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edenarchives · 3 months ago

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♯┆𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 .ᐟ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: A joke profile on a sugar daddy site turns serious when @TimeIsMoney starts paying—and praising—you. What begins as harmless fun spirals into obsession after one night in his hotel suite leaves you aching, ruined, and wanting more.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: daddy kink, age gap, sugar baby stuff, praise, rough sex, oral (f receiving), creampie, money kink, dirty talk, power dynamics, he’s obsessed, reader gets absolutely ruined, aftercare, light choking, finger fucking, reader gets called good girl a lot

𝐖𝐂: 4,000

PART 2

It starts as a joke.

Wine bottles rattle as Nobara kicks the recycling bin closed with the heel of her foot, the sound of glass clinking against cheap plastic barely audible over the laughter echoing through your tiny, overstuffed apartment. Maki flops onto the couch beside you, stretching out like a cat, her legs hooked over the armrest and one arm draped across her eyes. The air smells like takeout and wine, sweet and familiar, the kind of scent that clings to memories. Finals are looming like storm clouds, rent is due in a week, and the textbooks on the kitchen table are collecting more dust than notes. The weight of it all sits heavy in the background, but for now, there’s laughter—loud and warm and so completely alive it makes you forget that you’re broke. That you’re stressed. That everything feels impossible sometimes.

“I’m telling you,” Nobara says as she refills her glass, the wine sloshing close to the rim. “Sugar daddies are the answer. Tuition? Handled. Rent? Done. Textbooks? Bought by some old man who just wants to stare at your feet and be told he’s a good little pay pig.”

You nearly choke on your drink, laughing as you wave her off. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

But Maki’s already pulling your laptop closer, pushing aside the half-eaten box of noodles and flicking the screen to wake it. “Come on, let’s just look. You never know.”

The three of you huddle close as the website loads, the layout exactly as tacky as you’d expect. It takes ten minutes to craft a profile that’s both over-the-top and strangely believable. You use a slightly sultry selfie from last month—nothing too scandalous, just a little cleavage and a coy smile. The bio is ridiculous: College student. Lit major. Broke but charming. Let’s make a deal. You don’t use your real name. The username you pick @YourSweetestSin is half a joke, half something that makes you snort. By the time the profile is live, you’re all laughing so hard your stomach hurts. It’s stupid. It’s harmless. You never intend to take it seriously.

But you don’t delete the profile either. Not that night. Not the next day.

The first message comes two days later while you’re curled in bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, half-focused on an essay you’re bullshitting at the last possible second. The ping startles you, the notification bouncing in the corner of your screen.

@TimeIsMoney: Hello.

That’s it. No gross pickup line. No emojis. No sleazy GIFs. Just a greeting. Curious, you click the profile, expecting a troll or someone who looks like he just escaped from a retirement home. But there’s no picture. Just a clean profile with a short bio: Professional. Discreet. Generous. It makes you snort. “Sure,” you mutter under your breath. But you reply anyway. For the bit. For the laugh. You can’t wait to show the girls.

Except it doesn’t end there. He writes back. You respond. The next message comes within the hour. Then another. And another. Each one short, to the point, polite in a way that disarms you. He asks how your classes are going. What books you’re reading. He doesn’t flirt. He compliments you, but not in a way that makes your skin crawl. It’s strange. It’s addictive. You start checking the app more often. You start replying faster. There’s something comforting about the consistency of it, about the way he always answers. Predictable. Reliable. And that’s something you didn’t realize you were craving until now.

Then, on the fifth night

I want to see you.

The message appears while you’re lying on your stomach, feet kicking behind you, chin resting in your palm. You read it three times. Your heart skips a beat, your stomach flips, and your first instinct is to laugh. This is the part where you bail, right? Where you screenshot it and send it to Nobara with a “can you believe this guy?” But instead, you’re walking to the mirror, pulling your hair over one shoulder, angling your phone just right. You pick your best push-up bra—the black one that hugs you perfectly—and snap a photo. You send it. Doll eyes. Slight pout. Your lips parting like you’ve done this a thousand times.

The response is immediate.

Good girl.

Then, a second later, another notification.

You’ve received $500.

You sit up. Blink. Refresh the app. But it’s there. Sitting in your account, waiting to be transferred. Your jaw drops. Then you scream. Then you laugh. Hard. You’re breathless. You don’t tell Nobara or Maki. Not this time.

From that moment on, it’s a blur. More messages. More requests. Nothing below the waist, not yet. Just photos. A little more skin each time. He never demands. He always asks. And he always pays.

Take off your bra. $500.

Show me your nipples. $700.

Each time, the money lands in your account within seconds. And each time, you find yourself a little wetter. A little more flushed. A little more eager to read the next message. You don’t just do it for the money anymore. You do it because his praise makes your stomach flutter. Because you feel seen. Desired. Wanted. Powerful.

Then comes the night he asks to call you. Your hands tremble as you answer. His voice is everything you didn’t expect. Calm. Smooth. Deep enough to settle in your bones and echo. He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t tease. He tells you exactly what he wants. Exactly how he wants to hear you fall apart. You’re already naked when the call starts. The toy he told you to buy is buzzing between your thighs before he even finishes the first sentence. His voice doesn’t falter. He talks you through it like he’s done it a hundred times. You come so hard you see white. He pays you $1,000.

You don’t bother pretending anymore. You wait for his messages. You ache when he disappears for too long. You’re careful not to get too attached, but it’s hard not to wonder. Not to imagine what he looks like. How he might taste. How it would feel to have those hands on your skin instead of just your imagination. So when the next message comes, you already know how you’ll answer.

I want you meet you

When and where?

The hotel he books is far nicer than anywhere you’ve ever been. Just stepping into the lobby makes you feel like an imposter. Crystal chandeliers, velvet furniture, a floral arrangement so big it probably has its own budget. Your heels click across the marble as you walk toward the elevators, your trench coat clutched tight around your body, hiding the lace beneath. You keep your head down. Pretend you belong. The nerves bubbling in your stomach are loud enough, sharp enough to echo.

He said he’d meet you in the room. Top floor. Private. You know the number by heart. You’ve read it over and over again on the message thread. Your fingers hover over the keypad outside the suite door. You press it before you can talk yourself out of it.

The door swings open almost immediately. And there he is.

Nanami Kento.

He doesn’t look how you pictured. He’s younger. Broader. Tall enough that you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. Blonde hair, glasses, expensive-looking suit. He smells like cedar and something clean and expensive. His jaw is sharp. His expression unreadable. But his eyes, they roam your body like he knows exactly what’s under your coat.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You move past him into the room. The suite is massive. Soft lighting, a king-sized bed with crisp white sheets, a view of the city skyline that stretches beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. You hear the door close behind you. The lock clicks.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says.

Your voice barely works. “I wasn’t sure either.”

“Are you nervous?”

You nod.

“Good.” He steps closer. “It means this matters.”

Then he touches you.

It’s not a grab. Not even a full reach. Just the brush of his fingers down your arm, slow and steady, his touch so light it makes your skin prickle. He looks at you like he’s reading you, analyzing every twitch, every flutter of your lashes. His fingers find the belt of your coat. He doesn’t tug. He doesn’t ask. He just looks at you.

You nod.

He undoes the knot slowly, methodically, like he’s unwrapping a gift he doesn’t want to damage. The coat falls open. His breath catches.

The lingerie is sheer black lace, delicate enough to feel sinful. You chose it for him. You’ve sent him pictures in it before. But the way he’s looking at you now—it makes your knees weak.

“Beautiful,” he says. It’s quiet. Like he’s talking to himself.

He slips the coat from your shoulders. It falls in a soft thud at your feet.

“Get on the bed.”

You crawl onto the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress, your heartbeat thudding loud in your ears. The sheets are soft beneath your hands, cool against your flushed skin, and you feel him watching you. Not just looking—watching. The heat of his gaze crawls along your spine as you settle on your back, your legs folding to the side, thighs tight with anticipation. He doesn’t move right away. He just stands there, drinking you in like you’re art, like you’re something to be studied.

Then he begins to undress.

Each movement is precise, deliberate. He removes his watch first, setting it on the nightstand with a soft click. Then he unbuttons his shirt, one button at a time, his fingers steady and sure. You watch his chest slowly come into view—firm, broad, sculpted in a way that makes your breath catch. His shoulders are wide, his waist trim, his skin smooth and golden under the low light. When he slides the shirt off and starts on his belt, your thighs press together involuntarily. The buckle clinks. The zipper lowers. And then he steps out of his slacks, revealing long legs, tight black briefs, and the hard line of his cock already straining against the fabric.

He climbs onto the bed with the kind of calm confidence that makes your stomach flip. He doesn’t pounce. Doesn’t rush. He kneels between your legs and runs his hands up your thighs, spreading them slowly, pushing them apart with the patience of someone who knows exactly what you need and intends to give it to you—on his terms. The cool air kisses your heat, and you realize how wet you already are, your arousal sticking to the inside of your thighs. He hums low in his throat as his fingers hook into your panties and begins sliding them down, inch by inch.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says softly. “I can feel it. You’re soaked.”

You whimper, arching slightly as he tosses the lace aside. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t make you wait. He leans down, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs wider, and when his mouth finally touches you, you gasp—loud, sharp, uncontrollable. His tongue strokes through your folds with slow, deliberate pressure, tasting you like he has all night. His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, and your back bows off the bed.

“Fuck—Nanami,” you breathe, fingers flying into his hair.

He groans against your pussy, the sound vibrating through you. He eats you like he means it, like it’s his mission. His tongue moves with skill, pressure alternating between soft flicks and firm, devastating licks. One of his hands slides under your ass, lifting your hips, tilting you up so he can go deeper. The other moves between your legs, and when two fingers slide inside you, you cry out.

Your walls clench around him, tight and wet, your body already shaking. He curls his fingers just right and your thighs twitch in response, your breath catching. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. He watches you from below, eyes dark and steady, like he’s memorizing every twitch, every moan, every desperate roll of your hips. You’re spiraling. Unraveling.

It hits fast. Hard. Your orgasm crashes over you before you can warn him, a wave of heat and light that rips through your body and leaves you sobbing his name. Your hips buck, your legs tremble, your fingers claw at the sheets—but he holds you down, mouth still on you, tongue relentless.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is wet, his lips slick with you. He looks pleased. Controlled. Like he could keep going. Like he wants to.

“That’s one,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers from your cunt and bringing them to his mouth. He sucks them clean slowly, and you moan again, helpless, already throbbing with the need for more.

He leans over you and kisses you—slow, deep, messy—and you taste yourself on his lips. He rolls his hips against yours, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. Your hands slide down, tugging at the waistband of his briefs, and he lets you peel them down.

He’s thick. Long. Veins running along the shaft, the head flushed and already leaking.

“You want this?” he asks, voice low, rough.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly. Inch by inch. Stretching you wide, filling you so deep you can feel it in your stomach. Your jaw drops, a choked moan escaping as your nails sink into his back.

“Oh my god,” you gasp.

“Too much?” he breathes, pausing halfway.

“No—don’t stop. Please. Keep going.”

He groans, sliding in the rest of the way, bottoming out. He stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs. “So perfect around me.”

Then he moves.

Slow at first. Deep. His hips roll into yours, grinding with each thrust. It’s overwhelming, every drag of his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. You cling to him, moaning into his shoulder, and he presses kisses to your neck, your jaw, your lips.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers. “Taking me so well. My good girl.”

The praise makes your walls flutter. Your body is already on edge again, hips rolling up to meet his, chasing more.

And then you remember—

“I thought you were gonna fuck me stupid,” you pant.

He stills.

His head lifts. His eyes meet yours.

“I was trying to be gentle,” he says, his voice suddenly darker. “But if you’re going to act like a cock-drunk little slut—”

He pulls out and flips you over in one smooth motion, dragging your hips up, pushing your chest into the mattress. He thrusts back into you hard, deep, and you scream into the sheets.

“—then I’ll fuck you like one”

He doesn’t hold back now. His pace is punishing, hips slamming into yours with the kind of strength that makes the bed creak beneath you. Each thrust drives his cock deeper, harder, making you cry out with every stroke. Your hands fist the sheets, knuckles white, as your body rocks forward from the force of him. He grabs your hips tighter, pulling you back onto him, forcing every inch of him inside like he’s claiming you, ruining you. Your thoughts are gone, scattered, every one of them drowned beneath the sound of skin meeting skin and the filthy things he’s growling into your ear.

“This what you wanted?” he pants, his voice a low growl. “To be fucked like a desperate little whore? You like it like this—don’t you?”

You try to answer, but all that leaves your mouth is a broken moan, high-pitched and needy. Your legs are shaking, your pussy clenching so tightly around him that you feel every twitch of his cock. You’re drooling onto the sheets, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels, from how deep he’s inside you.

He reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling your head back until your spine arches, your back flush to his chest. His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. He rubs slow, tight circles, the pressure just right. Your body locks up.

“Oh my god—Nanami—fuck—”

“I want you to cum again,” he hisses into your ear. “Cum for me while I’m buried in this tight little pussy. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You do.

It hits harder than the first time, your body convulsing around him, thighs trembling, a sob of pleasure ripping from your throat as your orgasm tears through you. You clench around him so hard it makes him grunt, his rhythm faltering for the first time. He curses under his breath, fucking you through it, prolonging your high until you’re left a shaking, overstimulated mess.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he growls.

You collapse forward, cheek pressed to the sheets, too wrecked to hold yourself up anymore. But he doesn’t stop. He slows down, but he keeps moving, long deep strokes that fill you again and again. One hand stays on your hip while the other presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down. You’re gasping, moaning brokenly, your cunt so sensitive you’re already on the edge again.

“Please—please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna give me one more.”

His cock drags along your walls, thick and pulsing, hitting every spot that makes your vision blur. Your body is on fire. Nerves raw. Everything tightens again, too soon, too fast.

“Cum,” he demands, and the command alone pushes you over the edge.

You scream his name as your third orgasm slams into you, thighs quaking, fingers clawing at the mattress as you fall apart. Your pussy clenches so hard around him that his rhythm shatters. He groans, deep and guttural, thrusts stuttering as he slams into you one final time and spills inside you with a growl.

You can feel it—his cum flooding your pussy, hot and thick, filling you up as his body presses down on yours. His breath is hot against your back. His weight grounding.

He stays like that for a moment, both of you panting, your bodies tangled in heat and sweat. Then he pulls out slowly, gently, and you whimper at the loss. You feel the slick of his release drip down your thigh.

You’re boneless. Floating. Barely able to lift your head.

He pulls you into his arms, rolls you over, kisses your forehead. His hands are soft again, soothing, trailing along your back in lazy circles.

“You did so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good.”

He holds you until your breathing slows. Until the ache in your muscles fades into something warm and satisfied. Until the world stops spinning quite so fast.

Then he rises. Dresses slowly. Smooths his hair back into place. He leans down to press one last kiss to your lips.

“The room is yours until tomorrow night,” he whispers. “Order whatever you want. Rest. Recover.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Where are you going?”

He smiles. “I need to get ready for work on Monday.”

And then he’s gone.

The silence after he leaves is loud. You lie there for a while, naked in the sheets that smell like him, your body sore and aching in the best possible way. Everything feels distant. Fuzzy. Like your skin is still buzzing with the echo of his hands, his voice, the way he looked at you like he owned every inch of you. You eventually drag yourself out of bed, your legs unsteady, and pad to the bathroom. The tub is huge, the kind of thing you’d only ever seen in movies, and you don’t think twice before running the water, pouring in a generous stream of lavender bubble bath from the bottle on the counter. You sink into the warmth with a soft moan, letting the water ease the tightness in your thighs, the soreness in your hips. Every shift of your body reminds you of what just happened—of how thoroughly he fucked you, how deeply he filled you, how completely he took you apart.

You stay in the bath until the water starts to cool, then dry off and wrap yourself in one of the fluffy white robes hanging by the door. You pour yourself a glass of champagne from the bottle chilling by the window and collapse onto the bed again, legs curled under you, robe slipping off one shoulder. You stare at the city lights outside the window, the skyline glowing and endless. You feel expensive. Adored. Used and treasured at the same time. The kind of full you didn’t know you were craving.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You grab it lazily, still smiling.

Nanami has sent you $10,000.

You stare.

You’re up in a flash, jumping on the bed like a maniac, the robe falling off as you laugh and squeal and spin yourself dizzy. You don’t even care. You roll across the mattress, kick your legs in the air, and scream into a pillow. Then you check again—just to be sure. It’s still there. Ten. Thousand. Dollars.

You sink back against the pillows, grinning like a fool, and take a long, slow sip of champagne.

This is the best night of your life.

The weekend melts away in a blur of room service and luxury. You spend hours soaking in the tub, order dessert with every meal, and sleep tangled in hotel sheets that smell like him. You keep your phone close, reading and rereading every message he sends. He doesn’t disappear. He checks in constantly. Tells you how proud he is. How badly he wants you again. How he’s counting the hours until next time.

By Monday morning, you’re still sore. Still giddy. You barely hear your alarm over the buzz of your phone. You get ready for class with your phone in your hand the entire time, texting back between sips of coffee.

I need you again this weekend. Same hotel. I want you on your knees when I walk in.

I can still feel you. Still smell you. I’m not done with you.

You’re practically floating when you meet up with Nobara and Maki in the courtyard.

“You’re glowing,” Maki says. “Who are you texting?”

Nobara leans in to peek. You pull your phone away with a smirk.

“No one.”

“She’s lying,” Maki says. “It’s totally a sugar daddy. Look at her.” She jokes.

You laugh. Shrug. Say nothing.

Because they’re right. And you’re not giving up your secret that easy. The three of you head to class, sliding into your usual seats as you pull out your laptop. You open a blank doc, fingers still dancing over your phone under the table.

I want your pussy on my mouth the second I see you again.

You bite your lip, cheeks hot, and set your phone face-down as the door opens.

Footsteps. A soft clearing of a throat.

You look up and freeze.

Nanami Kento walks to the front of the classroom, calm and collected, setting his briefcase on the podium like he’s done it a hundred times. He’s in a fitted suit, glasses perched on his nose, hair neat and perfect.

He adjusts his tie. Opens his laptop. Looks up.

His eyes meet yours.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t falter. Just offers the faintest flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says smoothly. “Welcome to Ethics in Literature.

