somewhat excited for the next time you’d dawn the building and Professor Romanoff’s class.

———

“So how was it?”

Kate’s words were out of her mouth before you’d even sat down at the table, delayed in joining her by a few minutes due to your English professor droning on too long in his lecture. A sigh escaped your lips as you finally set yourself down at the dining table, throwing your backpack underneath as you looked over at your friend.

“How was what?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Your Russian class,” she replied, as if it was the most obvious thing ever said.

“Oh, right,” you replied, reaching for the cutlery on your tray and using it to begin cutting the omelette you’d picked up for lunch. “It was good.”

Kate raised a brow, obviously more curious than your answer could satisfy. “Just good ?”

You nodded in response, raising a single shoulder. “Yeah, good. It was really interesting.”

Kate hummed, taking a bite of the chicken burger she’d chosen for lunch. Like she often did, the girl spoke around her food to ask you another question. “How was the professor? Some old Russian guy?”

Unsure of exactly why, it felt like your heart gave a little flutter when Kate mentioned the professor, maybe it had something to do with the way you’d spent most of the lesson staring at her and thinking how beautiful she was. “Uhm, no actually,” you replied, taking a small bite of your food. “It was a woman. Quite young looking too.”

Kate’s interest seemed to be piqued, a single brow raised. “How young?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know how young. Like, thirties? I don’t know.” You shrugged again, unsure of how exactly to answer her question.

The girl across from you hummed. You could tell why it was a suprise to her, it had been to you too when you’d first laid eyes on your new teacher. Most professors at this university were very good at what they did, but that often came with the experiences of age. A younger professor was an uncommon sight.

“What was her name?” Kate asked, still chewing another bite of her burger.

“Romanoff.”

Kate hummed. “And she was any good?”

“Yeah,” you replied lightly, trying not to think too hard about the way her red hair had formed perfect curls. “She seems a little strict but she’s a good teacher.”

“Well, that’s always good I suppose.”

From there, Kate seemed to become disinterested in the professor, instead moving on to discuss a cute girl she’d seen in her programming class. You’d asked more questions but the pair of you knew Kate would never do anything about any crush she had, she would get far too nervous and stumble over all of her words any time she tried to talk to anyone. Many times you’d watched her fail to flirt with someone drunkly at a party, accidentally blurting out something stupid that caused the other person to turn away. Each time you’d end up giving her a pat on the back and assuring her she’d get the next one, both of you secretly knowing it probably wasn’t true. Nevertheless, it was fun to fantasise about cute people you saw on campus and Kate often liked to share all the things she’d like to do with someone if she could actually talk to them.

Your conversation slowly passed on to other things, talking over activities you both did over summer, but sooner than you’d like, the time came for you to both head to your next classes. You both packed up your things, tidying away your lunch trays before heading out of the dining hall and across campus, Kate giving you a very dramatic goodbye before disappearing into her coding class and you slipped away to criminology, some part of your mind still clinging on to the idea of alabaster skin and perfect red curls.

———

The semester kicked off quickly and before you knew it, you were already three weeks in. Your time had been spent flitting between your classes, keeping consistent with your notes and readings. That fresh term feeling still resided within you, positivity and interest radiating through you in each of your courses. Though your creative writing class remained your favourite, your new Russian elective had quickly climbed the charts to take spot number two. Something about the language simply drew you in, perhaps how different it was to English, but every class seemed to suck you in entirely and leave you eagerly awaiting the next one.

Through Kate’s complaining, you were exceedingly glad that you didn’t pick her programming class, the professor apparently loading far too much work on his students. Though, you were never sure how much of the complaints could simply be down to Kate’s dramatics. The pair of you continued to spend your free moments in each other’s company, talking over every meal and studying in the library. You made the most of the disappearing sun, basking in the last of the summer warmth on the campus lawn, your head stuck in a book while Kate napped next to you.

You’d also easily picked up your part time job once more, the manager of the campus coffee shop reminded of your hard work the past three years. The job itself was usually rather tiring, filling up your weekends and free mornings, but it paid for your food so you knew it was a necessity. Thankfully, the lingering warmth had meant the shop had remained rather quite so far, not too many people racing for a hot coffee while the sun still shone down from above. Your experience however, let you know that in just another few weeks, you’d have to pick up the pace and things would get increasingly harder as the temperature began to drop. Yet, for now you basked in the calmness that the summer brought. But one person in particular seemed determined to change that.

Kate stumbled around the room, grabbing different outfits from the closet and trying them on, before deciding they were no good and tossing them on to the floor. She’d never been a very quiet person getting ready, usually singing along to whatever band she found interesting that month, but at that exact moment, you wished she’d sometimes find a slightly calmer routine.

Your head hurt, most likely from dehydration. It had been a long afternoon shift at the coffee shop and it seemed summer was giving everyone one grand goodbye, bringing the temperatures soaring and consequently, leaving you with a very sweaty shift. Now you were back in the dorm, showered and in some light pjs, hoping to finally get started on the work you’d been thinking about all day. But someone seemed destined to distract you. Your eyes fell to Kate, desperately trying to find a top to match the current skirt she was wearing. “I hope you’re gonna clean that up,” you said, glancing at the mess of clothes on the floor.

“‘Course I will,” Kate replied, pulling another top from a drawer. “Ugh, why does nothing look right!”

You glanced once again to the girl, taking in her current appearance. “Wear the silver top,” you said nonchalantly.

Kate began rummaging in the drawer, knowing what you had meant and what to look for. She pulled the top out and tried it on, looking at herself in the mirror and letting out a pleased hum. “Looks good, thanks.”

She passed you a grateful smile and you simply passed one in return, merely thankful that she’d stopped making such a fuss while you were trying to work. Your body turned back towards your desk, eyes falling back on to the open notebook in front of you.

“I really can’t convince you to come tonight?” Kate’s voice whined as she touched up her makeup in the mirror. “It’s always super boring without you.”

“I told you already,” you replied, not looking up from your notes. “I can’t go to a party, I have to study.”

Kate sighed loudly. “What are you even studying for? It’s only the third week!”

“My Russian class. I have a test on Monday.”

Your roommate blew a gust of air from her mouth, the repel evident. “You still have all of tomorrow to study.”

“You’re right, I do. And I intend to use all the time I have.”

Despite still looking at your notes, you could see the eye roll Kate gave you. “Whatever, loser,” she called, grabbing a bag to take with her. From behind, you could hear her pulling on a pair of heels, which would probably end up in her hands before the night was done. “I’ll try be quite coming in,” she said, reaching for the door.

“Keys?”

“Shit.”

The noise of scrambling filled the dorm once more as Kate rummaged about in her backpack for her set of keys, an item so frequently forgotten about. You heard them jingle in her hands before being slipped into her purse. Then, she said her actual goodbyes and slid out of the room, finally leaving you to study in peace. You released a relieved sigh as silence fell back over the room and you allowed your eyes to scan the Russian letters and grammar scribbled out across your paper. Whatever party Kate was venturing to that night, it wouldn’t be the thing to keep you from studying, your mind entirely focused on the terminologies written in your notes and determined to commit every piece of it to memory, no matter how long it took.

———

Natasha loved her job, truly she did. In fact, she’d given up her career of lawyering to begin teaching, something about it always drawing her in. But one part about her job that she didn’t enjoy as much, was marking papers. Although it was an integral part of her role as a professor, it seemed marking always held tedium in the never-ending correcting of answers and decoding of illiterate handwriting.

A low sigh escaped her lips as Natasha circled yet another grade atop of a paper, a red ‘D’ followed by a smaller ‘62%’. It wasn’t a surprise to her that most of the grades were on the lower side, especially for her introductory class, the highest so far reigning at a 73. It always took new students a while to get used to the new alphabet and syntax that Russian carried, their grades reflecting that sometimes up until the midterm. Papers like this were Natasha’s least favourite to grade, constantly having to mark down corrections for spellings or grammar, and usually taking up more of her time than she’d like.

The smell in the kitchen at least worked to brighten up her mood, the soft aroma of a home cooked meal fluttering straight from her nose and down to her anticipating stomach. Wanda always loved to cook and each night Natasha loved coming home to eat whatever she’d stirred up for that night. Her wife dotted around the stove top as Natasha sat across the breakfast bar, two stacks of papers sat next to her. Her mind was hoping by the time she was finished marking, Wanda would have dinner ready and the two could finally relax for the night.

Determined to get finished, Natasha reached for another paper on the stack, briefly brushing over the student’s name before beginning her marking. The usual first questions went expectingly well, but as the test slipped into slightly trickier territory, it seemed the common errors that Natasha had grown so used to seeing, were entirely absent. As each question progressed, Natasha found herself becoming continually bewildered at the perfect answers provided on the paper. At the very end, flipping over the last sheet of paper on to the counter, she lowered her eyebrows in confusion. “Huh.”

Wanda’s head raised from where it sat looking down at a pan, now gazing over at her wife with an inquisitive look. “What is it?”

Not answering immediately, Natasha flipped through the test once again, looking over the many check marks next to every question. Slightly confused, she closed the paper, looking up to meet her wife’s eye. “Some student just got a hundred percent. Like, a perfect score.”

Now it was Wanda’s turn to look a little shocked, her brows raising as she leaned across the counter. “You think it’s legit?”

Natasha shrugged, the scenario playing in her mind. “I mean, I monitored everyone whilst they took it. Nobody looked to be cheating.”

The taller redhead let out an almost amused hum. “Impressive. What’s this outstanding student’s name?”

The paper flicked back to the front cover, Natasha’s eyes flitting over the name scribbled on the top of the sheet in neat handwriting. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

Natasha’s mind searched its archives for any mentions of the name, its presence feeling familiar on her tongue. She fell back to taking attendance, specifically on the first day of class. The name had rung out in the hall and a small voice had picked up to answer it. Natasha remembered her amusement at the English accent she’d heard radiating across the room, originating from a young girl in a pretty summer dress near the front row. It seemed some part of her mind had locked in the gentle smile that accompanied such a sweet voice.

"Cute name," Wanda hummed, moving to stir her pot before her recipe could burn.

"Yeah..." Natasha's eyes remained on the sheet in front of her, scanning over the name and conjuring images of the face that matched with it. "I just don't know how she could have done this perfectly." Her fingers flipped through the pieces of paper, eyes scanning the work written in black ink. "I mean, everything is exactly how is should be. Even her cyrillic is written neatly."

Wanda let out a low hum as she continued fussing about with the stovetop, her answer coming out rather nonchalant. "Maybe she's in the wrong class? Was supposed to enroll in one of your others at a higher level?"

The proposal had already flashed across Natasha's mind, the work in front of her seemingly too good for someone of beginner status. There was always something wrong, some letter they'd missed or some word in the wrong order, it was never this perfect. Her mind had scoured back to previous years, trying to remember if she'd taught her before, but the name sounded too unfamiliar, and besides, she would have recalled that distinctive cute accent that this certain student possessed. "Maybe," Natasha replied finally, turning back the paper to the front. "But I don't see why she wouldn't have swapped out already. I mean, she would have had to have noticed by now, right?"

Wanda licked the small spoon in her hand, tasting her dish before tossing the metal away into the sink. It always amazed Natasha just how much of a multitasker her wife could be. Still adding things to her meal, Wanda tossed a comment over her shoulder. "Well, there's only one way to find out. Talk to her."

The idea washed over Natasha, already present in her own mind. The curiosity of the situation was pulling her in, already wanting to know more about this mystery student. As she thought of the girl in her head, more interest seemed to curate within her. Seeing that adorable smile she'd caught each time she'd called attendance, hearing that charming little accent that followed her name being called, something about it all drew her further in than one may expect, in ways perhaps unrelated to the test in front of her. Excitement and curiosity brewing in her, Natasha looked up to smile at her wife. "I think I will."

———

Today was not a good day for you. Not only had you forgotten your water bottle back in the dorm, but it was also the first day of the semester you’d be receiving back a test. It was only a small one, one that wouldn’t dent your final grade enough to matter, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t spent hours studying for it. You should have known that the peaceful calm that followed the start of term wouldn’t last forever, but it seemed every year the reality of things slipped your mind and you suddenly felt the anxiety crashing down on your shoulders a few weeks in.

Aside from a small introductory piece you’d had to write for creative writing, this was your first proper assessment of the year. As you sat in the lecture hall, waiting for class to begin, your mind flooded over everything you’d done to prepare, the hours of studying you’d put in, thinking back to the questions and if there was anything you could have possibly misread. Your foot tapped quickly against the floor as you pondered the possibility of a bad grade, particularly the berating that would follow from your family if they ever found out. You tried your best to settle your anxiety as the minutes ticked by, assuring yourself that you’d put in all the effort you could, a good grade surely waiting for you after all your hard work. But when the doors to the hall opened and your professor walked in, the pit in your stomach only dropped further.

“Morning everyone,” Professor Romanoff called out, briefly glancing across the class. In her hands you could spy the laptop she usually carried, alongside the stack of test papers you’d be receiving back very shortly. Your heart continued to beat in your chest as attendance was taken, voice slightly shaky when it came time for your name to be called.

“Right,” the redheaded woman said, closing down her laptop after finishing the register. She reached for the stack of papers in her desk as she stood, moving towards the front of the class and looking out. “As I said, these tests are mostly just a baseline to let me know you’re all on track. Though, if you are failing, maybe come see me and we can have a chat about why.”

With that, Professor Romanoff began towards the class, calling out names and passing out tests. You tried not to look as she walked up the isle next to you, the first time close enough to touch. Mostly, your eyes remained on the desk in front of you, mind reeling at the possibility of failing. You wouldn’t fail, right? You’d studied for hours.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

A low voice brought your head up from its position, mind dragged from your thoughts and thrust back into the present moment. Your eyes raised to see your professor suddenly stood in front of you, her stare focused upon your face.

“Yes?”

A tight expression appeared on the redhead’s face, almost a smile but not quite reaching her eyes. Her fingers slid your test paper back towards you, face down against the desk. Your eyes flickered down to it before returning to her gaze. “See me after class, please.”

If there were any words you wanted to say, your throat tightened to prevent them from escaping. Before you could even comprehend what she had said, Professor Romanoff was already moving on towards the next student. Your eyes followed her momentarily, then darted back towards your upturned test. You failed, your mind screamed at you. You must have failed.

Tentative fingers reached out towards the paper, your heart preparing for the first ‘F’ ever written on one of your tests. You were already thinking about how you’d have to explain this to your parents, how you’d let it settle within yourself. The paper flipped over, the red writing of your grade distinct at the top of the first page, but when your eyes fluttered over to it, they did not find what they had been expecting mere moments before. Instead of a giant ‘F’ like you’d been anticipating, the paper held a large ‘A’ on the front, then beside it, in a smaller circle, a 100% mark.

Your eyes almost couldn’t believe what they were seeing, mind more relieved than any time you could remember. Almost at once, your body had relaxed, that small smile appearing on your lips like it always did when you did well. You hadn’t failed at all, in fact, you’d done the complete opposite. Maybe this day wasn’t going as bad as you had anticipated. But then you remembered your professor’s words.

See her after class? What could that possibly mean? Your mind suddenly became erratic again, the anxiety taking control and catastrophizing every possible scenario. You were unsure how you felt with the idea of spending time alone with Professor Romanoff, suddenly worried she may have the ability to read minds and would be able to tell how much your mind had floated back to her face over the past few weeks.

The thoughts in your head were so loud you didn’t notice when your professor first began going on the test. It was only by question four you’d caught on, suddenly snapping back to reality and trying desperately to join back in with the class seamlessly. It seemed, however, that your mind still couldn’t concentrate, entirely focused on the conversation the red-haired woman in front of you had requested to have.

Your eyes fluttered around the room, glancing at the other students to perhaps gage how everyone else had done on the test. Briefly, they fell upon the desk next to you, spying the ‘56%’ scribbled on to the top of the test paper that sat there. When your eyes raised to the girl it belonged it, she passed you a quick scowl, making an eye to the perfect score that sat in front of you. Feeling far too seen, your eyes snapped back to your own paper, hoping that said girl knew you weren’t at all judging, though by her face, it seemed those were her exact thoughts. For the rest of the lesson you vowed to keep your eyes glued to your own paper, too scared of what they might find in the faces of those around you.

Eventually, your professor’s words began to drown out, overtaken by the lingering anxiety clouding your mind. Before you knew it, you’d spent the entire hour stuck inside your head, rethinking every possible scenario that could possibly occur after class. Now, you were forced to face the reality as Professor Romanoff dismissed the class, requesting papers be returned to her before anyone left.

You watched from your chair as a line of students all placed their papers in a stack on the side of the wooden desk. Slowly, you began to pack away your things into your bag, trying not to draw attention to yourself any more than necessary. When you stood, you clutched your test close to your chest, hiding the score away from anyone who might have passed you a look any similar to the girl previously sat beside you.

As the line of students dwindled down, all turning to leave the lecture room, you slowly approached the desk at the centre of the room. The last of your class let the doors swing closed behind them just as you reached the wooden surface, leaving you in the room entirely alone with your professor. You watched her from behind as she wiped the chalkboard clean, erasing away any remnants of the previous lesson.

The air felt so thick you could choke on it. Your mind told you to make yourself known, clear your throat or something, but it seemed you were almost frozen in place. Only when Professor Romanoff finally turned, did you even move at all.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N.”

The woman dusted her hands against each other as she began to close the gap between the two of you. Both of your eyes met each other, her gaze locking on to yours as she walked back towards her desk and sat down on the edge of it. You swallowed harshly as you danced on the balls of your feet, your irrational thought of mind reading suddenly coming back to you. But Professor Romanoff didn’t say anything towards the sort, instead, simply extended her hand out towards you, palm facing up to the ceiling.

“Oh, right,” you stumbled, handing over the test paper which she had just previously been looking at. It was slightly crumpled from being pressed to your body but the woman seemingly took no notice, simply glancing over it before returning it to the pile of others on her desk, a low hum escaping from her lips.

When her eyes turned back to meet yours, you suddenly noticed how green they were, never having been so close as to regard them before. Blazing emerald gazed back at you as your heart pounded in your chest.

“This is a very good paper, Miss Y/L/N. I’ve never had a student get a perfect mark on one of my tests before.”

As Professor Romanoff’s voice caught your ears, your heartbeat only seemed to quicken its pace. Something in her gaze felt scrutinising, the small curt smile on her lips enough to practically drag your next words out from your mouth.

“I-I didn’t cheat if that’s what you think. I swear.”

It was spilling out before you could stop it really, words tumbling over one another in a desperate attempt to plead your case. That had been the conclusion you’d drawn from this scenario, the reason you’d been asked to stay back in the first place. But to your surprise, Professor Romanoff simply raised a skeptical brow. “I never said you cheated, did I?”

Suddenly you felt very warm, like the wonderful AC you always gushed about had instantaneously disappeared. “No-I just-I-I mean-“

The words tumbled from your mouth, barely coherent. They were quickly silenced when Professor Romanoff raised a hand, passing you a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

“I don’t think you cheated, Y/N,” the professor said after a moment, lowering her hand once more. “I’m just curious as to how you achieved such a high score.”

You felt a little stupid, mind too ahead of itself like always and blurting out the first thing it thought of without even thinking properly. Professor Romanoff’s words washed over you and you picked up on the question present, thinking over your answer briefly before shrugging your shoulders. “I just studied, I guess.”

That perfectly sculpted brow raised once more. “Studied?” Professor Romanoff seemed to look you up and down, gazing at the way you picked at your nail beds anxiously. You stopped immediately when she seemed to notice, instead moving to hold your hands behind your back. The professor moved her eyeline back up to you once more, a curious expression now taking over her face. “Have you taken Russian before?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Professor Romanoff let out a low sigh, adjusting herself on the table where she sat. She was once again wearing a pair of fitted slacks and polished heels, partnered today with a short-sleeved white blouse. From this distance, you could tell the material was silk. You tried not to stare at the woman’s exposed arms as the came to cross against her chest, and more importantly, at the slight cleavage on show that now pressed higher as she moved.

“It’s highly unlikely for a beginner to get a perfect score on a test,” your professor said, eyes meeting yours. “Especially so early on.” The air seemed to grow thicker as the redhead leaned in closer towards you, her gaze narrowing ever so slightly. “So if you’re lying to me, sweetheart, I’d appreciate if you didn’t.”

The name hung heavy in the air, hammering at your lungs as you stood under the woman’s scrutinising gaze. Suddenly, you felt warmer, your heart rate picking up even more as the words of defense began to stumble from your mouth once again. “I-I swear I’ve never taken it before. I-I just-“ You swallowed harshly, trying to regain some of your composure. "I looked at the syllabus over summer and maybe taught myself some of the basic concepts is all. And I did some extra reading, but I just wanted to be prepared! I haven't actually done Russian properly before, I promise. I-I just-"

Professor Romanoff raised her hand once more, silencing your stuttering. "It’s alright, milaya," she said, a small smile now spreading across her lips. "Calm down." The Russian was recognised by your ears but not your mind, left untranslated in the conversation as the redhead continued to talk. "You’re not in any trouble. I was just curious"

The gentleness of your professor's voice was enough to settle you down, suddenly feeling foolish for blurting out like you had. You took a moment to breath, looking down at your feet as they swayed you back and forth. "Right," you said, voice now quiet in the near-empty room.

When your eyeline raised to Professor Romanoff once again, she was still looking back at you with that gentle smile, her eyes soft under the light. After a moment of her gaze on you, she released a small sigh, reaching back to place a hand on your test that sat at the top of the pile. "This is very good test, though," she said, nodding her head towards you. "You should be proud of yourself."

The praise washed over you in a wave of warmth, spreading across your cheeks and down the back of your neck. It wasn't often you received recognition for your work, it certainly never being enough back home, so you never really learned how to properly cope with it without your face embarrassingly heating up and a dopey smile appearing on your lips. You tried your best to hide these now, looking back at the redhead in front of you. "Thank you, professor."

The woman smiled, unbothered by the way your fingers had moved to begin fidgeting with the zip of your hoodie, desperate to find something to distract your flurried mind. "I assume you have another class to get to, Miss Y/L/N?" Professor Romanoff stood up, now looking down on you from a few inches above, her heels adding even more height so that you had to slightly raise your head from where it had been to look up at her.

Your head nodded. "Uhm, yes I do."

The redhead began to collect the papers that sat on the side, adjusting them into an orderly pile. From behind the desk, she smiled over at you. "Well then, hurry along. I wouldn't want to make you late."

Your head nodded again, more frantically this time. "Of course." You adjusted the backpack on your shoulders before turning away, headed towards the door to your right, but before you could reach it, Professor Romanoff's voice called out again.

"And Y/N?"

You turned quickly, facing her desk once more with an awaiting expression. The woman met your eye, the smile on her lips different now, almost what one could mistake as a smirk. She looked over at you as she said, "Keep up the good work."

For the third time, you nodded, feeling yourself heating up again. "I will," you replied, smiling sheepishly. "Thank you again, professor." And with that, you turned and reached for the door, rejoining the rest of the world with a blush on your cheeks. As you headed towards the exit of the building and on towards your next class, your mind tried desperately to think about anything other than the way your professor’s arms had looked pressed against her chest, or more noticeably, how sweet the nicknames she had called you felt upon your ears.

#inescapable love au #professor natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #platonic kate bishop x reader #lawyer wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader

[s-4pphics]

click! finale (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black, parental trauma, self-worth issues, slight disordered eating, brief alcoholism and hypersexuality, heavy grief, pining but depressed

A/N: finally on break yaassss….. sequel? LOL 

The air around you is strangling. You haven’t left your room in two days. You’re not passing this semester. 

The room next to yours, however, is filled with life. Ellie’s back to blasting her music and banging on walls, but you have yet to cross paths. Not in class, not at home; You haven’t seen her. Pickle never hesitates to scratch at your door for hugs. And kisses. She’s brought you so much comfort, even in times where you feel like you’re undeserving. 

Christmas is around the corner, and you’re alone. Amaya never shied away from taking you home for her breaks, but she’s gone. She hasn’t called in a while; You hope she’s doing okay. 

So, you seek escape in a different way and do what you haven’t in a long time. 

Tears flood your vision, your thumb hovering over a number you haven’t touched in ages. Your hands won’t stop trembling. You’re going to regret this. Your heart's already breaking into pieces at the heart and cloud emojis of the contact. 

Soft paws knead your thighs and you kiss kit-kat’s tiny head as she nuzzles your chin. You’re trying to keep your sobs to a minimum, but they’re tearing your throat to shreds.

Your thumb comes down on the contact and the line rings. And rings… and rings until the dial tone sounds. 

“At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up or press one for more options.”

You knew no one would answer. No one ever answers, but still, you listen for her voice. The steadiness of her breathing. You take a shaky breath, “Hi, mom.” Mindless sentences pour out of you like a waterfall. You just sit there and allow Pickle to playfully bite your finger. 

“I, uh… I’m not…” Another sob, “I’m not doing well.” 

You would never say that if she were here. You always masked your true feelings for her sake; She never needed any additional stress. 

Void images of your father reoccur in your memory, “I think there’s something wrong with me… I don’t think I’m a g-good person.” A barbed tongue affectionately licks at your finger, and you try to smile. 

“I… We found a kitty in the snow,” You whisper, “She's the cutest thing ever.” Pickle looks up like she knows what you’re saying, and you weep at her delicate eyes. 

“It was the weirdest thing…” You huff wetly, “It felt like you put her there to stop me from making a mistake.” More tears flood your shut eyes. 

“I just miss you…” Your palm digs into your eye, “and I wish you w-were here. I’m not…” Pickle climbs to rest in your lap; You always did that with your mom for comfort. Another loud sob. 

“I lov— “

You jolt at the loud dial tone, and the line ends. You drop your phone on your blanket and search around your room, the portrait of your mother standing tall on your desk. You need to make another one for her birthday. 

Your eyes travel over your space, and for the first time, you don’t feel comfort. Your mind is racing with thoughts that expose your truth; They’re vile and dirty and they make you feel like scum. A disease walking. 

The dark nights are restless and the days are silent, halls only filled with soft purrs and pattering paws. 

Your home no longer holds the joy that it once did when Amaya was here. Excitement used to burst through you whenever she prepped your movie nights after work, the living room filled with laughter and corny love lines that made your stomach secretly twist with warmth. 

You’re not happy anymore. Anxiety brews in you whenever you walk into the kitchen, the living room, go to feed and snuggle Pickle. It’s fucking miserable in here, and as difficult as it was for you to admit, it’s all your fault. 

It’s almost finals week, and you’re nowhere near prepared. You can’t focus on anything except the treacherous silence of your space. It’s almost like Ellie’s already gone. 

You should be anticipating her departure, antsy to have your space to yourself again, but your chest aches. This past month was anything but smooth, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. For some reason. Maybe it’s because you got to live your main character moment, even if it was just for a few hours.  

Ellie, as much as you hate to admit it, deserves better. Just like how you deserve to spend your life alone, trapped and secluded with your own thoughts. She should want better for herself; Nothing is worse than being in your presence; Maybe that’s why you have no one. 

You desperately want to do better for yourself, but you’re tired. Your mother would be so disappointed in you. You retire from wallowing and climb under the covers, Pickle clutched tightly to your chest. You hope she doesn’t mind the tears from your tee.  

The portfolio is finished. Ellie can’t stop staring at the booklet enclosed in leather on her desk. 

The online submission process was infuriating, mainly due to her laptop dying during the portfolio render, but it’s done. Her ticket into a life-changing position is no longer hers to judge; It can only go up from here. 

All she needs is that phone call from the recruiting manager and it’s over. She’ll be in the city in no time. She’s excited and jittery; Every buzz from her phone is met with clenched hands and a sweaty forehead. Her disappointment heals when she sees her father’s classic thumbs up emojis surrounded by black and red hearts; Even from miles away, he knows when she needs support. 

Ellie lays her forehead on the leather, sighing in relief for what seems like the billionth time. It’s a surreal feeling, relishing in accomplishments. She's never done it, mainly because her mother never wanted to acknowledge happenings she wasn’t the center of. Hearing congratulations is still a mindfuck years later. 