Your stomach drops through the floor.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

#jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #smut #nanami x reader #Nanami kento smut #Nanami kento x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk nanami

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earthtooz · 2 years ago

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x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous.

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh.

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm.

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him.

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse.

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye.

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.”

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture.

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug.

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you.

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious.

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup.

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.”

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.”

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!”

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why.

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!”

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate.

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?”

“No one. Now get lost.”

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.”

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love.

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe.

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar?

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you.

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over.

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression.

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

“What guy?”

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.”

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.”

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.”

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him.

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?”

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile.

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.”

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?”

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?”

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands.

“So why aren’t you apologising?”

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in.

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner?

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest.

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs.

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party.

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.”

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue.

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad?

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

#i didn't edit this btw don't judge #alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #fluff #alhaitham fluff #al-haitham fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #alhaitham fic #genshin fic

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is-this-fascism · 10 months ago

Text

My plan to escape homelessness. I need your help to get started before winter!

hello friends! i'm a homeless queer guy living in a tiny car. it's been like this for most of my adult life, and i'm trying to make a change! I want to convert a van into my new home! my plan involves these stages:

Stage 1: acquire a van.

while still living off donations in my car, i'm fundraising. as soon as i can afford one, i'll purchase a van. the market shows most used vans that would be suitable are around $3.5-4.5k give or take. we're already about halfway there!

I'm really hoping this stage can be complete before november, as my car is not suited to survive another winter and it could be devastating to attempt it.

Stage 2: survive winter

since winter is approaching, i'll need to quickly put insulated walls in the van and make sure i can live in it. at this point, it'll already be an upgrade to my car, but i won't be able to do much building in cold weather, so it'll just be the bare minimum i need to survive the winter.

during this time, i'll be taking measurements, drawing plans, researching appliances, and generally preparing for the build process. i'll continue fundraising to make sure i can afford all the materials and tools i'll need. i may also take care of any maintenence the van might need. i'll also clean and sell my car so i have some cash from that as well.

Stage 3: build my home!

when it gets warm enough, i'll start doing the actual build. i'll document this on video as much as i can, and post the process on my youtube channel for not only the people who helped me, but for anyone who's curious. i'll start with solar panels and an electricity system, i'll add countertops and kitchen appliances, a shower and sink with plumbing and warm water, a toilet, a real bed, lights, climate control. it'll be essentially a house on wheels, and just the right size for me!

Stage 4: whatever comes next

once i have my new home, i'll need an income. i may take a regular job to support myself at first, and that will actually be possible when i have a shower. but, i've been considering making content pretty much my whole life, and now i think i have a great chance to actually pursue that. i'll use some of the money from selling my car in stage 2 to get some basic equipment (laptop, mic, camera). i'll be posting my van build at first, and after that i'll probably start by telling stories about my time being homeless, but i'm also interested in streaming and video essays. thanks to all the generous support i've been getting from my followers and other people on the internet, i feel my opportunities are wide open!

Please consider donating to my fundraiser to help me change my life!

GFM

2115/10k

#homeless #homelessness #donation request #fundraiser #mutual aid #gofundme #van life #housing

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wxxpingangxls · 1 month ago

Text

be my baby

guys this is NOT proofread so please bare with me :((

turns out you'd have to wait to see if he could lay it down after all, because armin was not laying it down that night. it was like as soon as he finished eating you out, he switched from freaky nerd to just...nerd.

and now you were upset, like so upset.

you met armin at a campus party, and you had yet to find a roommate compatible for your needs. the dorms needs of course. you found him sitting there on the sofa instead of socialising. typical. anyway, he needed a place to stay, and you needed a roommate, it was a match made in heaven.

he was quiet at first, which was nice, you didn't mind it. but as the months went by, you found out that he had a lot of other assets.

he was funny, witty and well, smart.

but there were a few things that you definitely didn't know and that was how perverse armin was.

oh yes, remember how i mentioned him to be like a typical nerd? think robbie from victorious, or rory from my baby sitters a vampire. pathetic, whiny, little to no female touch. it was cute yes, duh, but you know sometimes it was exhausting.

it wasn't until armin came home one day, after going out, to show you his new accessory. a tongue piercing.

let's just say it started to make sense why you liked all the men you did as a little girl. i mean, seeing that new piercing made you feel things, think about all things you'd do to him. remember how i said sometimes you thought about sitting on his face?

look whose the perverted one now...

anyway, you should've known that armin had some fuck ass tricks up his sleeve.

i mean, you never would've expected that he could suck the soul of out your pussy. that didn't mean that whenever he was rambling on, you weren't staring at his long fingers. long and slender.

"we need to talk," you were stern.

"what about? did you miss another assignment? you need me to write you another essay?"

"no? tf? we need to talk about the other night,"

his face was flushed completely and he started fiddling with his fingers again. it was cute, watching him get so easily flustered. you walked closer, bringing a hand to his cheek. you rubbed his cheek, once, twice, just to calm him down. "...are you mad at me?" he whined.

"what? no, of course not," you huffed. at this point, armin wasn't looking at your face anymore. with those perked up nipples piercing through your tank top how could he? i mean seriously? the minute he saw you staggering towards him at the party he knew he couldn't let you go so easy. his mouth started to practically water, as he imagined suckling on your tart nipples, with another hand down your panties.

"hello? the lights are on but no ones home, are you okay?" armin's ears immediately perked up as he started sputtering some bullshit excuse.

"yeah yeah yeah, whatever i don't care, i just wanna know what else you can do," you grinned slyly.

"what?"

"you heard me," you giggled.

see, while armin was perverse, he wouldn't do anything immoral - to some extent of course. and he definately didn't masterbate to you behind you back. ahaha. but either way, for him this was a dream come true. like, when was the last time we've seen a nerd and a pretty girl? as i said, dream come true.

for both of you in fact.

like i said, match made in heaven.

that's all you could think about as armin's tongue wrapped itself around your nipple, slobbering all over your boob. his left hand was squeezing that boob almost as if he were a breast feeding baby. and as for his right hand? yeah, it was in your panties teasing at your clit. your hushed moans egged him on further as his teeth grazed your sensitive bud.

your boobs felt like water balloons filled with warm water in his cold hands. "armin, you're so good to me," you whispered as his fingers lowered towards your slick hole, before nudging themselves in. he could feel you squeeze around his fingers as he curled them upwards whilst simultaneously playing with your tits.

boy, was he greedy.

his thumb swirled at your clit as his fingers searched for your g-spot. you found yourself bucking your hips once again for more of that much needed friction. armin groaned into your chest as he kept cooing you towards your orgasm. he wanted you to soak his fingers with your juices so that he could suck them off. his mouth started to water even more just thinking about it. it was like some sort of craving he had. to feel you, to hear you and see you. it made him feel sooooo good. too good.

"armin, i'm so close," your trembling voice wavered as he gleamed. he found that spot that'll make you cream and scream.

chants of his name echoed throughout the room alongside with the squelching of your cunt. a part of you would be ashamed and embarrassed, but how could you when you were distracted. "fuck, fuck, fuckkkkk," you squealed as he kept going at your g-spot, never once stopping. you figured all the nights he stayed up hand-writing notes from class, made his hand so strong.

his slender fingers kept playing at your cunt as he moved his face up towards your own. you took the initiative - because for some reason men can't - and gave him a sloppy kiss. your pussy convulsed around his fingers, almost as if they were trying to push him out.

he finally pulled them out before bringing them up to his filthy mouth and swirling his pierced tongue around each individual digit.

"you ever had your dick sucked before?" you teased breathlessly as armin flushed.

"n...no?"

"wanna try it out?"

he looked up at you from his glasses, "i like your tits," he smiled foolishly. that's when you realised that he was not listening to a word you said. either way, he was gonna get his dick wet tonight.

#aot x black reader #armin arlert #armin x black reader #armin arlert smut #armin smut #armin aot #armin x reader #nerdmin #nerds #nerds4lifeeeeeee #aot smut #aot fanfiction #nerdmin smut

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ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

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Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

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pretty-little-mind33 · 11 months ago

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James Potter x Hufflepuff fem!reader

Summary: Girls can be mean and your darling boyfriend isn't having any of it.

Prompt: Angsty hurt and comfort - "Oh shit. Are you crying?"

Warnings: slight bullying, insecurities

~ I hope you love this @livinginafantasysworld! i love YOU 💖 also this is much longer than my usual blurbs, i got carried away 🫶 ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

You've fallen asleep on your potions book, your hair sprawled messily across your arms as your chest rises and falls. James is too busy feverishly correcting and polishing your essay to realize you've dozed off.

"Hi, Potter," a girl's voice suddenly calls from behind him, a sharp giggling follows his name and James turns, ink stains peppering his hands as his tongue pokes out of his mouth.

"Mhm?"

It's Samantha—something—from Charms. She's also in Gryffindor and she sits behind him in class, constantly talking his ear off. Sirius tells him he's too nice to her and honestly, he's starting to believe him.

James peers back at you, just now realizing you're sound asleep, and he smiles fondly.

"Are you busy?" Samantha asks, her eyes narrowing in your direction almost judgmentally.

James turns to her again, catching the look and he frowns. "I am, actually," he turns his attention back to your essay and dips his quill in the ink. He's only focused on you now, occasionally looking up from the essay to admire your sleeping form. Samantha huffs but eventually leaves you and James alone in the library.

After another half-hour of his work and your soft breaths, James leans over, his arm sliding across the table as he rests his chin on his upper arm. He smoothes his hand over your hair, gently coaxing you awake again. He has a late evening Quidditch practice he can't miss.

"Dovey," he whispers, his eyes loving as you slowly wake up and look at him. The pages from your potion book stick to your cheek and your boyfriend chuckles, pushing them away. "Hello, sleepy-head."

You sit up, wiping some drool from your lips and your cheeks burn. "I fell asleep?"

James hums and sits straighter, sliding over the parchment with your essay. You look down.

"You finished?"

"Yup." James pops the 'p' and then smiles at you. "Wasn't a problem. I know potions like this like the back of my hand," he says with a wink and you can't help but smile at him. You glance at the clock and realize you've been asleep for more than an hour.

"Sorry I fell asleep," you whisper.

"It really wasn't a problem, lovie," James assures you with a chuckle and he stands. You stand as well as James folds your essay and puts it into your book, slipping the book into your bag and running his thumb under one of your bleary eyes.

"I love doing things for you. What else am I here for?"

You smile, leaning into his hand. "Well, being my boyfriend doesn't mean you have any obligation to help with my assignments—especially since I feel asleep," you tell him, your tone soft and unsure.

James chuckles. "Well, good thing I don't do it because of obligation but because I want to." He kisses your forehead and swings his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you at dinner, okay? Imma be late for practice."

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and then he disappears amongst the bookshelves. You stand there, his taste still lingering, and you've never felt luckier to have him. You touch your cheeks, checking their temperature and then you smile into your hand.

Your happiness is short-lived however because as you walk through the library, you overhear a group of girls talking about your boyfriend.

"And James has never turned me down until now," one of the girls, a taller brunette with olive skin, says as she leans against one of the desks pressed up against a window, her friends surrounding her. She's a Gryffindor. You've seen her hanging around James and his friends a few times. You're pretty sure she's in his Charms class.

"And I knew the rumors—but I didn't think he'd actually be with her." Her friends laugh and you press yourself against a hidden bookshelf, listening in.

"Who is she anyways?"

The girl scoffs almost cruelly. "Some sixth-year Hufflepuff," she looks at her nails and then smirks, "I thought Puffs were supposed to be hard-working. Instead, he was doing all the work while she drooled all over her potion book."

Your heart sinks and your hand tightens around the strap of your bag.

"James deserves someone better. Someone like me—"

You hold in your tears, deciding there is no use in standing there and just listening to the rest of this girl's rant. You don't have the energy to confront her either. It isn't like you haven't thought the same things she has.

You aren't enough for him.

He deserves someone so much better.

* * *

You're the only person on James's mind as he struts into the Great Hall. His hair is still wet from his shower but that only accentuates his curls. He's smiling happily, excited to have you in his arms again. He walks by where you usually sit with your friends at the Hufflepuff table, intending to persuade you to sit with him but he frowns slightly when he sees you already sitting with his friends.

"Hey," he says and plops down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

You don't move. Your head is lowered and you're poking your fork into your chicken. James looks up at his friends, who only send him confused looks, and then Sirius mouths, "She hasn't said a word since she sat down."

When James sees your eyes, he panics. "Oh shit, are you crying?"

Your shoulders shake and James is quick. He stands and pulls you up with him, holding your wrist as he drags you along and outside into the mostly empty hall. He gently pushes you against the wall, his knee slotted in between yours just to keep you still as his hand cups your cheeks and he tries to calm your soft cries.

"Hey, hey, why are you crying, sweetheart? What happened?"

James doesn't understand. He'd left you alone for barely three hours and now you're in tears?

"I'm sorry," you say, your voice small. James's thumb wipes at your tears instantly.

And now you're apologizing?!

"What are you sorry for, dovey?" James asks as he looks at your sad expression and his chest hurts.

"I-I think we should break up," you whisper, your voice shaky.

James's eyes widen and his chest tightens. "What?!"

You cry a little harder as you try to explain yourself. "I- just– you deserve some head-strong Gryffindor girl who doesn't fall asleep when you're helping her. Someone prettier, smarter, someone who isn't like me. Someone who is more like you."

James's eyes darken when he hears you. "What are you talking about?!" He looks genuinely furious as he pushes some hair behind your ear and continues to hold your cheeks in his hand.

"You're talking nonsense. Don't you dare say things like that? You are what I deserve and so much more, do you understand me?"

You blink at him. You open your mouth to protest but James shakes his head and presses his thumb against your lips, looking at you pointedly. "If you wanna break up with me, I'm gonna need a better excuse than that."

He sounds serious and then he adds, "For example, 'oh, Jamie, I lost my memory and I can't remember you,'" he pauses his very inaccurate and rather cute impression of you for a moment, "but I think even then you'll be stuck with me so you're shit out of luck, huh??"

You laugh at the humor in it all and he finally smiles.

"There," James kisses your cheek to remove any lingering marks of your tears. "That's much better. Now, where did all this come from?"

You clutch his shirt and mumble something incomprehensible as James pulls you in and kisses your hairline, smiling against your hair.

"Gonna have to say it louder, sunshine."

"I heard some girls talking about me, about you—about us. It just made me feel so awful."

James's jaw tenses. He has a sneaking suspicion he knows which girls— or which girl. He has to remember to take Sirius's advice and tell Samantha to piss off when he sees her next.

It's one thing to annoy him, it's another to hurt his girl. No one hurts you and especially no one makes you feel like you don't deserve to be with him.

"Don't listen to anything they say," James says sternly, "They don't matter. I love you. I chose you a million times over." He pulls back and tilts your chin with his hand. You lean your head back on the wall and look at him, sensing the truth behind his words and finally, your heart relaxes. "I love you," he adds.

"I love you too, Jamie," you say quietly.

"Good," he leans and kisses your lips. He pulls away again and grins, "Now, excuse me while I go make that a public announcement—" he turns to walk away, heading for the doors to the Great Hall and your eyes round.

Knowing your boyfriend, he has no trouble shouting out his love for you, you rush after him, feeling much better.

tags: @mischievousmoony, @sayitlikethecheese, @longlivedelusion, @fangirl-swagg

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luvyeni · 11 months ago

Text

SAY CHEESE ,, 나재민

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ model!jaemin x fem!reader wc. 2.5k+

genre. smut

𓄷 includes ... fingering, unprotected sex, corruption kink, praise kink

「 authors note 𖹭 」 i needed a soft one , been doing cheating and yandere fics all week.

❪ masterlist! ❫

“i don't know chaewon,” you hear your roommate's footsteps padding behind you as you make your way into your bedroom— she was right on your hip as tried to close the door, pushing it open as you sat on your bed. “this is your assignment, and i don't feel comfortable doing it for you.”

your roommate whines sitting down on your bed as well. “please yn, i can't miss this internship it will be career changing, and you're the only person i know who can take photos as well as i do, maybe even better , and i know you wont try and fuck him cause you havent fucked anyone in your life.” she said, you scoffed. “why can't you text the guy and tell him you have another shoot?” you asked. “because this model is already hard to get and if i don't get this shoot im gonna fail my class.” she explained. “you passed this class last semester so you understand how much of a hard ass this teacher is.” she said.

“please yn,” she begged, “i will buy groceries for next month if you do this for me,” you thought about it, it was a good deal. “fine.” your friend smiled, clapping in excitement. “thank you, thank you so much.” she said hugging you. “okay, okay let me go.” you pulled away. “it's a two day shoot, he has his own hair and makeup team so all you have to do is show up and take pretty pictures of the pretty man.” she said. “who is this mysterious model who is so hard to get?”

“na jaemin.” she said, you knew the name; he was new to the modeling scene, but he was quickly growing, establishing himself in the cut throat industry. “how’d you manage to get him, i thought he was like london for a fashion show?” you asked. “what business does he have with a mediocre college student photoshoot?” your best friend scoffed. “ignoring the mediocre part, you know donghyuck?” you nodded, he had a crush on your roommate and was very open about it. “well he apparently knows jaemin, and he set this up for me , in exchange for a date.” you nodded. “using your assets, good for you.”

“yeah, and i didn't know this would be the only days he'd be free, and i didn't catch it until i checked my schedule.” she said standing up. “i'll text him and let him know, thank you so much.” you nodded. “Whatever, don't complain next month when it's time to shop for food.” she smiled sheepishly. “i won't promise.” she said. “now get out, i have to work on this essay that's due in like 4 hours.”

the next day was the day of the shoot, luckily you didn't have class so it wasn't a big inconvenience— the night before you made sure all your cameras were charged and working properly, thankfully they were and you were ready to go. “here's the address, you might want to get there earlier than he does so you can be ready , he's pretty busy and we don't know how long he has on his schedule.” your friend came back into your room , to which you agreed.

you got to the destination of the shoot a few hours before the shoot, cleaning up the place a bit; setting up the background and decorations. you brought a few snacks and drinks for him and his staff, also setting those out for the taking. you sent your roommate a quick message wishing her good luck with her internship, the door to the place opening. “hello?”

you looked up from your phone; he came in smiling, his team following behind him , he had this aura to him, he definitely was a model, he was attractive— very attractive, it made you kind of speechless. “h-hi.” you said, letting them come in. “you guys can set up over there.”

you finished up your texting, deciding to make yourself known for real. “hi im yn.” you watched him lift his eyebrow in confusion. “yn?” he asked. “what happened to chaewon? hyuck told me this was for her class.” chaewon didn't text him— you were gonna kill her. “it is, she had a internship today and she couldn't miss it, she also couldn't miss this shoot because then she'd fail this class and she didn't want to do that so she sent me.” jaemin watched you nervously fiddle with your finger as you explained yourself, smiling to himself. “is that okay? i can show you some of my work if it makes you comfortable.”