… Your photos looked stunning. You’re made for this, even if you don’t believe it. 

Ellie will never admit how much energy she put into editing those pictures, specifically the ones you’re in. She spent hours recoloring, scaling, sharpening those photos, and they turned out incredible. Probably some

of the best shots she’s ever taken, and you’re in the center. And your eyes… There’s so much light in those hazel specks. 

Another mindfuck. 

Whenever Ellie comes home, she checks the small space between the floor and door of your bedroom to see if you’re awake. If you’re alive. The relief she feels when she sees a lamp light or shadow eases the tension in her shoulders. 

She never knocks, though. Never. 

So why are you? 

Ellie’s back instantly straightens at the soft pats on her door, heart pounding in her ears. You never knock. 

She’s embarrassed at how fast she stands, chair nearly falling over as she flies to pull her door open. 

She’s met with you; She hopes you can’t hear the shatters from her chest at the sight of your disheveled appearance. Your hair is matted and the brunette river in your eyes are surrounded by redness

“Sorry, I—“ Your voice cracks like you haven’t spoken in ages, “She was lying there and I felt bad. She missed you, I think.” She’s never heard you sound so tedious. You’re always the loudest, goofiest person in the room. Ellie’s brows furrow before following your line of vision. Pickle’s sleep in front of her door, curled like a cinnamon roll. Ellie sighs as picks her up as fluidly

as she can, trying her best not to wake her. 

“You’re gonna have to take her when you leave.” 

Devastation sets in your tone as you stare at the little fur ball, “Why?” She asks. 

“My dad’s allergic.” You whisper.

Ellie peers down when Pickle stirs, “Is… is he visiting?” She asks, just as quietly. 

Your head shakes, “I’m going home.” 

Ellie does an impeccable job of hiding her shock. So many questions race in her mind: going home? Where’s home for you? Is it permanent? Are you moving out? When? Are you and your dad close? 

You’re turning away back into your room, but Ellie blurts out before you can shut the door. “I finished my portfolio! It’s… it’s done. I turned it in.” 

You turn, and your eyes are watery. Your smile is tiny, but genuine. “Congratulations,” you’re so quiet and your voice shakes. Ellie’s mind whirls, “They’re gonna love it.” You take one last look at Pickle, and your bottom lip wobbles. You shut and lock the door before Ellie can say thank you for helping me. 

Ellie’s eyes lock onto the floor, watching your lamp turn off, ears honing in on the shuffling of blankets. She swiftly scurries inside her space when she hears crying. 

Her chest concaves at the sobs echoing through the dark, silent halls. Through the thin wall as she sets the kitty on her favorite pillow to sleep on. She paces around her room and yanks at her pinky. How she wishes to be a fly on the wall; She wants to knock on your door so badly, but she doesn’t know what to say. How to comfort. She's always relied on her father for that. 

So, she just listens with regret and makes her final decision.

If you move from this counter, you’ll faceplant into hardwood. You don’t like the blaringly loud song coming from above, so you down another seltzer. It’s distracting enough. 

You feel yourself leaning forward, so you force yourself back up, practically flung over the counter. You’re never drinking again, you promise yourself. How many times has that one been broken? You don’t remember. You miss Ellie. 

You’re going to fall again, but this time, you’re supported. And not by the counter. You instantly relax at the familiar scent. 

Abby’s mumbling something about something, but it sounds like gibberish. You throw your arms around her neck, inhaling deeply; You miss Ellie terribly. 

We gotta get you outta here. You frown; You don’t want to leave! The party just started! 

Her strong arms wrap around your waist to maneuver you. You’re not sure where she's taking you, but you don’t fight. You simply allow her to snatch your heels off and carry you into the piercing-sharp cold. Just allow her to drag you to safety. You wish it was Ellie. 

The world around you moves in a blur; The pace is making you dizzy. You don’t want to vomit in Abby’s car. When did she get a car? 

“Abby…” 

“Yeah, hun? You good?” She sounds so far away. Your mumbles are incoherent. She's so confused, so she asks you to repeat it. 

You face her from the passenger seat with a sultry grin. You miss Ellie, “I missed you.” Your words are garbled and your hands are as loose as your tongue, shakily landing on her muscular thigh, massaging the skin. 

Abby tenses with a sigh, planting a gentle hand on your traveling one. Her grip tightens when you try to move. “Did you really?” 

That's your green light. Your smile grows as you clumsily unbuckle your seatbelt, “Stop… stop the car.” 

Abby’s foot plants on the break, and you jerk forward. Like the night you found Pickle. Like when Ellie… 

“What’s the matter?” 

I miss my roommate. “I’m horny.” 

Your friend scoffs and shakes her head. Either you’re too drunk or she’s disappointed… Not the reaction you were seeking. Your smile tries to fade, but you force the corners of your mouth back up. 

“No, you’re not.” She snaps, and it takes you a second to catch it. Abby’s upset again. What the fuck did you do this time? Your facade finally falters. Now you’re irritated. 

“How’re y… how’re you gonna tell me what the fuck I am?” You sound like a fucking idiot, but your rage ignites your slurs, “If you don’t want me, why’re you here!” 

“Because you fucking called and I’m your friend! I didn’t wanna leave you by yours— “

“You should’ve!” Your shriek is piercing; You’re shocked the windows didn’t shatter and slice you both. 

“That’s how you fucking feel? Really?” 

You try to swallow tears, but they flow. The words you want to say are on the tip of your tongue; Thank you for coming to get me. I’m sorry for being awful. Don’t leave me by myself. 

But none of them escaped. They sit and rot in your throat. You’ve never seen Abby so… 

And she doesn’t let up, “Now you wanna cry? Are you serious?” There’s fire in her eyes; It burns in a way you’re not used to, especially not her, “This victim shit is getting very old— “

“I don’t care!” 

“I don’t fucking care, either! If you wanna keep getting used like a piece of meat by random bitches, then do that! Leave me the fuck out of it!” Abby slams her hand down on the armrest, and the car doors unlock, “Matter of fact, get the fuck out!” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Fuck YOU! Get out! Get the fuck out!” 

Curses and heated exclamations leave the two of you until you wobbly exit the vehicle, slamming the door as hard as your brain would allow. The wind blows like tacks, stabbing through the skin of your bare arms and chest. Abby zooms off, and you scream. 

You dig in your pocket for your phone, ineptly dialing Ellie’s number. It’s fucking one in the morning

“… Hello?” She was asleep. Your heart eases at the steadiness of her tone. 

You’re shivering, “… E—Ellie?” 

“Hm?” 

“I’m… I’m really cold and I don’t,” sob, “I dunno where I am— “

“What do you mean?” She asks abruptly, alert. Your heart flutters. 

You whimper, “I’m lost, I don’t… I’m a bad person— “

“Send me your location. Where’re your keys?” 

“I— I don’t remember— “

“Are you drunk right now?” 

“Yes,” You mumble meekly. This is so fucking embarrassing. 

Ellie sighs heavily, “Just… Is there somewhere you can wait until I get there?” 

You search through tears, finding mostly dark retail stores and restaurants across the street… Except Jack in the Box! The munchies hotspot never fails you. 

“There’s a Jack in the Crack over there.” You point like she can see you. She snickers softly. 

“Go, then. I’ll be there soon, okay?” 

“Wait! Don’t… don’t hang up, please, I’m scared— “

“I wasn’t going to.” 

You closely listen to the shuffling on the other line as you wobbly trek across the street. You sharply inhale at every slip and stumble on your journey, almost sobbing through every confirmation to Ellie’s small are you okay? 

You finally make it inside and thank God that it’s warm. You take a seat and sigh at the familiar jingle of keys. 

“You in there?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I’m coming, send me where you are.” 

“K.” 

It takes you longer than it should’ve to get her the location thanks to the Casa in your system, but she’s on the way… You really want curly fries. Fuck. 

You hate how your thoughts wander, self-loathing at the forefront of your lobe. You take after your father more than you thought: a filthy, lying train wreck. You’ve ruined every glimmer of hope, of positive influence around you, and you’re forced to bathe in the treachery you’ve created all over again. 

“Hey.” 

You leap out of your seat at Ellie’s raspy tone, seeing your hoodie draped over her forearm and keys dangling in her hand. Your tummy growls when you wave. Ellie’s gaze softens. “Hungry?” She hands you the hoodie for you to throw on. You nod. 

“What do you wanna eat?” 

“… Fries,” you croak, “Curly, please.” 

Ellie nods and waddles to the service counter. You watch her backside under her puffer as she pays and collects a small baggie and water before nodding towards the car. You follow close behind her in silence, munching on your snack. 

The ride back home is silent, but for once, the air isn’t deadly. You’re eased back from your breakdown, and it’s definitely not due to the forest in your roommate’s vision. 

You enter your warm apartment and get greeted with soft purrs, Kit-Kat skipping over to rub against your leg. It’s almost enough to make you break down all over again; You can’t believe you have to say goodbye to her next week. 

You kick your sneakers off and squat down to her level, “I love you so much, baby girl. Thank you for taking care of me.” You whisper and pet her head, all the way down to her tail. She meows like she loves you. Ellie shuts the door and watches you silently. You turn to face her. For the first time, she doesn't fidget at your inspection.

Her eyes are much glossier and she’s picking at the skin on her pinky. She wants to say something. 

“You okay?” You murmur, and Ellie nods. You don’t believe her. Her eyes are downcast. Why does she look so nervous? 

The silence is killing you, so you speak. 

“Ellie, I’m… I’m sorry for everything,” You stand and ramble. “I’m the worst roommate imaginable and I-I’m terrible and impulsive and I fucking suck, but I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” 

I also kinda like you. 

Not even your word vomit lets that slip. So, you apologize, sloppily and snot-filled. Tears drip down your face in waterfalls, “I’m— I don't wanna go... and I don’t want you to go…”

Ellie’s timid facade breaks, only slightly, eyes closing gently as she listens. “I know I don’t deserve t-to ask that and it’s not… I wasn’t apart of your plan— “

“You’re drunk.” 

You’re plummeting into the void all over again, succumbing to a familiar, oddly comforting darkness. 

“H-Huh?” 

Ellie’s as firm as a tree, unmoving. Strong. Still. You’re transported back to your first conversation and how intimidated she made you feel. “You’re drunk… and I leave in the morning. I got the job.” 

Drowning. That’s what this feels like. Strangely proud. Oddly suffocating. You’re underwater, but refuse to resurface. “I-In the morning?” 

Her head jerks. “I, uh. I got rent covered. Sorry for the late notice.” She shoves her hands in her pocket. You shake your head, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s okay.” You whisper. “Where’re you gonna go?” 

“My dad’s. He’s a few hours out. The truck comes tomorrow.” 

Your head bobs in acknowledgement, “H-How was the stats final?” She pauses; Her eyes sadden, tilting like an unwatered rose. “You’ll do fine.” She whispers. 

“Promise to take care of my daughter?” You blurt between sniffles, already moving down the hall, ignoring the loud shattering in your heart when you peep all her boxes in the now vacant room beside yours. 

Ellie mumbles your name but you’re sick of ugly crying in front of people. “Good luck with everything.” You mutter with hot feet.

And with the last click of your bedroom lock, you shut out the vine who entangled your heart for the last time. You give into the feelings of loss, the emotions that come with failure, and release them into your hands. 

What could’ve been, your brain hollers while your heart wails. What could’ve been if you weren’t you. 

You don’t remember waking up, but you’re in pain. Physically, mentally; You're hurting. The intensity of it somehow gets worse at the sound of Ellie dragging boxes out of her — the room. 

You just cry. There’s nothing to do but cry. Your phone has been ringing all morning, but you don’t have strength to reach for it. You relish in the deserving pain of your hangover. Tequila hasn’t done shit for you. 

Hours pass, and your home is silent. Ellie’s gone. Pickle’s gone. Amaya’s gone. Abby’s gone. Your mother’s gone. You take their departures as signs. It’s probably time for you to go, too. 

Your shower is incredibly long. You wash and wash and re-wash, wanting the feelings of cleanliness to cascade down your skin, but it never comes. You tearfully accept your lecherous nature and every vile entity attached to it. You’re a vessel for heartbreak and villainy. Forever your worst enemy. You look in the mirror for the first time in days. Just for a second. You can’t stand to see yourself for longer than that, your naked form a reminder of every violation you’ve had to endure since you were fifteen. 

Ellie isn't thinking twice about you, and yet, she terrorizes your mind, trying to convince yourself that your time together wasn’t all bad. You’ll never forget the color she brought to you. Her seed is forever planted and growing in your heart, her roots forcing their way into your system, intertwining with your rough, cracked bones, enclosing around your lungs with each breath. 

Too bad you impacted her in the worst way. You couldn’t even manage to give her a sober apology before she left. It’s hard to accept the fact that you’ll never see her again, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. 

Once again, you’re too late. 

The short lap around your living room crushes your spirit. Somehow, all of your memories are shrouded in emptiness. All the proof of Ellie’s residency is gone… Except the indent of her body on the couch. She always loved sleeping there.

One last heavy exhale. That’s all you can manage before you grab your coat and beanie and exit, locking the door behind you. You keep your head down on the way to the parking garage, hopping into the driver’s seat. The ride to the academic advisory office is silent and swift; It matches the finality of your meeting. 

Tears glaze your eyes when you ask your counselor, “What’s… What’s the first step of withdrawing? Like, from school.” 

-

-

-

CHRISTMAS EVE 

Your fork picks at the pasta noodles on your barely touched plate. The wine is delicious. 

“Honey, are you…” Your dad says softly before sighing, “How’s the meal?” You blink up at him, focusing on the crinkles in his eyes. He seems youthful somehow. Healing looks good on him. 

You gulp down more maroon, “… It’s great. Thank you.” You mutter. You’re not used to talking to him; You’re glad the feelings are mutual. He only nods, head downcast onto his plate. At least he’s eaten. 

He sets his fork down on his plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin, “I hope you like your gift.” He says before standing to place the dish in the sink.

A dark smile spreads behind your glass. 

“Never thought you’d buy me anything.” You snicker sarcastically. “Don’t start.” His voice slices through the kitchen. You hold back your flinch. You’re not ten anymore. 

You shrug, shoulders heavy, “Just saying.” A glass shatters in the sink, and he curses and storms off, the bedroom door nearly swinging off the hinges with a slam. Your smile grows at the booming echo. Like father, like daughter you suppose. 

-

-

-

DECEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTH 

“Are you ready, kiddo?” 

Ellie’s heart is pounding through her chest as she stares out the window. She can’t believe her father hasn’t commented on the bursting organ. “No.” She whispers, adjusting the camera strapped around her neck. She's fighting not to bite her nails; Her dad hates that. 

He chuckles softly, “Yes, you are.” 

No, she’s not. 

The photography studio is fucking huge and surrounded by tall windows that display suited individuals laughing, conversing, perfecting their lenses. She can see the bright specks of neon color on the white floors, white walls, white couches. It’s so much brighter than she ever imagined.

The colors are reminiscent of you. Vivid. Captivating. Beaming like your smile. There are flashes coming from all directions inside the studio and it’s making her shake in the passenger seat. A strong hand plants on her blazer, giving an encouraging squeeze. “Look at me.” 

Ellie’s head turns, eyes locking with her dad’s. 

“I love you. You got this.” He says with confidence. Ellie nods in agreement, but he doesn’t accept it. “Say it.” 

“I got this.” Not as confident. A lot quieter, but getting there. 

“Eh?” Her dad leans in closer, ear pointed at her. She giggles and repeats herself. A little louder. He decides that it’s good enough, pulling her close over the center console. Ellie inhales as deeply as she can, right in the crook of his neck. He plants one last kiss on her cheek before releasing her. She grabs her bag from the floor and pushes the door open, looking over her shoulder one last time. “I love you.” She whispers. He bops her nose with the most delicate grin. Pride is radiating off him, and it warms her from the cold outside. 

Ellie departs with one last wave, shutting the door and skipping onto the sidewalk, walking right up to the front door of the studio. A final peek at her dad; He sends her two thumbs up. She smiles. 

Breathe in, one… two… three… 

When the door pushes open, she's greeted with wide grins and warm hugs. It feels like home already.

Finally... Finally.

BIG ASS TAGLIST LOOOOOL LOVE YALL: @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane@muthafuckingstargirl @mina-281 @yuckyfucky @aimformyheartt @elstoy @skylerwhitwyo @sawaagyapong @nil-eena @dewylittlestars @sakiigami @feelsoseencantdream @ellieslittlegf@fictionalgap @liabadoobee @whooknooows @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @qtgaslighter @p4ison1vy @eviestevie-14 @weaselot @elliewbbg @elsmissingfingers @lmaoo-spiderman @lyssaspengler @elliewilliamsmunch @gummydummykj @kiwikeysblog @juniorsfav @louleele @alittlextrahoney @tohoko@333-starhotline @girlkissersco @saplingkoi @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @elliew-illiamsmissingfingers @diddiqueen @alexisvs-world @mostlyhornyandsad @lolaaa699999 @elsblunt @niyahlovesu @randomhoex @sunnmoon @elliesaesp @callmewhenyoukan @rubycruzsbitch @deathby1000sluts @skylerwhitwyo

#click! ☾⋆⁺₊📸✧ #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #black!oc #black!reader #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪ #ellie williams angst

[mariasont]

The Manuscript - A.H

a/n: this was supposed to be based on t.s new song manuscript, but it didn't realllyyy turn out like that

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while unpacking you find a series of letters aaron wrote to you in college

warnings: angst, age gap (reader is 20s, hotch is 40s), haley and jack don't exist in this universe

wc: 1.3k

Your gaze swept over the towering stacks of boxes littering your living room floor, and with a resigned sigh, you began the daunting task of unpacking them. Your hands found the nearest box deftly lifting the flaps as you began to pull out its contents. Your felt the soft crinkle of paper beneath your fingers, and gently, you drew out a stack of letters, their edges softened with time, all neatly tied together with a string. 

Your heart seized a sudden halt as you realized just what they were. Your throat constricted, parched, as tears stung your eyes, threatening to spill over, your fingers coming to rest over your mouth. Instinctively, your body sank onto the cold hardwood floor, gently placing the papers down beside you. You had forgotten these had even existed, let alone made it with you on the move.

You didn't remember seeing them when you packed, did you? Your fingers shook slightly as they picked apart the knot, and with a hesitant touch, you reached for the first piece of weathered paper.

January 5

Honey, 

Your letter was a welcome surprise, far sweeter than any text message could be. I enjoyed spending New Years Eve with you too, and I hope this case ends quickly so I can take you on a real date. 

I'm glad to hear college is going well. Should you encounter any more issues with your professor, please let me know. You're a bright young woman, and I have no doubt he'll see that in time. I am looking forward to your next letter.

Yours,

Aaron

--

March 12

Honey, 

I'm glad you enjoyed our date as much as I did. At times, I find my thoughts wandering to you in that dress, and it's a welcome distraction. 

I'm glad you look forward to our letters, because I do too. And yes, rest assured, I'm taking all necessary precautions in the field. Don't worry, the team has my back, especially Garcia--she's got more eyes on us than stars in the sky. 

Goodluck on your psychology exam. I know you will ace it.

Yours,

Aaron. 

--

May 5

Honey,

I've read your letter several times, and I want you to know that it's perfectly normal to question your path. Trust your instincts--they've led you well thus far. Remember you are allowed to change your mind. Your parents will understand.

No matter what you decide, I have no doubt you will succeed. You have a rare combination of intelligence and empathy that will serve you well in any profession.

Once I'm back, how about we go to that restaurant you love? Consider it a date.

Yours,

Aaron.

--

July 19

Honey,

Summer suits you, I can tell--even from a distance. I'm proud of the work you're doing--shadowing at the occupational therpay office and working with children is no small feat. You'll have to tell me all about it when I get back.

The case is demanding, as they often are. And as for the sweatshirt, consider it yours. I had a feeling it wouldn't find its way back to me anyway.

We should talk about getting you a key to my place. Then you'll have no need to borrow my things--you'll have access to them whenever you wish. 

I love you. I'll say it again when I see you.

Yours forever, 

Aaron

--

January 14

Honey,

Congratulations on your first semester of OT school. I am incredibly proud of you and everything you have accomplished. Smarty pants. 

I'm glad to hear you've been using the journal I gave you for Christmas. I would give you a thousand if that's what you wanted. 

When I'm back, we'll celebrate your achievements properly. Until then, know I'm grateful for you every day. You've made me the happiest I've been, and I cherish every moment we share. I love you. 

Yours forever,

Aaron 

--

May 20

Honey,

Your last letter lingered on the topic of our age difference, and I've been giving it a lot of thought. It's a subject that, admittedly, has crossed my mind more than once. But let me reassure you, to me, it's the person you are, not the years you've lived, that matters most.

I understand the concerns that come with this, and I want you to know that it's okay. Your feelings are valid. We're navigating this together, and I remain certain in my commitment to you and to us. 

We'll talk more about this when I'm home. I love you. 

Yours forever,

Aaron

--

August 8

Honey,

I want you to know that I didn't mean to leave things unresolved, I'm sorry I was called away. I'm not writing to rehash the argument. I understand everything you said, and it's given me much to think about.

You are the most important part of my life, and us being at odds is more challenging than any case I've ever face. I love you deeply, and I'm committed to finding a way through this together. When I return, let's sit down and talk--really talk. I'm sorry for the way things were left, and I hope we can move past this. 

Yours forever,

Aaron

--

December 22

Honey,

I find myself at a loss for words yet compelled to write to you. I've had time to reflect on everything that happened between us. I'm deeply sorry for any hurt I've caused, and how things unfolded. My only wish was for us to want the same things. 

Please know, I will always be here for you, in any capacity you need. I hope you find someone who is worthy of you and can provide the life you deserve. You deserve someone who can walk with you through all stages of your life--someone who can give you the family you dream of. You have so much to offer.

You are an extraordinary person, and I have no doubt you will find great love and joy. And though it may not be with me, please remember, I still love you.

Yours always,

Aaron.

--

You hadn't even realized you were crying until your tears began to soak into the page, each droplet distorting the text as it spread. Your hand moved instinctively to your face, the fabric of your sleeve brushing against your wet cheek. A decade-old ache twisted inside you sharply, as fresh as if it were only yesterday.

You returned the letters to their stack, the bow tied as neatly as it was before, and laid them at the bottom of the box. As the papers found their place, your focus shifted, something else catching your attention--the journal he'd given you.

The sudden patter of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped you back to the present. Hastily, you wiped away the lingering tears and secured the lid on the box. As you turned, your face transformed with a practiced smile just as your seven-year-old daughter came skipping into view, her voice bubbling with excitement, "Mommy, mommy!"

Gathering her up in your arms, you showered her cheeks with affectionate kisses, her infectious giggles filling the empty house. 

"When is daddy going to be home?"

With a gentle smile, you replied, "Soon, sweetheart," while your fingers danced along her side, eliciting more giggles. "Do you want to help Mommy unpack?"

She quickly scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Mmm, no, not really."

You laughed, and your heart swelled with love so intense it almost hurt. The front door swung open, and your daughter's voice pierced the air once more with a, "Daddy!"

Her little feet dashed off as she rushed to greet him, leaving you to resume unpacking. You barely had time to refocus when you felt a gentle touch in your hair.  Aaron was there, kneeling to your level with a tender smile. 

"Hi, honey," he said, his hand pausing as he noted the redness around your eyes. "What's wrong angel?"

You reach for the letters, holding them out to Aaron with a half-smile. "Just revisiting the time you were this close to losing the best thing in your life," you tease, a laugh bubbling up. But as the laughter fades, it morphs into a sob.

Aaron's laughter mingled with yours as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. "Yeah, that was a close one," he admitted, his voice a soft rumble. "Glad I came to my senses." 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotchner #criminal minds angst #cm #thomas gibson #Spotify

[sabakos]

You probably don't know another language if you live in the United States and both you and your parents were born here unless you go out of your way to learn it. This is a problem of geography more than it is a moral failing because if you are an American, then learning another language is not immediately useful to you. This is because your options in school are as follows:

Spanish: Second most common language in America. Most people who speak it also speak English and will look at you funny if you know Spanish and will not appreciate you being able to eavesdrop on their conversations. But, it's the only non-English language with an appreciable population of native speakers that you can encounter without getting on a plane. However in all likelihood you will probably be taught by a non-native speaker who could not pass an A1 exam and you will learn no Spanish just the same as everyone else.

French: The only French speakers in North America probably don't want to talk to you ever, and if you speak non-Quebecois French at them they really won't want to. You are probably going to major in literary studies and spend the rest of your life pretending to read books no one else actually reads. You have opinions on Freud and Lacan.

German: No one in North America speaks German as their primary language. It's really only useful if you like philosophy or World War II history or want to move to Germany. You probably really like beer and will study abroad and be really annoying about it afterward. But most Germans you are likely to meet outside of Germany speak English somewhat well so you aren't really doing anything for yourself? So most people will also think you're a Wehraboo or worse unless you are Jewish.

Russian: You already speak Russian or another Slavic language at home and will insist that you do not up until the first day of class, when you and all of your classmates will spend the entire time gossiping with the professor in Russian. The few American kids will hang out in the back and probably talk about Dostoevsky and drink vodka out of their water bottles. Everyone will get an A and no one will learn anything new.

Mandarin Chinese: You (or more likely your parents) think "we'll all be speaking Chinese in twenty years" and so you want to get a head start. This attitude self-selects against people who will ever need to know Mandarin. You probably idolize Ezra Pound and use phrases like "command economy" unironically. Every single person from China who has ever met you hates your guts.

Japanese: You are a weeb. All of your classmates are weebs. Your professor may or may not be a weeb, but wants to die regardless. You'll probably give up halfway through the first semester along with the most annoying 80% of the class and switch to Spanish once you realize how hard it is to learn Japanese.

Korean or Arabic: Congratulations on your new job at [redacted]!

Pashto or Urdu or Farsi: Congratulations on your new job at [redacted], but also I really doubt you are supposed to be telling anyone that you are learning this language. Good luck on your future job search.

Navajo: Most Navajo people don't speak any Navajo and unless you live in New Mexico you will literally never meet someone who is Navajo. They don't want to talk to you anyway. I don't think many people ever even try to learn this, this is solely on this list because I've seen insane but clueless Europeans try to guilt Americans for not learning it for some incomprehensible reason.

Latin: Latin is a dead language. I'm sure you are tired of hearing about that by now, which is why I reminded you about it. Even Catholics will make fun of you now for learning this. Your parents probably want you to be a doctor, and will stop talking to you when you drop out of med school. Or maybe you're a classics student who will spend the rest of your life incorrecting historians about pissing contests no one cared about anyway. Go forge a historical demonology book or get off to a picture of Thomas Aquinas or Cicero or something, I don't know.

Ancient Greek: Oh, are you a theology student or something learning Biblical Koine? The Evangelical Christians don't care what the bible actu- ...No? You're learning Attic Greek? And you're not like, a linguistics or classics major or something, you chose to do this specifically. Hey, uh, are you doing anything later? Or right now, even?

#posting #language learning

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 10.

Summary: The last few days of the year at Oxford! Celebrations to be had, but also you contemplate what may come next for Oliver once the semester ends. Meanwhile, in a brief moment of downtime, you try and discuss Felix's weirdness from before exam season, but he can and will try and seduce you instead of having a real adult conversation. But unfortunately he may have had a point, because that real, adult conversation fucking sucks.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: discussions of oliver's father dying, discussions of jealousy

A/N: 5623 words. wrote this directly after finishing ch 9. and then was like, what if i edited this. which means the ending of this chapter is COMPLETELY different to what it was originally, and is a bit of a downer. but we need conflict, you know? and sometimes its genuinely hard to have these adult conversations at like 21 years old. emotions and such. also there's a wizard hat. half edited then i completely rewrote the ending and that's absolutely unedited. how are we feeling about leaving oxford finally????