“no baby doll don't worry,” his words made you freeze up. “hyuck said chaewon was nice girl, so im sure she surrounds herself with other nice girls.” his eyes scanned up your body, making your cheeks heat up as he made eye contact with yours. “you seem like a nice girl.” you nodded, still flustered. “o-okay, i'm gonna go finish setting up, you guys can finish getting him ready, i brought snacks in case any of you get hungry they're over there so.” you quickly ran over to your camera. “she's cute.” his stylist said. “so adorable.” his makeup artist said, he smiled, pulling out his phone.

jaemin. your girl didn't show up, her roommate did.

hyuck. ik she text me , and told me, yn is a good girl though, she's also a photographer.

jaemin. single?

hyuck. definitely, she doesn't even come out much. why you like?

jaemin. very much.

hyuck. go for it then 😉

he watched you adjust the camera, muttering something to yourself, his stylist handed him his outfit to get changed into, he took the clothes into his hand, making his way over to you. he stood behind you, waiting for you to take notice of him. “we can get started when—” you turned around to where the boy was already standing there, extremely close, close enough where you could smell his cologne. “I have to change into my clothes.” he said. “chaewon gave me a dress code.” you nodded. “of course she did.” you looked around the studio. “there's no bathrooms in here , and i don't have the key to the one outside.”

“don't stress baby doll,” there was that nickname again, “i’ve had to change in public before, nothing knew.” he walked away leaving you confused, until you seen his arms lifting up and off his shirt went; your hands coming up to cover your eyes. “you-you're gonna get dressed here.” he laughed at you. “it's not like there's anywhere else,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “you act like you've never seen a naked man before.” you hadn't , but he didn't know that. “ju-just quickly get changed.” you fanned your heated face , he smiled.

jaemin knew you probably hadn't, he just wanted to see your reaction and he was thoroughly amused at what he was seeing. “get dressed and leave the poor girl alone.” his stylist said, slapping the back of his head. he finished changing his clothes, just as you were turning around. “great we can finally get started.”

the shoot went good, you took a bunch; a few you knew chaewon would like and a few you liked, you probably took over 100 photos of the boy; not that you were complaining, you got to stare at this gorgeous man and not look like a weirdo. “how do they look?” jaemin asked. “would you like to see?” he nodded, coming behind the camera; you showed him your laptop screen. “see?”

“you're really talented?” he watched you try and hide a smile at his praise. “you can smile baby doll, it was a compliment,” he said. “th-thank you.” you said with your head down. “which ones do you like?” he asked. “huh?” you said confused. “oh-oh well this is chaewons project so i just did what I know she likes.” he hummed, “yeah i know it's chaewons, but if it was your project, what would you choose?” you didn't realize how close he was until you could feel his breathing on your neck.

“um.” you clicked through the photos. “th-these three.” you pointed out. “oh someone likes my upper body i see?” he laughed as you turned around wide eyed, stuttering out an explanation. “don't worry i don't mind it all, i got into this business to be stared at and admired by pretty and sweet girls like you.” he said. “tell chaewon she should use these, her roommate has good taste.”

the rest of the shoot went by in a blur, soon you were cleaning up and jaemin was changing back into his comfortable clothes. “we'll go get the car ready.” he nodded, his small staff leaving the studio, leaving you and him alone; just what he wanted, he watched you talk on the phone. “i should be home soon, don't worry, yeah , no i'm not saying it, fine i love you too, bye.” you hung up. “boyfriend?” he asked, knowing the answer already. “oh no, that was chaewon.” you chuckled.

“so a pretty little thing like you don't have a boyfriend?” you shyly nodded, “like ever?” you were embarrassed. “no it's okay baby doll i'm just a bit shocked.” he said. “it's you're so pretty, I never would have imagined you were single.” he said , coming closer making you nervously turn around , but you could still get hear him getting closer until he was caging you against the table. “ja-jaemin.”

“come on pretty, let me make you feel good.” he pressed up against you. “turn around for me.” he whispered in your ear, smiling when obediently did. “good girl, you listen well.” you eyes were wide. “your staff.” he smirked. “trust, they know, don't worry about that.” his hand came up to your thigh, making its way up your skirt. “i-i’ve never done this before.” you felt his hand close to your clothed cunt. “i know pretty just relax.” you felt his hand on your mound, making you close your legs around his arms. “no.” he smiled. “you gotta keep them open if you want me to make you feel good.”

you slowly opened your legs allowing him to move again. “good girl.” he thumbed on your clit, you let out a whimper, biting your lip to cover it up. “let me hear all those pretty noises.” he pulled your panties to the side. “i'm gonna put a finger inside you, okay?” you nodded, his slowly ran his finger up your slit, before pushing his finger in. “ja-jaemin.” you moaned. “feel good?” he moved his finger in and out. “you're so wet, this pretty pussy never been played with, you're dripping all over my hand.”

you were a mess, your face was so fucked out from one finger it made him hard as a rock. “m’gonna add another one okay?” you nodded, he lifted your leg higher holding it as he added another finger. “good girl , taking two of my fingers.” he praised, you really like that, your cunt tightening around his digits. “you liked that? me praising you?” you nodded. “answer me baby doll , you like when i praise you?”

“y-yes i do.” you felt a sensation bubbling in your stomach. “ja-jaemin i feel.” you couldn't stop it from coming, your legs closing around his hand once again, as your orgasm washed over you.

jaemins eyes lit up light a child's on christmas morning as he watched you orgasm, your juices covering his finger. “there you go, cumming all over my hand.” he cursed, feeling his cock begging to be freed from his sweats. “good girl, let it all for me, fuck im so hard right now” he groaned, pressing his lip to the side of your head. “you want me to fuck you? stretch your little pussy out?”

you moaned, nodding. “pl-please.” you weren't really waiting for “the perfect guy” but right about now, you were really worked up and the way you could feel jaemins grinding his clothed cock against you— he was the perfect guy.

he lifted you on to the counter. “sh-shit.” he pulled his pants down enough to pull his cock out, hissing, the air hitting his leaky tip. “so fucking hard for you doll, ready for me?” you bit your lip as he lined his cock up to your entrance. “fuck.” he groaned as he slowly worked himself inside you. “jaemin.” you moaned, he held your hips down. “fuck don't move baby, let me do it.” he fully seethed himself inside you. “fuck, you're so tight.”

he slowly moved; your cunt barely letting him out, he was in heaven— and so were you, hold his bicep , your head thrown back as he fucked you, you never felt this sensation before, but you loved it. “please, faster.” you moaned , he smirked, speeding up. “you want more?” he groaned, his hips now slapping against yours with much force. “fuck baby doll i'll give you more.”

you could feel the counter below you shaking as he fucked into you vigorously. “that's it, take nana fat cock inside you.” he groaned, slowly losing himself. “fuck you're little pussy is so good.” he cursed. “fuck i'm gonna cum.” he moaned. “you going cum for me?” he toyed with your clit. “be a good girl and cum for me.”

and with his words and him fucking into you deeply, kissing your cervix you soon cumming hard, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your cunt tightened around him, his cursed as he came inside you. “oh fuck yn.” he sighed, his head dropping as he came, you could feel him every inch of him twitching inside you you as he covered your inside in white. “oh fuck.”

he slowly pulled out, smirking as you whimpered. “so sensitive baby.” he said, his cum leaking from your hole. “that felt good baby.” he kissed your neck. “so good if my staff weren't waiting for me, i would stuff my cock back into your pretty pussy.” smiling as you whined. “there's always tomorrow.” he said, pulling away, finally letting you get dressed.

“will you be back tomorrow?” he asked. “yeah, chaewon has another day at her internship.” he helped you pack up all your cameras. “good.” he handed you the bag. “i’ll come without my staff,” you yelped as he pulled you close. “why?”

“because after you take all the pictures you need , i don't need any distractions when i teach you to take my cock in that pretty mouth.”

©LUVYENI

705 notes · View notes

millerscoffee · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals. It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it. So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front. He hands out papers, hovering by your desk. Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down. You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings. “Shit,” you say to yourself. That was it. That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course. You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling. You failed. Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind. What were you to do? How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it. The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller. Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes. His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns. He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve. A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt. Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him. “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?” Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl. Proving not to judge a book by its cover. The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff. Predicates and imagery? I’d rather be learning about biology. But I need this course, you know. And I…,” you swallow hard. God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher. He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,” Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table. He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms. Keeps his distance. “It happens, you know. There are things we can do to accommodate. You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail. You have options. I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final. Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare. You know the workload of this university. Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?” You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it. The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help. You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all. I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though. You’d have to come by my house…,” he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course. If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it. You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did. Though, that was neither here nor there. His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing. Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place. But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay. Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race. Tonight? Tonight?! Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.” How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively. “Here’s my address. 7 o’clock.”

“Seven. Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.” His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat. You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers. It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar. Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach. It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home. Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans. His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted. His stomach, soft at the bottom. You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks. You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too. Charismatic as he invites you into his home. Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks. His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower. What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home. It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time. His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures. Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children. He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right? When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too. Fuck, this feels so easy. But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language. He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that. You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally. Plump and ripe for the taking. Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you. What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression. You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him. And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen. You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?” When you take the water from him, your fingers graze. The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind. He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead. The two lines between his brow. “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table. Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree. You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop. All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down. You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster. You dread it, you really do. Going over your failures? You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,” Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift. The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head. “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought. You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax. Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself. “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything. See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.” Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format. This citation works for your research papers, right?” He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day. You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper. “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs. You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it? You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly. If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format. Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting. An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse. You shift your gaze to look at him. The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest. The freckles that splayed over his aged skin. “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement. And a pointed one, it seems. Someone to tell you what to do. And Joel wanted to be that person? Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it. Maybe he did that just because this was his house. That must’ve been it. He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next. He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either. What? I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart. Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap. You deserved better than that. He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself. He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes. He felt for you. And he was a bit lost in your eyes. You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit. Joel could see that. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted. You threw him off without even trying. The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise. You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly. “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay. You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.” He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. The candor, the nerve. A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were. Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain. They look soft, and… willing. You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else. You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming. He’s not married? You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this? So close? Backed by the glow of his house? It was so different from the boys you were used to. In their dorms or disgusting apartments. It smelled as nice as it looked. You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself. You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster. Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway. I know I didn’t at that age.”

There. The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?” You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee. Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers. “Forty-six. You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion. How will this land? What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa. He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out. Do you fake it? Do you give it to them straight? Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you? N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you. It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp. But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge. It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you. Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone. No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet. He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day? You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing. Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans. His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that. All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things. That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready. His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing. Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually. He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination. “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses. Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does. On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat. You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this. You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.” Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request. “I – what?”

“No?” Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood. It’s just, straddling his face? Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?” His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural. But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school. Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today. He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you. “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?” You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place. And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures. His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor. “Fuck,” you mutter. This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does. You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest. Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand? All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening. “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.” Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told. Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart. Then, it’s incredibly palpable. His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him. You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself. There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too. Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt. “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks. Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do. Has so much to teach you, if you let him. Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much. Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him. An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much. It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt. Delicious, deliberate. Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was. Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last. Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you. A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained. “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly. Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery. Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips. Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there. Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you. The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you. Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too. He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin. Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally. Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone. Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar. You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was. Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly. Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor. His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons. “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had. You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm. And everything else.

“You know what you did?” Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand. You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress. “What was it?” You ask, curiously. Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you. His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance. “What is it?” You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him. “No. No. I want to feel you. It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that. At how gone your brain is. Here he was, thinking he was the only one. “Okay, okay, darlin’. I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion. But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head. You were everywhere. His mouth, his glistening chest and beard. He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation. Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock. “Such a needy little thing, now,” it’s as if someone else is talking. This isn’t the Professor Miller you know. This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it. “So fucking wet. Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock. Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it. “Take my cock.”

And take, you do. Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock. Clenching around the head and he growls at that. “You dirty thing. This how you fuck all your teachers?” It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you! Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you. It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him. “Just me, show me then. Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over. Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once. Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own. The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else. His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole. You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected. Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore. “Fuck me, Joel! Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?” Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first. Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this. When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you. How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now. His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow. The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on. The way it sounds. Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you. Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake. You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs. Over your own stomach. You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your. His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it. I know you can take it. Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby. That’s it, that’s good, darlin’. Shh, easy. Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat. Come for me, I know you can be so good for me. Good for – fuck – fuck. Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit. “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop. Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come. Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore. You feel too good. Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves. “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!” Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms. You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out. So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear. He doesn’t want to any more than you do. But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out. Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you. You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back. But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle. When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too. He’s just as disheveled. The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?” He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender. More playful. More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.” he’s finished enough for you to roll over. You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop. He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant. “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow. “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,” Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now. “You will pass by your own volition. I meant it – you are bright. You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.” He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave. And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.” You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue. Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

#bee's requests #professor!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou smut #joel miller requests #soft!dom joel #softdom!joel #professor au #professor joel miller au #tlou au #joel miller au #by bee

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rinnstars · 9 months ago

Text

picture-perfect!

in which he keeps polaroids of you still in everything he owns

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble, post-canon, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated

people always say the honeymoon period of relationships end - sugary-sweet words that rolls out of ones tongue every few minutes turn into more mellowed down and calm compliments occasionally, opening of doors and other gentlemanly behaviour would slowly cease or become a rare sight, dilated eyes that focuses on you will slowly drift away too. he thinks that’s stupid - he doesn’t think for a single second of this relationship of years has that tightening of his chest stop when he sees you, nor has his eyes have not focused on you as if youre the ball he hyperfocuses on during his games, nor has he ever once stopped taking photos of you when your gaze drift away from his with one single click that to him, captures your beauty and the memories all in one printed polaroid in his room, hundreds of it hidden in secret corners of his room.

a polaroid of you as a bookmark for his textbooks - your smile practically brightening the dark background of an empty classroom where you found your lost keychain, exclaiming to him before turning around and pulling him into your embrace, your scent whirling and making him all dizzy as your touch sends electricity down his very spine. it keeps him in check, encouraging him to continue to do his homework even though he knows that’s not the path he’ll pursue with football in mind - but when your lips tug upwards the same way when he shows you another increased grade, he thinks its all worth it. and so he does - with that photo right beside him, he finishes assignments and essays that he usually dreads to do and would much rather spend his time in detention and taking a good nap than to figure out on which formula to use, what the key words are - and god is his head practically spinning already. but for you, he’ll continue on to study for that stupid quiz tomorrow, memorising the formula for you, each letter and equations all written with you in mind, ticking each answer with the hello-kitty pen you gave him. and so, when he shows you his full marks quiz, you would reward him with that crescent-eyed grin that gets his heart pumping as though hes right back on the field.

polaroids of you on his walls beside his bed - first one of you with your favourite strawberry cheesecake in front of you grinning as you successfully convinced him to go to the cafe you had been craving for for the whole day, hands holding the fork and knife before you digged in excitedly into the sugary-sweet and tangy taste of the cake that he secretly admits tastes so much better when its with you, second one of you with a sanrio stuffed toy holding it to your cheeks that puffs up as you laugh right as he snapped the photo, a plushie you adore that’s still on your bed to this day that he managed to obtain after loads of money and time spent on that one claw machine simply because you were too excited to obtain it, third one of you looking back big-eyed as he caught you off guard in class, taking a picture the second he called out your name. every night, he glances at the photographs that forms a heart right on his wall and clarity enters his mind again - insecure thoughts that floods his mind seems to go silent when he glanaces at you through the photo frame, his heavy breathing after another of those nightmare that turns slower and calmer as he looks at the blurry photo of you through his teary eyes and limited lighting in his practically pitch-black room, his smile that is uncharacteristically too wide for his face when he looks at you smiling as if youre infecting him with your addictive grin. for now, that’ll do well to replace your body caged in his arm that embraces you just right, your scent that fills his nose that practically acts as serotonin, and your warmth that contrasts his usually cold body.

and a polaroid of you with his jersey holding his trophy when he won his first big match under pxg, the backdrop being of the field that he was playing at just minutes ago, your eyes filled with adoration and pride at him behind the camera, holding your digicam that rings with the matching keychain to his polaroid film. tugged safely into his wallet where he can see your face - a reminder to buy something for you whenever hes at yours and his favourite desert store to buy you the pistachio macorns you adore or even the strawberry mochi that you look at with that shine in your eyes, a reminder of him being fortunate to have you to stay with him despite everything that brightens up his day no matter how bad it has been at trainings or matches, and most importantly a reminder for him on why each goal matters, each kick dedicated to you, each step practically made with you in his mind. to win, not completely only for his own ego, or as revenge against the critics both in his life and in the media, but for you - for you to look at him with such adoration that practically almost makes him start kicking his feet and everything as if hes a maiden in love, for you to kiss him and merge oyu and him together as congratulation that makes his heart pump even faster than on field, for him to see you wearing his jersey and holding his trophy as though its all yours - because in his mind, it is. because without you in his life, without your support and without your love, he doubts he can truly be the best striker in the world, no - he wouldn’t even be himself, itoshi rin, without you.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #rin.<3 #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock x reader #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #have a fever again not lcikgumg ij as per usual #fever but rinmaxxing

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papervenom · 14 days ago

Text

hand-picked

(a cedric diggory one-shot / post-triwizard selection / requested / insatiable universe)

The bell rang out like an exhale. One long, tired breath that shook loose half the castle. Students spilled from classrooms, laughter echoing against the corridors. You walked beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione, half-listening as Ron ranted about History of Magic being “a medieval torture device in disguise,” but your thoughts were elsewhere.

It had been a long week. Cedric had barely been around, not that you blamed him. Being a Triwizard Champion meant constant demands: interviews, professors pulling him aside between classes, even Professor Sprout keeping him busy with advanced greenhouse projects that took up most of his free time. On top of that, he was still keeping up with his coursework— late-night essays, forgotten textbook readings, scribbled notes in margins he barely had time to revisit.

And everywhere he went now, he was followed.

You’d passed him briefly in the courtyard earlier, only to watch a group of third-years flock toward him, shrieking, asking for autographs. Some didn’t even ask, just shoved quills and bits of parchment into his hands like he owed them something.

He smiled through all of it, polite and calm as ever, but you could tell he was tired. You hadn’t gotten a chance to say hi.

You missed him. Not in a needy way, just in the way that happens when someone you care about starts belonging more to the world than to you.

You were just about to reach the Great Hall when a hush rippled through the crowd like a breeze changing direction.

A first-year let out a tiny gasp. A pair of Ravenclaw girls actually squealed. Then someone whispered, “He’s holding flowers again.”

You turned.

Cedric Diggory stood just inside the entrance, cheeks flushed from the wind, sleeves pushed to his elbows, dirt on his hands— and in those hands, he held a bouquet so breathtaking it didn’t look real. Deep violet blooms shimmered like velvet under starlight, threaded with soft silver-white vines that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Sprigs of tiny golden buds spilled out at the edges, glowing just slightly when they caught the torchlight.

He was scanning the room. And when he found you, his whole face lit up.

“Merlin,” someone whispered. “He’s completely gone for her, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” another girl sighed. “I’d die happy if Cedric Diggory picked me a bouquet like that even once.”

You barely heard any of it. You were rooted to the floor, stomach fluttering.

He crossed the hall in long strides, murmuring apologies as he passed clusters of students too starstruck to move out of his way. When he reached you, he didn’t even say hello right away.

“Sorry I took so long, princess,” he said, a little breathless. “I was… well.”

He held out the bouquet between you like an offering. “I was thinking of you.”

“These are…” you reached out slowly, fingers brushing petals that were warm to the touch. “Are these heartbloom?”

Cedric nodded, eyes shining. “Rare. Sprout usually doesn’t let anyone touch them. But she’s been letting me work with some of the more temperamental hybrids. She lets me take a few things, says it helps me focus. I’ve been sneaking in early to help pollinate them properly.”

Heartbloom. A magical plant rumored to only open for someone with honest intentions. It was said to pulse in time with the heartbeat of the person it was picked for.

You could feel it now, warm against your palm.

“And those?” you asked, pointing to the silver-white vines.

“Ghostvine,” Cedric said. “Doesn’t grow for just anyone. It’s loyal. Once it’s bonded, it won’t wilt. I-I hoped maybe that would be alright.”

You were still staring at the bouquet when he added, quieter now:

“I just wanted to make something… beautiful. For you.”

Your chest squeezed.

You kissed his cheek before you could second-guess it.

He smiled, not smug. Just soft.

Warm.

Entirely yours.

Ron groaned. Hermione beamed. The world went on around you, but Cedric’s hand found your waist and you felt steady again for the first time in days.

“I can’t believe you picked them,” you whispered.

He leaned in, his voice low by your ear. “I’ll keep picking them,” he said, “as long as you let me.”

The ache in your chest, tight and lonely all day, finally eased. Not gone, but full now. Full of something gentle. Steady. Chosen.

And as you curled your fingers into the folds of his robes, you let yourself breathe him in, cedar and fresh soil and the faint perfume of something rare and blooming, still clinging to his hands. You closed your eyes. You would remember this.

Forever.

♱ 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ♱

thank you so much for signing up! if you’d like to be added or removed, feel free to shoot me a message or visit the taglist form 💌

#cedric diggory one shot #harry potter one shot #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory fanfiction #triwizard tournament era #harry potter fanfiction #cedric diggory fluff #reader insert #hp fanfic #hp imagine #cedric diggory imagine #goblet of fire #cedric diggory #hp fanfiction #hp fic #papervenom requests

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teaspacebar · 3 months ago

Text

spiced chai (pt. 2)

part one

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you grow closer to carmen berzatto as the seasons change. your walls are coming down, and carmy sees you at a low point.

word count: ~8.4k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (reader referred to as 'girl' once, but for all intents and purposes, they are nb), neurodivergent!reader, reader has a meltdown/shutdown, they still don't kiss, yearning/pining, hurt/comfort, weed usage (reader smokes a little), reader has a complicated relationship with their mother.

a/n: hello lovelies! part two is finally here after months of me picking away at it. i hope you enjoy and once again, this is learning toward self insert material, so if you don't like, don't read. i am queer, non-binary, and autistic and i am enjoying exploring that in this space. feel free to leave any asks if you have questions about carmy + reader (my beloveds). also thank you to my lovely beta @straight-n-arrow. enjoy *mwah*

You were right.

Not to say that you were right all the time — it took you months to figure out Carmy’s drink. But you did it, if the look on his face is any indication. His eyelashes flutter as he takes another drink, and you dance victoriously.

Carmen raises his eyebrows at you as he puts his cup down, “Yeah?”

You shrug, grinning, “You can say it. I’m a genius.”

”You’re a genius,” he murmurs, hiding a smile with the back of his hand.

”Thank you.” You curtsy dramatically.

”No, but seriously, I’ve had chai before, but this tastes different.”

You weren’t about to tell him how many different chai concentrates you had to try before you found the right one. It was far too many.

”Barista secret, sorry.” You say, not sorry at all. You push a cookie across the counter to him, which he snags a piece of. He watches you for a moment, and you blurt out, “It’s masala chai. There’s actual spices in it, instead of just the tea. It’s Indian. I had it once — at a tea shop — and I loved it. Regular chai just doesn’t hit quite right anymore.” You lean against the counter, squishing your face as you hold your head up with your hands. “You like it?” Reassurance, asked for casually, as the insecurity bubbles up inside of you.

“It’s really good.” He knocks on the counter twice, mumbling, “Thank you.”

Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you shrug. “I told you I’d find your drink. Wouldn’t be a good barista otherwise.” You rock back on your heels, jitters buzzing through your body.

“I - uh, started listening to that playlist you sent me.”

You almost launch yourself at him, being held back by the counter between you. Your hands grab his arm, and it takes everything inside you to not shake him. “Oh my god, this is the best thing you could have told me! Thoughts? Comments? A ten page essay?”

The playlist Carmy spoke of is one of many in your repertoire. You have a playlist for almost any occasion, and you started putting together a playlist specifically for Carmen when he commented on your music taste one late night at Nan’s. Any time a song comes on you think he’d like — for one reason or another — gets added to the playlist. You’re surprised he actually listened to it at all though.

Music is your lifeblood. Whenever you can’t grasp an understanding of your own feelings, you listen to music to help you figure it out. It’s always been a little difficult for you to understand what you were feeling in the moment. Alexythymia — you remember the word your old therapist (the one good one you had) told you. Probably has to do with how used to masking you are. Ergo, playlists. Music blasting as loud as it can go in your headphones and in your car. Grounding you to this planet…or maybe to aid in your dissociation.

But hey, you never said all of your coping mechanisms were good ones.

Carmy laughs, your excitement infectious. “I’ll have to get back to you on the essay.”

You stick your tongue out at him, nose scrunched. “Ugh, fine. Party pooper.”

“My middle name.”

Gasping, you blink at him with exaggerated wide eyes. “Carmen Berzatto, did you just make a joke?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He sips at his drink, staring at the counter for a moment. “Are you, uh, coming to the baby shower thing?”

The thing that Neil had told you about a few weeks ago. That you had agreed to go to without really hearing the conversation. Natalie’s having a post-birth baby shower, of which you got an actual evite from Natalie herself after you said yes to Neil. Other people from The Bear were going, so it wasn’t like you were just invited to a family only function. But you also haven’t been to a party in…who knows how long. And Natalie was literally the sweetest human on the planet, and you wouldn’t say no to looking at a cute baby.

A cute little baby Berzatto. You vaguely wonder what Carmy looked like as a baby — all curly hair, blue eyes, and that same dimple. Maybe Natalie has photos somewhere.

A thought for another time.

“Oh,” you gnaw on the inside of your lip, “I think so. You’re going?”

He nods, “Closing the restaurant early. Just window and lunch service.”

“That’s nice!” You hesitate to say anything more about The Bear. Things seem to be getting better, if the words of Syd, Marcus, and Richie were anything to go by. Chatter you hear while they pick up drinks from you before heading down the street. “I’ll probably come by, at least to say hi.”

“Cool.”

You squint at him, “You gotta promise you’ll save me from making a fool of myself.”

Carmy looks at you incredulously, like you’re missing something, but he relents, “Only if you do the same for me.”

“Deal.” You reach out your hand, raising an eyebrow. He rolls his eyes, but grabs your hand as you shake it dramatically. “Pleasure doing business, Mr. Berzatto.”

Carmen swallows back the acid in his throat as he looks around the crowded living room of his sister’s house. He really should have brought some Pepto tablets or something. He’s nursing a beer in his hand, a cheap one that Pete had in the fridge. It doesn’t help the heartburn, and in all honestly Carmen has barely touched it. He’s said hello to Natalie, and the baby, at least.

He hasn’t seen you anywhere, though. Which puts a different feeling in his stomach, one he doesn’t care to evaluate in the current moment. Taking a drink from his beer, he grimaces, staring at it in contempt. He decides to see if he can find something actually drinkable, maybe in the garage fridge, and he leaves the corner he was hiding in.

As if by thinking you into existence, he spots you near the entryway across from the living room. He goes to walk over to you, but stops when he sees a little blur ram straight into your legs, arms wrapping around your waist.

Eva, Richie’s daughter, grins up at you. You return it, crouching down to give her a proper hug. Richie is soon to follow, calling out your name and clapping you on the shoulder.

It’s like someone’s twisted his stomach into knots.

He watches you smile and chat animatedly with Richie and Eva, letting the little girl grab your arms and use you as a jungle gym. You’re pulled into the living room, a chorus of your name being called by his coworkers, and Carmy dips into the kitchen.

He catches his sister deep in a bowl of some five-layer bean dip thing one of Pete’s relatives bought from Costco.

She’s eating it with a spoon. A big one. Which she waves at him with a glare, “Bear, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hey I didn’t say anything.” He slides by her to open up the fridge, staring into it. “You have anything decent to drink?”

“No, just some juice, and Diet Coke, I think.” She takes another bite of the dip. “I got rid of anything above a 5% alcohol content months ago.”

“Why?” Silence falls between the siblings for a moment, then Carmy shakes his head. “No, sorry, yeah. Makes sense. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay, Bear.” He can tell she means it. That he didn’t fuck up. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem, really. I just…wanted to make sure, you know?”

“Yeah.” He chews on his next sentence, shutting the fridge to look at Nat. “You-You’re gonna be a great mom.” He immediately sees tears start to well up in her eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry. Shit, I didn’t — it’s okay.”

Natalie sets the tray of dip on the table, laughing as she presses her hands to her eyes. Carmen is quiet; he fiddles with the packet of nicotine gum in his pocket. He barely realizes what’s happening until her arms are wrapped around him and her face in his neck. “Thank you, Carm.”

Something in him rights itself. Like a little lightbulb is finally screwed in all the way and it finally blinks on.

Natalie pushes his shoulder a little and steps out of the embrace. “Okay, enough sap. I have to go check on my baby. I swear if Richie makes one more joke about dropping her I might actually kill him.” She takes one more spoonful of bean dip, humming happily. “Don’t hide in here for too long, okay?” He nods his assent, and his sister leaves.

Carmen follows after her a few minutes later. His gaze finds you without him even trying, as if you have your own gravitational pull. You’re in a little circle with Syd and Marcus on the far side of the room. And maybe you feel it, too, because your eyes lock with his and a smile pulls at your lips. His feet push him forward, but he’s caught by Pete’s brother. Carmy’s pulled into the conversation, Natalie coming over with the baby. She helps him figure out how to hold her entirely too fragile body in his arms, and although he’s itching for a cigarette to ease his nerves, he’s content. Happy, even.

He catches your eyes again, and you make a face, sticking your tongue out at him. Carmy huffs a laugh, shaking his head, while you turn back to engage with his coworkers — his friends.

It’s later in the evening that Carmy finds you outside. The sun has set, sky fading from hues of pink and orange to a cool indigo. There’s a chill in the air, a sign that fall is truly on its way. He had snagged a cigarette off Richie earlier, deciding he deserved to sneak one. He’s been here for a couple hours. All hell hasn’t broken loose. Having a smoke definitely isn’t the worst thing he could do.

He goes out the side door, through the gate that leads back to the front of the house. He’s sure he has a lighter in his car, stashed in the center console somewhere. Nicotine gum be damned.

You’re sitting on the curb, head turned toward the sky, arms resting on your knees. A blanket of calm covers you, but something lingers underneath. Loneliness, maybe. Self-imposed, because it’s easier than holding a smile on your lips around people you barely know. That tug, the one that he constantly feels when he sees you, urges him forward. You must not have heard him walking up, because you jolt when he asks, “You okay?”

“Carmen, shit, you scared me.” You lean back to look at him, resting your hands palm-down on the sidewalk. “I’m good. Just needed a minute. You?”

“Uh,” he fiddles with the cig in his hand. “Left my lighter in the car.”

“I got one!” You dig into your bag — a mini backpack, covered with a cartoon character he recognizes but can’t name. “Usually keep one on me, where is it…” You let out a noise of victory as you find it, holding it out to him.

“Thanks,” he takes it from you, and your fingers brush. Something catches in his throat, stomach turning.

Fwip. Like clockwork, he’s blowing out the smoke, making sure it’s not going in your direction. He hands the lighter back to you, murmuring, “Thought you didn’t smoke.”

Craning your neck to look at him, you reply, “I don’t.” To save your neck from breaking, Carmy decides to sit on the curb. Settling next to you, he takes another drag, right as you say, “Well, not the nicotine kind, anyway.”

Carmen laughs in surprise, then tries to cover it up with a cough, “No shit?” He waves the smoke away with his free hand.

“Fuck off, Carmy.” Your words lack bite, and you tumble off into your own laughter. “What, you think I’m too much of a nerd to smoke weed?” He attempts to hide the grin forming, and you swat at his arm. “Oh my god, you do!”

“No, no, I think you’re very edgy. With your combat boots and your Mothman tattoo.”

“I’m being bullied!” You cackle, outraged. “There’s no way you're not a nerd, too. We congregate.” Your laughter gives way to a comfortable silence, knees pulled up to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knees, and you twirl your lighter in your fingers.

The air is cold, but Carmy has never felt warmer. It’s like you carry the very essence of your late nights at Nan’s with you in your pocket. Only to be brought out at the correct moment. Seeing you carefree is a treat, one he covets. There’s a strange thing in his chest that pangs when you relax in his presence.

“It was nice for Natalie to invite me,” you say, soft and earnest. Like you weren’t expecting it.

“She’s glad you came.” Natalie hadn’t mentioned anything, but he’s sure it’s true.

You look over at him, blinking lazily. You’re staring, blatantly, and he lets you, snubbing out his cigarette on the sidewalk. “Her baby is so cute it literally kills me.” You mumble, more of a groan than words. “It’s cuteness aggression. I swear if I see those chubby cheeks again I could kill someone.”

Carmy snorts, glancing at you, “Do I need to worry?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just – I think I’m done with,” you wave your hands vaguely. “Words. Brain. I’ve met way too many people today.” You peek over in his direction. “Sorry.”

“Nah, I feel you.” He does. It’s an experience he knows all too well. Social functions with expectations always turn his stomach sour. He inhales, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “You wanna get outta here?”

Your head lifts, “Huh?”

“There’s this, uh, pizza place. Small joint, like, ten minutes from here? Mom and pop shop, deep dish, good shit.” He’s rambling, but the words keep spilling from his lips. “We could take my car, if you want.”

Nice going, hotshot.

You’re looking at him like he’s grown two heads, but before he can retract anything, you smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” Relief; as if you could bring anything else.

“Will your sister get mad…if you leave?”

“I’ll text her.” He stands, and holds out his hands for you. He barely notices he’s done it, until you’ve grabbed them and he’s tugged you up onto your feet. You let out a little noise, doing a little hop, before letting go.

You follow him to his car, and for a moment he panics about what it looks like inside. But then he remembers it’s just you.

The two of you share a pepperoni pizza, in the dim lighting of the little restaurant. The owner comes out to greet you, giving both you and Carmy a firm handshake. You hum as you take bites of food, and Carmy can’t hide his grin. You talk about everything and nothing, random shit that doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Long moments of silence that’s just the two of you eating.

Carmen feels frighteningly…normal. Like maybe this is what his life was supposed to be like all along. Going to a social function and ditching to get drinks and food with people you care about.

Full and relaxed, he watches as you melt into the dingy leather booth. You’re not really talking, staring off to the side where some sports game is playing on the TV mounted in the corner. Your gaze is vacant, thumbnail picking at a groove in the table. Worried, Carmy settles his hand over yours, and your gaze snaps to him. It’s wide, like he’s caught you somewhere you didn’t want him to.

He fears if he asks if you’re okay that you’ll bolt. “Wanna head out?”

“Sure.” You grab your jacket from where you tossed it beside you, sliding out of the booth. You’re silent, all the way to the car, and Carmy feels his anxiety prick the back of his neck.

When you’re both in the car, you blurt, “Sorry.”

“Huh?” Is all he can say. He hasn’t even turned the keys in the ignition yet.

“I had a good time! Really, I just…today’s been a lot. And sometimes I, like, power down? Like someone flipped a switch and suddenly it’s hard for me to emote about anything. I zone out, occasionally. I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you, or that I wasn’t having a good time.” The words pour out of you, unbidden, and Carmen can see the dots connecting in his own head. You’re defending yourself. You feel like you have to defend yourself for not engaging in conversation. At the realization, his anxiety dissipates as quickly as it came. Of course it wasn’t about him.

Turning to face you in the car, he shakes his head, “No, hey, you’re good. We’re good, yeah?” He bites the inside of his cheek, before continuing, “You don’t have to…just because we’re not at your shop doesn’t mean you have to act any different. And if it’s too much, we don’t have to…” His voice trails off.

Mirroring him, you also turn. His eyes catch on your hands, thumb pressed into the middle of your other palm. “No!” You cringe at yourself, “Sorry, I mean – I want to hang out, outside of work.”