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

It's always a big deal when the first years finish all of their exams and get their final results. Or, well, the rest of the students make a big deal about it. You're not sure who started the tradition, or how long ago, but it's a tradition you hold dear to your heart nevertheless. The first year of university is nothing if not overwhelming, survival of it was to be celebrated.

Last year the cheering crowd of your more senior students had made you feel like you had conquered the world. This year, you were bursting at the seams with excitement to be able to share in the tradition from the other side, especially since there were several first years in particular you wanted to celebrate with.

Everything about the tradition seemed tailor made for your brand of joy. It's bright bits of costuming and ticker tape canons, balloons and medals for the undoubtably exhausted first years. Clustered together by the main doors of the examination school, you and your friends press yourselves against the barriers that had been put up to give all the first years enough space. Still, front and centre, many of you, yourself and Felix included, had been handed medallions to give to first years, while the rest were all still clutching each other and giggling with excitement, reminiscing about how loved you'd all felt at this time last year, seeing everyone cheering for all you'd accomplished.

For the past few days since your exams had finished, those in your group particularly committed to the bit, you and Felix among them, naturally, had been frequenting as many of the local charity and party shops in town. Each of you were desperately searching for delightfully garish garments and props to wear and share.

The moment Felix had spotted the sparkly, pink cowboy hat on a mannequin, paired with a violently lavender feather boa, he'd clung to them like his life depended on him owning them, hearts in his eyes, absolutely refusing to let them go. On the other hand, the sailor hat for Ollie was your idea; something more understated for a man more understated than either Felix or yourself. While Felix wanted to protest, wanted to give him something a little more flashy, you thankfully got him to compromise by allowing him to pick your accessories. Which is how you ended up with a hot pink, bedazzled 'Mother Of The Bride' sash.

And a blue, pointy wizard hat.

Anticipation grew in the gathered crowd, all chatter and smiles and giggling as you waited for the doors to open. In amongst the growing noise, you turn the medal over in your fingers, gazing at it with pride, excited to be able to be the one to give it to one of your closest friends. You still have your own from last year, usually pinned above your desk, but right now in a box ready to be taken back to Saltburn for the Summer.

The moment you all heard the tell-tale creak of those large, wooden doors, the cheering began, and you're glad to be pulled from your thoughts and back into the moment. It grew into a cacophony, a roar of joy and delight as the ticker tape canons went off and the first years streamed out in a river of excitement.

Farleigh's always cut a defined figure in any crowd he's in, considering his height, but you'd also given him the heads up to look out for the blue wizard hat to find you. At first you saw him scanning the crowd, but it takes him barely a second to find you. He lights up, eyes fixed on your stupid hat, and he breaks away from the pack at a full sprint. He doesn't even let you give him his medal at first, he's laughing at the top of his lungs, reaching all the way over the barrier to pull you into a hug, almost dragging you over the railing. There's nothing to be said, only a joy that has gone beyond words.

"You're a wizard!" He finally manages amid laughter as he lets you go, leaning back to hold you at arm's length, taking in your whole outfit, "and," his head tips in further confusion, "mother of the bride?"

"And you're a first year graduate," you grinned, "do you want your medal, or do you have more important follow up comments about my outfit?"

"I several have follow up comments but- oh my god," his eyes go wide and he suddenly seems a little breathless, like it's only just properly hit him "I finished a whole year," there's a genuine quality to his voice that's not often heard from Farleigh; still half laughing, but it's almost disbelieving, full of hope without any hint of irony, "not, like, just a week, or a semester; a whole year. A whole year at Oxford University." Lowering his head, he finally lets you put the medal on him.

For a long few moments he holds it out in front of him with pride and joy in his eyes; a precious, rare sight for you to behold. Then, very suddenly, he grabbed your face, bringing you close with this intense, shocked look in his eyes.

"I topped three of my Lit exams," he hissed with actual disbelief, almost making it sound like a scandal, "I took a hit before my Modernism final and spent nine pages arguing that Trainspotting was Allen Ginsberg's Howl for the postmodern audience. I don't even know if I believe that. How was that the best essay they saw?"

"Farleigh," you chuckled, "you might actually just be very good at this." You gave his cheek a fond pet, but after a moment, a hand reached over to tug at Farleigh's shoulder, breaking your stalemate.

"Congratulations, mate!" It's Felix, all smiles, unsurprisingly, "why've you got that look in your eyes?"

"He took one of his exams stoned and still topped the class," you grinned slyly, before your gaze fell on Oliver. As if sensing this, Farleigh slid over to give Felix a proper hug and congratulations, leaving space in front of you for Oliver to step in with a shy grin. You tug on his sailor hat with a fond smile and he turns even redder.

"Congratulations, Oliver Quick."

"Thank you," his gaze flicks up for a moment, stifling a giggle, "wizard."

Puffing out your chest as you mock-straightened your pink sash you hold your nose in the air.

"And what of it?" You put on a faux serious voice. Oliver has to duck his head to hide how much he's laughing at the bit. Once you let it go and deflate, you do then gesture for him to come close, wrapping your arms around him.

"Proud of you, Ollie," you murmur, giving him a tight squeeze.

"Don't know if I could have done it without you and Felix," he admits softly.

"Of course you could have," you assure him with warmth as the two of you begin to pull away. Oliver's eyes meet yours, blue and intense and that same familiar searching that you're so used to by now that it's something of a comfort. For just a moment, you want to reach out, to touch him, to hold onto his gentle expression and this moment in your own two hands. You wonder if he can see it in your eyes too, can see you repressing that urge.

"Wouldn't have been half as good," with the smallest of smiles, just edging on knowing, neither his expression nor his tone gives away enough for you to know exactly what he could be meaning or referring to, if anything beyond general companionship. So you play it off, you let anything you might be holding onto, anything that might be too much for such a public forum, pass.

"Of course," you say loudly, blithely, tucking your arm in Felix's beside you to get his attention, "we're wonderful company!"

"What's this?" Felix turns, eyebrows raised as he looks between yourself and an amused Oliver.

"Just saying that Oliver's year is better for having met us," you say simply, airily.

"Without a doubt!" Felix agrees without any kind of hesitation. Farleigh rolls his eyes, but is laughing as he calls both you and Felix incredibly vain.

As the excitement begins to die down and everyone begins to filter out, your group begins to meander towards the road that leads off campus, with yourself, Felix, and Oliver trailing behind.

"What's next? I mean, what's the plan now? I know there's a thing tomorrow, but -" Oliver's tentative again, quiet and meek again, acting like he's on the back foot again.

"Step one," Felix begins matter-of-factly, "pub; celebrate; get shitfaced." You see Oliver glance dubiously at your foot-high, velvet wizard hat once more. He's been doing it a lot. You can't lie, you've gotten very attached to your stupid look for the day and do plan to keep it all night.

"Even with that?"

"I'm gonna die in this hat I've decided," you say easily, to which both boys snicker at your assertiveness on the subject. But soon enough, Oliver raises another question.

"And- and tomorrow, that's the- I heard there was an end of year gala," he hesitates as you and Felix both automatically confirm. It did not seem to soothe any of Oliver's nerves and he finally brought up, "It's black tie; I have a black tie - bow tie, actually - but I don't really have anything else that'll match the theme -" he babbles awkwardly, looking all kinds of mousey and small with his head bent like that, hands fingers twisting together in anxious shapes. Both you and Felix are quiet, stuck in thought, and it takes you closing your eyes for a few seconds, trusting your arm in Felix's to keep you on the right path, before it hits you.

"Walters of Oxford," you open your eyes, "on Turl street, I think," you pause for a beat, reconsidering, "maybe double check that." Squinting for a moment, you try and recall, "ten minute walk, I think? Depending on your route, I guess. Not far is the point." But when you look over at your companions, both are frowning at you, something incredulous in their eyes. "To... hire a suit," you explain almost sheepishly under their respective gazes.

"How did you do that?" Oliver asks softly.

"Why did you know that?" Felix adds, bewildered.

"Isn't it handy to know the best place to get good suits and expert repairs done?" You shrugged a little helplessly. However, as you let your gaze drift, you find yourself recalling something India had said about you always needing to be a step ahead, to always have contingencies in place so Felix need not ever be inconvenienced for too long. Whatever; you push the thought and India's past negative tone from your mind, telling yourself it's good information to have anyhow.

"Anyways, I was also looking into good places for suit hires, in case the worst happened, and wouldn't you know it, Walters does that too."

"I'll- I guess I'll head there tomorrow morning," Oliver says awkwardly.

Felix drops your arm for a moment, wrapping his arm around Oliver's shoulders, bringing him in close.

"I look forward to see you in a suit, Ollie," there was no mistaking the flirty tone he was using, and from the glimpse of Ollie's face that you could see around him, he was turning red under Felix's praise, "handsome man like you all done up," he trailed off, ruffling Oliver's hair before he let go, cheeky smile on his face and bounce in his step. He has to be aware of Oliver's nervous, starry-eyed gaze locked upon him, but Felix just strikes up a conversation with you, enquiring if you would be going in a suit or a dress.

"I'm going in a wizard's hat." You declared.

"I love this bit; you aren't even drunk yet!" Everything you do is worth it if it means Felix will look at you like this, with delight shining in his eyes and in his words.

The night - what you can remember of it - is phenomenal. Benji calls you Archmage of the Bride and it's the only thing anyone refers to you as for the rest of the night, everyone else loudly correcting anyone who gets it wrong. Aside from that, everyone is babbling and bright and so enthusiastic about the gala the following night and what they'll be wearing.

Oliver is quiet, tucked in between you and Felix, nursing his pints longer than anyone else. Felix's arm is around him, as it always seemed to be, and as the night goes on, more and more you get the urge to tip your head and rest it against Oliver's for several long moments at a time.

But there's something different about tonight. Oliver doesn't reach out to you, even subtly. His thigh against yours is forced proximity, but his hands are always on his drink and his ankles are crossed beneath the table. Whenever he looks away, you start to notice that it's not at you; Felix seems to hold his attention more than anyone else, but on any other night, that wouldn't really surprise you. You want to ask what's wrong, but by the time you realise something is, you're not sure you're even capable of stringing two coherent words together.

You think back on what he'd said on the way to the pub, his voice small and nervous.

What's next?

You ponder as you leave the pub with several others in the group, thinking hard. Had he meant more than just the immediate? Your next was Saltburn, Oliver's next was... ah. Junkie mum and no dad.

Someone sticks a finger in your ear. Immediately you jump and clutch protectively at your hat -

"Fuck off 'm wizard!"

"I'm seeing if I can feel your thoughts, they look serious," Farleigh, somehow more sober than you, is still cackling. Your drunk mind doesn't like that he's laughing at you, even if it's an objectively funny situation, and you spend the rest of the short walk stomping and pouting, with Farleigh laughing and calling you ridiculous the entire time.

You awaken on the second last day of living on the Oxford University campus for your second year, with an absolutely killer headache. You don't remember getting back into your dorm, but apparently your drunken self was kind enough to steal an entire pitcher from the common area and fill it literally to the brim with water. Far less had spilled on your bed side table than you'd anticipated.

What you do remember, however, is the numerous thoughts you'd had about Oliver. Both last night, and over the past few weeks. As you take some painkillers and drink water out of the pitcher, you gaze across your room to few newspapers you've had sitting under a pile of textbooks since the second week of exams.

It's almost midday. Taking the papers, you pack yourself a bag of whatever you'd need to get ready for the gala on top of your little project, and pull your garment bag from your wardrobe. Swinging past the on-campus café, you pick up arguably too much food for you and Felix to share before the event, then heading to his dorm.

"Get fucked," Felix shouts through the door, muffled probably by his pillow, when you knock.

"Felix, open up!"

"No! What time is it?"

"Midday!"

"Fucking midday?!"

From behind you, one of the doors flies open and one of Felix's scowling dormmates spits for you to shut up or fuck off.

"Grow up or eat shit; it's the afternoon," you flip him off with a scowl. The door slams shut. Immediately you turn and kick Felix's door. When he opens it, he does not look happy. In return, you smile sweetly at him, thanking him with the most saccharine tone you can manage.

"Brought us food," you offer, as if trying to placate him, but instead Felix pointedly falls face first upon his bed, pulling his pillow over his head in defiance. Just glad to be finally let in, you potter around his room quietly, carefully avoiding his boxes of already packed belongings.

Putting all the food on the table, you start on some of it yourself as you keep working almost silently. You hang your garment bag up next to his, put your nice shoes by his door, put all your accessories and other things you needed to get read in their own, distinct pile on his dresser before you settle yourself in his desk chair, pulling out one of the newspapers and carefully going through it.

The Liverpool Echo.

Your eyes flick briefly over the articles, not really paying any of them much real attention, at least not until you got to the obituaries. These you scoured. Names and faces and dates and sweet words about caring, loving people who you neither knew nor cared for. No Quicks. Next paper.

It takes you quite some time; you're thorough and you'd gotten quite a few day's worth from around the time Oliver had found out the news about his father in case it had been reported earlier or perhaps a few days later. Prescot didn't have it's own newspaper, but the lady at the news agency you'd phoned to order them assured you that the Liverpool Echo was received by the people of Prescot too.

"Are you reading the paper?" Felix's voice actually makes you jump, having so engrossed yourself in your reading, forgetting he was still there. Looking at the clock, then at him, you see him still looking groggy, but more bemused than anything. Then, after a beat, he looks to the pile of ones you'd already gone through on the floor by your feet.

"Food's cold," you told him, going back to your reading.

"Why are you reading the paper?" Propping himself up, he begins to stretch and finally, properly wake up for the day.

"Been thinking about Ollie," you tell him with a distracted air, folding up the paper in your hands after a minute more of poring over it, adding it your growing pile despondently. Thankfully, instead of making a snide comment, Felix yawns, asking you what exactly you'd been thinking.

"I know he said he's fine, but his dad still passed," you said softly, gazing at the small stack you're still yet to read, but feeling no urge to pick any more up, "and he hasn't been home, and when he gets home, I don't know..." you sighed, sitting back and looking at the ceiling, a kind of ache in your heart that you hadn't expected, "I wanted to try and find his obituary, to see if anyone said any nice things about him, but I'm not having any luck."

"I don't think he was the kind of man who had obituaries written about him," Felix tells you with a kind of resignation, "but I get that it's one of our last days," he extrapolates, voicing your intentions as easily as if he could read your mind, "and you want to try and give him a nice moment, to show that people care about him, before we, you know, fuck off for a month and a half and leave him."

"Grim, when you put it like that," you hummed, "but yeah, essentially." Felix made a noise of sombre agreement.

Finally, however, he rose from his bed, slowly meandering over to the desk and picking through the food you'd brought. For a long few moments he idly flicks through the few papers you had left on his desk, carelessly shoving each over as he doesn't even open them.

"What about that rock thing my family does?" Mouth half full of a sandwich and leaving the papers alone, his curiosity over them apparently sated, Felix sits himself on the floor by his bed, knees drawn up to his chest as he contemplates, "doesn't have to be all that serious, can be just about saying goodbye and letting go. Closure and shit, you know?" He swallows, looking at you with bright eyes, as if waiting for you to validate his idea, "like we did with my dog when I was a kid."

"That's actually a very sweet idea; I think he'd love that coming from you," you slowly begin to smile as you turn the idea over in your mind. Felix, however, wears a look like he's almost confused, but you can't begin to imagine what until he opens his mouth -

"What do you mean 'coming from me'?" Despite his apparent vague distaste for your wording, you can't help but laugh, rolling your eyes.

"Ollie would love the idea of lighting a bag of shite on fire on his mother's doorstep if the suggestion came from you; I'm saying it's a lovely idea, and he's very fond of you, it'll mean a lot to him."

Quiet filters in with the sunlight. You watch Felix, Felix watches himself pick at his nails.

"Very fond of you too," it's completely and totally neutral. It's also a fucking loaded statement if you've ever heard one come out of Felix's mouth.

"Felix." When he hears the warning notes in your voice, you know he pretends not to.

Reaching over to his bedside table, the unnecessary arc of his arm has him catching the light, muscles lean and taught with his effort to not otherwise move. Heat of the day had already begun to infiltrate the room, but this angle and the light makes the beading sweat along his skin glow; he's always been able to take advantage of a hot day in a way you've never seen of anyone else. Felix, of course, knows exactly what he's doing. Felix learned long ago how to perform at the drop of a hat; no-one was better at objectifying him than he was if he wanted to, "don't do that," you mutter, knowing that even you weren't immune to the way he could manipulate people's eyes upon him.

"What?" It's too innocent to be anywhere near truthful. You see the edge of a smirk before it disappears behind a cigarette and his sudden, aloof façade.

"We haven't talked about what happened," you tried, you really did, "we swept it under the rug for Ollie's sake, and then we had exams, and we -"

Felix lights his lighter, head angled so he can look up at you through his lashes, so his hair falls and curls and turns gold in the flickers of the lighter's faint fire. For another second he holds your gaze, confusing and teasing all in one; like he adores you, but like it's a challenge. Then he moves again, poses again. One leg up, one leg stretched out in front of him, cigarette resting so lazily between the fingers of the hand that he rests on his thigh, plays a staccato beat with his fingers against his bare skin. Nudity was never taboo between you, so why were you losing your train of thought over Felix in his boxers, a sight you'd seen arguably a hundred times before.

Looking anywhere else on him doesn't do you any favours, the beautiful body you've marked and called yours - jealousy, right, that's -

But his head tips back, falling back against his bed as smoke rings rise from his lips and the column of his throat is caught by the light. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, you catch only the briefest flash but he knows you can fill in the rest, knows you see the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

"You know we need to talk, otherwise you wouldn't be doing this."

"Doing what?" He shifts, legs spreading a little wider, and when he looks at you, he's wearing that smile you've seem him turn on countless girls before, teasing, flirting, look in his eyes like he's getting high of of the very idea of you. Lips quirking into a cocky smile, he raises his cigarette to his lips, watching you with an almost lazy kind of arousal. Like every girl he's looked at like this knows they could get him in bed without even trying, without even knowing they were being seduced, "something wrong, love?"

And it's fucking working.

"Fuck, Fi," you have to close your eyes, putting your head in your hands. He laughs and it sounds like fucking syrup, all teasing and warmth, but you can't fucking do this right now; "are you trying to get me in bed just because you don't want to talk about the fact that you were obviously jealous of Oliver?"

This silence is far more bitter, as is Felix's tone when he finally speaks.

"What would I have to be jealous of?" Sounding like a man in denial.

"That Oliver is good to me without needing you as an audience," you push the heels of your palms against your eyes, words and thoughts escaping you that you didn't even realise you had. The next breath you takes shakes. Audibly. Felix clears his throat, but he doesn't seem to know what to say. Now that you've said it out loud, you can feel your face beginning to heat up, tears stinging your tightly closed eyes, the way you begin to tremble.

"I know," you start slowly, carefully thinking about your words this time as you say them, "that you love me, Fi," it's gentle, reassuring, but frustrated nonetheless, face still in your hands. But your breath still shakes as you try and keep it level, "so I think part of you is- is scared that if I find someone who could love me," even the thought of your next words sit bitter and heavy on your tongue, so you have to take a deep breath, try and centre yourself, "without you," you pause, swallowing hard, feeling traitorous tears escaping you, "that I might realise I prefer- prefer that, or something," here is where you start to break, where your voice cracks and you can't keep your hands against your eyes so all you can do is hang your head and hope he doesn't see your tears, "but you've spent all your time assuming, and pouting, and thinking badly of a good friend, and you haven't even asked me!"

Finally, Felix speaks, his voice weak; he sounds moments away from tears.

"I made you cry."

You hadn't even realised how far beyond Oliver this went, how tightly you'd been holding onto this, these thoughts and feelings, keeping them coiled in your chest, until just now. Hearing his words, your crying finally becomes audible, even to you, even if you hadn't meant it to. Today was meant to celebrate, not... this.

"I don't-" he voice catches in his throat, and you hear him sniffle softly, "I don't know if I can ask you that." He admits. Finally, when you look up, you see his expression carefully neutral, looking over his shoulder with both his knees drawn up to his chest. God he can't even look at you.

You know Felix Catton too well; he is terrified.

In the moments that follow, you slowly pull yourself together. You dry your eyes, and nod, while trying to school your expression into something lighter.

"Okay, Fi," you tell him, and try to make sure he knows you're being sincere, "it's, um," you sniffle as you try and smile, "it's a loaded question, I know."

When he bites his bottom lip as subtly as he can manage, you know its to try and keep it from wobbling. There's guilt written all over his face as he watches you move around his room. He doesn't get up, doesn't move, just watches and listens.

"I'm -" you take a deep breath, looking around the room and forcing a smile, "I think I'm going to get ready for tonight with Farleigh, is that alright?"

"Yeah, 'course," he says, as if on autopilot. After a beat, as you collect up your things, Felix finally looks around his room, at the boxes and the things you'd brought with you. Suits, matching and side by side in his closet, bought alongside a third in the set for Farleigh that you know he'd be wearing tonight too. You take it out, lay it over a taped-up box full of his books, ready to go, and finish collecting up your accessories.

"You should talk to Ollie," you tell him, double checking your bag, unsure of how you were managing to act like everything was suddenly okay. Felix nods, watching you once more, gaze a little glassy, far away and looking almost lost, almost guilty again. Part of you is desperate to stay, to comfort him. But as much as he may want it, it's not what he needs in this moment.

"Fi, are you listening to me?" You asked, firmer this time, and he seems to surface from whatever thought's he'd been stuck in, giving you a faraway smile as he nods; it's almost believable, "I know you care about Ollie," you say warmly but firmly, "please talk to him," wetting your lips, you deliberate on your way to the door, picking up your garment bag, "be good to him; Ollie's the only audience that matters there."

"Does this change..." Felix is looking at the floor when you finally make it to his door, "us?"

"Are you still jealous of Ollie?" You try to make it sound joking, since you were pretty sure of the answer, though Felix shakes his head with a frown.

"No, 'course not," he mutters, almost as if to himself, but he doesn't seem to have finished his thoughts on the matter, so you give him a moment; "I've been an asshole, haven't I?" He finally mutters looking out across his room, "a right asshole to someone who's only ever tried to be a bloody good friend to me."

"You kind of have," you agreed easily, and Felix finally looks at you again, the slightest furrow in his brow. There's nothing particularly, prominently beautiful or posed about Felix in this moment; he'd dropped the pretense long ago.

Looking at him now, looking up at you with those helpless eyes, all folded up and far smaller than he usually appeared, all you can remember is the kid afraid of scary movies and his sister's Goosebumps books, who'd stayed up late with you when you'd cried your eyes out in your first year of Secondary school when your parents missed your birthday again, who never let you forget how much he loved you, even for a moment, since you'd met. Your best friend. Always.

"I wish you'd just trust how much I love you too, Fi," voice and expression softening. Slowly, Felix stands, makes his way over to you, wrapping you up in a hug.

"I do, and I will better next time," he mumbles faintly, apologetically, "'m sorry."

There's something melancholy about still parting ways, even after his apology, but both of you seem to know that it's for the best.

Farleigh is glad for your company, and you do a good enough job of appearing alright that he doesn't seem to pick up on the strange mood you can't otherwise shake. Still, you're quiet, Farleigh talking enough for the both of you in between a range of CD mixtapes he'd put together for his own enjoyment.

On your way into the gala itself, you're ahead of Farleigh by a few paces, eager to get in and get yourself a drink, but you brush past Oliver, waiting, looking, as always, out of place. When you tell him he looks lovely, you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, and barely stay, while you hear Farleigh, behind you, taking his time with antagonising your poor friend.

Felix is leaving the event as you're arriving. He almost crashes into you, bottle of champagne clearly stolen from one of the tables, in one hand as he's running from the venue.

"Hey, hi," despite both your best efforts, there is still clearly some discomfort in the air between you. Felix's eyes roam over you, almost out of habit, but there's an appreciative look in his eyes as he meets your gaze once more, "I think, I, uh, I'm going to skip this one and hang out with Ollie," almost like he's trying to invite you. But after everything, this can't be something you do; this isn't your tradition, this isn't your moment to share with Oliver. He'll never get it.

He's Felix Catton; he's the sun.

"He's going to enjoy that so much more than hanging around here," you smile brightly. Felix looks a little surprised, a little put out that you had apparently not picked up on his offer, or that you had and had decided to decline.

"Yeah, I- I thought so," he almost seems a little stunned by how cold this interaction was between you, compared to the usual, boisterous comradery you shared.

"Have a good night, Fi," finally, you kiss his cheek and slip into the entrance hall of the gala building, weaving through beautifully dressed students to find your gaggle of friends for the night. Throughout the night, you get asked where Felix is, and you shrug with a blithe smile every time.

My Felix <3: i invited ollie to spend summer with us

Tomorrow you would be okay.

Tonight, however, you planned to dance with your friends, drink enough that you either stop feeling so weird in your damn brain, or feel perhaps even worse, and probably end up crying.

Tomorrow everything would be okay again.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[lovebotmo]

like the movies

chapter five - late library nights

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 1337

author's note: hello friends!!! it has almost been a month and i would like to offer my sincerest apologies!!!! i have entered my final semester of university so things have been rather hectic. i appreciate all the love you guys have given this series this far <3 thanks for being the absolute best. kiss kiss

also if i missed you for the taglist plz let me know!!! its been a min hehe

song inspiration: bewitched by laufey

Thanks to Lavender’s rather loose lips, the entire student body of Hogwarts seemed to be buzzing about your secret, not-so-secret admirer. Three days later and you could still hear the giggles of second-year girls as they discussed just who your mystery man could be steps behind you and your friends. You even had to endure a public love confession from both Fred and George, the red-headed twins bickering and quarreling over who loved you more in their newest prank. They both claimed to have been your secret admirer and demanded that you choose the twin you cared for more. It quickly devolved into a passionate, highly embarrassing competition that had the crowd which had slowly grown howling in laughter. George had even torn his shirt open, claiming that ‘the fires of love were burning within him and that clothes could not contain his ardent affection any longer.’ The whole affair might have been more comical had you not been its victim. Suffice to say you were adequately embarrassed, as if the burning blush on your face had not been enough evidence to that fact.

However, even with all the attention now placed on you and your secret admirer, no one had sincerely come forward to claim responsibility. You could hardly blame them, given the reactions of your fellow students. Still, you couldn’t help yourself grow more and more curious as days continued to pass without any additional clues.

“So…I hear you’ve got yourself a bit of an admirer, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned towards Theo to find a smirk resting smugly on his face. “Merlin, not you too, Theo. I swear it’s impossible to go ten minutes without someone mentioning it.”

Theo laughed at your response and the obvious annoyance in your expression. “Bit of a touchy subject?”

You sighed. “Sorry. It’s just—bloody hell, I’ve got loads of people coming up to me trying to chat about it and well, it’s a bit much.”

The tall Slytherin nodded as he scanned his Potions textbook, looking for the next set of directions for the Wolfsbane potion you were currently brewing. “I didn’t mean to pry, really—”

“No, no it’s all right. I’m just a bit on edge recently.” You and Theo both reached for the crushed moonstone, hands bumping clumsily into each other. “Sorry, ‘m all over the place today.”

Theo gave you a gentle smile before grasping the vial, gingerly adding it before meeting your eyes with his own. “S’all right. Besides, we both know it’s better if I handle things, considering I’m the better Potions student any—ow!” Theo rubbed his arm where you had lightly smacked him.

“Just because you beat me by one whole point on the last test doesn’t mean—”

“It means I am better than—Salazar, woman!” This time Theo rubbed his other arm which you may or may not have hit. “You’ve got to come up with a better comeback than physical assault. I could report you to Slughorn, you know.”

“Oh please, you’d never snitch on me, Theo. We’re potions partners after all—you’re stuck with me.”

A wide grin made its way onto Theo’s face, along with the faintest blush that he desperately hoped you couldn’t see in the dim lighting of the classroom. “Yeah, ‘spose I am.” Realizing he was looking at you in a bit of a daze, he cleared his throat. “I forgot to mention, Pucey’s set a last-minute quidditch practice for this afternoon. I know we’re meant to work on the project for anti-venoms, but is there any chance we could push it until later?”