“Okay,” he says, lightly. He lets you sit, watches as you take a few deep breaths. He subconsciously echoes you, inhaling when you exhale.

After a couple of minutes, you nod, “Okay. Maybe we could make plans? Like check our schedules and have a place picked out. Or a list of places we want to try?”

“Restaurants?”

“Or cafes. They don’t have to all be food places. It’s a common denominator between us, though.”

“Having a plan makes it easier?” It’s like he’s pulled a bit of the covering back, revealing a different piece of you.

You hum, “Yeah, most of the time.”

“Cool.”

It’s cool with me, if that’s what you need.

You peer over at him, “Sorry, if I weirded you out.”

“You didn’t.” At your squint, he scoffs, “If anyone should be weirded out, it’s you. You met half of my family today.” He ignores the assumption that pops up in the back of his mind.

Falling back into the passenger seat, you laugh. “A little.” You settle; Carmy can visibly see your shoulders untense. “It’s nice, the community you have.” It’s whispered, a little reverent.

A few months ago the comment might have made him bristle. He’s a little surprised it doesn’t, still.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

He puts on the playlist you made for him, and you brighten a little. The car ride back is filled with your singing, and Carmy is warm once again. He’s made you feel better. He hasn’t royally fucked anything up. He drops you off by your car, and you give a little wave before you peel away.

Carmy walks back into Nat’s house, finding her sitting in a recliner, baby tucked carefully in her arms. The party has slowed, only Pete’s family left.

Natalie’s eyes find his, a gentle smile on her lips, “Have a good time?”

Carmy nods, “You?”

“Very.” The siblings don’t need to say much, to talk, sometimes. It’s getting easier to read between the lines, like relearning a language. “I’m glad they came.”

He holds back a laugh, pleased. “Me too.”

As the leaves change and the air turns cold, Nan’s gets busier. Nothing crazy, but it’s enough that you have to hire another barista. You’re thrown into training the new kid. It’s fun and challenging, but you’re exhausted. Who knew that having to explain why you do the things you do took more brain power? And now every day you feel a bit like mush by the end of it.

“I’m just saying, Nan has to have some connections to powerful people.”

“Elle, that’s insane!” You laugh at your coworker’s gossip. “Nan is the sweetest person I know.”

“The mob boss energy she gives is massive, don’t lie.” Elle is your newest hire, and the youngest of the crew. She’s still in high school, with so much energy you have no idea what to do with. She also reminds you of how "old" you are every second of the day. You like her, though. Plus, she does good work, which you’ll never complain about.

“Hey,” Morgan yells your name, running into the back, where you’re washing dishes. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

You set the dish you’re washing into the sanitizer sink, sighing, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“The guy from the restaurant?” Elle asks.

Morgan nods, hip checking you to the side to take your place by the sink. “We’re talking Carmen Berzatto. Who owns and runs The Bear.”

“Guys, don’t start.” You really hope the equipment sounds and the swinging doors are enough to muffle this conversation. If Carmy heard one bit of it he’d probably start running.

“We’re just teasing…mostly,” Morgan grins, sticking their tongue out at you.

Elle hums, “He watches you with puppy-dog eyes.”

“Elle.”

She holds her hands up defensively, “Right. I’ll shut up, boss.”

You groan, biting back a smile. “I’m clocking out.”

“I got the bar!” Elle dashes out of the back, and you snort. Saying bye to Morgan, you grab your bag and jacket from your cubby, before rushing out to meet up with your friend.

Carmy is puttering around some book displays, but he quickly swerves his attention to you. He’s wearing a denim jacket; it has some detailed embroidery on the sleeves and pockets. It’s not one you’ve seen him wear before, but you’re coming to learn that the man has a bit of an obsession with denim. His cheeks and nose are red, proof of the cold air that must be whipping around outside.

“Hey,” he breathes out.

“Hi,” you say, walking up to the register so you can clock out.

“Old people,” Elle whispers next to you. You give her a glance, body warming with embarrassment. As you walk around the counter and follow Carmy outside of the shop, she yells after you, “We’ll make sure not to burn the place down!”

The bell jingles as the door closes. “She seems to be doing good.”

“She is, but she never fails to drive me just a little bit crazy? Not in a bad way, just different.” You wave your fingers up by your head, before pointing at him, “No work talk. That’s the rules of our standing lunch outings.” You follow Carmy down the road, letting him guide you through the streets he knows so well.

“Right, right, my bad.”

The ‘standing lunch outings’, as you’ve taken to calling them, have been a frequent addition for the last few months. At least once a week, the two of you will try a new food place. Carmy’s also started bringing leftovers from lunch service to the shop — sometimes enough for everyone, mostly just for you. You’ll bring him his drink on particularly long days, giving him a moment to hide away behind The Bear.

You’ve picked the current location — a waffle spot. All kinds of waffles, some even in sandwich form. The choice had caused Carmy to scoff lightheartedly, but he didn’t veto it.

“How are you not a waffles guy?” You peer over at him.

He shrugs, “I don’t know. They just seem…”

“Wonderful? Nostalgic? The tastiest breakfast item in the universe?”

“That’s incorrect, but sure.”

“Don’t start with me, Berzatto, or you’re buying.” He rolls his eyes at your antics, and the two of you go back to looking at the menu on the side of the food truck. A shiver runs through your body as cold air sneaks into your jacket. You rub your hands up and down your arms, tugging your beanie a bit more over your ears.

When it gets to your turn to order, you stutter over your words when Carmy shuffles up behind you, effectively blocking the wind. Warmth seeps into your back from his chest, and you stop yourself from leaning into it. You finish your order, the world fading into background noise as your thoughts race.

That had to be accidental, right? Casual touches weren’t really his thing. He’s not even that close. God, how touch starved are you?

“That’ll be $30.95.” You check back in too late, as Carmy reaches around you to tap his phone to the card reader.

“Carmen!” You turn to him, shocked. There’s a tiny little smirk on his stupid face. His dimple is mocking you.

“What?” He asks innocently.

“Wha-you!”

“You said I’m buying.”

You glare at him, “It’s not funny when you’re clever.”

“I’m always funny.” It’s deadpan, and he ushers you to the side to wait for your food. “Besides, technically it was my turn. I just couldn’t pick a new place.”

There’s space between you again, which makes your chest ache. “Both of us can’t be indecisive in this friendship, Carmy.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, “Don’t think we have a choice in that.” Giving you a look, he says, “You can go wait inside, if you want. I’ll wait for the food.” You open your mouth to retort, but he cuts you off, “You’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

“I’m acclimating,” you pout.

“Sure.” He nudges you with his elbow, and it’s embarrassing how easily you soften. You puff out your cheeks, but mozey to the indoor seating area of the food cart pod. Taking a seat at a table that gives you a clear view of Carmy, you give him a wave. He shakes his head good-naturedly, waving back.

You’ve enjoyed spending time with Carmen Berzatto more than you thought you would. You’d thought you would have run out of things to talk about by now, that it would turn awkward, or he’d get tired of you and disappear from your life as quickly as he’d entered it. But none of that has happened yet. Instead he’s found a place in your routine, fitting seamlessly into your life like there’d always been a space for him.

He’s come out of his shell more. He smiles easier, and the lines in his forehead from the constant furrow in his brow has eased somewhat.

You think maybe he feels just as safe with you, as you do with him.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

(from mom, 2:34pm): Are you at work? Haven’t heard from you in a while. Your grandpa isn’t doing the best.

Three separate blocks of texts are suddenly overtaken by an old photo of your mom. The image causes your stomach to drop and you immediately flip your phone face down onto the table. You take a few deep breaths to try to calm down, but it feels like someone has shoved their hand into your chest and is squeezing as hard as they can. You press your thumb into the palm of your hand until your phone stops buzzing. Biting your tongue, you grab it, opening up your texts. You type out a response, only to delete it.

“I might be eating my words about waffles being shit,” Carmy’s sudden appearance makes you jump. “Woah, sorry. You good?” He slides your waffle order across the table.

“Uh, yeah. Just spooked me,” you put a smile onto your face, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Now go on, I love to hear I’m right.”

The first bite has his eyes widening, a hushed ‘shit’ leaving his lips before he can cover his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Word’s out, Carmy likes waffles!” He throws a napkin at you, causing you to cackle. A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he takes another bite, waving you off.

Carmy eats like a monster, so messy and boyish it’s endearing. You match his pace, engrossed in the food in front of you, texts forgotten.

“What are you doing?” Syd walks over to where Natalie is peeking through a window. The younger woman glances outside where Nat is looking, and sighs, “You know they can see you if they look over here.”

“They’re literally oblivious. Does this happen a lot?” The blonde pulls out her phone to snap a photo.

You and Carmy are a few feet away from the front door of The Bear. You’re chatting, and it’s easy to tell that neither of you want to be the first to leave. Carmy is hovering next to you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Don’t take a – yes, this happens a lot. Like once a week, or something.”

Natalie whips around to face her, “And you haven’t told me?!”

Syd shrugs, “I don’t know. I was worried it was going to be like…last time. It doesn’t matter, it’s not my business.”

“What do you think they do?”

“Rob banks — who knows, Nat. It’s not affecting work and he’s been less of a douche lately so I’m not complaining.”

“Are the lovebirds outside?” Richie comes out of the kitchen, adjusting his tie.

Natalie turns to him, “What do you know?”

“Oh my god,” Syd groans. “I’m going to go prep, before this turns into a whole thing. Richie, don’t fuck this up for us.”

The man gives a two-finger salute, “You got it, boss.” At Nat’s pointed look he holds his hands up, “Alright, alright, chill out. Look, I’m not trying to fuck with anything, okay? The place has a good thing going for it right now, so if that means we let the kids disappear for an hour or two once a week, I’m cool with it.”

Natalie frowns, “It’s not that I’m not cool with it. I just—“

“Have to know what’s going on at all times?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “No…yes. Maybe? Things have been getting better but I just get worried.”

“Maybe we gotta let him decide who he wants to talk to and when. Forcing the conversation obviously isn’t working.” Natalie blinks at him in surprise, at which he laughs, “Something my therapist said.”

“You have a therapist?”

“Now don’t go spreading that around. It’s mainly to help Eva. I wasn’t planning on doing more than one stupid session anyways, but Point Pleasant out there convinced me one night when they were watching Eva, so.” Richie is never sheepish, but there’s an obvious fondness for you that Natalie can see on his face.

“Point Pleasant?”

The man screws his face up, “Yeah, it’s not sticking, is it? Mothman feels too on the nose. Don’t even get me started on that, it’s all my kid wants to read about now.”

Just how much change have you already caused in this family of theirs?

Natalie barely has time to dig into the thought when Carmy walks into the restaurant. There’s a smile on his face, one that falls slightly when he spots the two of them standing by the window.

“Hey Bear.”

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming by. I would’ve grabbed you some food or something. Have you eaten?”

Natalie blinks, shocked. She bites her tongue before she can ask where her little brother went. “I’m okay, Carm. Thank you, though.”

“Yeah, no problem. Gotta help prep, but touch base with me before you leave?”

“Sure, Bear.” Carmy gives a nod, pats Richie on the shoulder, then walks through the kitchen doors. “What the fuck?”

Richie snorts at her words, “Yeah, I thought the same thing, too.”

(from carmy in the big blue apron, 10:34pm): Lights are on, but I don't see you. You good?

(sent 10:37pm): not having the best day, don’t really want to subject you to that.

You think that does it. Carmy usually doesn’t push it with you. There’s a crudely drawn line that the two of you dance around. You’ve shared just enough that you consider him a friend, but he hasn’t seen the darker parts. It’s easier when you get to take the mask off yourself — it’s much worse when it gets torn from your face without you saying so. Control slips from your fingers and no matter how hard you try to put the shattered pieces back together, it fails.

(from carmy in the big blue apron, 10:41pm): You wouldn’t be. Feel free to tell me to fuck off though.

A laugh escapes your lips, and you wipe the tears that steadily fall down your face. Few people in your life have seen you like this. There’s a very real worry in your head that it will push him away. The urge to run crawls up your spine.

Desperate little rabbit.

Your fingers twitch, and you’re typing before you can stop yourself.

(sent 10:43pm): there’s a spare key in the hanging flower pot

You’re unsure if he’s still out front, but you can’t bring yourself to get off the floor. There’s static in your head that’s far too loud. You can barely feel your body and any grounding techniques you’ve tried haven’t worked.

He finds you in between the books, your back against one shelf, knees pulled up to your chest. He doesn’t say anything, but sits down opposite of you, legs extended. It takes a moment for you to look up at him, fear and shame filling up the back of your throat. You fight the tears that well up, grimacing.

“Fuck,” you sob, pushing the palms of your hands into your eye sockets. “You really don’t need to be here right now.” You inhale, almost choking on the spit and mucus in your mouth.

There’s pressure against your left side, and you lift up a hand to watch Carmen nudge his leg against yours. “I, uh, have panic attacks, sometimes.” You sniffle, wiping your nose on your sleeve — gross. “They were bad, before I came back home. But they got worse after…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Shit, what I’m saying is…if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. Not anything you don’t want to.”

You don’t say anything for a while, but Carmy continues sitting next to you. He doesn’t make a run for it, like the thoughts in your head predicted he would. It’s just you and him under the warm lighting of the bookstore. The heat from his leg has melted into yours, softening you enough to let the overwhelming feelings leave you.

Inhale. Hold four seconds. Exhale.

He's doing your breathing technique, you realize. Carmy might not even notice he's doing it, but you copy him until the lingering panic fades.

Your pinky reaches out from where it was clenched into a fist, brushing against his hand that’s resting on his bent knee. His eyes shoot over to you, and a wry smile tugs at your lips. “Bet you weren’t expecting this when you came over tonight, huh?”

His brow furrows, fingers catching yours, “It’s okay, really.” Your hands entwine, Carmen’s thumb moving back and forth across your knuckles. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to fight the onslaught of tears for an entirely different reason.

He's sweet. So much so that you don't know what to do with it.

“Thanks, Carmy.” You let your head fall back to rest against the shelf behind you, already feeling a migraine start to form behind your eyes. “It was stupid. I dropped my phone and it bounced off a table and hit my foot. It didn’t even hurt, but it was the thing that broke the camel’s back, I guess.” Thoughtlessly, your fingers have started to trace the tattoo on the back of his hand, the motion soothing you. “This week has been shit. Little things, stacking up.” Running out of vanilla syrup, sleeping through your alarm one morning, your car needing a new battery. “And my mom called. Has been calling. She doesn’t stop. Every day she calls and every time I can’t bring myself to pick up because I know it’s just going to make me feel worse. Haven’t heard from her in months and now all of a sudden she won’t leave me the fuck alone.” You spit the words out, “She only talks about herself and when she even thinks to ask about me she never really cares. It’s like she has this idea of me in her head, that I’ll never be — that I don’t want to be. I can’t meet her expectations. I’m not her perfect little girl anymore and I wish I could just scream that in her face but anytime I talk to her it’s like I’m suddenly…” it’s half a scoff, half laugh, “…suddenly I’m in that house again and I just stand there, not saying anything.” As if realizing where you are, you pull away from Carmy, curling back into yourself. “Shit, I really didn’t mean to trauma dump on you.”

Your relationship with your mother is complicated. It’s layers upon layers of things that you barely have time to dissect. You’re known to be a runner. A new place, new job; you can remake yourself as many times as you want. As much as you think it’s easier, your heart hurts just the same. She doesn’t call you by your name. She can barely treat you with common decency and yet she sends you money when you need it. She loves you, but not how you want her to. It’s the best you’ll get from her.

But you’ve experienced better than that, from people who’ve known you less. It puts everything into perspective — a big, red warning sign. You’ve crafted masks to fit your face into exactly what people want from you your entire life. You’ve tugged them from your skin in sheets, desperate to figure out who you are under the layers upon layers you had built to protect yourself. You’re finally starting to like yourself.

You’d hate to fuck it up.

Carmy’s quiet; you’re getting ready to sprint. Or backpedal. Anything to—

“That’s fucked.”

It’s the first time that your gaze meets his. Blue eyes reflect the fairy lights above you. Your heart is thundering in your ears.

“It’s fine, I know how to handle it, usually.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Something passes through his gaze, like he’s seeing something else for a second, but it passes with a huff. “Look, I get it, the expectations thing. It’s not all the same, a-and I’m sure there’s way more to it then just…what you’ve said.”

“Carmen—”

“You don’t need to change, is all I’m saying.” Before you can respond, he gets off the floor, knees popping. His hands are held out for you, and you’re reminded of that night at the end of Natalie’s driveway. You’ve touched his hands tonight more than you have the entire time you’ve known him. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat.” At your scrunched face, he hums, “I can make grilled cheese.”

“You’re playing dirty.” You let him pull you up, wiping at your face. “I probably look like a mess.”

“Lemme see,” he murmurs. He looks you over, making a point of brushing imaginary dust off your shoulders. “Nah, you’re good. It’s dark enough that nobody will be able to tell.”

He’s offering you a reprieve; it warms your insides. You take it, letting the achy emotions be folded and put away to be processed later.

You pout, “With the bright lights in your kitchen showing how blotchy my skin is?” Even the idea of the white lighting bearing down on you makes your oncoming migraine twinge.

Carmy helps you collect your things, bending down to grab your phone from its place on the floor. “We don’t have to go to The Bear. My apartment isn’t too far.”

Your heart skips a few beats.

“Your place?”

He’s looking at you again, “Uh, yeah. If that’s fine. Didn’t want the lights to hurt your eyes.”

How can he see you so well? How can he walk right through your carefully built walls?

Maybe because you've given him the map. Bit by bit, piece by piece.

He’s grabbed your keys now, tote too. It’s thrown over his shoulder, looking every bit like he’s ready to hit the Saturday Farmer’s Market. You’d giggle if you weren’t so exhausted.

“Okay.”

“S’fine?” At your nod, he says, “I can drive, then drop you off at home, after. Didn’t see your car outside at all. Or, I could just drive you home now. Whichever.” He’s nervous, hand tightening on the strap of your bag.

“I want my grilled cheese,” you whine, gravitating toward him.