“Tsk, tsk, Theodore. Choosing quidditch over Potions, eh? And you call yourself the best Potions student?” you teased. Theo let out a sharp laugh, dropping three murtlap tentacles into the cauldron bubbling before you. “That works for me, actually. Where did you want to meet?”

“I can catch up with you on the quidditch pitch. We can head over to the library from there.” Stirring the concoction clockwise, Theo looked at you from the corner of his eye, “Thanks for being flexible.”

“’Course. It’s what you would expect from the best Potions student, right?”

“Alright, pipe down.”

“You’re no fun, Theo.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now hand me the wolfsbane leaves.”

“Only if you admit I’m the better Potions student.”

“Y/n.”

“…Here you go.”

Tugging at the sleeves of your sweater, you made your way towards the quidditch pitch, just as the sun was starting to set over the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. The practice had evidently just ended as players began to descend from the sky at the sound of Captain Adrian Pucey’s dismissal. Walking over, you saw Theo dismounting from his broom alongside Enzo. Upon spotting you, the pair walked over to greet you.

“Rough practice, huh?” The boys before you were out of breath, chests heaving with obvious exhaustion.

Enzo gave you a look, “You’ve no idea.” Beside him, Theo nodded in agreement.

“Pucey’s got his tail in a twist about the game this weekend against Gryffindor,” Theo said. “We can’t catch a break.” Theo grabbed the end of his practice jersey to wipe at the sweat on his brow, revealing a lean, toned abdomen. His tongue swiped quickly at his pink lips as he continued to breathe heavily. As he let go of his jersey, one of his hands went to run through his unruly curls and you couldn’t help but stare at the more than pleasant image before you.

Fucking hell…Godric save me.

As if sensing your train of thought, Enzo smirked, mirth dancing in his eyes.

The sound of Theo’s Italian accent broke your reverie. “I’ve got to hit the showers, so I’ll be ten minutes or so. You alright with waiting?”

Clutching your Potions textbook to your chest, you nodded, giving Enzo’s look of obvious amusement a glare. “’M fine. Go ahead.”

Theo flashed that wide grin of his that you were becoming fond of before trotting off to join the other players in the locker rooms. By now, Enzo’s grin had become a full-on beam.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Enzo—well, don’t think it.”

The Slytherin raised his hands in mock confusion. “What could you possibly mean, Y/n? I was just wondering—”

“Enzo, don’t make me hit you with this book.”

“Jeez, I guess Theo wasn’t lying when he said you were violent.”

“Hey!”

Hours later in the library, you swore words were beginning to dance off the pages of the endless tomes you and Theo had been rummaging through for your upcoming project. Beside you, Theo seemed to feel the same exhaustion, groaning as his forehead dropped onto one of the thick volumes.

Grasping your quill, you gently brushed the feather by Theo’s ear to grasp his attention. Still faceplanted in a book, the tired boy simply turned his head towards you rather than sitting upright.

“I reckon we call it a night, yeah?” Theo’s curls shook as he nodded his head, eyes beginning to droop in exhaustion. “You’ve probably got to be up early for the game tomorrow too.” Your Potions partner glared at you for the reminder before finally sitting up.

You began to tidy up the sprawled-out texts before Theo broke the quiet resting over the library. “You going?”

Turning to look at him, you paused, “Going to what?”

Theo laughed softly, “The game, Y/n.”

“Oh.” You grinned sheepishly, “I don’t know. Hadn’t decided yet.”

Theo hummed at your response. Moving sluggishly, he began to help you pack up.

“Well…you should go. It’s supposed to be a good one.” You met Theo’s eyes that were already peering into yours.  

“You want me to go, huh? To show off or something?”

Theo laughed at you, gently flicking one of your hands reaching for a stray quill. “Or something.”

You smiled, “Well, if you want me there, I’m there.”

Having finished packing up, Theo stood in front of you and mirrored your grin. “Well, I do…want you there, that is.”

Walking out of the library together, you gently bumped the taller boy’s shoulder. “Then, I’m there.”

taglist: @melllinaa, @randomgurl2326, @lovelyygirl8, @abaker74, @mypolicemanharryyy, @vanevafu, @laceandsuch, @agent-tempest, @themarauderswife7, @adoraspace, @spencerreidsthings, @crimsntwlip, @readingthingsonhere, @sbrn0905, @violet2022, @aemiliazzz, & @hoeforvinniehackerrr

#yall its been a MONTH #mine #harry potter #harry potter au #lovebotmo writing #theodore nott x reader #lovebotmo #slytherin boys #theo nott #theo nott imagine #theo nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott #theodore nott x you #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanficsl #slytherin boys x you #slytherin x reader #slytherin boys x reader #harry potter fandom #hp fandom #theodore nott fanfic #Spotify

[panda-writes-kpop]

OMG YOUR NAYEON FLIFF ALPHABET WAS ADORABLE I WANTED TO CRY do you think we could get a mina one????

also university is also killing me rn, all of my final exams are next week (I have 4 exams 😭) and ngl I'm pretty sure I'm not going to pass the course ls unless i score like 100% on the final exams 😭😭

Mina ~ Fluff Alphabet (Requested!)

a/n: thank you for the request, anon!!! mina is my top twice bias so of course I can do this for you. i know i'm super late to this but i hope exams went well! quick reminder to everyone that grades don't define you or your intelligence 🫶 but i was mentally wishing the best for you when I first read this request because I understand the struggle. 🥲 You're gonna do great next semester, anon, I know it 🥰

tw: none!

♡ Masterlist ♡

Affection (How do they show their affection? What love language(s) do they use?)

Mina loves spending quality time with you, even if you’re not actively talking or doing something together. Being in the same room as you while you’re both doing different activities is good enough for her - you could be working on one of your hobbies while she’s gaming, for example. Just being there for her makes her so happy.

Beauty (What do they admire about their S/O? What makes their S/O beautiful?)

She admires your resilience and, if you’re more extroverted, your extroversion and friendliness towards other people. You’re stronger than you know, and you always get back on your feet after a bad day, and she respects it. 

Comfort (How would they help their S/O if they were having a rough day?)

A simple Come home when you’re ready. text awaits you on your phone, and when you head home, you’re pleasantly surprised to see her holding a bag of your favorite fast food/takeout in one hand and a video game controller in the other. She doesn’t mind if you want to just eat and watch her game, or if you want to play together, but Mina wants to get your mind off of your struggles, even if it means watching her struggle in a virtual world.

Dreams (How do they picture their future with their S/O?)

Mina likes being where you are, and if that means that you want to stay in your apartment for the rest of your life, then she’ll stay with you there. Her idealistic future is to be with you, no matter where, when, or how.

Equal (Do they tend to be more dominant or passive in the relationship?)

She’s more passive, but that doesn’t mean that she’s not assertive at times. If there’s something that she thinks that the two of you need to talk about, then Mina will gently bring it up. You may be the one planning most of the dates, but she likes to occasionally surprise you with a date night or two, especially if you’ve been busy or had a rough go at things.

Fight (Would they easily forgive their S/O after a fight? How would a typical fight go?)

Call me biased, but I don’t really see the two of you getting into fights? Mina is a mellow, calmer person, so she tends to get along with most people. It would take a lot for her to raise her voice at you, let alone get into an argument. Not saying that the two of you don’t have disagreements, which are normal and healthy. You simply talk through them with her so you both can understand where the other is coming from.

Gratitude (How grateful are they for everything that their S/O does for them?)

Mina doesn’t often say her gratitude, but it’s often evident in her actions. A hand on the small of your back when you make her breakfast on a busy morning, clean dishes after you come home late from work, and a small note left on your nightstand, thanking you for driving her home last night (even though you do it all of the time).

Honesty (Do they tend to keep secrets from their S/O, or do they share everything?)

Mina can seem secretive to people outside of her relationship, but she isn’t secretive to you. She might not tell you everything immediately, but if it casually comes up in conversation, then she’ll bring it up.

Inspiration (Did their S/O change them, or was it the other way around?)

Mina is inspired by your constant kindness towards her and other people. When she has a bad day, she wants to close herself in a bubble and disappear from the world. When you have a bad day, you take it with grace and try to keep everything moving along while finding reasons to smile and laugh. Safe to say, you inspire her a lot.

Jealousy  (Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

Mina gets silently jealous, which means that she internally broods a lot while someone is being a bit friendlier than she would like. Her scrunched eyebrows and thin smile, when you glance at her, is a sign to quickly end the conversation and comfort her. She tries to reassure you that she’s not jealous, but you both know she’s lying when she sighs as you wrap your arm around her.

Kiss (How often do they kiss you? Where do they like to kiss you?)

Mina often goes for quick pecks, especially on your cheeks. It’s an easy greeting and goodbye for the two of you. When you’re alone, however, she doesn’t mind kissing you on the lips with more passion. They’re longer kisses, and once she gets her hands on you, she won’t let go until she’s satisfied.

Lazy Day (How do they like to spend days off with their S/O?)

Mina likes to spend her days off at home, but she doesn’t mind running errands or going shopping with you if you like to do those things on the days you’re off. She does tend to spoil you a bit (if you’ll let her pay), but dinner is on you this time, you swear.

Marriage (Do they want to get married? How often do they think about marrying their S/O?)

It would be one of those moments of domestic bliss where Mina looks up at you and wishes that every day would be like this. Next, it comes up casually in conversations at a more frequent pace, and before you know it, the two of you are looking at matching rings together.

Nicknames (What do they call their S/O?)

Babe, baby, darling, dear

A mix of older/newer nicknames - depending on the mood she’s in. A teasing Mina likes to call you old-fashioned names, as they fluster you, but in day-to-day life, babe and baby work just fine for her.

On Cloud Nine (What are they like when they are in love? Is it extremely obvious to others?)

Not a lot of people would be able to notice that Mina’s in love, at least at a first glance. It’s the subtle things, like the way her eyes light up when you next her or the big smile she wears when she tells her friends that the two of you have plans this weekend. Her inner circle of friends would know, but everyone else would be clueless.

PDA (Are they very upfront with their relationship, or do they prefer to keep things quiet?)

Mina isn’t huge on over-the-top PDA, but she doesn’t mind holding your hand or giving you a quick hug in public. Kisses aren’t off the table either - a small peck to your lips or cheek will do for her.

Quirk (Some random personality trait that makes them an excellent partner.)

She’s a fantastic listener due to her quiet and caring nature. She just… knows when you need to vent and she’s ready to listen to you. If you want, Mina will give you advice, but if not, she’s more than happy to just listen to you talk all night.

Romance (Are they a born romantic ready to woo their S/O at any moment, or do they struggle to spark romantic moments with their S/O?)

Mina isn’t a born romantic, but she has her moments (that come out of nowhere, you swear) that sweep you off your feet. A teasing comment, the sweetest compliment ever, or an extra bit of affection can send your heart into overdrive as she pretends to have no idea of the effect that she has on you.

Support (How do they help support their S/O to reach their goals?)

Mina loves being there for you, whenever you need her. If you’ve got a big event coming up, she’ll be one of the first ones in her seat. If it’s not something that she can be there for, she’ll text you a supportive message or find a way to contact you so you know that she’s there for you, for the good and the bad.

Thrill (Do they like trying out new things to spice up their relationship, or do they prefer to stick to a routine?)

Mina is a woman of routine, and she likes exactly the way you two have your relationship set up. She doesn’t mind the occasional off-the-cuff date night, but it’s nice to just cuddle under some blankets and watch a movie together for a few nights in a row.

Understanding (How well do they know their partner?)

Mina has a silent understanding of you from simply observing your behavior. The two of you like to go places together, so she naturally picks up on your favorite drinks, food, style of clothing, etc., and you’ll find yourself receiving gifts from her during the holidays or on your birthday that you absolutely love but have no idea how she’d know about that. It’s not like she’d tell you, either.

Value (How important is the relationship to the person versus other relationships and things in their life?)

Mina tries to express to you that you’re one of her priorities. She takes you to meet other people who she deems to be just as important as you - her family and close friends, for example - so you know how much she values you and your relationship.

Wild Card (A random fluffy headcanon that you have about the relationship?)

I love Gamer!Mina, as a gamer myself, so she’d be ecstatic if you had the same hobby as her. Even if you like different genres of video games, you find yourself playing together or against each other. She won’t go easy on you, just because you’re dating, so you better bring your best to the table (even if you’re both playing MarioKart and flying off the edge on every turn on Rainbow Road).

XOXO (Do they like to kiss, hug, and cuddle you? How often do they do so?)

She does, but it’s often in private. When it’s just the two of you, Mina is very clingy. She always likes to be near you, and when she’s near you, an arm is around you or her lips are on you. She does like when you initiate first, and she’s more affectionate when you do so.

Yearning (How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?)

Mina simply indulges herself in her hobbies and work more. You’ll be back soon enough, and it’s not like the two of you are running out of moments to spend together. She does call you every night, just to check in on you (it helps her sleep at night, but she’ll never admit that to your face).

Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?)

You and Mina believe that every big step should be taken together, as a couple. It’s a constant battle of take-and-give between the two of you, where you both are trying to be the givers instead of the takers. Sometimes, however, you need to take so you can give, so you don’t mind going the extra mile for each other when you need to.

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpopidol #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #girl group x reader #girl group #girl group fanfic #twice fanfic #twice scenarios #twice x you #twice x y/n #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice mina #mina x reader #mina imagines #mina scenarios #mina fanfic #x reader #fanfic #mina fluff #twice fluff #girl group fluff #kpop fluff #mina

[hannie-dul-set]

the psychology of strawberries — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. besides being your friend, kim gyuvin also holds the existence of being the worst matchmaker in history. the last guy he set you up with ended with a permanent ban from the arcade. the one before that caused you to file a restraining order. which is why when he tries to set you up one last time with his best friend, you understandably shut him down.

the problem is— why the fuck didn’t gyuvin tell you that his best friend is actually the prettiest man in the world? the most charming idiot to have graced your mortal existence? maybe if he did, you wouldn’t have to resort to pavlovian tactics and strawberries just to bag him. if he did, then you wouldn’t have to hide the fact that you’re kind of balls-deep in love with his friend.

PAIRING. shen quanrui x female! reader. GENRE. college! au, (anti) matchmaking! au, strangers to friends to lovers, eventual secret relationship. romance, humor, fluff, older! reader, black haired ricky jumpscare later in the fic, this is just lovelicky propaganda. sue me. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, mentions of sex, an almost car crash, stalking (not from any of the mcs), erratic and embarrasing behavior (mostly from our mc), may add more as i continue. WORD COUNT. preview: 1.6k | full fic: 15-17k.

RELEASE DATE. within december. TAGLIST. send me an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. this is an amalgamation of a number ricky drabble ideas, stitched together into one cohesive mess. yes, i know i've been releasing too many fic previews. yes, you have doubts about me finishing them all. but will release all three fics within this month even if it kills me. enjoy this preview of mc losing her mind over ricky shen (that's how the rest of this fic will also go).

preview under the cut.

“Morning.”

Gyuvin greets you with a yawn and a heavy ruffle on the top of your head, to which you respond with a side kick to his ass when he walks past you. “You’re late,” you scold him, and though you want to continue berating your dear friend, two more familiar-looking people emerge from his building’s entrance. 

“Oh, this is Taerae and Matthew,” Gyuvin informs you offhandedly. The two give you a mix of polite nods and smiles. You sort of know Taerae because you shared a class with him last semester. Matthew is just the guy you see at the campus coffee shop at least once a week. “They’re going to be my survey assistants. More people means more ground to cover at once.”

“How’d he scam you two into agreeing?” you ask.

“He’s buying me lunch for a week,” Taerae replies.

“I just wanted to go on a road trip,” Mathew says in a tone too bright for five in the morning. 

You let out a huff of air. Your backpack is getting a little heavy on your shoulders, and all you want is to finally reclaim your lost weekend. Meaning, getting on the road as soon as possibly is priority number one. “So, are we commuting?” you ask. “We should get going then.”

“Oh, no,” Gyuvin replies. He’s already noticed your impatience, and has found himself standing behind you, taking your bag off of your bag so that you don’t snap at him for the next statement he’s about to say. “Actually, we’re waiting for one more per—”

A car horn cuts him off. 

“Well, nevermind. He’s here.”

At that moment, a way too expensive looking car drives up to the porch of Gyuvin’s college-level priced apartment building. This is looking way too out of place. Matthew lets out a whistle when the car stops in front of you. “This kid just got his license exchange and the first thing he does is show off,” Taerae snorts. What...what does he mean? Is this your ride? Is this the (at least seventy-thousand-dollar) vehicle that’ll be driving you all the way to the outskirts of Hadong County? 

The variables don’t click, but your surprise doesn’t end there. Because the person that emerges from the expensive looking ass car’s driver’s seat is— by far— the prettiest person you’ve ever seen in your twenty-one years of life.

Whoa.

Not even those thick, dark shades can obscure that god-sculpted looking face. They only make his nose bridge look even sharper, and you’re trying your damn best not to stare at those full and cherry-painted lips. Holy shit. Platinum blonde has always looked tacky to you, but now you have to re-evaluate. Oh my god. Kim Gyuvin has a friend that looks like this, and all he’s done is set you up with guys that can’t even fucking compare.

Walking statue of a man closes the car door behind him with a click. “Get in,” he says. Holy mother of god, you’re light-headed. Your brain is fuzzy. You’re about to pass out. 

“Ricky! You’re late! How dare you keep the madam waiting?!” 

Things start happening a little too quickly.

Wait a second—

“Shotgun!” 

That name.

“Fuck off! Let’s play for the seat!” 

Sounds Very.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot! Rock, paper, scissors—”

Very—

“Paper, scissors— shoot!”

—familiar.

“Dammit,” Matthew grumbles in defeat, joining Taerae in the backseat. You stare at the fist you have held out since earlier. Rock. Rick. Ricky. This guy’s name is Ricky. Isn’t that also the name of Gyuvin’s best friend? The best friend he was trying to set you up with? This is Ricky? This absolute god of a fucking man who’s looking at you with an ounce of confusion, still holding your fist up after somehow winning all rounds of rock, paper, scissors with nothing but a rock, is the Ricky you turned down a date with?

You were correct to assume that his name gives off fuckboy vibes. The problem is, he looks like a really, really hot fuckboy who you don’t mind ruining your life in exchange for three months of fun. Shit. You think you just made eye contact with him through his thick-ass sunglasses. He nods a little with a small, awkward smile before disappearing back into the driver’s seat. 

Fuck. He knows. He definitely knows you wrongfully rejected his ass without even meeting him. Gyuvin, that snitching son of a bitch.

“Hey.”

With a heavy grip on his shoulder, you stop the said snitching son of a bitch before he can escape into the backseat. “What?” Gyuvin raises a brow. The audacity of this guy.

“What was your best friend’s name again?”

“Ricky Shen. Shen Quanrui. Shim Cheonye. Pick one.”

“Is that...the same…?”

“Yes, that guy is Ricky.” There’s an impatient honk from the car. You pay no mind, more concerned about the absolute fucking catch you totally drove away, and that regret is seeping through you expression, failing to wiggle out from Gyuvin’s notice. “Why do you ask?” Are you regretting turning down my offer last week? his face seems to say. You want to hit him. Yes, you are fucking regretting it, but there’s no way in hell you’re giving him the satisfaction of knowing.

“It’s just a little awkward,” you say. “Can you switch with me?”

“Matt hyung’s gonna throw a fit if I take your seat,” he simply hums, opening the door to the front seat on your behalf with a courteous bow that drives you further into annoyance. “Now hop in. We’re already behind schedule.”

You’re the bigger person here so you decide against throwing a tantrum. Begrudgingly, you enter the passenger’s seat, trying to ignore aphrodite’s reincarnation sitting right next to you, and prepare yourself for the three-hour drive or torture because you totally screwed over your chance of having him.

“Woohoo! Road trip!”

“We’re here for my project, idiot.”

“Please tone it down, I’m trying to sleep.”

It’s fine, you cross your arms, wiggling uncomfortably on the soft seat. It’s totally fine. None of Gyuvin’s friends have been decent so far. Yes. You shouldn’t judge positively too quickly. Maybe the only thing this one has going for him is his face. Maybe his personality is just as shitty as the last ones and you’ve completely dodged a bullet.

A very pretty bullet. The pretty bullet is looking at you through the rearview mirror. Oh god, why is he looking at you? He’s got his sunglasses down and those eyes are practically staring into your soul.

“Um,” Ricky clears his throat. “You should put on your seatbelt.”

That rasp shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Fuck. This man is a walking heart hazard. “O—oh, sorry!” You’re stupid. Your brain is fried. You fumble with the dumb seatbelt, forgetting how it works, and mentally swearing at yourself in the process.

“Do you need any help…?”

Fight or flight instincts kick in. You smack away Ricky’s attempt at a helping hand. His eyes are wide in shock. Your eyes are wide in shock. You want to throw yourself out of this vehicle right now. “It’s—it’s fine!” Finally, you manage to put on the seatbelt. Ricky is a mix of confusion and offense when he starts the car, more on confusion, but that’s alright. The aftermath of him pulling a k-drama move and helping you with the seatbelt would have been worse. You would have disintegrated right then and there.

Your only source of comfort is the backpack that you’re hugging for your dear life. The entire ride is excruciatingly awkward because the three boys at the back have fallen asleep— a state you also wish to be in right now, but that’s quite frankly impossible because you’re a million times more conscious about your physical appearance right now with a literal angel next to you. 

He’s not asking why you’re pressed so far up against the door. For safety reasons, you tell yourself. The air around him just subconsciously feels a lot hotter despite the air conditioning literally blowing cold air to your face.

“Would...would you like some?”

But that doesn’t mean you could stomach this awkwardness, either. Two hours have passed and neither of you have said a word to each other. You’re a fistful into your candy stash and it feels rude not to offer anything to him when he’s been driving for so long. 

You have a cautious arm outstretched, a pink wrapper dangling between your thumb and index finger. Ricky peers down for a split second, a rumble from his throat before saying, “N—no, it’s okay.” The candy disappears into the crevices of his car. You dip your head down, trying to feel around for it, and Ricky continues talking. “Um. I mean. You don’t really have to force yourself to get along with me, seonbae. I already know that you don’t really like me.”

At that moment, you snap your head up. “What?”

Maybe you should’ve been more careful because you scare the shit out of Ricky and the car swerves off the lane.

Screech!

“Ah,” he exhales, parking the car at the edge of the road after nearly killing you all. “That was close.” How the three kids in the back are still asleep is beyond you. They’ve got their necks twisted in all the weird places and you’re pretty sure Matthew is drooling.

But the source of your adrenaline right now isn’t the near death experience.

“What do you mean you know that I don’t like you?”

Translation: what exactly did Kim Gyuvin say to this guy?

the psychology of strawberries. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#zerobaseone x reader #zb1 x reader #shen ricky x reader #zb1 ricky x reader #zb1 imagines #zerobaseone imagines #shen quanrui x reader #ricky shen imagines #zb1 ricky imagines #zb1 fluff #zerobaseone fluff #ricky shen x reader #zb1 x you #zb1 scenarios

[zeroeightzeroone]

your heart and my anchor - han jisung

love collection

genre: hurt? comfort?

pairing: fem!reader (infp) x idol!han jisung (intp)

warnings: descriptions of anxiety and of a panic attack

wc ~2.6k | moodboard

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

originally requested by @pcchacoseung

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

sometimes, you wonder why you decided to work and be a university student at the same time, that is until you remember the money that goes into tuition fees and the fact that you needed to move out in order to attend school. you're privileged enough that your parents are able to help pay your tuition whilst you pay for your rent and the other necessities you need to live in the city but that doesn't lessen the amount of stress that plagues you on and off again throughout the semesters. especially at the end of the year when exams are creeping up on you, figuring out how to move your schedule around to accommodate studying, working and finding the time to take a breather and relax; the latter option is usually dropped from the equation. 

when you aren't on campus or at work, you've locked yourself up in your room. sitting behind your desk and stuck to your laptop, your textbooks and notebooks sprawled and spread over the surface, multiple pens around the area. sometimes you lose all sense of time when you're so hyper-focused on the task at hand that you only get a couple hours of sleep before you rush to get ready for work. you're done work when the sun goes down and once you get home you're back behind your desk, working till the sun comes up. the routine only repeats whether you like it or not. 

jisung has been pretty busy as well. behind-the-scenes work with writing, producing and directing songs that may or may not end up on the next album, attending schedules and practicing day in and day out. it's been a while since you've been able to see each other, the both of you exchanging a few texts here and there.

j.one<3: i miss you baby i wrote some lyrics today thinking about you

you: i miss you too :,) a lot, a lot a lot

j.one<3: how have you been love? school and all?

you: it's been good

whenever he asked how you were doing, you'd always tell him that things were going fine, that it's okay, that you've got everything under control; acting like everything is a hundred and ten percent fine and dandy and you aren't on the verge of a breakdown every couple of hours. you didn't want him to worry about you. you didn't want to add to jisung's own current struggles, not wanting to burden him with your own.

j.one<3: hmm ok love you know i'm here right whenever you need me

you: of course and i love you for that

j.one<3: i love you more you got this, i believe in you baby

after your short text conversations, you'd turn on 'do not disturb' mode and a little message would pop up on jisung's side that you've switched it on.

j's one and only has their notifications silenced

a little signal for both you and him to get back to work. 

…

j.one<;3: hey love i'm gonna be in the studio all day working you wanna come by and do your work here too?

and that's how you ended up sitting on the couch inside the studio. your laptop rests on your thighs, two browser windows opened up alongside each other on the screen with a notebook and pen sitting next to you. across the room, jisung sits at the recording desk in front of the computer with the program opened up on the screen, a headset over his ears and a notebook sitting in front of him, twiddling a pencil between his fingers.

although, the longer you're seated inside the studio, with your laptop displaying your calendar on one side and schedule on the other; showing off tasks that need to be finished today whilst the other side shows off the tasks and events coming up in the week.

the more you're convinced that you're going to have a mental breakdown with each passing minute. 

you thought that maybe, just maybe, being in the same room as jisung would help as motivation, as comfort. having your person in the same room might hold you back from taking cover inside a hole, alone, curled up into a ball and ignoring the stresses life's currently throwing at you. 

but instead, as the time passes you feel deep envy growing for your boyfriend who is seated at the recording desk. you find yourself envying the way jisung is twirling his pencil, bopping his head to whatever track is playing through the headset and the way he is able to—unlike you—focus on the tasks at hand.

how were you supposed to focus on anything when your mind continues to relentlessly remind you of all the work that needs to be done today? that you'll wake up tomorrow, only to repeat the process of slaving to get the work done.

how could you even try to focus when that tightening sensation in your chest, the one that restricts your airflow, only gets worse as the time passes?

you couldn't—you can't and you hate it.

you absolutely hate how you feel right now.

how you're mentally and emotionally trying to calm yourself down. trying to talk yourself back onto the ground and out of your frantic mind to breathe.

your heart's racing, the pulse only picks up as the time passes. it beats so loudly you can't seem to hear anything other than your own heartbeat, your hearing completely zeroed in on it. 

your chest not only feels heavy but it starts to hurt, a throbbing sensation begins to come and go. it's like there is someone sitting on your chest and no matter how hard you try to get them off, you just can't. the harder you struggle, the more you feel suffocated, as if the air inside this vast recording studio only occupied by you and jisung is being sucked out, the walls closing in on you.

that painful feeling of your breath caught in your throat only leads to your heart rate picking up double time, your body feels restless while your mind repeats the same shit over and over again. the angel on one shoulder tries to calm you down, telling you to take a breather, take a break but the devil on the other only talks over her. overpowering her completely, as she reminds you that you aren't deserving of a break or a breather right now; seeing as you haven't completed any significant amount of work since entering the studio. 

unbeknownst to you, your body trembles as your hands come together in front of you, fingers fiddling and picking at the skin on the opposite hand. 

y/n, you think to yourself, come on, pull on your big girl panties and get on with it.

you're distracted trying to calm yourself down.

trying to bring yourself back down to earth instead of currently being inside your own head, you feel like you've lost any semblance of control you once had. god, you hate this feeling, you absolutely loathe how your heart quickly palpitates beneath your heavy chest, gradually getting dizzy as your restlessness only builds. however, no matter how anxious you feel, your body is nailed to the couch—you're frozen and unable to will yourself to get up on your feet.

it's like everything around you is speeding up and leaving you behind. they're leaving you behind in a state where your self-control slips away and causes your fear to grow tenfold. 

you're scared. you're terrified that you won't come down from this— that you don't know how to come down from this, how to regulate everything inside you. the dread slowly sinks in as you slowly convince yourself that you will never be free from this state of overwhelming emotion that consumes you as the minutes pass. 

jisung's hands move to adjust the headset, moving one cup away from his ear as the track has finished playing a moment ago. initially, he wanted to note something down in the notebook in front of him but the moment that one cup is off, he completely removes the headset and places it down in front of him on the desk. for a moment, he stills, listening to the room:

the echos of you clicking around on your laptop isn't heard.

this leads jisung to wonder if you've dozed off in the middle of working prompting him to spin around in the rolling chair, only to be met with you sitting on the couch wide awake. 

when his brown eyes are laid on your figure, jisung's heart drops at the sight; you gnawing at your bottom lip, your chest trembling as it heaves, your whole face is flushed and your eyes are the slightest bit blown. 

jisung immediately knows what's going on, he knows it all too well.

your boyfriend rushes to his feet and towards you, shutting your laptop and moving it on the couch beside you. slowly, jisung is kneeling in front of you as he gently encapsulates your hands in his.

he can feel the way your body trembles beneath his touch.