He laughs, “Alright, alright.” Urging you out the front door, he turns and locks it. “I’ll grab some stuff from the restaurant, my car is parked in the back. You want to go and warm it up?” Carmy digs around in his own pockets, tugging out his own keys, detaching the car fob and holding it out for you.

Mama Bear.

The thought has you biting your lip to keep the grin off your face.

It’s a quick walk to The Bear, and as he waves you off, you call out his name. “My stuff?” His cheeks flush — is it from the weather or you? He shrugs your tote bag from his shoulder, and you take it from him. “Won’t be too long?”

Carmy coughs, voice a bit higher than normal, “Yeah, like five minutes?” He turns, “You go ahead. There’s an extra sweatshirt tossed in the back somewhere, if you’re cold. It’s almost November and you don’t have a real jacket, you’re gonna freeze.” That last part is mumbled you barely hear it.

Your breath catches, and you press the palm of your hand into your chest.

Please, let me keep this.

Thoughts whispered into the wind, to the universe. A silent plea. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more.

It’s the smile he gives you — after he opens the driver’s side door, handing you a plastic bin filled with cheese and a loaf of bread — when he notices you’re wearing the sweatshirt he offered you, that just affirms your thought. You want him to keep smiling at you like that.

The fluttery feeling spreads from your chest to your limbs; your fingers tingle like they’re waking up from sleep. It doesn’t catch, but settles into the warmth you’ve come to affiliate with Carmy’s presence.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you reply, “thinking about that grilled cheese.” You peer into the bucket he’s given you. “So fancy.”

“You’re sleep deprived.” He put the car in reverse, putting his hand behind your headrest to look behind him. You live up to his words, because you head butt his arm with your forehead gently. It’s not something you would normally do — if you were more awake, if your migraine wasn’t pulsing. But you’re tired, and Carmy has given you more comfort than you know what to deal with, it’s spilling over your edges. You don’t see him react, and let him pull his hand back so he can drive. “You got the aux?”

You give a two-fingered salute, “Tune master, to the rescue.” The laugh you pull from him — gentle, a bit exasperated — is filed away for later. You’ll hoard it, along with every little bit of himself he gives to you.

Inhale.

Let me keep this.

Exhale.

You’re in his kitchen.

His actual kitchen, not the big, fancy one that he’s known for. Dingy, warm lighting on above the stove, messily written notes to himself about recipes on his fridge. He hasn’t had someone at his place since…

He shakes the thought away, determined to make you feel better. The buzzing anxiety he thought he’d have hasn't made an appearance, and he’s locked into making you the best damned grilled cheese you’ve ever had (again). He may not be the best with words, but he can do this.

You’d asked him fairly quickly after you got to his place, if he would mind if you smoked a little before eating. “It’d help me get an appetite, and help my brain a little bit,” you had said. “If it would bother you though, I won’t.” You had seemed nervous to ask; Carmy wonders if you’ve ever smoked in front of anyone.

(You hadn’t. But you also hadn’t had a meltdown in front of anyone either. Plenty of masks have come down tonight, what’s another?)

He had shown you to the tiny patio, watching you through the window as you blew smoke through your lips. You were only out there for a few minutes, coming back in looking a little sheepish. You’d poked around his living room a little, before meandering your way to him.

Inevitably, you end up sitting on the kitchen counter that juts out from the wall. You’re sipping on a can of pop — through a plastic straw you had floating around in your tote bag — going between scrolling on your phone and peering over to see what he’s doing. He’s shredded the cheeses he’d brought home, layering them onto some spare sourdough. A mix of softened butter, mayo, and garlic powder has been spread thinly across the slices. It’s set into the frying pan with a slight sizzle, when movement catches his eye.

You’ve grabbed a pinch of cheese from the plate, shoving it into your mouth so fast he barely catches it. You hold your hand over your lips, hiding the evidence.

“Did you just—”

“Woah, that’s crazy,” you look around with wide eyes, “did you see that? Some random guy just ran in here and stole some cheese! I tried to stop him and everything!” You’re laughing at your little stint, and he can’t help but join you.

“Oh yeah?”

You lean forward, snatching another handful, “Oh my god, he just did it again!”

He waves his spatula at you, “I saw you!”

You use your other hand to cover his eyeline. “How dare you accuse me of thievery, Carmen!” you exclaim, muffled by cheese. He bumps your knee with his hip, failing to hide his grin, and you poke his thigh with a sock-covered foot. He’s tired; you are too, but both of you are used to the exhaustion. Fatigue giving way in the early hours for something else, soft and silly.

Got a sneaky one there, eh, Bear?

You fit nicely into his space. His sweater suits you, too.

He finishes the sandwich quickly, sliding it onto a plastic plate, before turning to hand you your food. A gentle laugh escapes him when you do your little “happy food dance” as you grab the plate from him. He watches as you nibble on the corner, easing closer to you.

There’s that pull again. One Carmy doesn’t bother to fight. How could he, when you’ve done nothing but make him feel like a person? He’d make another billion grilled cheeses, if it meant he got to see you enjoy it every time.

“Carmy.”

“Hm?”

“Bite?” You hold out half of the sandwich out to him, and he steps between your knees, where you sit criss-cross on the counter. He grabs it from you, and you share the late-night snack in the dim lighting of his kitchen. When you’re both done — plate set on the counter, hands wiped free of grease on a paper towel — Carmy lingers.

It takes him by surprise when your fingers brush against his forehead. He freezes, letting you tug softly on a stray curl. A light huff comes out your nose, like you’re laughing at a joke only you can hear.

Carmy thinks this might be the closest he’s gotten to peace.

“Thanks,” you murmur into the quiet, “for being with me while I was…”

“Yeah, no problem.” He braves the prick of anxiety, the voice in his head telling him he doesn’t deserve this, giving your calf a gentle squeeze where he knows your Mothman tattoo hides under your jeans.

You haven’t run away yet.

In fact, the way you lean into his touch, your own hand drifting from his forehead to rest on his shoulder, only makes him want to touch you more. It’s a desperate thing, one that comes out of nowhere. You've trusted him with something; you've let him care for you, in the way he knows how.

"Can I hug you?" The question, whispered into the quiet, knocks the wind out of him.

"Y-yeah," he all but falls into you, arms wrapping around your waist as you pull him in by his shoulders. You rest your chin on his shoulder, rubbing his back with one hand.

He squeezes you instinctively, and you squeak in surprise, before dissolving into giggles. You pull away just enough to see his face, "I didn't think you were much of a hugger."

"M'not."

You hum, eyes searching his while you run your fingers up and down the length of his arms.

"I didn't think you were," he mumbles, "for what it's worth."

You shrug, "I am with people I'm close to. I know it's different for everyone. Or that some days I don't want to be touched, because I'm overstimulated, or something. It's okay, though?"

Better than okay. Maybe he's contact high, but he's sure that's not right. He's safe; not on edge, yet every nerve ending is alight because you've touched him.

He has no idea what the fuck is going on.

You've made him crazy. Or the sanest he's ever been.

Say something, dipshit.

Fuck, right. You're waiting for him to reply, eyes wide.

"S'cool. Nice." He coughs, "It doesn't bother me." Your nose is scrunched, cheeks puffed out. He pokes your cheek, "Did you want me to drive you home?" Carmy forces himself to back out of your space, going to put the dishes in the sink to be washed later.

"We could watch a movie?"

"I don't really have anything..."

"You don't have streaming services?"

He looks at you over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, "You think I have time to watch Netflix?"

"You can have my login. At least until it kicks you off." You hop off the counter, "We should watch a Disney movie."

His heart warms as you start to talk — mostly to yourself — about what movie to put on.

It's 2am, he's exhausted, but he's never been more awake.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #neurodivergent!reader #— moth writes #spiced chai

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marauder-misprint · 3 months ago

Note

hello hello tis me again, the regulus fanatic. im not aware if you saw my message yet but i ADORED your regulus fic and so i’ve prepared another if you’d like

get this, regulus x (once again, im obsessed) whimsy slytherin reader where she’s touchy and affectionate towards everyone especially close friends and one day regulus finally works up the nerve to ask her iut and shes just like ‘sure😃’ thinkings its just a normal day and reggies just acting weird

cut to like a week later when regulus leans in for a kiss and readers all like ‘WHOA😲’ cue awkward conversation about how they’ve been dating fir a week then readers rushes to tell everyone because she’s been pining for him for YEARS

sorry if thats a lot and have a wonderful wonderful morning evening and night!

Hello again! I had so much fun writing this! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎Still getting used to whimsy!reader so I hope it's okay that reader is highkey a yapper. They are both pining in this and just, augh! Fluff.

My turn to yap: I had a similar situation to this when I was younger. Fully convinced I was dating this guy for a few weeks before finding out that he had a girlfriend and he thought we were just "hanging out" despite going to very date-like places.

This story is nothing like my experience - Thank you for this very cute request ❤︎

Mr. 'Allergic to touching'

Regulus Black x Whimsical!reader

4k words

cw: fluff, pining,

Personal space isn’t a concept you’re familiar with. Well, it is but you like being in everyone’s, especially those you are close friends with. You’ll lean over the backs of chairs and couches as your friends sit in them, often reading or occasionally doing homework. You are always holding hands with your friends as you walk to class together. When you are relaxing somewhere, you are either draped over someone’s lap or pulling them into yours. That is just the edge of it too. You greet everyone with a hug, even if you are meeting them for the first time. It is just how you are. And you are blissfully unaware of how it bugs some people.

Regulus, however, isn’t one of those people. Everyone expects him to be with his cold demeanor, how he snaps at first years for being too loud, and the fact that he doesn’t tolerate that amount of touching from anyone else. There is something about your touch that makes Regulus feel warm and content. That’s why he doesn’t mind it, but he won’t tell anyone that. Barty and Evan would call him ‘soft’ if they heard that. It would be even worse if they knew how Regulus fully feels about you; they know that he’s friends with you and tolerates your touches, but that’s all they know.

Still, the idea of having your gentle touches and words of affection to himself makes Regulus smile. It’s a vice, he tells himself. He’s supposed to keep a plain expression, to be indifferent toward frivolities of his peers and their petty drama. You have a knack for breaking his resolve, especially when it’s lap you’ve laid down in or his chair you’re leaning over to see what page he’s on in his book.

“Oi, Regulus, you coming?” Barty calls from across the common room.

“Yes,” he replies dryly from where he is sitting near the fireplace.

Your friends are going to the library in an attempt to study and actually get something done. A group of third years playing exploding snap in the common room wasn’t allowing any of them to focus. Dorcas had been the one to angrily slam her hands into her book and swear at the younger students, and then you suggested the library. At least Dorcas would be able to study there. Regulus assumes that he’ll end up sitting across from you, or next to you, and he won’t be able to focus.

Regulus follows behind the group. You’re in the middle holding hands with Pandora. You have a floral print tote bag slung over your shoulder that likely has Pandora’s things in it as well. Maybe he’d be the one holding your hand and carrying the bag one day… And now he’s smiling.

“Excited to write that essay for Slughorn or something?” Barty asks, falling into step with Regulus.

The smile disappears as quickly as it appeared. “Because essence of dittany uses is such an interesting topic,” he says sarcastically.

“You’re the one who was smiling, mate. Something made you crack.”

“Remembered something funny. Merlin forbid…” Regulus gives Barty a sideways glance, hoping that his answer would satiate him.

Barty just flexes his eyebrows and adjusts his stride to match Evan’s. Regulus doesn’t mind that the rest of the walk is silent for him. The rest of his friends, including you, take part in livelier conversations, but Regulus is content just listening in.

Just as he predicted, you sit down next to Regulus in the library. You place a hand on his arm.

“Could you help me with this Charms assignment? Unless you’re doing Potions with Junior?” you ask.

He had already finished that assignment, but it is you asking. How could he say no to you?

“It’d be my pleasure. Have you started it?”

You shake your head.

“Alright. That’s no problem. Let’s get the books you need.”

He stands up and you follow him into the shelves. You hum to yourself as he selects a few books. You like how easily he finds everything in the library and that he just knows which books you’ll need for the assignment. He doesn’t hold them out for you to carry. You see it as a polite gesture. Regulus is just nice like that.

Back at the table, Dorcas is working earnestly on her homework. Evan, Barty and Pandora are having a hushed discussion that gets even quieter as you and Regulus retake your seats. Regulus starts flipping through the books to find the pages you’d need to reference. You watch him for a minute before realizing that you should be taking the assignment out.

Once you look ready, Regulus moves one of the books right in front of you and explains which part of the assignment the passage relates to. Instinctively, you scoot your chair impossibly closer to his. Regulus tenses slightly; being so close to you will certainly make focusing on your assignment. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. You don’t notice. You’re too focused on trying to understand the point of a knitting charm.

“But I can knit. I enjoy knitting. Why would I bother learning a charm to do it for me?” you ask in a defeated voice.

“Well, what if I needed something knitted? I don’t know how to knit,” Regulus says in a fairly quiet voice, being that you are in the library.

You tilt your head slightly and rest your chin on your hand. “I could knit it for you. I’m quite good. Remember that shirt I knitted for Cas’ girlfriend?”

You casually leave out that you charged Dorcas for the shirt. You wouldn’t charge Regulus. If he needed something, you’d be more than willing to make it for him.

“Then it’s for all the poor sods who don’t know the same wonderful people I do,” he says before realizing that he’s just called you wonderful. Outloud. To your face.

His face burns in embarrassment.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” you coo, hugging Regulus and being completely oblivious to the red shade of his face. Then you school your own emotions and turn back to your assignment. “Right, poor sods who are lonely and friendless.”

Regulus puts all of his attention on the assignment. He needs to ignore the way his body still feels your warmth minutes after you let him go.

“Right, ‘m bored. Kitchens?” Barty announces after some time.

Pandora and Evan agree immediately and stand up. Dorcas waves them off, still working on her homework. The three don’t even wait for you or Regulus to respond. You both had your heads down, exchanging whispers about your assignment. Regulus is trying not to think about how close you are, and you’re grateful that Regulus is being so patient with you.

After a while, Dorcas excuses herself and says she’ll see you back in the common room. It’s just you and Regulus now. You’ve almost finished your assignment. You’re tired of it, if you’re being honest. You would have given up a while ago if it was anyone else helping you, but it’s Regulus so you’re trying your best to stay focused.

“And you’re done!” Regulus says with a small smile. “You did it.”

“Thanks to you,” you tell him. “I would’ve turned in a half-finished assignment.”

“Do you do that often?”

You shrug. “When the assignment is stupid and pointless.”

Regulus chuckles softly as he stands up to put the books back. He wasn’t expecting you to follow him into the shelves but you did. You don’t say anything, rather humming to yourself again and watching Regulus. You like the way he carries himself and he’s just pretty in general so who wouldn’t want to watch him? Once your things are packed up from the table, you walk back to the common. In your usual fashion, you’re holding onto Regulus’ arm, which means you’ve unintentionally disabled his ability to think clearly.

“Sorry you didn’t get to work on your Potions essay,” you say.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have made much progress on it anyway.”

“You know, I find dittany to be quite pretty. Wish it grew naturally around here. My mum grows them at home, a large section of our garden actually. It’d actually be helpful if our dorms weren’t in the dungeons. Then I could grow it in our dorms. I’m sure Pandora agrees with me,” you ramble and you keep going.

Regulus can’t help his smile as he listens to you. He fully meant what he told Barty earlier; he didn’t find dittany, nor its essence, all that interesting. Your appreciation for the plant? He’d be willing to write down every word that was coming out of your mouth. Before you start to descend down the final staircase before the common room, Regulus puts a hand on yours where it's holding onto his arm. His gut is telling him it’s now or never.

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he asks, his voice steady but stomach flipping with nerves.

“Of course! If the weather’s anything like last weekend, it’s going to be beautiful out. Although, I wouldn’t mind if it was a tad less windy.”

“It was windy last weekend, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

You give his arm a little squeeze before you head down the stairs and into the common room. Once in the common room though, you spot Pandora and Dorcas and rush over to them. Regulus doesn’t mind your sudden departure. The warmth of you on his arm not only lingers, but the fact that you agreed to go on a date with him? He could catch a snitch without his broom. His smile doesn’t falter as he strolls through the common room and disappears into his dorm.

“Oi, you’re smiling again,” Barty says when Regulus sits down at his desk with the intent to work on that stupid Potions essay.

“Smiling illegal now?” he deadpans.

“No… but it’s weird when you do it. You’re not a smiler.”

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he knows what Barty means. He can’t help it though. You agreed to go on a date with him.

---

You meet Regulus at breakfast on Saturday, dressed nicely and casually at the same time. Regulus outdressed you easily, but that was to be expected. Even his most casual outfits tended to be more formal and expensive. He is a Black, afterall.

Regulus did eventually tell Barty about the date. After some teasing in their dorm, Regulus managed to convince him to not make a big deal about it. If it didn’t go well, Regulus didn’t want everyone knowing about it. He fully hopes it’ll go well, but given the chance it doesn’t, he wants to be able to move past it without any issues.

You grab Regulus’ hand when you leave for Hogsmeade. Holding his hand rather than his arm makes Regulus’ heart pound in his chest – oh, the effects you have on him.

“Do you need to go into Spintwitches? Didn’t you say you were running low on broom polish?” you ask.

Regulus stares at you for a moment before nodding. He barely remembers having said that sometime this week, before he even asked you out. He appreciates that you actually pay attention to what he says more than he can express.

“Okay, so we’ll go there and then, if you don’t mind, can we walk around Tomes and Scrolls? I’ve been talking to the owner about expanding his stock on Divination products and I want to see if he’s got anything in yet.”

“Erm, yeah. Anywhere you want to go, darling.”

Even though you’re on a date and holding hands, Regulus’ face still heats up when he realizes he let a pet name slip. He silently thanks the fates that Barty and Evan didn’t “just happen” to tag along today; if they had heard him call you that, Regulus would never hear the end of it. While you notice him looking away from you, to hide the blush, you don’t think much of it. It’s just an odd quirk that he’s been doing around you more and more.

Regulus tries to not take too much time in Spintwitches. He only ever uses one brand of polish, but since he’s buying it, he has to mentally debate if he needs more rags or a sharpener for his tail-twig clippers. He decides against both. The whole time in the store, you held onto his hand until he needed it to get out his money to pay.