"y/n, baby, my love," jisung calls for you softly, his chocolate brown eyes sparkle as they gaze up at you, "you're okay, you're safe."

his eyes scan over your face, watching as your own slowly meet his. there's a dullness to your eyes, a sense of apprehension laced in your features as your thoughts plague your body and mind.

"hey, love," he smiles and lightly caresses your hands with the pad of his thumbs, "just keep your eyes on me, i'm here. i'm not going anywhere, okay? just focus on my voice, love."

you fight your own body to regain control, to regain the strength to regulate your own emotions. you've grit your teeth in an effort to stay focused on your boyfriend's voice.

"hey, hey… you're safe love. i'm gonna move beside you, okay baby?" he moves slowly to sit next to you on the couch, careful not to startle you with any quick or sudden movements. 

one of his hands move to your cheek gently caressing you there as well. a feeling of delight washes through his body at the sight of you instinctively leaning into his touch. 

"you're okay. i know it feels scary right now but you're going to be okay. you're going to get through this, yeah?"

the hand on your cheek moves to pat your hair down gently. jisung's gentle touch moves around your body as a physical reminder that you aren't alone and that he is here with you. 

"just keep focusing on my voice."

jisung continues to look over you, observing your current state and identifying how else he could help.

"i'm proud of you, you know?" he says fondly, "i know things get hard and it's scary sometimes but you always find a way to get through it. you're always doing such an amazing job."

a deep, unstable breath leaves your lips. 

"good girl! you're doing great. breathe, breathe with me okay?" he inhales deeply and you attempt to follow him. then he exhales, "...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

your exhales are shaky, your control not totally regained as you're fighting to get yourself out of your own head. but you feel the tension slowly dissipating from your body.

"one more time with me. concentrate on your breathing, okay?" this time jisung shuts his eyes as he inhales, hearing you take in a breath as well, before letting the air out slowly, "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten..."

jisung notices your previously blown-out eyes have softened, he then decides to move on another strategy to further help you anchor yourself back down into the present.

"that's my girl, i'm so proud of you," he pats your hair once again, "does my y/n need anything right now?"

your voice is incredibly hushed and strained when you squeak out the next two words, "hold me."

jisung scoots even closer to you. adjusting himself so one arm is around your shoulders, wanting to hold you close to him. his other arm moves your head to rest on his chest and he gives you a moment to adjust as he whispers reassurances that you're okay, that you're safe and that he's here. 

your ear presses up against his clothing as his hand rests on your jaw, caressing your skin with his palm. the warmth radiating off of jisung's body has your body reacting the way it usually does, melting into him as a wave of comfort washes over you. another deep breath leaving your lips, still a bit shaky but an improvement nonetheless. 

"what are three things you can hear right now?"

your eyes flutter close as you try your best to tune into your surroundings, trying to identify noises inside the quiet room.

you hum, "your heartbeat… the vent… your breathing."

"how 'bout three things you can smell?"

"your cologne… coffee… brownies."

"now, can you tell me three things you can see?"

your eyes open slowly with blinks as you adjust to the light before you scan around the room.

"recording desk… microphone… computer."

jisung's hand moves to wrap around your wrist, gradually lifting your hand up in the air in front of you both.

"wiggle your fingers for me," your fingers wiggle, "kick your leg up for me," you kick your leg up slowly, "roll your ankle around." you roll your ankle around, "good job my love, i'm so proud."

your arm moves to wrap around jisung's body, pulling yourself closer to him. a breath of relief leaves your lips at the sense of ease that comes with the action, how you're able to grip onto the fabric of his shirt and nuzzle your face further into his chest.

"inhale," he sucks in a breath and you follow suit, "exhale... one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. do you need anything else, y/n baby?"

you shake your head, melting into his side as you feel your pulse and breathing regulate to a normal pace. you feel like your feet are back on solid ground, in control and in the centre of your mind instead of backed into a corner hiding away from it.

"i'm here," he coos, swaying your bodies back and forth, "you're not alone. never. i'm here. i'm right here with you."

when you shut your eyes, tears fall down your flushed cheeks-- tears that had welled up due to stress and overwhelming bursts of emotions you weren't able to control--but now they fall with a sense of relief.

"i love you," your voice is quiet, trembling the slightest bit, "thank you… thank you for being here. i love you so much."

jisung hushes you, his hands gently running up and down your back, "it's the least i can do. I'm always gonna be here, y/n, always."

you nod, your eyes still closed as you take a couple of moments to yourself in jisung's arms. this time you're trying your best to anchor yourself back down to earth by thinking of what you love, what relaxes you, reminding yourself of the light and the good.

you know this isn't going to be the last panic attack you're going to have but at least you know that you aren't alone, there's always someone willing to help. jisung continues to remind you of that, that he'll be there for you no matter what, in any way he possibly can. at the same time, jisung knows that you'd do the same for him as you've done it time and time again. 

jisung has told you multiple times that he doesn't know how he'd function without you, feeling like he would be completely lost without you. 

you are his heart. 

meanwhile, jisung is your anchor.

in the middle of an uncontrollable storm, when the harsh waves rock the boat every which way, an anchor is vital to stay strong and controlled during such conditions. an anchor is a symbol of stability, a symbol of strength; a person you can rely on to support you to stay strong, to hold on even during the toughest of storms.

you found that person in jisung.

#zeroeightzeroonerequests #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenarios #stray kids hurt/comfort #stray kids soft hours #stray kids x reader #stray kids one shots #stray kids oneshot #skz imagine #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz han comfort #skz han one shot #skz han imagine #skz han fluff #stray kids han one shot #stray kids han imagines #stray kids han imagine #hjs love collection

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .5

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Size difference; Size kink; One sad horny old man; Angst!!!! that will continue just FYI no abusing poor little vic for enjoying the suffering of others :) it’s not my fault :)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: peep the cameo!!!!!! :) 

Word Count: 6.1K

Read on AO3

.5

Vanish. Pass into nothingness: the Keats line that frightened her. Fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. Go back into the blue. I myself placed her ashes in the wall. I myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. I know what it is I am now experiencing. I know what the frailty is, I know what the fear is. The fear is not for what is lost. What is lost is already in the wall. What is lost is already behind the locked doors. The fear is for what is still to be lost. You may see nothing still to be lost. Yet there is no day in her life on which I do not see her.

Joan Didion, Blue Nights

Weeks pass after that night in his truck. He calls, many times, but you never answer. And it makes you feel like the worst sort of liar, but you can’t. You can’t hear the sound of his voice, it’ll ruin you, destroy your resolve, force you to your knees at his feet, which is, if you’re being honest, the only place you really want to be. It is, perhaps, the greatest struggle of your entire life, to hold on by the skin of your teeth to this idea you have of what it is he and his marriage should remain as, and what you and he should be and should not be. 

It’s Gerri’s birthday, and Tommy and her sister had decided to throw her a party at her house. Big surgeon money makes for a big fancy house, and Gerri was over the moon, filled with happiness and laughter and that wonderful brand of Gerri specific infectious glee that forces even your miserable, morose self to pull your butt out of bed and get ready to go celebrate her. She knows you’re sad, missing him, even if she doesn’t know it’s him specifically. Although, you suspect she might have an idea of it. 

She’d begged you to come during class at the start of the week, planting her stubborn butt on a stool to stare you down while the rest of your students finished up their work and then put away their materials. Please’s and threats of tears and bodily harm and promises of copious amounts of alcohol, and if you’re feeling up to it, I could even hook you up with someone – an accompanying waggle of her eyebrows. What about a surgeon? My sister knows the perfect, sexy doctor for you. You’d profusely, profusely refused that. You could not even consider another man right now, the idea was almost repulsive to you. As she begged and pleaded and whined, another one of your students had come up, eavesdropping on the pathetic display of supplication, “Come on, teach. Don’t be a sour puss, put her outta her misery, and go to the fucking party with her,” she’d laughed. One of your best students – she had the most gorgeous tattoo on the inside of her forearm of two overlapping ferns with an intricately detailed moth at the head. She’d told you once she’d sketched it herself. You’d rolled your eyes at them, sour puss, my ass. But you knew you had to get out of this hole you’d dug yourself into, and so, their teasing had gotten to you in the end – forced you to agree to the party out of sheer preservation for your reputation. Gerri’d taken to calling you the boring barnacle… yeah, and she’d never stop if you didn’t agree – would probably force all your other students into making fun of you for the rest of the semester, as well. Annoying little shit, it was very aggravating that you loved her so much. 

-

The house is stunning – big surgeon money indeed. All shining glass, sleek wood and modern edges. A huge infinity pool in the backyard, flanked by an impressively sized guest house that Gerri said she and Tommy stayed in sometimes when they got too drunk to drive home. 

There was, after all, a doctor from Andrea’s work waiting for you at their undesired and annoyingly meddlesome behest. He was nice, handsome, boring. Not tall enough, not broad enough, hair blonde and straight and kind of straw-like – no dark, silver streaked curls and deep, warm eyes. He kind of reminds you of a shiny scarecrow, if you’re being honest and not very kind. Not Joel enough. But he was nice, and seemingly interested and he’d gotten you a drink and stayed by your side all night, attentive and polite. 

You feel miserable and made out of plastic. Your smile, fake, forced, terrible. Something has to be done about this. Perhaps, electrotherapy, a lobotomy, an exorcism. Anything to get him out of your head. 

The shiny, blonde scarecrow – doctor – is telling you about his shiny, blonde family and their fancy skiing trips now, and oh, do you ski? No? I bet you’d love it – maybe I can take you one day? Never mind that you’d been born without a single athletic bone in your entire body, when, suddenly, you hear your name being barked, rough and angry, from behind you, and then a large, searing hot palm circling your bicep on one side while his other palm slides along the span of the small of your back to grip you at the bend of your waist. Fuck. 

“Joel–”

“Hi, sweetheart.” He does not look at you as he says it, but his grip on your waist tightens for one second. He’s staring down the shiny scarecrow, murder in his eyes. Oh, that look is very scary. 

“What are you doing here?” He turns the scary look on you at that, and nope, nope, it’s even scarier pointed in your direction.

“Tommy told me you were here.”

“Wh– what? Why would he tell you?” He gives you a pointed look, and you glance at the scarecrow, nervous. “You told Tommy?” you whisper back at Joel. 

Poor doctor man looks at a loss, gaze swinging back and forth between the two of you. “I’m so sorry, can you give us a minute?” you say, embarrassed. He takes one look at Joel’s terrifying face and scampers away.

-

Moron, he thinks, sour gaze following the fucker as he tucks tail and runs. He turns back to you, answering your question, “Didn’t have to, baby. He figured it out on his own. Don’t think we’ve been what one could call discreet if you’re really paying attention.”

You shut your eyes tight, bring up a shaky hand up to rub at the delicate wing of your brow. He desperately wants to smooth out the tiny frown marring the space between your eyes. 

“N– no– but,” you stutter. 

He takes the drink you’re holding out of your hand, takes a sip of it – something sweet and way too strong for your light-weight little butt. “Mm, he get that for you?”

You scrunch your nose up at him, and he knows he’s meant to take it as a sign of your annoyance, but all he can think is that you’re too adorable for your own good. “Wh– I– you overbearing, ridiculous – give that back!” you frown up at him as he holds it out of your reach. He sets the glass on a table behind you.

“Hmm–” His big hands span the width of your waist, can’t help himself, you’re so small compared to him. It makes his cock so hard. “Let me talk to you, please. Let’s go somewhere quiet.” He doesn’t care that he’s not supposed to be here, that he shouldn’t be bothering you, he’s reached the end of his rope. 

“No – go away. It’s– it’s Gerri’s birthday.” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he pulls you further into his chest. “I’m supposed to be having fun. She said she’d be mad if I didn’t have fun.” There are already overwhelmed tears in your eyes, and if he wasn’t so fucking desperate to see you, to talk to you after all these weeks of you ignoring him, he’d run away. Far, far away, where he can never make you cry again. 

“Just for a little bit, please,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, causing the little wisps of hair there to flutter. 

You shiver. “Where– where’s Sarah?” You bring your small hand up to clutch at his beard, cup his jaw, and scratch your nails gently down the side of his cheek, and fuck, he’s ready to burst, just with that, even as your other hand feebly tries to push at his chest. He slides a hand low on your back to press your pelvis into his. 

“Baby-sitter.” Hearing you ask after his daughter has that soft spot behind his ribs where you live now, burn and pinch painfully. 

“And–” 

He cuts you off, doesn’t want to hear you talking about her. “Gone for the weekend – work conference.” Not that he believed that.

You open your eyes again, the tears lining your lashes make them almost glow in your skull. He can’t help himself, he bends to press a soft kiss over your eye, feels the whispering, wet flutter of your long lashes against his mouth. You let out a broken mewl for him – full of all your matched wanting. “F– fine. We’ll– we’ll just talk.”

Just talk, just talk, just talk. 

He can feel the pulse of his blood beat through the line of his erection against his thigh. He wraps his hand around yours and starts leading you through the house, spots Tommy at the back of the kitchen, leaning against the counter talking to someone. His brother takes in the two of you together, gives him a subtle nod, inclines his head towards the backyard – the guest house where Joel was headed. Tommy had known, since that day so long ago when Joel had tried to discreetly tag along to the college – hoping to get a glimpse of you, he’d known there was something. Nothing discreet about your half assed excuses, reeked’a desperation, he’d said. His brother wanted him to be happy, to have a good, fulfilling relationship. He’d been telling Joel to get a lawyer for months, had been the first to tell him to not get married. He’d help him now, give the two of you time to sort this out. He knows just how insane Joel had been these past few weeks, like a caged animal, pacing and hissing at not being able to get at you. 

He steps out the back door and pulls you towards the guest house. He’d been here once, months ago, helping Gerri’s sister out with a repair she’d needed. The two of you would have privacy there to talk, for you to finally stop avoiding him. He needs to speak to you, touch you, smell you. He was going out of his goddamn mind thinking about you, dreaming about you. His cock, constantly at half mast and leaking, at all hours of the day, just at your memory. Desperate, that’s what he is, he’s desperate for you. 

“Who was that guy?”

“Who?” Your voice is anxious, breath hitching. He knows you’re twisting yourself up in knots, and he turns to pull you into his arms now, in the privacy of the dark room, lit only by the light of the moon spilling through the large bay windows. 

“The one you were talking to.” He draws his palm slowly up and down the line of your spine, feelings the little bumps and jitters of your trembling form. Skittish little rabbit. He rubs his mouth over the line of your hair, baby soft wisps tickling his nose and mouth. You smell so good, he wants to rub himself all over you like some sort of animal – mark his territory.

“Wh– I– You cannot be serious right now.” You push at him, turn to move away, but he catches you around the bend of your elbow, tugging you back forcefully into his chest. He presses his front along the line of your back, grips your hip to bring your ass into the hard line of his cock. 

“Does this feel serious to you?” He’s hard as stone, throbbing beneath his jeans. 

“Oh God, Joel–”

“Don’t want you talkin’ to other men, thinking about any other men. I know it sounds insane – can’t help it, I’m sorry.”

“I– I don’t think about anyone else but you,” you whimper. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, brings one large hand up to cradle the weight of your breast and squeeze. He can feel the stiff little furl of your nipple through your dress. He feels a little unhinged right now, overwhelmed by the feel and scent of you. “I miss you,” he whispers. “Have you missed me?” He presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear that has a violent shiver jerking down your vertebrae, you grind your ass harder into him, give him the sweetest little moan. “All I do is think about you.”

“I did, I did– I miss you so much. I wanted to talk to you, I did,” you whimper, “But– but we shouldn’t, Joel,” you say at the same time as your hand comes up and around to twist into the curls at the back of his head. He turns your head with his hand wrapped around your jaw, his entire palm cups around your neck to your cheek, thumb pressing harshly into the corner of your mouth to angle you exactly how he wants you, and then he’s tasting behind your teeth, the wet lick of his tongue into yours sends a bolt of lust straight through him, almost bringing him to his knees. He moans, deep and rumbling into your panting mouth, and your answering keen has the dribble of his precum sliding down his thigh. He needs to be closer, he needs to be inside. Fuck, he’s in danger of coming just from this, just from the sweet taste of you, your little moans, all for him. 

“Did you like that boy? Think he was nice, hmm?”

“Wha– No– no, Joel. I don’t even know him.” Brow scrunching into the most adorable little frown he’s ever seen. You blink your lashes at him, eyes glassy and slightly dazed. 

He snakes his other hand down the front of your dress and under the lace of your panties, cupping the entirety of your mound in his palm. Fuck, you’re soaked and he’s touching you, finally, finally, he’s touching you here. 

“Is all this wet for him or for me?” he says softly, dipping a single finger into your seam, a ghost of a touch over the bud of your clit. Fuck, you’re soft. Soft and swollen and soaking wet. He never wants to see you near another man again, it’s unreasonable, insane, he knows this. But the dilemma of having seen you, tasted you, felt you, but only by half measures, not really having you, well… it sets the stage for insanity. This he cannot help. 

“For you, for you– please, Joel. Just–”

“She’s drooling for me, baby.”

“Don’t be mean,” you cry.

“Will you let me make you feel good, sweet girl? Please, I just want to make you feel good.” He presses wet kisses over your cheek, down your neck to lick into the hollow of your collarbone. Your hips hitch in little grinds trying to gain more purchase against his palm, and he circles your clit slowly. You’re fucking dripping, and he moves down to press over your entrance, gives you the slightest hint of everything else he’d like to give you. 

“Oh, please–” He slides two of his fingers into the last knuckle then, to the hilt. You’re so wet, there’s no resistance at all. Your cunt swallows his fingers whole, and the both of you let out ragged moans in tandem. You’re fucking tight, and he needs to feel you around his cock, he has to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’ll die.

“We– we were supposed t– to talk,” you stutter, little cunt grinding down as hard as you can on his thrusting fingers. The wet squelch is deafening and obscene in the quiet of the guest house, and he can almost feel the steam of your lust and embarrassment at the sound rolling off of your skin like heat waves. 

“Yeah, yeah, baby. We’ll talk in a second.” He licks a long wet swipe along the edge of your jaw, bites down harshly, and he can feel the tight clench of your cunt at the small hurt. He pulls his fingers from you, and you let out a protesting mewl, but then he’s spinning you in his arms and kissing you. Something savage and uncontrolled rising up inside of him. He half carries, half drags you down the hall to the bedroom he knows is at the back of the house, pulls the neckline of your dress down to get at your tits, sucking and nipping as much of the soft flesh he can get at. All the previous moments of restraint, of not touching, of just watching, have turned him into this uncontrolled beast. He can feel your little feel dangling off the ground, over his boots. He almost stumbles as you lose one of your sandals, stepping over your shoe, and gripping the back of your thigh to hoist you up higher, grinding you against his length. 

He sets you down on the bed, pushing you back to lay across it as he tugs the soft cups of your bra down to get at your bare tits, sucking one peaked nipple into his mouth and pulling hard on the tip. So fucking beautiful. He swirls his tongue around your softness, kisses the underside of it, nips at the full, round side, switches to give the other one the same attention. You’re whining and crying out for him, almost sobbing. So sensitive, so sensitive – little fingers twisted in his hair to pull him closer, but he’s moving down, pulling away from your searching mouth and lifting the hem of your dress. He bends to bury his face in the soft apex of your thighs and breathes deep – satisfaction, hunger, rumbling through his chest. You smell so fucking good. He sticks his tongue out to lick at your slit over the lace of your soft, pink panties, sweet, little bow adorning the front of them. 

“Hush, lemme kiss your pussy for a little bit,” he soothes, “Don’t cry,” and you’re spreading your legs immediately at that. Good girl. 

He hooks his fingers under the soaking wet center plaque of your panties to pull it aside and drags the flat of his tongue right through your seam. Fuck, fuck. He shuts your legs to rip the fabric down your legs and then rips them open again to get at your cunt. Your back arches, curved tight like a bow string, and you spread your legs wider for him, tug on his hair to urge him closer. He settles between the space you’ve made for him – thinks that he just might like to live here for the rest of his life. He sucks your clit into his mouth and starts to press a single finger inside, giving you something to bear down on.

“God, Joel–” your gasps are wet, on the verge of overwhelmed tears, or already there, perhaps, “Feels so– so good.”

“Taste so fucking good–” He starts to fuck you with his finger, adding another, giving you more to stretch around. You’re so wet, leaking down to pool in his palm, and he focuses on your sensitive little nub, licking and sucking and kissing it, all while he watches the heave and tremble of your breasts, back arched so that you can rock into his ministrations. 

“Oh, I’m– I’m gonna come.” Yes, already, “I’m gonna–” He can feel the ripple and throb of your inner muscles working around his thrusting fingers, he hooks them against the deep, spongy spot at the front of your walls and sucks on your clit. Everything goes tight and liquid inside of you. The rapid flutter of your muscles trying to suck his fingers deeper, as you gush into his mouth, has all the blood rushing from his head to his dick so quickly he feels slightly faint. He licks you through it, gentling the thrust of his fingers but not stopping. Your restless legs shift around him, too much, and then he’s shifting back up to you, a bite to your nipple, a kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw, and he’s pulling you down the bed so your ass is right at the edge and tugging at his zipper, pulling his boxers down to free his aching cock and heavy balls. Fist clenched tight around himself, he jacks it once, twice and then presses the angry, red head to your clit, slides the underside of it through your cleft to feel the heat and wetness. Shit, your skin is scorching hot, soaked, and he can see the slight clench of your hole, begging to be filled. 

“Joel, please I– I want–”

“Fuck – will you let me– will you let me put it in? Just a little bit?” He’s thrusting against the slick red of you, palm pressed against the shaft to create friction on either side. On every pull back his head catches the smallest bit at your entrance, and fuck, fuck, it would be so easy, so good, “Just– just for a second, baby, please? Just the tip?”

“I – I don’t– I–” The head catches more fully, the wide tip of it giving you just the first slight stretch of it. “Oh, please–” Please, please, please. 

He feeds you the first inch – eyes glued to the way your little hole stretches obscenely around his fat girth, “Shit,” he snarls. He fucks you just like that, with just the tip and you try and arch even more, impossible, you’re already pulled tight as an arc, trying to take him deeper, and then your knee is hitching against his hip and pressing him in closer. He slides all the way inside, to the very end of you, in one smooth, devastating go. He feels his tip bump against the mouth of your womb, and your shared moan is pained and ragged. Your fluttering lids springing all the way open, eyes wide, almost shocked. The look shared between the two of you – incredulous, as if neither of you knew – had ever occurred to you – that something in this world could ever feel this good. 

He buries his face in your neck, shuts his eyes tight. Fuck, he’s gonna come, he’s gonna come. Your gasping moans, the lush press of your breasts to his chest, the fluttering of your cunt around him – nothing in all his life has ever felt like this. There’s a pain, deep in his chest, in a place he didn’t even know existed. This is like nothing else that has ever existed in this world. He’ll never be able to let you go after this, never, never. 

He wraps his hand around your throat, tries to settle you. “Don’t– don’t move, don’t make a sound–”

“I can’t– I can’t– You’re so deep.” Your legs kick restlessly around him.

“Baby, shut up, please,” he begs, he cannot come yet, he cannot. This is the first time in over three years he’s been inside of a woman, the first time he’s been inside of you. He cannot ruin it with a happy trigger finger. You’re clawing at his back, gasping and crying for him to move, to fuck you, please, please, please, fuck me. He slides a hand under your butt and lifts you slightly off the bed to bring you closer to him, grinds his cock deep, deep, right at your cervix so that you’re crying for real now. 

“Too much, too much,” you clutch tightly at his bicep, going back and forth between trying to push him away and pull him closer. He can feel the wet press of your tears sliding along his cheek, over his mouth, and he licks his lips to taste them, has his eyes rolling to the back of his head at their saltiness. He hitches you more firmly in his grasp and starts to fuck you. His thrusts, deep and devastating, punching all air, voice, thought out of you, heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass.

“You can take it, you can take it. You can take anything I give you. You’re my pretty, perfect girl,” he grits, pulls himself up so he can stare at the place where you’re taking him, puffy, red cunt stretched obscenely around his slick base. 

“You feel so good– I can’t, I can’t– What are we going to do? What are we going to do? It feels so good.” You’re crying, incoherent, fucked out look in your eyes as you claw at his shirt, little nails scraping over his belly and chest. He grips you under one knee to pull your leg up, hooking your ankle over his shoulder to deepen the angle. You come again, instantly, just at the change, the deepening of the angle, the head of his cock battering savagely against that deep, soft spot inside you.

“Fuck, yeah. Let me feel that cunt get wet, little girl.” Your mewls are high pitched, supplicant, and you gush around him. He feels it soak his pelvis, drip down his balls.

No one’s ever been this deep, nothing’s ever felt like this, you say, over and over again. 

He plants one knee on the bed and hunches over you, ankle still dangling limply over his shoulder and pounds into you. The feel of your cunt rippling around him, sucking him deeper is too much. He wishes he could last longer, feel you come around him again. What if you never let him do this again? What if you never want him again after this? What if it’s just a one time thing? He’ll never get over this, he’ll never be able to move on from this. He can’t hold back, he starts to fill you, hot thick spurts coating your insides, and you moan again at the searing heat of him, right at the mouth of your womb, grinds deep, deeper, as deep as he can, the contractions of your inner muscles pulling him in. He wishes he could crawl beneath your skin, live inside of you, make a home for himself behind the safe cage of your ribs, and he thinks that you’re right, nothing has ever felt like this, nothing will ever feel like this again. 

He’s ruined now. You’ve ruined him

He collapses on top of you, wants to crush you with his heavy weight, meld your chests together so that you’ll have to be with him forever after this. He presses wet, breathless kisses to the vulnerable underside of your jaw, behind your ear where your scent is the most concentrated, breathes you in deeply. You wrap your arms and legs around him, and he can feel the clench of your inner muscles around his softening cock. He hasn’t done this in a long time, he wonders what his refractory period is now, if he’ll be able to go again soon, if you’ll let him. 

“I wanted that so badly,” you whisper, nuzzle your nose into his hair. 

“Me too, sweetheart.” 

“I’m scared.”

“You have nothing to be scared of. I would never hurt you,” he promises because it’s the truth. He’d never do anything to purposely hurt you. 

“I’m scared of what I feel for you,” you say quietly, “I– I don’t–”

He slides his hand under you to press you closer. “I know, sweet girl. Me too.” He angles your head to give himself access to your mouth, starts his kiss out soft and gentle, slotting your full upper lip between both of his to pepper soft little pecks and sucks to it, then tilts his head to get a deeper angle and lick into you. 

You’re completely relaxed beneath him. Soft and warm and wet, entirely pliant. So sweet. It’s one of the things he loves most about you, how sweet you are. Sweet and kind and earnest – tenderhearted. You’re right, in a way, this is something to be afraid of. The things he feels for you – the depth of it, it’s not something he was expecting, not prepared for, but he’s certain there isn’t a way of stopping it now. This is what it is, will go where it was always going to go, from the first moment he saw you, touched you, tasted you. 

“What are we going to do?”

“I want to tell her.” It’s the only truth, the only road he wants to go down. He wants to be with you, he wants this out in the open. “You aren’t a secret to be kept or hidden. You deserve to be cherished out in the open.”

Your tears spill harder at that, “Joel–”

“Baby,” he lifts up slightly to look at you, “This is it.”

You turn to look away and he feels dread coil in his gut. If you pull away from him now he’ll lose his mind. He isn’t prepared for this, he isn’t the type of man who’s ever had to deal with this type of feeling. “I – I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I– I don’t want–”

“You don’t want what?” he brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face, runs the tip of his finger along the arch of your brow, down the slope of your nose. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he says, because it’s the truth. In this moment, he thinks he’d do anything at all you’d ask of him. Open his very veins for you. You have him speared by the heart, eating out of the palm of your small hand. 

“I don’t want to be the reason your marriage ends,” your brow crumples, “I told you. I– I can’t be. I couldn’t live with that.”

“My marriage never really began to start with. I told you that.” He moves to pull out, both of you groaning softly at the sensitive slide of his cock slipping out of you, the slick gush that follows. He sits back on his heels, grips both of your knees to keep you spread and enjoy the sight of the viscous drip of his spend out of your messy hole. He wants to bend to eat his own come out of you. You’ve turned him into some sort of beast, subjugated to the scent and sound and feel of your body. But instead he turns to sit at the edge of the bed, tucks himself back into his jeans. He leans forward, elbows resting against his spread knees, and drags his palm over his face, rubs the scruff of his beard. He feels you turn to curve around him, your hand snaking up the back of his shirt to press your palm against his hot skin, your knees curling into his lap around his waist. “It was never – it was never– I don’t even know. Never a real marriage, I suppose. Or never something either of us wanted for the right reasons. I – I felt like it was the right thing to do, at the time, for Sarah. I told you this. But– but it was never how it should’ve been. I worry now, sometimes, if we haven’t just done more damage to her, built a foundation that’s so rotten, so broken, that she’ll be able to feel it for the rest of her life.”

“Joel,” you whisper, dragging your fingers softly up and down his back. 

“She was born into a broken home – how can I ever– how can I ever make that up to her?” He turns back to look at you then, “A home where her parents never loved each other – barely even tolerated each other. What is that gonna do to her? What will that teach her about love and relationships?” He grips you around the bend of your knee, anchors himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his rough palm. 

“I think that, from– from experience, that it will be enough for her to know that she has you, that you love her, that you’ll always be there for her. You’re a good father, Joel. A– a wonderful father. She’s so, so lucky to have you.” And the look in your eyes as you say this to him is so earnest, so sincere and kind that he knows, in that very instant, that he’s falling in love with you, that he is already in love with you. He folds over to press his face into your belly, hug you tight to himself. “Your love for her will teach her what love is supposed to be. Honest, forgiving, patient. She doesn’t need any other example than that. That’s enough for a little girl, trust me.” You drag your nails gently along his scalp. 

He presses a kiss to your belly, another to your still bared breast. He rests his cheek on your chest to look up at you. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” What he really wants to say is, thank you for existing, thank you for finding me, thank you for being magic, thank you for letting me touch you. Please, let me keep even one small piece of you, I’ll take such good care of it for the rest of my life, I promise.

“But you– you can’t tell your wife about this, can’t– can’t leave her for me. That isn’t– that isn’t ever what I wanted, or– or set out to do. I told you why, I explained this to you.” He watches a bright flush flood your cheeks, brow folding into a frown as you stutter out the words. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“What’s left of this marriage is going to end either way. It’s only a matter of time.”

“But not for me. Not because of me, or for you to run straight to me. I can’t– I couldn’t live knowing I’d done that.”

“You haven’t done anything. This was done a long time ago, the foundation was damaged from the start.”

“N– no, still. I can’t.” You shift away from him, sit up to right your clothes. There is a part of you that hums the sounds of uncertainty, he can hear it in your voice, but it is so quiet in the face of everything else. The echo of your screeching guilt and fear so loud, it overwhelms everything else. 

“So, then what? This was just a one time thing? You want nothing more from this? From me?” He spits, hurt. He knows he should be gentle, not get angry, but the thought of you taking yourself away from him now makes panic climb like fire up his chest and throat. 

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, face still turned away from him. “I– I can’t tell you that right now. But I do know that I don’t want you to tell your wife, or to leave her for me.”

“So you think I should stay with her? Even though we’re both miserable. Even though all I want is to be with you. That’s what you want me to do?”

You let out a hoarse, anguished little sound at that, but then: “That’s not for me to say.” Your voice sounds broken, jagged, lacerating. “That isn’t my business,” you say so quietly, almost like you’re afraid to utter the words out loud, know what a lie they are. But he hears it. Loud and clear, like a slap to the face. 

“Not your business?”

“I should get back.” You stand to right your dress, he watches your shaking knees knock together, and he reaches out to catch you if you need him, but you steady yourself on your own. When you finally turn back to look at him, there are tears streaming down your face. In some sick, twisted way, the sight of them is a comfort. They tell him that this isn’t what you really want, that your words hurt you too. In a way, they help him understand you better, as well. You’re trying to do what you think is the right thing, as wrong as it is for all of you involved. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, wringing your hands together. He only nods. You go to clean yourself up in the restroom, shutting the door quietly behind you.

-

When you step back out into the bedroom, he’s already gone, but there’s a glass of water left waiting for you on the bedside table. 

Chapter .6

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic

[negansbackdoorwhore]

Sneaky

Warnings: age gap (early 20s reader), smut

I was lying in bed scrolling through random apps to relieve boredom. I relax more in the bed further after plugging in my phone. It was peaceful until I jumped to a knocking on my window. I sat up from my bed feeling a rush of adrenaline and being bold, I peeked through the blinds. I sighed in relief to realize it’s only Negan. Also my dad’s best friend, whom I’ve been seeing for a while now. My poor dad was clueless but we may get caught if he keeps sneaking into my window. I go pull the blinds up and unlock my window. He moved close and opened it for himself.

“You know you’re going to get us caught one day.” I say just above a whisper. He just kept a big smile on his face as he walked in and accidentally fell. It made a loud thud noise and I panicked by closing the door. “Shit!” I whispered loudly and helped him up.

“Well, hello to you to babygirl.” I was about to speak up but heard footsteps coming toward my bedroom. Immediately thinking fast, I pushed him to hide under my bed. I made the motion for him to stay quiet as I closed the window. I then heard my bedroom door open to see my dad all groggy.

“You okay in here honey?”

“Yeah. Everythings good, I just fell trying to open my window.” I say shutting the blinds. He only sighed and shook his head. “Be more careful alright? I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” I nodded and said goodnight as I go to lock my door. I let out a breath as Negan moved to stand up. He stretched his back and looked over at me.

“Well. We didn’t get caught did we?” He says above a whisper. Negan just laughs as I give him a glare. He takes off his jacket to drap over the night stand. I see him ruffle his hair and lays on my bed. His shoes were kicked off and looked over at me. Negan raised his finger to motion for me to join. I walk over and lay next to him and he had his arms around me.

“You haven’t called me in a week. Where exactly have you been baby?” Negan asked as he rubs my lower back.

“You know I have a job for the rest of the summer, right?”

“Yeah. But whenever we started this, I thought we’d be able to have more fun. Instead of you staying at your folks to save money.” He pouted as I shifted to lay on top of his body. “Well I need money for my next semester of college. You know that.” I say touching his chest. He ran an arm up my back toward the back of my head. I look at him and felt him pulling me into a kiss. Obviously he wanted to avoid the conversation. I kissed him back and wrapped my arms on his neck. For a few minutes I made out with him as I laid on top of him. His hand rubbing my lower back and going under my shirt to touch my skin.

“Why don’t you start taking off these clothes?”

“Only if you do it to.” I say in between kisses and felt him smile. I leaned up on his lap to toss away my shirt and show off that I was wearing no bra. He licked his lips and followed along by removing his own tshirt onto the floor. I bit my lip and lower go to kiss him again as his hands massaged my tits. I moan against his lips as he pinched my nipple. He moved my body to sit up and lean to suck at my chest. I held his head and kept in my voice so we don’t wake my dad. “Remember, we have to be quiet Negan.” I whispered.

“You don’t need to worry about me. You know I can make you scream.” I blushed as he took opportunity to lay me under him. Fuck he was so hot with his body being lit from the dim lamp. His body settled between my thighs and go to touch his shoulders. “Want me fuck you?” He teased when tugging away my shorts. I go to pull them off my hips and he practically tore them off my ankles. We both laugh lightly and went to undo the button of his jeans. I look at him feeling my thighs squeeze together and wanting him so bad. Negan grabbed a pillow and carefully stuffed it behind the headboard to avoid noise.

He moved faster and shimmied his pants and boxers down his thighs. I pull him to kiss me again as he situated himself to thrust into me. I whined feeling his cock, he went to cover my mouth.

“Shh. Don’t be too loud.” He warned and I nodded. He kept his hand in place as he moved his hips. I groan into his hand as he moved slow but brought force into his thrusts. Negan knew exactly how to fill my pussy so good. I whimpered as my thighs tighten on his waist. He bit his lip to keep down the noise as he fucked me.

He hit me so deep and I held onto his shoulders. I did my best to not make a noise and it must’ve been too long without him since my pussy was clenching on him. He was already there seeing the look on his face. He lean to whisper “Come baby.”

That’s all I needed to fully let go and I felt bite my neck once he released. We both had to take moment to steady breathing and our bodies fell against the bed.

“Shit. Too long without your pussy.”

“I know. Too much time without you.” I say caressing his cheek. He shifted his body to pull out of me and laid by my side. I moved to cuddle with him and he kissed my head. “Live with me.”

“What? No, do you realize my family with kill us.”

“So? I care about you and you wouldn’t have to work anymore. I’ll take care of everything baby.”

“I don’t know…” I spoke hesitantly and drew patterns on his arm.

“At least think about it.”

“Maybe.”

Taglist

@defiantsolitarygirl

@ashleysboomstick

@negansmithsupremacy

@peachifemme

@neganswoman

@hail-yourselves

@igotmajordaddyissues

@lolablack666

@sanctuaryforthelost

@lostinworldofdarkness

@jdmorgansboy

#jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan #negan x reader #negan smith #negan fic #negan #negan smith x reader

[voidartisan]

It's a bit overdue, but, another semester has passed, and so I present

Incorrect Quotes from AJ's Real, Actual Life

Aayla: If you were stranded on a desert island and could only bring three objects, what would you bring? Quinlan: One 500 lb. block of uranium. No further questions. Anakin: DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE FISH LADIES????? Obi-Wan: ... Obi-Wan: ...elaborate. Padme: I may or may not have had a crush on a literal otter, but in my defense, he had a Scottish accent. Obi-Wan: Actually, I think I have one of those fold-out seats in the back. Ahsoka: Well you could have told us that BEFORE we stuffed Rex in the trunk Fives: He was an interm--- intermur--- intermule-- Echo: Intermural? Fives: Amen. Jesse: Hallelujah, praise the Lord--- Obi-Wan: I'm going to get some ibuprofen. Anyone else? I've got the good stuff. Fives: Shaak Ti is my favorite council member. I can't wait for her to die so they can name something in the Temple after her. Echo: Rex: *attempting to suppress laughter* Fives: Wait that come out wrong--- bby!Aayla: *crying* Quinlan: Que pasa, Mufasa? Jesse: I volunteered Fives for latrine duty. Echo: Dang. That's messed up. Echo: I also volunteer Fives for latrine duty Kit Fisto: He doesn't deserve this. Mace is the mitochondria of the Order Jesse: I'd better be getting paid for this. Jesse: I want... two mung beans Jesse: Never had a mung bean Anakin: I'm an idiot, not stupid Kanan, addressing the Ghost crew: If you would like, you may drizzle some of my queso on your tacos. However, if you steal all of it, I will ugly cry in your room for the rest of the night. Fox, sighing: Will someone teach our favorite dingbat to sleep on a blanket? Thorn: I sleep on blankets all the time! >:( Fox: I was talking about Grizzer. Thorn: Oh. Hound: I also assumed you were referring to Thorn Rex, looking Jesse dead in the eyes: Get. Thee. Hence.

#star wars #sw #the clone wars #tcw #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #captain rex #jesse #commander fox #commander thorn #sergeant hound #kanan jarrus #rebels #kit fisto #echo #aayla secura #quinlan vos #fives #padme amidala #incorrect quotes #incorrect star wars quotes

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 16

Day Fifteen | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Seventeen

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Role reversal; period-typical attitudes toward sex; vaginal sex; riding unsafe sex; creampie

He starts to turn up to your classes midway through October. You’ve seen his picture in the paper, heard the conspiratorial whispers of the enamored co-eds across campus, but you’ve never met the man. 

You notice him right off the bat—it’s impossible not to. If it hadn’t been for the way most of the female students were twisting in their seats to get a look at him, his countenance would’ve given him away. He was dressed far more professionally than your students, and watching you far more closely than any of them were as well. The afternoon sun glinted off of his glasses as he tracked your movement, from walking into the lecture hall, to setting down your briefcase as you greeted your students.

-- 

You’ve nearly forgotten him by the lecture’s end, as your students pack up their things and file out. You focus on getting your scattered notes and attendance sheets together, certain that Jones will trail out with the rest of them. You feel someone watching you as you tuck your notes and attendance into a folder. You glance up, expecting one of your students, but finding him standing there instead. 

“Dr. Jones,” You greet, turning your attention back to your bag. “Is there something that I can help you with?” 

“Brody told me that he’d hired someone else in the history department, but I haven’t had the time to come and get acquainted.” 

“Well, that probably had something to do with your recent excursion to Guatemala.” 

He chuckles softly. “I see my reputation precedes me.” 

“It certainly does.” 

“I just wanted to stop by, say hello…Get a look at the professor that’s been poaching my students.” 

“They probably wouldn’t be so easy to poach if you turned up to more than a third of your lectures during a given semester.” 

You close your satchel, lifting the strap onto your shoulder and straightening up. He searches your face, eyes narrowing slightly behind his frames. 

“Are you headed back to your office?” He asked. “I’d be happy to walk you.”

“Home, actually. I’m done for the day.” 

“Could I drive you?” 

“That’s quite alright, I drove myself here this morning.” 

Jones nods slowly, gaze sweeping curiously over you. 

“Perhaps I could drop by one of your lectures again.” 

“What for?” 

“Fun. I enjoyed it.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two about a thing or two.” 

Jones’ lips curled with a smile as he nodded. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

--  

“What was that crack about me missing classes?” 

You throw a surly glare over your shoulder at Indiana as he grins up at you. This was not the plan. 

After a week, Dr. Jones had made it a point to visit at least one of your classes. After a month, you were planning a lecture series together over dinners and drinks. After two months, Jones had managed to talk you into taking a little weekend trip with him—for the sake of the lecture series, of course.

“I'll go on one condition,” You’d warned, pointing firmly at him. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I need to be back by noon on Monday at the latest. I have a lecture at three and I despise missing classes.” 

“...I will do my best.”

“Jones.” 

“Cross my heart, honey.” 

He’d raised his hand and crossed his heart, then raised his right hand and gestured, “Scout’s honor.” 

You’d wanted to be grated by all of it—the smile, the crossing of his heart, his scout’s honor, the way he’d called you honey. But you’d gone into the weekend with a curious new feeling. You didn’t think that Indiana really wanted to get together for lecture notes, you thought that he wanted to, well…

Well, you’d gotten the impression that Indiana may be interested in you—romantically. It was rare that a man like that asked you to drinks just to talk about the legacy of Alexander the Great, or insisted on walking you to your door afterward. 

A weekend away had seemed perfectly in order to kick off the far-less-than-professional side of your relationship. You’d packed your cutest clothes—you'd been excited.

And now rather than snuggling up, you’re following an artifact fencer into a cave in the middle of the Grand Canyon at 3pm on a Monday, dirtying your second favorite outfit, and fighting the urge to sock the grinning fool squarely in the jaw.

“Stifle it, Jones.” 

-- 

You throw the door to your hotel room open, stomping irritatedly inside and reaching back to shove the door shut again. You don’t hear it close, but you do hear the thud of Indiana’s feet behind you. 

“What’s the matter with you?” He asks, shutting the door behind himself. 

“You promised, Jones. Crossed your damn heart, if you even have one.” 

“Wouldya quit pouting? We did a good thing,” Jones argues. “So you missed a class, so what?” 

“It’s the principle of the thing!” You argue, whirling around on him. He’s stunningly close, his brows raised as he watches you. You scowl as he grins amusedly. 

“Why did you invite me out here, anyway, Jones?” You add. Something flickers in his gaze just enough for you to seize on. 

“For the lecture series,” He insists. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously?” You narrow your eyes, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “That’s all?” 

“Why else would I have invited you?” 

“For something like this, perhaps?” You reach out, grasping his cheeks and draw him in. He flails a bit for balance as your lips crash together. He steadies himself as he rests his hands on your hips, sighing softly against them as he uses his grasp to pull you closer. You let him steer you back toward the bed, but before he can push you down, you turn and give Indiana a push. He bounces back onto the mattresses, eyes wide as he peers up at you, his kiss-plumped lips parted in surprise. You smile, straddling his lap as he propped himself up on his elbows. 

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” He asks, sliding his hands over your thighs. 

“You’ve been giving me orders all afternoon, Jones. It’s time to let me steer.” 

-- 

You watched Indiana’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. He’d hardly taken his eyes off of you as you’d undressed, hardly been able to keep still as you’d climbed onto his lap. Now, his eyelids lowered as you slowly rolled your hips, sliding down onto his cock. 

“C’mon,” He groans. 

“Shut up.” 

“You wanted to steer, but don't know how to drive.”

“We don’t need to floor it. Besides,” You give your hips a little swivel. “I’ve already got the key in the ignition.” 

Indiana growls low in his chest, his head falling back against the pillows as you cast him a wicked grin. You brace your hands on either side of his head, bowing down over him. 

“You’re really not used to this, are you?” You murmurs.

“Don’t get a big head, honey. I’m so used to this it’d make a Parisian courtesan blush.” 

“Not this,” You chuckled, tightening up around him, and grinning as he grips your hips more tightly. “I meant not being in charge.” 

Indiana glares up at you with muted wrath, a deep breath drawing in through his nose. You giggle, leaning back and giving a showy bite to your lip as your hips meet Indiana’s. 

“You aren’t,” You insist as you set a punishingly slow pace. “It’s driving you crazy. Look at that little tick jumping in your jaw.” 

Indiana’s hands raise to grasp your breasts, but you catch hold of his hands, intertwining your fingers and using your full force to pin them up over his head. His arms flex as he presses up against your grip, and you know that Indiana could easily throw you over. You brush your lips against his, then dip closer for a deeper kiss as you begin to grind your hips unhurriedly. Indiana’s lips part beneath yours, his tongue swiping out to brush and tease against yours.

He loses himself in your kisses, letting his straining muscles go slack against the mattress as you screw your hips down against his.  You finally draw back from the kiss, shivering as Indiana leans up, swiping his tongue against your peaked nipple. You sigh, pressing your hips back against his and arching your back to push your breasts into his face. He turns his head, nuzzling the valley of breasts before sucking your other breast between his lips. You reach down, playing with your tingling clit and brushing against the slick base of Indiana’s shaft. 

Your pace begins to falter as your attention is torn between the press of Indiana’s cock and the practiced swipe of your fingers against your own flesh. You gasp softly as the familiar sensation of your orgasm begins sneaking up on you. You let go of Indiana’s other hand and push yourself up, resting your hand on his chest as you pick up your pace. You look down at Indiana and find him watching you closely as you use him for your own pleasure. You curl your fingers, nails digging into Indiana’s chest. He groans, grasping your hips and using the grip to take control of the pace. 

You don’t bother to stop him. You just tip your head back and thumb one of your nipples, cursing as you finally cum. Indiana pushes himself up against you, his chest pressed against yours. His arm hooks around your waist, pulling you closer. You can hear the grunts and groans beneath his breath, feel the harsh pants as he grows closer and closer beneath you. Indiana draws you down on top of him again, using his grip on your hips to fuck you through your orgasm. You watch his eyes roll back into his head, his groan choked out as he fills you. your cunt still twitching around him. You sigh softly, snuggling against Indiana’s chest as he calms. You smile as Indiana’s arms curl around your back, keeping you close. 

“...Tell you what,” He mumbles after a moment. “You’re not such a bad driver.” 

You chuckle, rolling off of Indiana and onto your back. 

“I’m flattered.” 

You gaze up at the ceiling as you feel Indiana roll onto your side, watching you closely. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“How long can I convince you to stay here?” He murmurs.

“In bed?” 

“In Arizona.”

You scoff, turning to look at indiana. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I’m not.” 

“I’ve got classes tomorrow, Jones.”

“Skip ‘em.” 

You roll your eyes, looking up at the ceiling again. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Indiana reaches out, stroking gently along your arm. 

“You really give a damn,” He comments. His voice is soft, almost stunned. 

“Making fun of me?” 

“No,” Indiana insists. “Hell, I like it.”

"Maybe I could teach you a thing or two about it."

"Giving a damn?"

"Mhm. Teach you how to keep your promises, next."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere ; @foxilayde

#Indiana Jones x Reader #Indiana Jones x You #Indiana Jones/Reader #Indiana Jones/You #Indiana Jones fic #Indiana Jones imagine #Kinktober #Kinktober 2023

[zerobaselove]

zb1 as romance tropes / dynamics ♡

pairing: zb1 x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none! lowercase intended, not proofread

notes: since i have already written one of these in full (childhood best friend!matthew) i might turn this into a full fledged series ? if you guys would be interested, that is! (yes the matthew one is pulled right from my oneshot </3 it's just too cute)

members under the cut!

jiwoong ;

best friend's older brother

"can you go ask my brother if he knows where the measuring cups are?" your best friend gyuvin asked, sifting through drawers to find the other items needed for your cake in the meantime. "i- i guess so." you managed to stutter out before heading up to the room at the end of the hallway, jiwoong's room.

you hated to admit it, especially knowing how many people swooned over your best friend's brother, but the longer time went on the more you felt yourself developing what you could only consider a crush on the boy; completely against your own will. it wouldn't have gotten this bad had you been able to avoid him, but when his younger brother is your best friend and you practically live at their house, he tends to be apart of your days more often than you know what to do with.

knocking lightly on the door you wait a moment, hearing some shuffling before the door opened. "what do you wa- oh." he paused, door ajar as he tried to hide the surprise on his face, "sorry y/n i thought you were gyuvin, what's up!" his tone and expression softened in tandem. you took a moment to respond, too busy staring at his messy hair and the way his collarbone peaked through his loose t-shirt.

"oh uh, we just needed to know where the measuring cups were." an awkward laugh left your mouth as you realized how silly the inquiry was, but thankfully you were met with a gentle smile as he shut the door behind him, "i'm not too sure, let's go look together."

zhang hao ;

cute exchange student

it had only been a few weeks since the new exchange student had moved in next door; the family having sent their daughter off to go study in china for a semester, getting an exchange student of their own in return. but the two of you were attached at the hip. you weren't really sure how it happened, one moment you were coming over to drop something off for your mom, the next you were being introduced to the boy, zhang hao, and suddenly you two spent every waking moment together.

you liked to think of yourself as a good influence; helping him better his english, showing him around your town, cooking him your favorite recipes that he may not have tried. all while you were getting the same experience in return from him, which was wonderful for you, but one thing you weren't expecting him to show you was what it felt like to fall for your new best friend.

"y/n?" he waved a hand in front of your face, pulling you from your thoughts of the boy himself, "are you okay? you look," he paused for a moment, trying to think of the word he wanted to use, "lost?" his tone raised, not sure of his choice, causing you to smile, "like, lost in thought?" you watched his smile light up, recognizing the phrase he was going for, "that's the one! you look lost in thought, are you okay?"

his sweet voice mixed with his endearing mannerisms was enough to have your head spinning, "i'm alright hao, just thinking about nonsense." his hand found it's way to rest over yours, "well you can always think out loud to me, i'll listen."

hanbin ;

campus crush

it shouldn't surprise you that the boy everyone on campus had a crush on was as cute and nice as he was, but you couldn't help but let your mouth run dry as he sat next to you and sparked up a conversation on the first day of your creative writing class. you hadn't managed to be in his presence until now, living vicariously through stories spread on campus; good deeds he had done for people, places he volunteered, even being the designated driver for his friends during parties. but god, you were starting to get what other people saw in him.

"you know," he smiled, his eyes lighting up so soon into your conversation, "i'm on the dance team, you should come watch us sometime!" you couldn't help but mirror his expression as you tried not to dwell on the way your heart sped up.

"i'd love to!" just when you thought he couldn't get cuter, his smile widened as his eyes shut slightly, before running a hand through his hair while he grabbed his phone. sliding his phone across the desk, open to his contacts page. "if you want you can put your number in and i can text you the details." you quickly nodded, inputting your number along with your name and the class code, just in case.

he giggled seeing the small detail, "d'you really think i wouldn't remember my new friend?" the comment left you a flushed mess, not knowing what to say. before you could say anything he continued, "don't worry, i think it's cute." god, you were screwed.

matthew ;

childhood best friend

"your turn to open your gift."

you hesitantly grabbed the box off of your bed, not having any clue what it could be. tearing through the messily strewn together paper and tape, you were met with a box, looking to matthew in curiosity only for him to urge you to continue. when you took the lid off, the sides of the box collapsed, revealing pictures of you from when you were kids up until graduation on layers of colorful paper and stickers. in the middle of it all was another, smaller box. lifting the lid off you revealed a cute charm of your favorite character attached to a keychain of a spotify code.

"it's a playlist i made for you," he couldn't contain the smile on his face at your excitement over the gift. "plus it's on a keychain so even when we are busy, you'll always have something to remind you of me with you." you couldn't help the tears pooling at your eyes, or the words threatening to spill. "god, i love you." you breathed out, your stomach doing flips at the confession.

"i love you too y/n." he smiled, a little taken aback by the confession as it wasn't something you two said lightly. you sighed, "no matthew, i love you. more than i should as your best friend." it took him a moment to realize what you were implying but once he connected the dots, it hit him like a truck, pulling you in for a hug as he picked you up off the floor.

you let out a giggle at the sudden action, not even thinking about what it could mean until he set you down and you noticed the way his cheeks had flushed a deep crimson red. "i'll say it again, i love you too y/n."

taerae ;

pretty boy with the pretty voice

your walks to work were typically uneventful, only choosing to do so over taking public transport for the exercise; until recently. like clockwork, every day, there had been a boy busking on the street you walked every afternoon, and his voice, well it was beautiful. you didn't even know the boy but somehow you felt his emotions through his voice.

you had started leaving for work earlier than usual, giving yourself a few extra minutes to sit and listen to the boy, who you had learnt was named taerae. with the extra time there, you two had begun to chat between songs, learning about each other and even getting to request songs sometimes. you'd always make sure to leave some tips in his guitar case before heading off to work, telling yourself you were just being supportive. but what you hadn't realized fully was just how smitten you had become with this taerae character.