You swing his arm a little bit as you head to Tomes and Scrolls. As soon as you step into the shop, you pull Regulus toward a “New!” stand. Regulus feels apprehensive as he eyes the stand. It has more mainstream Divination books, but also ones that are more focused on crystal energies and aura readings. Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from scoffing at a “Nargle Repellant Kit.” He is fairly certain that nargles don’t exist. You scan the whole stand, even dropping Regulus’ hand for the second time so you could crouch to see the lower items.

“This is brilliant!” you exclaim, pulling out a book with depictions of constellations and crystals on its cover. “Dora will be thrilled when I show her this!”

You almost make a comment about how you’re surprised that she didn’t come today. It’s rarely ever just you and Regulus. You like that it is, but the point still stands. It’s not common.

You grab two more books and head to the register. When the owner tells you the cost, you go to grab your money, but before you can even open your coin purse, Regulus has placed the correct amount on the counter.

“Oh, I could’ve gotten that,” you say, a bit shocked.

“It’s my treat.”

“Then thank you, kind sir.”

Regulus gives you a soft smile and takes the bagged books from the owner. It wasn’t your tote of school supplies, but it was close enough – Regulus would carry it until you returned to the common room.

“Anywhere else you want to go or should we go for butterbeers?” Regulus asks.

“Hmmm…” you hum, taking Regulus’ hand again and giving it a squeeze. “Butterbeers. And then Honeydukes before we go back to the castle. I will eat all my Bertie Beans in the Three Broomsticks if we stop at Honeydukes first.”

Regulus chuckles. “That I know. Nothing like butterbeer to wash down the delightful flavor of earwax.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand again. The Three Broomsticks is busy, which isn’t surprising in any way. You find a booth for the two of you and a small wave of guilt falls over you. It feels wrong to take up an entire booth with just two of you. You make a mental note to invite any of your friends over if you see them.

“Tell me, how did you get Mr. Brown to order these books?” Regulus asks, patting the Tomes and Scrolls bag next to him.

“It was so difficult. But really, I think Dora and I just wore him down. You know, asking and asking for these type of books and telling him it’s vital to our education. Little bit of forgery…”

“Forgery?” Regulus repeats.

“Well, he wanted a note from Professor Dawntry saying that they were necessary, or beneficial at least. And do you think she’d write that? No. So… we took it upon ourselves to write it. It’s all thanks to Junior for forging her signature. I think that really sold it to Mr. Brown.”

Regulus smirks. “And what if he ever talks to Dawntry in person? Asks her about the books that she’s endorsed?”

“I already purchased the books, silly,” you say with an affectionate eye roll. “You purchased the books technically. But what’s he going to do? Force me to return them?”

“I suppose business is business.”

“Exactly! And it’s not like I’m requesting books on the Dark Arts.”

Then you start to explain the more intricate details about this particular branch of Divination that you’re looking into and how the Hogwarts library only has so many books on it. You’ve even read the books on it that are in the Restricted Section with real notes from Professor Dawntry.

“That’s where we got the signature for Junior to copy,” you say.

Regulus nods and you continue. He’s more than fascinated while listening to you ramble. He hopes his staring is more ‘attentive listener’ than ‘creepy stalker’ or ‘you have something on your face.’

You’re pleased that Regulus doesn’t look bored with you right now. You’ve talked about this subject in the past to a variety of people and most of them give you skeptical looks and try to change the subject. And then there are the few who look more bored than the average student in Professor Binns’ class. Regulus is just attentive and it fuels the butterflies in your stomach.

After a few butterbeers, Regulus hands Madam Rosmerta a few galleons before you head over to Honeydukes.

“I can pay you back for that,” you say, once again reaching for your coin purse before Regulus puts his hand on your arm.

“Don’t. Told you, it’s my treat.”

“What? The whole day? Reg, you already got my books!”

“I invited you, darling. Today’s on me.”

A faint blush dusts your cheeks. “Damn, you should invite me to Hogsmeade more often.”

That’s the plan, Regulus thinks. He feels it would’ve been too forward, too flirty to say out loud, but it is the plan. If today continues to go well, he plans on being your Hogsmeade date quite often and being your date to the Yule Ball and asking you to wear his extra jersey to quidditch games and being your study buddy and… He is getting ahead of himself. He needs to finish the first date strong before he can plan out the rest of your relationship.

You don’t take long in Honeydukes. Both of you know exactly which sweets you want and where they are. Having stopped there every visit since you started going to Hogsmeade in third year, it’s a well rehearsed visit. Once more, Regulus pays for your things. You don’t protest at all this time, knowing that he’ll insist that it’s his treat. It’s a tad bizarre the longer you think about it; you don’t recall him paying for anyone else that often. Usually when the whole group goes to the Three Broomsticks, everyone throws a galleon or a few sickles on the table before you leave, based on how much each drinks or if someone ordered food. Your solution? Just don’t think about it. He’s being nice and you don’t complain when someone is being extra nice to you. Definitely not when it’s Regulus.

On the way back to the castle, you tell Regulus about the games you used to play with cousins using Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Some of the games you’ve played at Hogwarts through the years, but your cousins have their own rules and methods of telling the flavors apart. Regulus tells you about the Chocolate Eternals that Sirius would sneak him when they were younger.

“He’d have to remind me not to chew them every time. Mum’s only given me enough to get two so we each get one. They don’t melt. Make it last.”

You give him a slightly pitiful look. “I guess sweets weren’t too common growing up?”

“No. Mother believes they are for special occasions and even then, they are limited… Come to think of it, I’m not sure Mother actually gave Sirius the money for the chocolates. He probably nicked it from her purse.”

Regulus chuckles at the idea and you’re glad the conversation returns to its previous light-hearted nature. Regulus is able to keep his unspoken promise to carry your things all the way back to the common room.

“Thanks for everything, Reg,” you say, giving Regulus a hug before taking your things back to your dorm.

Regulus smiles to himself as he heads back to his. He feels proud of himself. He had a great first date with you and you seemed to enjoy yourself.

---

Regulus starts placing himself next to you as much as he can. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. You’re not complaining by any means. It’s nice and you like it. It’s just different. But you do notice that he’s becoming more relaxed around you, more himself. There have even been a few times where it’s just the two of you and you fall into easy conversation.

After dinner on Friday evening, you sit next to Regulus on the plush couch in the common room. He’s got out the Transfiguration textbook, clearly doing the assigned reading. You have no intention of doing so. Regulus becomes less stiff as you sit down. It’s a miniscule change but you notice it. You scooch closer to Regulus and he moves his arm around you, holding you closer into his side.

Pandora and Barty, having witnessed this, exchange curious glances. Regulus had told Barty that the date went well and he just assumed you were on the same page, that you are now dating. You had told Pandora about Regulus buying and how sweet he was the entire time, followed with a desperate ‘Do you think he might like me?’ Both Pandora and Barty had never seen Regulus put his arm around someone like that and he definitely never pulled someone in closer to him. His apparent tolerance of touches applying to only you was one thing; this was a whole new level.

“You smell good,” you mutter into his chest.

“Hm, thank you,” Regulus says quietly.

Then he musters all his courage and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes go wide and you sit up, staring at him. Pandora and Barty have similar looks of surprise on their faces. Their quiet and previously boring evening in the common room just got interesting.

“You… just… You kissed…” you stutter out.

You’re unable to actually finish your thought. You aren’t completely oblivious. You know that Regulus doesn’t give affection.

“Erm, is that okay?” he asks, suddenly looking bashful and unsure of himself.

“You don’t… You don’t… do that?” you say, sounding very, very unsure of what just happened.

He wets his lips nervously. “I thought it’d be okay, with you, you know, since we’re dating?”

You sit up even straighter.

“We are?” you gasp.

Regulus’ face burns bright red and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Barty trying not to fall out of his chair with suppressed laughter.

“Since when?” you add.

“Last week? I asked you on a date and it went well? At least, I thought it went well… I had a good time. Did you not?”

You gasp louder and throw yourself at Regulus, burying him in a hug.

“Merlin, I didn’t realize! No, it did go well!” You pull back from him with the widest grin he has ever seen. “You like me?”

Regulus adjusts himself next to you, turning slightly to be more facing you. So apparently you weren’t on the same page about everything, but you seemed open to it.

“He doesn’t go around kissing everyone, sweetheart,” Barty chimes in, earning himself a glare from Regulus.

“Is that why you paid for everything? Because it was a date?” you ask Regulus.

He nods and you pull him into another hug.

“So we’re dating,” you say.

“If that’s okay with you?” Regulus says, still sounding unsure of himself.

You pull back again and this time it’s you nodding. Then you get off the couch and practically jump onto Pandora’s lap.

“Did you hear, Dora? I’m dating Regulus!” you say happily. “Oh, I need to find Dorcas! She needs to know!”

And you are bounding away in search of your friend. You don’t hesitate to tell everyone that you pass that you’re dating Regulus Black, yes, the Regulus Black. You can’t help it – you’re just so excited that this yearslong crush has manifested into something real.

“About time too,” Pandora says once you’ve disappeared up the stairs toward the girls’ dormitories. “She’s been smitten with you for years.”

“I’d say you’re perfect for each other. Mr. ‘Allergic to touching’ and Ms. ‘Always touching,’” Barty adds.

Regulus throws a pillow at Barty, which sends him into a cackling fit. Barty knows that Regulus must really like you to let him get away with that comment. After all, Regulus could’ve thrown his Transfiguration book at him.

Tags: @navs-bhat

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #request #regulus black x you #regulus black fluff #regulus black x reader #regulus black #slytherin!reader #whimsy!reader

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dreaming-of-epiphanies · 1 month ago

Text

𝓛𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓘𝓷

PART 2 TO LOCKED OUT

Description: Slytherin!fem!Reader and academic rival!Tom finally get a chance to continue their unresolved business from before. (SMUT WARNING)

A/N: This was set up so well for a part 2 I couldn't resist. This is my first time posting smut so I hope you enjoy, because I have some more planned 😈 But seriously, hope you guys like this part 2!

Warnings: Smut (explicit) and bad language.

Ebony hair. Dark eyes. That smirk. Long, pale fingers that would feel incredible on your bare skin. You wanted them everywhere on you. You wanted him everywhere on you, in you…

“Are you alright?”

The concerned voice of your friend, Eleanor, pulled you from your thoughts, making you jump a little as you looked over at her in surprise. She was watching you sceptically, a slight frown on her face. You’d nearly forgotten she was there.

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You said with a smile, quickly trying to cover up your awkwardness by dipping your quill into your inkpot, all business-like. Unfortunately, your odd behavior didn’t escape her notice.

“You know, you’ve barely been doing your work for the past thirty minutes,” she pointed out, gesturing with her quill at your half-finished Arithmancy essay. The parchment hasn’t had a new sentence added to it since you arrived at the library and your brain traitorously wandered off to the same subject it had been going to for days.

“Yeah, I’m just a little… distracted. I have prefect duty tonight.” You shrugged, hoping she wouldn’t poke around anymore. You weren’t sure how in the name of Merlin you’d be able to explain you were fantasizing about Tom Riddle, should she ask what you were thinking about. He was supposed to be your academic rival, the one infuriating person who scores higher than you and who you were supposed to hate! You were definitely not supposed to wonder how his lips would feel on yours and how he’d feel inside of-

Shut up!

You flashed another smile at Eleanor and she eyed you suspiciously for another moment before turning back to her work. You breathed a sigh of relief before dipping your quill into your inkpot again and bringing it back to hover over your parchment. It took all of twenty seconds for a flash of mahogany eyes to appear in your mind’s eye and you were lost in a daydream yet again.

Riddle slides his hand across your neck and down your arm, letting it ghost across your skin. He lowers his lips to your collarbone, pressing a light kiss there before letting his mouth descend further down. He snakes one arm around your waist, pushing his hand up your shirt until he reaches the clasp of your bra. Gently nipping at the skin of your chest, he unhooks the bra and slowly drags it off of you, beginning to pull your shirt up as well. He lifts his head and his eyes pierce into yours, all darkness and hunger and you can hardly-

“...hello?” For the second time, Eleanor’s voice brought you back into the present moment. You jolted out of your fantasy and she gave a long sigh, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“I don’t know what’s been up with you recently, but you have patrol in thirty minutes,” she said, pointing to the clock behind you. You glanced at it and muttered “shit,” before starting to shove your things away.

“Thanks for letting me know,” you said sheepishly, buttoning your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. She nodded and then gave you a knowing look.

“I hope whoever’s on your mind finds a way to get out of it,” she said, and you winced. Great. You hadn’t been as subtle as you’d hoped.

You left the library, hastily making your way back to the Slytherin common room so you could freshen up before patrolling the halls. You’d barely gotten any work done today- well, actually for the past week- and you were beginning to get more and more frustrated. The sooner Riddle left your mind, the better. You’d had a strange interaction with him once and suddenly he was all you could think about.

You muttered the password to the common room and shoved away the reminder of you and Riddle outside that very same door less than a week ago. The last thing you needed was to zone out during your prefect duty.

Hurrying across the common room, you threw a quick glance around to make sure Riddle was nowhere to be seen. You somehow hadn’t seen him since he’d… almost kissed you (or whatever had come close to happening). Now that it had been nearly a week since that had happened, you were dreading running into him again. You just knew it would be awkward and uncomfortable as hell. Besides, with final exams approaching, your mind needed to be clear and focused on studying, not coming up with some stupid daydream of you and him frollicking across the grounds holding hands or something. (Of course, your daydreams about him never went down such… appropriate paths.)

You dropped your bag on your dorm bed and shrugged out of your casual outfit, changing into your prefect uniform for the night. As you did the buttons to your shirt, you tried not to think about how badly you’d wanted Riddle to rip them away during your- Merlin, what could you even call what happened?- encounter.

You huffed a little as you grabbed your robe, swinging it over onto your arms. Really, this was an incredibly inconvenient development. You and Riddle had been perfectly fine as rivals! Why did he have to go and almost kiss you? And make you want him to? Rivals shouldn’t be wanting to kiss each other.

Pinning your prefect badge onto your robe, you resolved to put the encounter you’d had with him out of your head for the night. You had to focus on your patrol. But as luck would have it, the second you opened the common room door to leave, you came face to face with-

“Riddle.” You stopped short, frozen in your tracks as your hand dropped from the door in surprise.

He stared back, clearly having not expected to see you there either. His hair was perfectly smoothed back, as always, and his eyes glinted dark in the muted light from the common room. Your heart jumped a little as you looked at him, remembering how close he’d been to you the other night. Was he going to say something? Kiss you right then and there? Your mind started to whirl with the possibilities before noticing the way his gaze hardened. He didn’t seem happy to see you.

Quite the opposite, in fact: he flicked his eyes away from yours as he stepped past, making sure to create a wide berth between your bodies. Without a word, he disappeared around the corner of the common room and you let the door swing shut, still frozen in place.

Yep. Definitely awkward.

You were a little shaken up but forced yourself to lift your head and straighten your robes before setting off down the corridor on your patrol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, the sharp click of your shoes on the stone floor was the only sound that echoed through the halls of the castle. It was late at night and nearing the end of your patrol, so you were doing one last sweep of the second floor before heading back down to the dungeons. The corridors were deserted and dark, except for the faint bluish glow of the moonlight streaming in the windows. The portraits were all snoozing and there wasn’t a ghost in sight, so when you saw a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, it immediately caught your attention.

Pulling your wand from your pocket, you strode towards whatever you saw, preparing to cast Lumos or Stupefy, depending on what had caused it.

“Who’s there?” You called quietly, eyes narrowed as you tried to make out any shapes in the shadowy corridor. Nothing made itself known, but you got the distinct feeling that you were being watched. You stopped next to the door of the girls' bathroom, casting your gaze about suspiciously. Still, you couldn’t see a thing.

Then, almost so inconspicuous you nearly missed it, you felt the light but slightly uncomfortable feeling of someone attempting to read your mind.

Riddle.

You quickly shut your brain down with Occlumency, but not all of it. You made sure to leave a little part of your thoughts unprotected, allowing them to be penetrated by Riddle. He was clearly a skilled Legilimens, considering his efforts had nearly escaped your notice and had successfully remained undetected the last time he did it, but now you were prepared.

You let your annoyance and confusion at him fill the space of your mind you had left exposed, focusing on how strange he’d been acting earlier, allowing him to feel some of your frustration before immediately turning your attention to wondering what had been the cause of the suspicious movement. Just a little flash of your thoughts to give him something to think about. If he could tempt you, you could tempt him.

You felt the poking at the edges of your consciousness draw away and knew it had worked. Part of you hoped he’d make himself known now, the other wanted him to remain hidden in the shadows so you could return to the common room without another interaction with him

Luckily- or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it- he stepped into the light, tall, dark, and imposing. He wasn’t supposed to be out this late, no one was except for prefects. But of course he was. Despite being a model student and maintaining a spotless record, Riddle broke more school rules than you’d ever seen anyone break before. And he still managed to get away with it. This time, though, you wouldn’t let him escape breaking curfew without a consequence.

Maybe you were being slightly petty.

“You’re out late,” you remarked, lowering your wand as he stood there, still partly obscured by the shadows.

“As are you,” he said. You tapped your prefect badge in response.

“I’m supposed to be,” you said, tone slightly charged. “You aren’t.”

He straightened up slightly but remained still. “What are you planning to do about it?” He asked in a voice so low it sent a slight shiver through you as tilting his head to the side, eyes marginally narrowed. A small flame of anger sparked in you. Was he teasing you? Trying to see how you’d react? Was he doing this purposefully?

You were struck with how similar this was to what brought about the near-kiss with him last week: one of you staying out past curfew, the other tasked with giving them a consequence. The only difference was that Riddle hadn’t written you up last time, but you were planning to give him detention now.

“Write you a slip for detention, of course,” you said matter-of-factly, pulling a pad of paper and a quill out, already starting to write him up. You heard a small laugh and before you could even write his name, a pale hand was placed on top of the paper pad, lowering it down. You cut your eyes up to him, indignant.

“Ah, now we don’t want that, though, do we, darling?” He asked in a smooth voice, cocking a brow as his eyes bored into yours. The nickname aggravated you, making you tense up slightly in annoyance. Yes, he was definitely teasing you on purpose now.

He took another step closer, stopping less than a foot away. He was so close you could smell his cologne. The same one from last time, you thought, and a small smirk grew on his face at that as you realised you’d unconsciously lifted the barriers against Legilimency and he could freely read your mind. You quickly shut it down again, angrily forcing him out of your thoughts.