"hey y/n!" he beamed, seeing you walk in his direction, just like every day, "hi taerae! how's it been going today?" you inquired, crouching next to him as your gaze wandered between the guitar and the boy. "same as usual, better now that you're here though!" you simply laughed, "i haven't even left you anything yet,"

"i know! i just like having you here." his voice trailed off for a moment before snapping back to reality, "any requests today?" you pondered for a moment, "play me your favorite song."

ricky ;

arranged relationship

"it'd be good for both companies darling," your father tried to be kind, knowing that this wasn't exactly how you were expecting your first relationship to go. "and he's very nice," your mother smiled at you, "and very handsome, i think you'll like him." you supposed it wouldn't do you any good to sulk over it, it wasn't just happening to you after all, so you cracked a small smile to ease your parents worries.

you didn't know much about ricky, if you were remembering his name correctly; just that he was the son of your parent's business friends, and was supposedly a candidate to be your boyfriend? the word seemed foreign to you, but you didn't have much time to dwell on it as a tall boy with blond hair walked into the lobby where you were waiting. "you must be y/n," he smiled, his voice soft; a strong contrast to his charismatic and intimidating looks.

"so you're ricky," you couldn't help but feel more relaxed already, "i've heard lots about you." he flushed a little at your words, his hand coming to the back of his neck, "good things i'd hope." you let out a small laugh, nodding your head, "nothing bad i promise."

the two of you talked for a while longer in the lobby, the awkward atmosphere slowly disappearing as the two of you realized just how much you had in common. maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

gyuvin ;

opposites attract

"hey y/n!" your best friend's booming voice could be heard from miles away, making the 20 feet between you seem like nothing. there he was, standing with a few of his friends, and you were a little overwhelmed to say the least.

the two of you couldn't be more different at times; his loud and outgoing personality was a stark contrast to your quiet and shy demeanor, but somehow you two got along better than anyone else. but you did still have a bit of a problem with his group of friends; they all seemed nice, that wasn't the problem, they were just all bubbly like gyuvin, and you didn't know how to handle that.

you gave a shy smile as you walked up to the group of boys, "hi gyuvin," you gave the other boys and small nod and wave, getting a bunch of greetings in return, "guys chill," gyuvin laughed, reaching his hand out to quiet his friends. "sorry about them, do you wanna get out of here?"

"what about you guys? don't you have plans?"

"yeah gyuvin hyung, don't we have plans?" the tall boy you were pretty sure was named gunwook, spoke up. "they'll be fine without me." gyuvin getting a few overly dramatic gasps from his friends, smacking them on the shoulder. your heart couldn't stop speeding up at the way he was willing to drop everything for you, but you tried to ignore it. "have fun with your little partner~" well, you couldn't ignore that.

gunwook ;

friendly rivals

"i didn't mean to overstep," the new boy, gunwook breathed out, "they just had asked for help and i didn't want to get off on the wrong foot by saying no." you smiled lightly at the boy, leaning your head against the mirrored dance practice wall, taking a sip of your water. "it's okay gunwook, it's my fault they don't see me as a better leader."

he turned to you, shaking his head feverishly, "no no no, listen. i know i haven't been here long but you seem to be an amazing leader," he patted you on the leg reassuringly, leaving you to smile at the boy. "thanks," your voice trailed off, your brain swirling with thoughts of critiques from your team.

it was time for your dance team to vote for a new leader as the new school year had turned over, and you were in danger of being overthrown by the new boy that everyone seemed to love, and you weren't handling it well; especially not when he's as cute and lovely as he is.

"i guess i'll just have to prove that i'm better for the role than you." a smug expression pasted on your face, you turned to the boy with a laugh, lightening the atmosphere. he returned with a wide gummy smile and a small giggle, "oh it's on y/n."

yujin ;

first crush / love

you suppose you were late to the game when it came to feelings, never having really experienced any until now; until you found yourself wanting to be the reason the boy in your class smiled. you and yujin weren't close, but you weren't strangers either. you had some mutual best friends, and had hung out all together a few times, but as soon as you weren't around your friends, it was like you didn't know each other. and you hated it.

"hi y/n," the voice pulled you from your thoughts, looking up from your desk to see yujin standing there, and for a moment you thought you were hallucinating. "oh, hey yujin," your voice trailed off a little, "what's up?" he leaned against your desk, gesturing to the board with written pairs for a project, and now you felt stupid for not paying attention. "oh shoot yeah, of course, uh, sit down." you pulled out the empty chair next to you, trying to make up for the embarrassment that you were living in.

the two of you looked over the criteria for your project, making plans for what you wanted to do, and before you knew it you were packing up. "so uh," yujin sheepishly smiled, handing you his phone, "so we can schedule to work on the project," he clarified.

you couldn't help but smile at his cute nature, "there you go," you handed it back to him, "text me what you wanna do, i have to go meet up with my friend." you smiled again as the bell rang, leaving the class almost proud of your ability to get one sentence out. this was gonna be a long project.

#zerobaseone #zerobaseonefics #boys planet #boys planet fics #boys planet imagines #boys planet reactions #kpop #boys planet drabbles #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines

[writing-intheundercroft]

You're Gonna Go Far - O. Gaunt

AO3 Link

Word Count: 10,956

Rating: E (The boys are in a fraternity, Smut, Oral Sex (F receiving), Unprotected Sex, NSFW, MDNI)

Summary: It's the night before graduation, and Ominis Gaunt is moving to New York City next week. There isn't much time left to say all the things that have gone unsaid over the past seven years.

A/N: I'm in the loveliest Ominis server on Discord, and this is dedicated to @grandeoatmilklatte, who inspired frat president Ominis. I hope you enjoy!

You walk up the steps of the splintered porch, taking great care to not slip on the beer a freshman has dropped on the stoop.  Graduation ceremonies start in the morning and the spring chill has broken, giving way to a gorgeous May evening.  It’s just warm enough that you’ve got the slightest glisten on your collarbone from your fast pace walk, abandoning the bar scene for your best mates’ last frat party ever.  

“Very nice,” a voice purrs behind you. “You do always look pretty when you polish up.”

You roll your eyes, swatting at a sweaty Lucan Brattleby as he dodges your aim. “Buzz off, Luc.  Have you seen Sebastian and Ominis?”

“Sebastian is somewhere getting his face sucked off by Cressida,” Lucan chuckles, brushing back his curly mop. “And I haven’t seen Ominis all night, except when he yelled at me for trying to get into his room.”

You raise an eyebrow, resting a hand on your hip as you bounce your heel against the porch.  You swallow away the lump in your throat, hoping Ominis isn’t off getting slobbered on by a girl. Whatever liquid courage you’ve consumed this evening is already wearing thin, and the sight of Ominis with a stranger might shatter you.  

“And why were you trying to get into his room?” You ask, trying to pry.

Lucan shrugs. “Well, the president’s room gets passed down to the next president,” he jerks his thumb back to himself proudly. “And I wanted to measure for my furniture next semester.  I think I could fit a wet bar in there.”

You try to stifle your snort, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “I’m going in to find him,” you announce, stepping through the threshold.  With the door open, the music bleeds out onto the porch.  

It’s so loud, you can feel the bass from the music thumping in your stomach.  Garreth is in the kitchen, peddling some of his tonics; Amit and Andrew are in the living room, scolding some younger students for touching the large telescope situated by the windows. You spot Sebastian leaning against the stair railing, a cup of beer in his hand. You have to wade through a sea of bodies just to reach him.

”It’s about time you showed up,” Sebastian teases, swirling his beer. Your freckled friend has his shirt unbuttoned quite low, and you notice several young ladies shooting jealous glances your way. It's laughable that they'd be envious - Sebastian has never been anything more than a pesky brother to you, growing even closer in the years since Anne's passing.

”I thought you would be getting your face sucked off by Cressida,” you mock Lucan’s words, and Sebastian groans.

“I’ve been trying to escape her all night,” he tilts his head, appraising your outfit. Sebastian can be a touch overprotective when you go out on the town, and you wouldn’t put it past him to say something about how cold you must be in your slip dress.  “Bar night with the girls go well?”

”Imelda had to take Poppy home before she puked in another planter. Think she has a few of Garreth’s brews before we even hit the town.” you laugh as you talk about your roommates, crossing your arms over your chest.  “And if you’re going to criticize my clothes—“

“I think you look beautiful,” Sebastian offers. “Ominis is going to think so too.”

You blush. “Ominis doesn’t care for clothes.”

”Ominis cares for you ,” Sebastian points out, lifting the cup to his lips. “Have you seen him yet?”

You shake your head. “I was going to check his room, but didn’t want to stop him if he was…er, busy .” you wave your hands erratically, hoping Sebastian would get the gist of your implication.

Sebastian snorts, grinning over the edge of the plastic cup. “Definitely not.  Tell you what, head up to his room—I’ll send him up when I see him.”

You swat at him, but head up the stairs to the third floor anyways.  Passing by throngs of students enjoying the last weekend of term, you push your way to the door neatly labeled O. Gaunt, President.

The door seems to know you’re one of Ominis’s welcomed guests, so it unlocks itself for you. Ominis has always been nifty at protective spells, his door clearly charmed to only let in select visitors.  And much to your relief, the room is empty.  

You walk around the room, the door left ajar behind you. Ominis is a simple man, not keeping much more in his room other than a bed, desk, and the textbooks stacked neatly on his dresser.  The suit he’s been planning to wear to graduation is draped across the back of his armchair, but that’s not what catches your eye. What calls your attention the most are the two graduation gowns hanging in the closet–from afar they look identical, but you know better than anyone the implication behind both.

“I thought you were out for girls night.” 

“I couldn’t miss your last party ever, could I?”

You hear Ominis’s familiar breezy laugh. “I’d much rather be at a bar myself right now. It’s an absolute madhouse downstairs. I've been trying to keep it civilized.”

You don’t turn around; instead, you remain standing in Ominis’s closet, dragging a finger over the thick robe, trimmed with black and green velvet.  Ominis had originally planned to wear the same plain polyester school-issued robe as Sebastian, but a large box arrived on the front porch of the house earlier in the week. You, Sebastian, and Garreth lingered in the living room as Ominis carefully unwrapped the parchment paper, revealing a box with a gilded Gladrags logo.  Inside was the luxurious robe, accompanied by a satin stole.  It had the Gaunt family crest embroidered on the chest, the family motto dancing around his neck in metallic silver thread. 

Ex auro purissimo sanguinis. The purest of blood.

It was the first he’d heard from his family in almost six months–the note from Marvolo had stated if Ominis was going to represent the family in an official capacity, he needed to dress the part. Ominis immediately set the offending notecard on fire, the fancy box quickly thrown out their window and into the dumpster below. It was only after you’d gotten back to your flat that Sebastian texted; the box was empty in the trash can, but both the fancy robe and stole were hanging in Ominis’s closet.

“Which one will you wear?” You ask, turning your gaze over your shoulder.  

Ominis smiles, pushing a stray strand of blonde hair from his forehead.  Your devastatingly handsome best friend leans against the doorway, a red cup resting in his hand. Ominis has never been one to dress down–his version of a party outfit is a pair of neat, chino pants, an ironed button down layered over a tee shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters. He fiddles with the handle of his wand in the other, the tip glowing a soft hazy red as he made sense of your placement in the bedroom.

“I think you know,” Ominis muses, swiftly moving from the doorway to his bed. “Wasn’t nearly as difficult of a decision to make as I thought.  The boys are my family now. Have been for a while.”

He sits atop the rickety full-sized bed, the springs of his mattress creaking beneath his weight.  You nearly laugh; Ominis is so tall, he looks comical perched on the misshapen bedframe. He’s never been good at transfiguration, but he’s too stubborn to let anyone else help him with his furniture.  Despite the odd furnishings, the rest of Ominis’s bedroom is neat and tidy.  His striped sheets are pristine, the duvet folded at the edge of the bed. It’s a far cry from Sebastian’s room, which is littered with papers and broken quills, or the room that Andrew and Garreth share at the end of the hall.  The two have nearly come to blows several times in the last semester over who would take the trash out.

“You still haven’t packed,” you hum, moving away from the closet and back over to his desk.  He hasn’t returned his books to the library yet, his magical ethics and muggle studies textbooks are still cracked open from finals. 

“I’ll get around to it,” Ominis shrugs.

“Lucan’s been bothering me about you packing,” you perch yourself on his desk chair. “Something about him wanting to get in and measure, so he can plan his furniture layout.  Said he wants to put a bar in the room.”

Ominis rolls his milky blue eyes, lifting the red cup to his lips. “Lucan isn’t president yet,” he reminds you. “I’m not sure when I’ll fully move out of the house. And he cannot build a wet bar in the bedroom, that’s unsanitary.”

You snort, spinning around slowly in the chair. “It’s nearly two o’clock. You’ll have bags under those pretty eyes of yours if you don’t get to bed soon.  Should I kick everyone out?”

Ominis laughs, setting the cup on the floor as he leans back in bed. “Let them have their fun,” he says fondly. “Sebastian needs one last party before he starts his rotations at St. Mungo’s.  Besides, I bet Garreth is making a fortune off his potions tonight.  Might as well clear out his entire stock on graduation parties. ”

You smile faintly as the music from downstairs bleeds up into the bedroom.  As far as fraternity houses go, there are certainly more posh ones on campus.  Ominis had been a legacy of the richest fraternity at school, one mostly of fellow purebloods and former Slytherins.  They’d spent the whole of first term trying to recruit him, baiting him with lavish dinners, free entrance to the clubs, and all the illicit beverages and substances one might desire.  But that wasn’t Ominis–unknowingly, they drove him even further into the opposite direction.  You can still remember bid day, and the shock on everyone’s faces when Ominis turned down their bid to join a humble off campus house with Sebastian. His family had been furious, specifically Marvolo–you can still remember the shouting match the brothers had gotten into, Marvolo slamming the dorm room shut after tearing Ominis to shreds.

Whilst most of the student body had expected Ominis to fade into obscurity after his controversial choice, quite the opposite happened.  Ominis truly flourished without the influence of his family, instead patching together a group of unexpected brothers. He surprised everyone when he became president his second year of uni, bringing some order to the rowdy gang of brothers with his natural born leadership skills.  What felt like a mishmash of random Hogwarts alumni suddenly became a little family, held together with Ominis as the glue.  

All in all, the shy, skinny Slytherin you once knew has really come into his own. 

“Knut for your thoughts?” Ominis asks, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Nothing,” you shrug, fixing the strap of your dress as you spin around once more. “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

“What’s weird?” Ominis asks softly, playing with his wand.  The tip has stopped glowing; he’s comfortable enough around you to not need his guide.

“That tomorrow, you graduate.” you utter. “And then, you’re gone.”

“Ah,” Ominis bites his bottom lip. “ That .”

It’s a subject the two of you have been avoiding for a while.  Ominis had spent the last few summers interning for the Wizengamot, fully expecting to work for them after graduating with his law degree.  Again, to everyone’s shock, Ominis had announced his intentions to apply for a position in the foreign office, working for MACUSA. You can still recall the doubt on Ominis’s face, brows furrowed as you and Sebastian helped him fill out his application before the deadline.  It had taken nearly an entire night, Sebastian snoring in an armchair while you sent the application off with an owl in the dark sky.

“We don’t even know if I’ll get it,” Ominis had said.

“You’re going to get it,” you assured him.  There was never a doubt in your mind.

Ominis received news of his placement with MACUSA at the end of fall term.  He was offered his first choice, a position in the foreign relations office, his first day of work being June 1st.  The celebration had lasted an entire week, until Garreth finally ran out of fizzing whizzbeer. The night was especially memorable, considering Ominis had also broken up with Nerida in the middle of the party.  He was unphased by both her screams and the beer that had flown in his face, Andrew and Garreth having to drag her out of the house. When asked about it the next morning, he’d merely shrugged it off. They hadn’t been dating longer than a month , Ominis pointed out.  Besides, he would be off to America soon enough.  Best to leave without baggage.

That thought sank in your stomach like a hot ball of lead.

“We really should start packing,” you remind him. “Unless you plan on arriving in New York with just a suitcase.”

“Maybe I’m thinking of not going,” Ominis mumbles. He leans back on the bed, unseeing eyes blinking up at the ceiling as he fumbles with his hand. “I know it looks bad on my part to decline a job this late, but–”

“Excuse me,” You gasp. “No buts, Ominis Gaunt.  You’re going to New York.”

“But what if they need me?” Ominis blurts. “Sebastian will be in London on his own, and you know he hates being alone now that Anne is gone.  And Lucan is still a little shit, he may need more experience before he’s ready to be president.  I worry he’ll bring his little dueling betting ring into the house, and I won’t stand to see the boys gambling their lives away.”

“Ominis,” you warn him. “You’re going.”

“And what about you?” Ominis asks softly. “You still have a year left here, I hate the thought of you being here by yourself.”

You pull yourself closer to the bed, the wheels of his desk chair squeaking on the floor.  “I’m going to be okay, Ominis.” You promise him. “You know, if you’re this anxious about it, we should probably get you a better cell phone.  I know how you feel about those muggle devices, but Sebastian and I really do find them useful. Not that owls aren’t efficient, but a transatlantic journey would take them quite a bit–”

Ominis’s hand is on yours, the sensation knocking the wind of your chest.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “It’s me I’m worried about.”

You stare at him, thankful he can’t see your gaze.  

Ominis has been your best friend for years now.  You can still remember him yelling at you the first time you left the Undercroft, his ire quickly fading away as soon as Sebastian forced the two of you into close proximity.  You’d shared more in common than you thought–a love for pranks, warm naps in the hallways, and an oddly similar affinity for banoffee pie. It wasn’t long before the three of you had become a package deal, hardly ever seen without the others.  It only made sense the three of you would go off to uni together after Hogwarts, you becoming somewhat of a house mother to Ominis, Sebastian, and the rest of the boys.

With that, you’d also spent the last four years of university watching Ominis date other girls.  There had never been anyone too serious, most of them being old acquaintances from Hogwarts, or pretty girls who’d stumbled into their parties.  They usually only lasted for weeks at a time, Ominis claiming he was far too busy taking care of his own brothers to handle a girlfriend as well. Usually in the end, the ladies would come sobbing at your doorstep, all wondering why they couldn’t get Ominis Gaunt to commit. 

At the same time, you’d had your fair share of fun and trouble at university–bad boyfriends, a few failed classes, all distracting you from your independent study on ancient magic. Enough so, you needed an extra two semesters under your belt to catch up on your dissertation.

“Are you scared?” you ask, voice soft. 

“Maybe,” Ominis admits, and it’s the first time in a very long time you’ve heard him express doubts. “The idea of being alone in New York is scary.  I’ve had you and Sebastian by my side for the last seven years, and I won’t know anyone.”

“You’re going to be great, Om.” you remind him. “You’re going to make a name for yourself in New York.  What would make you think otherwise?”

Ominis is chewing on his lower lip, thumb running over the back of your hand. “Marvolo called the this morning,” he admits, pointing to the little brick of a phone you and Sebastian had bullied him into buying. “It wasn’t good.”

“Oh, Om.” You sigh, pulling yourself closer. From this distance, you can smell the cool musk of his cologne, one of the little luxuries he maintains for himself. “What happened?”

Ominis hangs his head low, shaking out his dirty blond hair.  He normally has it gelled back, tidily done, but it seems a bit messy and disheveled. Out of character for your best mate.

“Said I was an embarrassment to the family,” Ominis mumbles. “That I should’ve taken the opportunity to work at Mulciber’s firm, and that Mother and Father are astounded I’d work for the government, let alone the Americans .” he says dramatically. 

“Your brother is an arse as usual,” you say defiantly. “And he has no idea how hard you’ve worked for this. Ominis, you’re the greatest treasure your family has ever lost, and I look forward to watching you prove them wrong.”

Ominis offers a small smile. “See?  What am I going to do without you as a voice of reason?”

Affection is nothing new for you.  The minute Sebastian and Ominis began bringing you around their brothers, it was made blatantly obvious that you were off limits.  Sebastian had threatened everyone, reminding them that you were practically their sister, and anyone who tried to make a pass at you would be dealt with swiftly. The first time one of the older boys had tried to kiss you, Ominis challenged him to a duel on the spot.  Within seconds, Ominis’s opponent was arse down on the floor, your best friend wrapping an arm around your shoulder to see if you were okay.

Nights spent in the library, sitting shoulder to shoulder as you studied.  Movie nights at the house, your legs tangled on the couch while Sebastian complained about sitting on the floor.  The two of you dancing around the kitchen, cooking up dinner while Lucan and Garreth played exploding snap at the table.  You can feel the thick lump forming in your throat as you try to imagine the next year without him.

“Remember what I said,” you swallow away your sadness. “If you want to go far–”

“You’ve got to go far.” Ominis repeats. “I know, you’re the one who told me to apply.”

You place your hand on his cheek, which is still rosy from the beer he’d been drinking. “You’re going to go to New York, Ominis.  And if you want to come home, we’ll be here.  Sebastian and me, we’ll be here.”

Ominis holds your hand to his cheek, blinking up at you through his thick lashes.  Something about the moment is far too intimate–you know you should leave, go back to the party downstairs.  There’s music still playing in the distance, your friends are still dancing, yet you’re here, alone with Ominis in his room.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ominis asks.

“Ask away,” you whisper.

You can see the way he moves his hand, dropping his wand onto the nightstand next to his bed.  His right hand is still on top of yours, keeping it glued to his warm cheek.  The other hand hooks behind your knee, fingers dancing over the soft skin.  He’s taller than you, and his knees slot between yours, legs knocking into each other.

“Have you ever–” he clears his throat, eyes fluttering as he tries to verbalize his thoughts. “Have you ever thought about us?”

“What about us?” You ask dumbly. 

To your despair, Ominis pulls away. He hastily tugs his hands from your body, pushing the desk chair to put distance between the two of you.  It’s faster than you could’ve imagined; your brain is still processing his question while he’s already got his wand in hand, hastily making a way towards the door.

“Ominis, stop!” You demand.

“It’s dumb,” He ignores your words, wand lit red as he stomps across the room. “It was just a thought–”

“Ominis,” you repeat, standing up.  

“We should go back out to the party–”

“I have,” you choke out.  “I have thought about us.”

Ominis has his head pressed against the cheap pine door.  One hand is on the door knob, the other fondling his wand.  You can sense his trepidation as he slowly stows his wand in his back pocket, turning to face you once more.

“You have?” he croaks.

“I have,” you parrot back the words to him. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ominis demands. 

“Because,” you’re shaking now. “Because if I told you, you wouldn’t have applied.  And we’re best friends, Ominis, who knows what we’d be getting ourselves into.” the words tumble out of your mouth. 

The idea of life with Ominis had never crossed your mind–not until Poppy had proposed it earlier in the school year, pointing out how he doted on you.  The first to offer you a drink, always free to walk you home at the end of the night.  If you were going through a breakup, Ominis would drop everything to be at your doorstep, a bottle of wine and takeaway in hand.  He’s sat on your couch listening you rant about horrible dates at least a hundred times now.

He’s perfect for you, Poppy had said.

But he’s my best friend, you’d argued back.  

It was only after that conversation that you’d began to see Ominis differently.  The way his eyelashes fluttered when you brushed hair out of his face, or the way a warm blush would creep on his cheeks whenever your skin touched his.  On more than one occasion you found yourself biting the inside of your cheek whenever his shirt roved above his waist. Worst of all, you couldn’t help the bile that would rise in your throat whenever you saw him chatting with another girl, the acrid taste coating your tongue.

Ominis is perfect, every inch of him being boyfriend material. There’s no mistaking that. Your fear lies in the fact that Ominis is your closest confidant, one of your best friends.  While painful, it almost seems easier to hang in the balance of not getting to love him rather than losing him.

“What would we do if we realized we were no good for each other?” you blurt. “You’re my best friend, Om.  I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Bear what?” Ominis muses.

Oh, it’s cruel the way he looks so handsome.  His lips are curved in somehow both a smile and a grimace, dancing around the inevitable question.  

“Don’t make me say it,” you feel weak already. 

“Please,” Ominis asks, voice teetering on the edge of politeness and desire. “Say it, please.”

“I wouldn’t be able to bear it if we didn’t work out,” you confess. “Because it’s you, Ominis.  I love you.”

You’ve told each other you love one another plenty.  The first was at the end of fifth year, when the three of you were departing for separate summer holidays.  Again, when you graduated and you cried about how much you were going to miss Hogwarts.  Both of you with Sebastian, at Anne’s funeral the summer after freshman year.  Throughout all of university, through texts, phone calls, kisses on the cheek before you leave the bar at the end of the night.  

Hiya, love you.  Love you, get home safe.  You’re annoying, but love you.

This time, it’s different.  It’s no longer a statement, it’s a confession.

“You love me.” Ominis says slowly.

“Ah, fuck.” you swear, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “This is so not how I thought tonight would go.”

“If you love me,” Ominis asks, voice shaky. “Why did you tell me to apply for the MACUSA job?”

“Because it’s what you want,” you whisper. “And you’re going to be so, so good at it, Ominis. It’s a fresh start where no one will care who your family is, and that’s what you need.”

“Even if it means I’m going to live far away?” he asks, cheeks reddening. 

Your fingers curl into your palms, nails pricking skin. “You always talked about getting away from your family.  It sounded like the best option for you–you’d get to do something you truly love, something you’re good at.  You’re going to help people, and you’re going to be more than a Gaunt.  It’s the best thing for you, Ominis.”

“But what if I wanted you?” Ominis asks, voice strained. “What if I wanted to stay?”

“I wouldn’t want that.” You admit. “If you’re going to stay, it has to be for more than me. Not that I think you’d stay for me, specifically–I mean, I’m sure Sebastian would love for you to stay home too, and Garreth would miss you–”

Ominis pauses for a moment, his mouth opening and snapping shut as he thinks.  Part of you is curious at what he might say, the other is so embarrassed you’re ready to chuck yourself out the window of his third floor bedroom.  You might land in the rose bushes, which will undoubtedly hurt, but a broken bone will hurt certainly less than rejection from your best friend.

“Say something, for the love of Merlin–”

He doesn’t.

Instead, Ominis launches himself off the door, closing the distance between you in four quick strides.  The desk chair is practically thrown out of the way, tipping onto its side as Ominis slinks a hand around your waist.  You can feel his breath on your cheek, head tipped against yours as he presses your back against his misshapen desk.

“Ominis!” you shriek, watching him swipe everything off his desk and onto the floor.  His heavy books clatter against the hardwood floor, landing with a loud thud.  He wastes no time lifting you onto his desk, tugging your legs closer to the edge as he slots himself between them.

“Tell me,” Ominis pants, his forehead pressed against yours. “Tell me you’ve thought about this before.”

You groan as his mouth descends upon yours. Your hands are tangled in his thick hair, his fingertips pressing into your waist as he kisses you with a bruising force. 

“I have,” you moan into his mouth. 

Ominis moans in return; it’s a sound you’ve been trying to imagine for the last six months, and it sounds so much better in real life.  Your hands slip under the edge of his well worn t-shirt, feeling the warm skin underneath. Ominis has always been long and lithe, and his toned muscle feels just as good as you’ve thought it would. Feeling your nails scratching his skin, Ominis pulls away to mark kisses up and down your throat.

You surge forward, hips trying to close the little distance between your center and Ominis’s body. You can feel his clothed erection throbbing against your thigh, his head tilted back up to kiss your lips. A large palm settles on your breast, tentatively swiping over a clothed nipple.  At your gasp, Ominis pauses; he leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as you both register the current state of events.

“That was our first kiss,” Ominis groans. “And I acted like a complete boor.”

You snort. “Took you about two minutes before you had your tongue in my mouth and a hand on my chest.  Not one for subtlety, are you?”

Ominis snorts too, leaning his forehead against your shoulder as he rests his hands on the desk behind you. “To be fair, I’ve been thinking about your breasts for the last six years.  Didn’t want to waste any precious time I have left with them.”

It’s funny and romantic, and also heartbreaking.  If you think about Ominis leaving, you may burst into tears.

“Hey,” Ominis whispers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill the mood–”

You press your mouth against his; he’s unprepared, so your teeth gnash together.  Ominis quickly adjusts, letting you dominate the kiss.

“Let’s just focus on right now,” you plead. “We can talk about New York after—but not now.”

Ominis pulls away slightly, a small smile growing on his lips.  He’s blinking rapidly, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“What?” you demand, running a hand through your hair.

“Just happy that it’s us, finally.” Ominis admits. “You and me.”

His little smile is everything, you think.  And while you love the sweet expression, you want to see the faces Ominis makes under more amorous circumstances.

“Ominis,” you coo gently, taking his hand and placing it on your chest. He’s fully red in the face, mouth agape as you guide him at palming your breast. He gets the message, taking control as your hands rest on his shoulders.

“I’ve never told you, but I love it when you wear these dresses,” Ominis muses, his free hand trailing up your thigh. “They’re soft, just like you.”

Your breath catches as his hand snakes upwards, squeezing your bottom. The edge of your short dress is rucked up to your waist as Ominis feels the lace, hovering dangerously close to your center. It’s so intimate, a lengthy departure from your normally buttoned up, proper friend who hates kisses on the cheek. Your head tilts back, a moan on the tip of your tongue as the hand once squeezing your behind starts tracing the edge of your thong.

“No fair,” you wheeze, tugging on his shirtsleeves. “If I’m arse out, you’ve got to take some clothes off too.”

Ominis lets out a loud laugh as he removes his hands from you, letting the button down fall to the floor.  Your hands pull at his t-shirt, helping him take it off.  The second the letters fall on the floor, your hands fly up to his chest, roving over the pale planes.  

“You’re vulgar, too.” Ominis chuckles. “One of the many things I admire about you.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, lacing your fingers with his.  Your nose bumps into his chin, helping him make sense of your position.  He tilts his face down, hot breath fanning your cheeks. “Soft and vulgar, two very different words you’re using to describe me.”

“At first it irked me,” Ominis confesses. “When we first met.  But after I got to know you, I realized you’re just loud because you’re having fun. And life didn’t need to be so stuffy.”

“That’s sweet,” you admit. 

“You make everything better,” Ominis says, lips hovering closer towards yours again.  “You always have.”

“I’d say the same about you.” you whisper, lips brushing against his in a chaste kiss. 

Ominis has no more restraint left in him.  He surges forward, hands cradling your cheeks as he kisses you.  You’ve never seen him kiss anyone like this before–Ominis is always polite and tender with his conquests.  This Ominis is pure hunger, making up for lost time. 

You drag your nails up and down his back as he kisses you breathless, only stopping when he pulls away.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks, voice tinged with desperation. “Because there’s no going back.”

There’s no mistaking what this is–you’re crossing the boundary with your best friend, making love while you still have time to do so. If it were any other occasion, you might blame the alcohol going to your head, but no decision has ever felt more sane.

It’s Ominis.

“Yes. I want this,” you utter, and that’s that.

Ominis tugs you away from the desk, fingers slipping under the thin straps of your dress to pull it down.  The slinky fabric pools at your ankles while his hands rove over your body. His fingertips dragging over every curve, while you work the buttons of his pants.  He spins you quickly, pushing you onto his rickety bed as he steps out of his pants.

“I hate your bed,” you groan, bouncing on the springy mattress. “You should’ve let me help you with the spells.”

Ominis lets out a breathy laugh as he hops towards you, kicking away a pant leg. “It’s fine .  I don’t understand why you’re complaining, it’s a bed.”

It’s your turn to snort, chuckling as Ominis feels around the bedspread for you. You tuck your knees up to your chin, darting away from his touch.  You can tell just how frustrated he is, blonde hair falling in his eyes, patting around the bed.

“I want to feel you,” he complains, sinking into the mattress across from you. “I want to take my time with you tonight.”

“Then feel away,” you breathe, letting him catch hold of your ankle. 

Ominis licks his lips, eyes fluttering as he presses a searing hot kiss to your ankle.  The kisses start trailing up your leg, stopping intentionally every few seconds.  His teeth graze the inside of your knee, and the whimper that comes out of your mouth is downright embarrassing.

“Now I want to taste you,” Ominis murmurs, hooking your legs over his shoulder. Before you can respond, his teeth are dragging against the flimsy fabric of your thong. One hand pulls it aside, the other bracing your hip. Without warning, the blond takes a long, deliberate lick. With your taste on his tongue, Ominis loses his self control and tears away the scrap of fabric, tugging it off your body and tossing it.

“Ominis!” You shriek, head tilting back to his pillows.

You can tell he’s smiling from the way his cheeks lift, eyes squeezing shut as he presses a kiss to your clit.  His pace is maddening, lazily lapping as he pins your hips down.  Ominis shakes his head, his tongue finally circling against your clit again once you’ve whined enough.

“You taste so good,” he groans. 

“Just like you’ve imagined?” You utter between the sharp gasps he’s eliciting from you.

Ominis doesn’t respond, instead sucking hard on your clit to express his answer.  He’s clearly turned on by your gasps and the sound of your wet cunt, the auditory stimulation driving him to grind his hips against the squeaking mattress.  At this rate, his fingertips may leave bruises in the crease of your thighs. Never did you ever imagine Ominis Gaunt’s head between your legs, but now you really can’t imagine going the rest of your life without his mouth on you.

“Ominis, please,” you strain, reaching out to grasp his hair.  The sharp tug has him growling against your skin, still relentless in his slow, thoughtful method. His tongue darts into your cunt at an excruciating tempo.

“I told you,” he hums, sinking teeth in your thigh as he gives you a momentary reprieve. “I’m going to take my time with you. And if that means I’m here, all night–then so be it.”

In your daze, you hardly notice the fact that he’s now slipped his fingers inside of you, slowly pumping them as he kisses your clit again. With every stroke you feel the band tightening in your stomach, the overwhelming urge to snap coming any moment.  You paw at his head, anything to express how close you are, but he relents with his pace. When his fingers curl inside of you, you slam your head back against the pillows again, a ragged cry tumbling off your lips as you come.

Ominis pulls away, your slick glistening his chin as he gives you a smug smile.  Your heart is hammering in your chest at the sight of him, cheeks red and panting from giving you the most glorious head you’ve ever received to date.

“Did I do well?” He asks, almost a bit shy.

You try to get up, but your quivering legs fail you. “You’ve rendered me boneless,” you laugh, pressing a hand against your chest.

Ominis pulls himself up over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You can still taste yourself on his mouth, flooding your head with filthy ideas. 

“Your turn,” You murmur, mustering the strength to pull yourself up. You push Ominis over, and he falls against the bed.  Somehow, your bodies know just how to move around each other–there is no awkward fumbling.  When you’ve known someone for years, spent half your school years cuddled up together in naps, you just know how to maneuver around one another. 

Ominis sits against the headboard, the pillows propped behind his back.  When he feels your hands touch the waistband of his boxers, he instinctively lifts his hips, letting you drag them down his legs.  His aching length springs free, slapping against his stomach as you crawl towards his lap.

“How does this feel?” You ask, adjusting your legs to straddle him.  You know he can feel how wet you are, dripping against his cock.  While your hands rest against his shoulders, Ominis’s arms wrap against your waist, all but pulling you down to grind against him. Waiting for his answer, your eyes scan every inch of his face to commit each beauty mark to memory.

Ominis presses a quick kiss to your nose, eyelashes fluttering in the way you love. “You feel so warm.” He groans, his cock twitching against you. The feeling of him against you sparks a familiar ache between your legs.  His jaw hardens when you slip your hand between your bodies, gripping him to guide his blunt head to your center.

“I love you,” Ominis chokes out as you sink onto his length.  His hands fly from your waist, now roving all over your body.  He’s consuming you, touching every single surface he can manage.  You both gasp as you bottom out, his head tipping back against the headboard with a thud.

“So good for me,” Ominis garbles out in broken syllables. “You’re...you feel so...”

You surge forward, lips pressed against his.  His kisses melt against your mouth as he tries to rock upwards into you. 

“We could’ve been doing this for ages,” Ominis complains, his nimble fingers tangling in your hair.

“Instead we’ve been just friends,” you chuckle, rolling your hips. Your hands are gripping the headboard behind him, forehead pressed against his as you grind against each other. 

“Idiots,” Ominis mutters, catching your lower lip with his teeth. “We’re idiots.”

You shift your feet underneath you, bouncing up and down on his length.  Ominis’s breath hitches against your breasts, his hands shifting down to your waist.  The feeling of his thumbs roving over your hip bones is enough to drive you harder, and you realize he’s admiring every single dimple, every curve.  He could go faster, fuck up into you if he really wanted to, but Ominis stays true to his word.  He’s taking his time to savor you, to commit your body to memory while he has you in his arms.

“Enjoying yourself?” You ask breathlessly, as Ominis’s hand trails up and down your spine for the umpteenth time.

He grins, baring his teeth as he surges forward, pushing you off and onto your back on the bed.  You yelp as he slithers over you, hovering just inches from your face as he presses back into your warmth. 

“Immensely,” Ominis whispers, kissing you as he starts rocking into you.  Without thought, you wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in as tightly as you can. When he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, you flatten your hands against his cheeks. You fit against each other like puzzle pieces; it’s silly to have been so worried, you realize.  Slotted against each other, chasing one another to your mutual climax, you know only Ominis could’ve ever made sense.

“I love you,” you blurt as Ominis digs his face into your neck.

“I love you too,” Ominis mumbles into your neck. “I think I always have.”

“You have?” You squeak, thoughts punctuated by a moan as he snaps his hips at just the right angle.

“It’s you,” Ominis admits. “Of course I love you. I– oh shit –I’ve always had feelings for you,” he pants. “God, at least since we were sixteen.”

Ominis’s confessions, punctuated by an elusive curse word, melt your heart.  You shift your hips upwards, meeting him with every thrust.  The wet slapping of his skin against yours, the slamming of the headboard, coupled with Ominis’s babbling and your breathy moans echo off the walls. You hadn’t bothered with a silencing spell, not knowing that this is where the night would take you. It’s likely everyone in the house knows what’s going on between the two of you, and that almost turns you on more. After all these years, Ominis is yours, claimed by your loud coupling.

“I’ve dreamt of touching you here for years,” Ominis confesses between open mouth kisses. “Always thinking about how soft you must feel here,” his lips close around your nipple, tongue flicking against the surface.  It draws a shriek out of you, which has him grinning. “Just as I thought.”

Just the confirmation that Ominis has thought about you naked in bed just like you have stokes the fire within you, threatening to burst.  He feels too good inside of you; while you’d take the sweet torture of being edged all night just to keep him close, your body is teetering close to the edge.

“Come for me,” Ominis murmurs in your ear. “I want to feel you come undone.”

“I can’t,” you utter. “I don’t–I don’t want this to be over,” you choke out, clutching his shoulders.

The sex, this night, this season of your life, together.  You’re not quite sure which one your sex addled brain is referring to.

Ominis snakes up a large hand, cradling your cheek with his palm.  His thumb brushes over your swollen lips as little gasps escape your lips.

“We have tonight, all night.” Ominis whispers, each syllable met with a roll of his hips. “You don’t think it’ll be just once, do you?”

“Ominis,” you garble out, his thumb dipping into your warm mouth.  You’re not sure if you’re scolding his vulgar language, or warning him of the impending release.

“Come with me,” Ominis pleads.  

An urge to finish what you’ve started together, or perhaps a plea to join him across the sea.  Either way, the three words have you coming, Ominis choking out a moan as his hips stutter against yours. He shudders as he comes inside of you, not stopping his thrusts until he’s trembling, falling at your side. 

The two of you are silent for what feels like ages, just the ticking of his bedside clock and the soft hum of music from the party downstairs filling the background. As you stare at the ceiling, you feel his warm hand entangling his fingers with yours, and you’re both quiet for another few minutes as you collect your thoughts.

“I meant what I said,” Ominis breaks the silence.

“Which one?” you ask, tilting your head to look at him.  He’s still flat on his back, his free hand resting on his chest as his head tilts towards the sound of your voice.  His gorgeous blue eyes crease at the corners as he smiles.

“All of it,” Ominis muses. “That I love you, that I’ve always loved you.  That I thought you didn’t love me, because you were encouraging me to go, to take the MACUSA job.  But turns out, it’s just because you know me better than anyone. You know what I need to do.”

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Ominis turns to you, his hands tracing up and down your naked torso. “I never thought we’d get to do this,” he confesses. “And even if it took us until the last night of school, I’m glad we did.”

You press a fervent kiss to his lips, melting against him.  You only pull away when he laughs, blond hair shaking as he falls back against the bed.

“We are actual idiots,” Ominis says sheepishly. “Our very first time should’ve been more romantic.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “There’s something incredibly romantic about a last chance confession.”

“I wish I’d told you sooner,” Ominis says, a pained expression painted on his face. “We could’ve had so much more time–”

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him.  He quirks his brow, questioning your actions.

“We have the rest of tonight,” you remind him, rolling onto your stomach.  You trace your hand against his cheek, your fingers dancing against his lips. He opens his mouth, indulgently sucking on your fingers as they dip inside. “Besides, I think I have to reciprocate the mind blowing head.” you joke, your now wet hand trailing back down to his length.

Ominis is hard again in seconds.

The music ended hours ago, and the house is calm. You wouldn’t know if anything was going on outside of Ominis’s door anyways; after your second round, Ominis had the good sense to cast a silencing charm on the room. 

Ominis slips out of you after fucking you on your side, his slow thrusts driving you to the brink of insanity.  Both of you are thoroughly spent; he knows that, reaching for his wand to summon a cloth.  He's attentive and gentle as he cleans you, murmuring praise of how well you've taken him and how incredible you feel. Once the two of you are semi-decent, he gathers a fresh tee shirt for you to slip over your head.  It’s well worn, letters stitched into the chest, and it smells like his cologne. You hold the collar to your nose; it’s very likely this shirt will be coming home with you.

Ominis tucks you into his arms as he pulls the duvet over your bodies, his warm breath tickling your ears as his breathing slows.

“I’m not sure how you’re going to walk across the graduation stage,” you joke, stifling a yawn.

“Will probably need Andrew to throw me across the stage at this point,” Ominis says.  His voice sounds thick with sleep, and you know he yearns to shut his eyes.  You’ve known him for so long, watched him nap in the hallways enough to recognize the tell-tale signs of Ominis Gaunt’s sleeping habits.

“I’m proud of you, you know that?” You whisper, hoping to catch him while he’s still awake. “You’re gonna go far, do amazing things. I’m so proud of you, and I love you.”

“I know,” Ominis lets out a sleepy sigh, heavy eyelids drooping.  “I love you too.”

Before long, Ominis is softly snoring in your ear.  Blinking your bleary eyes, you can see the dark sky turning lighter and lighter through the curtains.  It’s graduation day; in a few hours, Ominis will walk across the stage and move on to the next phase of his life.

Merlin, you hope to be part of the next chapter.

You jolt awake when you hear the door knob to Ominis’s room jiggling. The blond is still fast asleep, a smile on his face as he dreams.

“Ominis, wake up,” you groan. “It’s morning.”

“It was morning when we fell asleep,” he swats away at you, digging his face into the pillows.

“Well, it’s graduation morning.” You warn him. “We have to get ready–I have to go home, I have to change and shower.  You have to shower.”

“Shower here,” Ominis complains, tugging you back against his warm chest. “And you can shower with me.”

“I can’t go to your graduation wearing a bloody mini dress,” you scold him, rolling out of bed.  You tug open his dresser, pulling out a well worn sweater and some sweatpants. “There’s someone at the door too.”

“It’s me,” a muffled voice yells. “Wakey wakey, lovebirds!” 

Ominis flips back over in bed as you tug the sweater over your head, swinging the door open.  You’d recognize the Scottish lilt anywhere–it’s Sebastian, grinning broadly with a garment bag in hand.

“What is that?” You gape.

Sebastian pushes his way into the room, hanging the black bag between Ominis’s graduation robes. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t be going home last night,” he winks, unzipping the bag. “So I asked Imelda to pull together some options for you.  Picked them up this morning; there’s some bagels and coffee downstairs too.”

You’re embarrassed but thankful for your friends–Imelda has packed some tasteful day dresses, all appropriate for the event in mind.

Sebastian drops another bag onto the ground, sinking into the now up-right office chair. “She packed more appropriate heels.  Oh, and a bra and underwear. Thought you might’ve lost yours.”

“Get out,” Ominis groans, tossing a pillow at Sebastian.

The freckled bastard lets out a laugh, his whole body shaking as he dodges Ominis’s throw. “Best get in the shower, Mr. President.  Can’t have you walking across the stage to get your diploma with sex hair.” Sebastian waggles his eyebrows, and even though Ominis can’t see, he knows the expression on Sebastian’s face.

You hear your name from the doorframe, and both you and Sebastian turn to see who it is.  Lucan and Garreth are standing with bagels, idly observing the scene before them.

“Amit owes me ten galleons,” Garreth says, his mouth still full of his poppy seed bagel. “He said you’d never admit how you feel to Ominis–”

“That’s not what I said!” You hear Amit’s voice from down the hallway. “Garreth, don’t twist my words.”

Lucan pushes his way into the room, holding his bagel between his teeth. “Can I get in to measure now?” he asks, pulling his wand from his pocket. “I do think I could fit a nice little bar in the corner here–”

“Everyone out!” Ominis roars, standing up in just his boxer shorts. “Everyone who isn’t my girlfriend can fuck off.”

Instead of scattering, everyone freezes in place. 

“Girlfriend?” You squeak out.

Ominis’s furrowed brow softens, his cheeks heating up as he scratches the back of his neck.

“I assumed,” he said sheepishly. “When we said we loved each other.”

“Alright, nothing to see here folks.  Everyone go back to your knitting.” Sebastian says hastily, pulling Lucan into a headlock to drag him out of the room.  He pushes Garreth in the chest, and you hear several pairs of feet scrambling in the hallway–no doubt Amit, Andrew, and the others have congregated outside of Ominis’s door to eavesdrop.

Sebastian shoots you both a knowing look as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone with Ominis once more.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” Ominis croaks.  “I understand.  I’m leaving in a few days, it makes sense.”

You tiptoe over to him, placing a hand on his chest.  You can feel his heart hammering beneath you, one of his hands resting atop yours to keep it in place.

“What would being your girlfriend entail?” You ask slowly, nails dragging across his skin.

Ominis offers you a small smile. “Nothing has to change, not really.  Just that I get to tell you that I love you out loud.”

“And perhaps there will be space for me in New York.” You say slowly, chewing on your lower lip.

Ominis’s face lights up, tugging you in with a firm arm around your waist. “There will most definitely be space for you in New York,” he announces. “It’s only fitting that I make room for you, considering you’re the person who convinced me to go.”

“Your girlfriend,” you enunciate. 

“My girlfriend,” Ominis repeats back to you. It isn’t long before he’s kissing you, his tongue snaking its way into your mouth. You have to pull yourself back, eyeing the clock on Ominis’s desk.

“We have to shower,” you remind him, hands pressed against his chest. “Otherwise, I’ll be late to my boyfriend’s graduation ceremony.”

Ominis grins, pressing a quick kiss against your cheek.  He maneuvers over to his dresser, pulling out two clean towels.  Wand in hand, he slings the towels over his shoulder, his other hand outstretched to grab yours.

You fold your palm into his, following him out the door without a word.

The last week almost seems like a blur to you.  

That Sunday, you watched Ominis graduate university with honors, several stoles draped across his shoulders.  One from the honors college, another for his outstanding leadership.  The third looks a bit hodge-podge, but it’s the most important to him–a stole crafted by Sebastian and the others, crudely decorated in a way only twenty-something boys would do.  

The satin stole with the Gaunt family motto is promptly burned in the celebratory bonfire Lucan sets that night, all of you sitting around the fire pit with beers in hand.

Every day since then has been bliss.  You’ve only gone home once, packing a bag with a week’s worth of clothes while Imelda gives you smug looks. You’ve effectively moved into Ominis’s bedroom for one last week together.  It’s for practical reasons, you tell the others.  By day, you’re helping Ominis pack his belongings and bring whatever items he needs to donate to the university charity shop.  You even help him pack a cardboard box with any Gaunt family memorabilia, slapping a label to ship the useless trinkets back to Marvolo.  Ominis doesn’t need to rely on his family name anymore, at least not where he’s going.

The others come and go, but soon the new graduates start to move.  Amit and Andrew are the first to leave, off to start their ministry jobs.  Garreth follows shortly after, moving to a cottage in Cornwall to start his bulk potions business.  Come Friday, it’s just you, Ominis, and Sebastian left as the rest of the underclassmen have left for their summer holidays.

You enjoy one last night cooking dinner with your two best boys, tears pricking the corners of your eyes if you think too hard about how this might be the last time the three of you are in a room together for a while.  After dessert, Sebastian leaves the house to visit friends; more likely, he’s giving the two of you the house alone for your final night together.

You’d expect last night together to be frenetic, but Ominis’s love making remains slow and deliberate.  Ominis meant it when he said he wanted to remember every bit of you, his hands exploring your body as he makes you come several times in the night. You cry out the last time, exhausted but pawing at him for more.  

More, more, more. More time, most of all. 

Both of you cry a little, murmuring promises to each other before falling asleep.

When you wake, the air is melancholy.  The two of you move in silence, Ominis showering and packing the remnants of his suitcase. You put your dirty clothes from the week in your bag as well, and the two of you say goodbye to his little bedroom for the last time.  Ominis swallows thickly as you both get into the car, Sebastian choosing the passenger seat so the two of you can sit together in the back.

The airport isn’t too busy, which affords you time for a long farewell.  Ominis’s wand is safely concealed in a cane, and Sebastian slips a pair of sunglasses over his eyes so he fits in better with the muggles.  

“You have a new phone now,” Sebastian reminds him. “So don’t give me any excuses for not calling or texting.”

“I will,” Ominis promises. “Thank you, Sebastian.  I–” his voice cracks, and his eyes flutter as he swallows. “I’m glad I met you when I was eleven.” It's a simple sentence, but the words impart just how much Ominis loves Sebastian.

Sebastian whimpers, pulling his best friend, his brother into a hug.  You have to turn away, dabbing at your eyes as the two men say farewell after living together for over a decade.

“Alright, sod off,” Sebastian blurts, wiping at his nose. “Your turn to say goodbye, I can’t do this anymore.”

Ominis lets out a watery laugh as Sebastian meanders away, giving the two of you some time alone.  You don’t want to waste any of the precious seconds you have left with Ominis waffling, so you tug him into a tight embrace, your arms locking around his neck.

“I love you,” Ominis says against your hair. “I love you.”

 You’re kissing him all over his face, leaving tears in your wake. “I love you too,” you murmur. “Remember what I told you.”

“If you want to go far, you’ve got to go far.” Ominis mutters. “I’m doing this for me–for us.”

“Better save a drawer for me,” you whisper. 

“The very best one,” Ominis whispers back. “It’ll be there for you, next year.”

Sebastian nearly has to pry the two of you apart, reminding Ominis that his plane leaves within the hour and he still needs to get through security.  The steps the blond takes towards the line are rigid, his subconscious fighting the physical act of leaving.  But deep down, all of you know it–Ominis is going to do great things, and he’s going to do it without his family breathing down his neck, trying to force him to conform to their ways.

You feel a hand grabbing yours; it’s Sebastian, squeezing you tight as you both watch Ominis move through the line.  Minutes later, he’s waving goodbye, disappearing into the departures terminal.

You and Sebastian stay until Ominis’s blond head is no longer visible over the crowd.  

Finishing your dissertation is eating up all your free time, but you reserve an hour at the end of the day to talk to Ominis over his brand new phone.  The time difference is a bit jarring; sometimes you find yourself staying up well into the twilight hours to listen to Ominis ramble on about his job and the work they’ve done to protect international magical affairs.  He asks you how his brothers are doing, if Lucan has stirred any trouble yet.  You tell him all about how they still invite you to parties every weekend, and Lucan decided against building the wet bar in his room.  You talk about Sebastian’s rotations at St. Mungo’s and how the two of you still try to have dinner at least once a week despite your busy schedules. 

You tell him to save his money, but Ominis isn’t one to skimp out on gifts. He still sends owl post, care packages from his tiny apartment in New York.  After you tell him his fraternity letters are starting to wear thin, he sends you a New York t-shirt that smells like cool musk.  You start wearing it to bed every night; once the smell wears off, Ominis sends a bottle of his cologne as well.

Phone sex isn’t half bad either, you decide.  You come every time Ominis tells you to, gasping when you hear him touch himself on the other end of the line.

One day, Ominis sends you an e-mail about job requisitions at the MACUSA headquarters.  They have their own department of mysteries, Ominis explains. If you’re interested at all.

You apply and wait to hear back. I hope it’s not a conflict of interest that my boyfriend is the newest hot shot solicitor in the office of international affairs.

It isn’t, it turns out.  You’re offered a job interview over the winter holidays if you can make it to New York City in time.  Ominis sends you the ticket in your email, assuring you that he’ll pick you up from the airport.  He does exactly as he’s promised, and you laugh at how much he’s bundled himself up against the New York City snow.  When you leave the airport you laugh a little less, snow already getting into your shoes.  Ominis is a gentleman through and through, and carries you from the car up the stairs to his apartment lobby.

You think your interview at MACUSA has gone well, and you start enjoying all the walking you have to do to get around the city.  Ominis takes you to all his favorite restaurants, and he shows you the drawer he’s been saving for you.  His apartment feels like home, even if you have to squeeze past the dining table to get to the bed.  The two of you Facetime Sebastian from bed, the brunette recounting his shifts at St. Mungo’s in great detail.

“Say, do you have a hospital in the city?” Sebastian asks. “If she’s going, I want to come too.  We’re a package deal.”

Ominis rolls his eyes. “Of course there’s a hospital here, Sebastian. It’s not a primitive land. It’s New York, for Merlin's sake.”

You laugh, trying not to shake the phone as you try to keep Ominis in frame.

The week passes by too fast. Ominis brings you back to the airport, and this goodbye is even harder than the one after graduation. You find it nearly impossible to take your hands off him, his lips pressing kisses to your face.  

“It’s just a little while longer,” Ominis reminds you.

“We don’t even know if I’ll get it,” you shrug.

“You’re going to get it,” Ominis assures you. It feels like deja vu, as if you’ve had this conversation before.

About a week into the second term, you receive your job offer from MACUSA.

May arrives quicker than you thought it would.  You get a few less calls with Ominis during your finals week, and he promises to make it up to you somehow.  Even though you have a job offer, it’s contingent on you passing your final exams.  Ominis quizzes you through the phone while Sebastian brings you dinner between his shifts. It’s a group effort to get you across the finish line.

You pass, and you finally get to breathe a sigh of relief. The week of your graduation is filled with parties and celebrations, Lucan inviting you to come back to the house. It doesn’t feel as right without Sebastian or Ominis inside, so you don’t stay long.  Sebastian promises he'll try to be at your graduation, trading shifts with other healers.  On the other hand, Ominis is stuck in the middle of an important case.  You tell him not to worry, and that you'll see him in a week when you move.

Come graduation day, you’re standing in front of the theater, your diploma in hand. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and you pull it out to read your texts. You have one missed message from Sebastian.

Sorry I missed your ceremony.  Got called in to cover someone’s shift this morning.  I promise I’ll be at your dinner later tonight.  Oh, and I hope you enjoy your grad present xx

You furrow your brow, typing back a response.  You don’t remember anything about a present–

“Congratulations, darling.”

You look up, nearly dropping your phone in the process. A tall lithe blond clad in a three piece suit, a MACUSA pin on the lapel.  

Ominis smiles at you, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt smut #frat ominis gaunt #modern au ominis gaunt #listen here there's a lot of creative liberties taken with college frats and magic here #but frat ominis wouldn't leave my mind