“Maybe you don’t, but I do.” You pulled the paper away from him, stepping back and continuing to write the detention slip. “At least I was in the library when you found me out past curfew last time. You were just lurking in the shadows.”

Riddle went silent at this, which was never a good sign. You glanced up despite logic telling you not to, and was met with a slightly foreboding smirk on his face.

“Have you been thinking about our last encounter a lot, darling?” He asked, apathetically enough, but you could feel the undercurrent of tension in the loaded question. If you’d let him, he could’ve fully read your mind and figured out just how much the memory had been plaguing you. If you told him now, then you weren’t sure what his next move would be. Would he attempt to pick up where you’d left off, or continue avoiding you like he had been all week, which had left you frustratingly perplexed?

“Have you?” You countered, pocketing your quill and ripping off the detention slip. “You have detention, Riddle,” you said, pushing it unceremoniously into his hands. “Saturday at ten.”

He lifted the detention slip, inspecting it like it could be counterfeit. “Hm,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “What a waste of paper.” Then he tore it in half.

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him as he looked back defiantly, a smug smile on his face. Merlin, he was such a prick!

“Problem?” He asked innocently, and that’s when you lost your temper. You took a step closer, tilting your head up so you could maintain eye contact with him.

“You just blatantly disobeyed a prefects’ order. Of course there’s a problem.” You snapped, glowering into his eyes that had a glint of challenge in them.

“I am a prefect too, as I am sure you’re aware. I can simply invalidate the detention slip,” he said, so smugly confident and completely aware he was the cause of your anger. From the looks of it, he was enjoying it too.

“Only you would deign to be so difficult,” you hissed, stepping closer until you were nearly toe to toe. He looked down at you, smirk still in place.

“And why should I stop, when the reaction it incites in you is so… pleasing?” He murmured, and all of a sudden you realised just how close you were standing.

“Pleasing?” You echoed scathingly. Your first instinct was to pull back, to step away before there was a chance for anything along the same lines of what happened before to happen again. But a little flare of fury in you told you to stay, and vex him the same way he had to you.

“Pleasing?” You repeated, with a more musing tone rather than an angry one now. You dragged your eyes from his down his body and up again, making sure to take a couple extra seconds to look at his lips before meeting his gaze again. “Mm, I like the sound of that.”

You took another step closer, having to almost completely tilt your head back to look him in the eye. Your chests nearly bumped up against each other, and you gently placed your hands on his arms. He glared down at you, a muscle working in his jaw and evidently caught off guard by the turn this interaction had taken.

You were playing with fire, you knew it. If you went too far, you’d get burned.

But then again, maybe that was what you wanted.

You lightly drifted one of your hands up his arm and across his shoulder, much like the way he had done to you except in the opposite direction. Placing your palm against the back of his neck, you toyed with the hair there, letting your fingers sift through it and watching the way his breathing got quicker.

“Who knew you liked when I’m authoritative?” You smiled, using your other hand to trace across his chest, making sure to flick his prefect badge off kilter. He wasn’t on patrol tonight, he didn’t even need to wear it. But of course he did, perfect Riddle.

“It’s really too bad I can’t use Legilimency,” you continued, biting your lip and feeling him stiffen beneath your touch as his eyes zeroed in on the motion. “I would just love to know what you’re thinking right now.”

Without warning, Riddle brought his hands up to your waist and backed you up to the wall, head bent low so his mouth was hovering over yours.

“I can hear what you’re thinking, darling,” he hissed, lightly stroking your torso with his thumbs. “I can hear you wishing I’d fuck you.”

Your breath caught and your mouth fell shut, the previously confident words disappearing as you felt your throat go dry. He leaned in closer, so close you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.

“I can tell you what I’m thinking, too,” he said, voice silkily smooth and laced with danger. “And I’m wanting to fuck you as well.”

He leaned down and your eyes closed, ready to hungrily meet his mouth, but before your lips could touch he pulled away. Your eyes flew open in fury, about to tell him off, but then you heard the telltale footsteps of somebody approaching.

Riddle had stepped back fully, and just in time. Professor Dumbledore emerged from the shadows, looking between you and Riddle with an expression of intended ignorance. It was clear he knew what had just (nearly) happened, but was choosing to pretend it hadn’t.

“Good evening,” he said. “It is rather late for two model students such as yourselves to be out. I believe prefect patrol ended just a few moments ago, if my watch is correct.”

You blanched. You had forgotten all about your patrol. You shot Riddle a dirty look, since he had made you forget, but his eyes were fixed on Dumbledore.

“Certainly, sir,” he nodded, the perfect picture of obedience. “We were just heading back.”

Dumbledore nodded as well, turning to look at you over his half-moon spectacles. “Please make sure you return to your dorms promptly,” he said with a knowing smile before stepping past you, his long robes swishing behind him.

You waited until he rounded the corner to turn and glare at Riddle. “Really?” You snapped. “Dumbledore almost caught us-” You stopped your sentence halfway. What had you been about to do? Snog? Makeout? Tumble into the nearest empty room and rip each other’s clothes off? “...You almost got us in trouble.” You finished.

“Had we gotten into trouble, I was not the one who incited the incident,” he said, not looking at you as turned on his heel and set off for the staircase leading to the lower levels of the castle.

You let out a groan and followed him, letting your footsteps echo pointedly on the floor as he led you back to Slytherin common room. He didn’t look at you once, but nearly snapped the password at the door once you arrived.

It swung open and you couldn’t help but let out a scoff. “Didn’t forget the password this time, hm?” You muttered, pushing past him to the staircase leading to the girls dormitories.

“Your behavior is horrendous at times,” he bit out at your retreating form.

“And you’re an incorrigible prick,” you snapped back, whipping around to face him, your eyes ablaze with anger and ready for an argument. But he had already turned his back and was stalking away towards the boys dormitories.

You glared at his back for a split second longer before stomping the rest of the way to your dorm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the week passed without any more interactions with Riddle. Seeing him again had only made you think about the situation even more, and you had barely been able to focus in class due to the anger that always started simmering in your veins whenever you thought of him. Noticing your lack of focus, your friends had convinced you to come with them to the Gryffindor party that weekend, telling you it could help take your mind off things and maybe even give you the distraction of another boy to place your attention on instead. You hadn’t told them it was Riddle yet, but they knew it was something having to do with a guy.

So on Saturday night, you put on your favorite dress and headed to Gryffindor Tower with your friends. It was around ten, and the party was packed with people. You spotted students from every house, recognizing a few familiar faces from your classes. The one person you didn’t see, however, was Riddle. But you pushed the thought of him out of your mind, trying to follow your friends’ advice and enjoy the party without dwelling on him.

The party was fun and lasted into the early hours of the morning. It neared one with no sign of stopping. You hadn’t found anyone to “distract” yourself with yet (and honestly didn’t want to), but when a nice boy from Ravenclaw approached, your friends practically shoved you into his arms.

The two of you danced for a bit, but you couldn’t help wishing it was Riddle’s dark brown eyes you were looking into instead of the boy’s green ones.

And speaking of his eyes…

You caught a glimpse of someone glaring at you from across the room, clutching their goblet of firewhiskey with a grip so tight their knuckles were turning white.

It was Riddle.

And his eyes were shooting daggers.

Your heart skipped a beat at first, but then you almost scoffed at his expression. He looked jealous. But he’d had two opportunities in less than two weeks to do something about it if he really felt anything for you, and you were done with the near misses.

Still, you were finished dancing with this Ravenclaw boy, so you removed yourself from his arms when the music came to an end, heading back over to your friends.

“So? How was it?” Eleanor asked when you stepped up next to her. You shrugged.

“Fine. But I don’t think it helped.” You frowned, thinking of the way Riddle’s glare was burned into your brain, and she sighed.

“Well, it was worth a shot. Whoever you’re thinking about must really be worth it, then.”

Your thoughts turned to the guy standing across the room, all darkness and danger and intoxication. You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull.

“I don’t know about that, but I can’t seem to get him off my mind,” you muttered, and took a swig of firewhiskey.

The party continued on for a while until you decided you were done and wanted to go back to your dorm. You had prefect duty later that day, and had to make sure you were well-rested lest your mind be filled with pointless thoughts about Riddle again.

Excusing yourself from your friends, you left the party and were nearly halfway to the winding staircase leading to the castle’s lower floors when you heard the sharp clearing of a throat behind you. You closed your eyes briefly in frustration, already knowing who it was.

“What do you want, Riddle?” You asked in irritation before turning to look at him and immediately getting startled by the speed and anger of which he was walking towards you. With quick, determined strides, he stalked up to you, eyes glinting hard and sparkling with wrath.

“You are intolerable,” he hissed, towering over you. “You insist on teasing me and making me jealous. Why?”

“Making you jealous, really?” You scoffed. “You teased me first!”

“You hardly pulled away.”

You clamped your mouth shut at that, knowing you couldn’t deny it. Still, you were seething with anger and wanted to take it out on him.

“If you wanted to kiss me, you would’ve done it already,” you said wildly, and Riddle’s eyes narrowed into slits, glinting ruby red in the dim light.

“I was under the impression academic rivals do not want to kiss each other. Or is that not what you’ve been thinking?” He snapped.

“You’re right- they don’t. So why did you try to kiss me?” You countered, crossing your arms.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He retorted, and with that, he stepped past you, robes brushing roughly against your arm. You let out a scoff.

“Oh, don’t you dare walk away from me!”

You chased after him, nearly having to run to keep up. He was headed further into the corridors of the seventh floor, not slowing his pace even as he heard you stomping after him.

“Riddle,” you called sharply. He kept walking, not even flinching at your words or pausing his stride. You let out an aggravated sigh, continuing to stalk after him as he abruptly turned a corner, leading you down a corridor with nothing but a tapestry on one of the walls. All of a sudden, he turned on his heel and whirled towards you, eyes alight with rage.

“You are impossible,” he thundered, stalking at you before turning on his heel again and pacing the other way. “You are infuriating and maddening and get on my every last nerve.” He turned around, coming towards you again. “You insist on scoring higher than I do, out-competing me for everything, and then refuse to leave me alone.” He spun yet again, stalking back down the corridor away from you before pivoting back to you once more. “You are in my mind during every second of every day and I do not want you to leave it!”

With that, he grabbed your elbow and tugged you towards a door that you were certain hadn’t been there before. Without giving you time to respond or even process his words, he yanked the door open and pulled you into him before it could shut. Your lips met and immediately it was the most fiery, all-consuming kiss you’d ever experienced.

His hands grabbed at your waist, clutching you into him as you plunged your hands into his hair, pulling at the strands and hearing him groan into your mouth. He swiped his tongue at your lips and you opened them without a second thought, relishing the feeling of his hot tongue on yours.

His arms swept around you, pulling you closer into him and you wrapped one arm around his neck, forcing his head down to yours. His lips moved against yours, crushing your mouths together. You experimentally bit lightly at his lip and when he let out a strangled sound, you smirked against his mouth and leaned in more.

One of his hands made its way to your throat, holding it with a light but firm pressure as the kiss deepened. You could barely think, barely breathe, and-

Fuck. You’d forgotten all about oxygen.

You reluctantly pulled your lips away from Riddle’s, inhaling deeply as your lungs filled with air once more. You were still gasping for breath, but you didn’t think you’d ever been more satisfied to need air. Riddle’s hand was still on your throat and yours were still pushed into his hair. Well, one of them was. The other somehow made its way to his chest and now your palm was resting against it so you could feel his heartbeat.

You looked up at him and couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face. He hadn’t torn his eyes from you and his chest was still heaving like yours.

You leaned your head back and steadied your hand on his neck, grinning up at him. “Finally,” you said, and he shook his head, a smirk quickly growing in his face.

“I second that,” he drawled, leaning in to press another quick kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, you sighed contentedly.

“I have to say, I’m very glad you tore up that detention slip from the other night,” you told him. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to the party and this wouldn’t have happened.” He rolled his eyes, looking fondly down at you.

“I suppose I have to agree,” he conceded, gently squeezing your waist. You grinned and pulled your arms from around his neck reluctantly.

“We better get back to the common room, though,” you said. “Before Dumbledore catches us out again.”

He nodded, though his frown let you know wasn’t happy to leave the room. You weren’t either. If it was up to you, you’d stay for the rest of the night (or longer).

Reaching for the door handle, you pulled at it only for it not to budge. You tried again. Nothing.

“Uh…” you stared in confusion at it, only to hear an understanding laugh coming from Riddle. You glanced up quizzically, surprised to see a smirk on his face.

“It would seem you have discovered one of the quirks of this room,” he said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “This is the Room of Requirement. It changes its interior and properties in accordance to the needs of the person who summons it. I summoned a place for us to… interact undisturbed.”

You looked around the room with interest, noting the regal yet intimate atmosphere. There was a velvety looking couch to your left, a wall of books that stretched to the ceiling, and- your heart leapt- a bed in the far corner of the room.

“You wanted this room?” You asked, not sure what to make of the fact it seemed Riddle thought he needed a bed for whatever interaction he’d had planned with you. An image of him throwing you down on it flashed through your mind and you quickly altered that previous statement with a fluttering in your stomach. You knew exactly what to make of it.

Riddle nodded, still smirking down at you. “Yes. And as it would appear, you do not want to leave so the Room is… helping us with that, so to speak.” You cut your eyes down to the suspiciously unmoving door.

“The Room locked us in?” You said, a small, understanding smile forming on your face. Riddle hummed in agreement, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“The only question is… what do you need to do in here?” He murmured suggestively, voice low and dangerous. You grinned a little, stepping closer and roping your arms around his neck.

“Hm, I’m not sure,” you teased, biting your lip in the way you knew he liked. “Maybe we could study for our exams, or discuss what feedback Professor Merrythought left on our essays-”

Riddle interrupted you with a kiss and you couldn’t help but smile into it, pulling away just enough to get your next words out.

“On second thought, I think you know exactly what I want,” you muttered before pressing your lips onto his again. He laughed into your mouth, immediately bending down and scooping you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he backed you up towards the couch, leaning you over the arm of it and promptly climbing on top of you.

“Isn’t there a bed in here?” You gasped, breaking away from his lips long enough to catch a breath before his mouth descended onto your throat and you couldn’t breathe again.

“Too far,” he grunted into your neck. “Need you now.”

Oh Merlin, you probably could’ve come from that alone. Riddle slid his hands up and down your torso, brushing his palms teasingly over your breasts and you arched your back up, overtaken by sensation and that satisfied little laugh he made at your reaction. His hands reached your thighs again and found their way under your dress, pushing the material up as he ascended his fingers across your bare skin.

One touch of his hand on your breast had you moaning and you felt him grow even harder on top of you, his grip getting a little firmer as he kneaded at your chest. You wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing yourself into him and he broke away, eyes dilated and lips swollen.

“Do you want to do this?” He asked, moving one of his hands down to your thigh and sliding it up and down. You nodded, already breathlessly pulling him back into you.

He kissed you for a few moments more, sliding his hands all about your body and relishing finally being able to touch you that way until you bit at his lip again and something in him clearly snapped.

He pulled his hands away and you heard the clinking of his belt buckle, followed by a louder clang when it hit the floor. His lips remained on yours as he shoved his trousers down, frantic to get as close as possible.

Positioning his hips against yours, he continued to kiss you, sliding his tongue against yours and lightly grasping your neck with hand, while the other made its way down to your panties.

“I like these…” he whispered, fingers toying with the lace fabric. You frowned a little at the strange comment.

“Yes-”

“..but I like them better off.” He finished and the sound of ripping fabric filled the air, but you barely had time to process it before he kissed you again and-

Fucking hell, this man was incredible. His fingers moved against you in such a perfect rhythm you were sure this was a dream. He seemed to know every spot, every little thing you need that it wasn’t long before you were panting and chasing your high, seeing stars form at the edge of your vision

At the last moment, his fingers were pulled away, only to be replaced with-

“Tom-” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

“You can take me, darling,” he murmured against your skin, biting slightly at it. “Just breathe.”

And then he slid in. Immediately, every other thought and feeling vanished as you were overtaken by the feeling of him inside you. He moved slowly at first, adjusting you and making sure you were comfortable before pulling back and pushing in with a quick, insistent speed. The message was clear: Tom needed you, and he needed you now.

Your high approached faster than you expected, but from the combination of Tom’s kisses and movements, it wasn’t long before you were pushed over the edge. Tom followed almost immediately, spilling into you hot and collapsing over your body, pressing kisses onto you as you both caught your breath.

“That was…” you panted, running your hands through his hair.

“I hope you get us locked in here more often,” he said against your skin and you laughed, throwing an arm across your face.

He sat up, pulling out of you and moving to guide you into his arms. You threw your legs over his lap, hearing both of your breaths slow down.

“You called me Tom,” he said suddenly, and you blinked in surprise.

“Did I?” You asked, genuinely not sure, and he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Right before we-”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. “I’m not sure I remember that,” you said teasingly, slowly leaning up and throwing your leg over his hips to straddle his lap. “Maybe recreating the scene will help me recall?”

His lips formed a devilish smirk as his hands came to rest at your hips. “Oh, gladly,” he murmured, already leaning in for another kiss. You eagerly returned it, pushing his head back slightly against the couch before groaning his name again as his hands drifted up under your dress.

“Rivals are not necessarily supposed to call each other by their first names,” he pointed out, drawing back slightly. You grinned and tightened your grip on his shoulders.

“Rivals aren’t supposed to do a lot of things we’ve been doing, but I can’t say I’m complaining.” You shrugged, biting your lip.

“No, neither can I,” he agreed with a smirk, before pulling you into another kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, hoping the door would keep you locked in for a whole lot longer.

A/N (again): Did anyone notice where Tom was when he was "lurking in the shadows?" Second floor of the castle, near the girls' bathroom... thought that would be a fun detail to include. Also, I'm not sure if the Room of Requirement has the particular skill to lock people inside should they want it, but let's assume it does for the sake of the story. Thanks for reading! :)

Credit to @sunder-soul for the headcanon that Tom doesn't do choking. I agree!

aaaand tagging @viperify because we both love academic rival!Tom

#fanfic #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #my fanfic #my fanfiction #my fic #my fic writing #my fic post #tom riddle era

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