#discussed this with a friend and they seemed to be on board?

[another-goblin]

Doc and Gambler: An essay A disjointed musing

I've been thinking about the words they use to address or refer to each other. Gambler and Doctor are rather special nicknames. I can't think of other characters who talk to each other a lot but avoid calling each other by actual names so deliberately.

First of all, of course I can see it as a sign of their relationship. They are old friends, so it makes sense that they have cute special names for each other.

Can there be other explanations?

1. We never see them use each other's actual first names.

It's understandable with Aventurine. If he's ever comfortable being called Kakavasha, it's definitely not now. And I can understand if he'd prefer Kakavasha to just remain a happy, innocent child in his memories forever.

It's more interesting with Ratio. Nobody calls him just "Veritas" (I think?..) He's referred to as Veritas Ratio in some official situations in his character stories. Even his elderly professor, who talks about teaching Ratio when he was a child, only calls him "Ratio."

Actually, I remember a theory that "Veritas" isn't a personal name but a kind of honorific. Maybe a title that Veritas University gives to its most distinguished members. But if Veritas is his actual first name, then I think it's quite significant that nobody seems to call him that. Especially while all of the other characters who have identifiable western-style first and second names are mostly referred to by their first name. (I'm sorry, I don't know how the Xianzhou characters' names work.)

A little off topic, but is Ratio even his real name? According to the wiki, his full name means "truth of the matter," and his Chinese name means "doctor truth." What a coincidence that a person with such a name became a famous scientist. Although there can be other explanations too.

2. They do use each other's more commonly used names sometimes (I think Ratio called him Aventurine once in the game when discussing him with us, and Aventurine addressed Ratio by name a couple of times). But it's mostly nicknames. Mostly Doc(tor) and Gambler, but also "learned professor," "knowledgeable friend," and a hundred of silly ways Ratio refers to Aventurine. I made a whole post about it long ago.

3. Can it be because all of their direct interaction happened in Penacony, in the middle of a murder mystery somewhat reminiscent of the board game Clue, with our little "Mrs. Peacock" and "Professor Plum" here just imitating the naming conventions of such a game? Like archetypes from a classical detective story, where most characters can be described with one word like that. But it's a bit of a crack theory.

4. The only situation we saw them talking to each other was when they had to play their roles for Sunday.

It's interesting that Sunday later proceeds to call Ratio just "doctor" or "learned doctor" too, the way Aventurine did. I mean, strictly speaking, there isn't anything unusual in calling a doctor "doctor", but it's funny in an awkward way. Imagine two close friends having special names for each other. And then a complete stranger who's been eavesdropping starts using these names too. Umm, that's "Dr. Ratio", Mr. Sunday, thank you very much.

Btw, that's another point to the theory that Sunday only knows (and tries to use against them) the things they deliberately fed him through their conversations.

So it might be that they did it deliberately for Sunday to hear. Like, see? we are so not friends that we don't even call each other by name. But then we see them using similar words when mentioning each other while talking to other people, and in Aventurine's thoughts too (in mission descriptions during Double Indemnity).

5. Although it might still be the way for them to try and distance themselves from each other, at least verbally, trying to deny the obvious special connection between them.

6. Or maybe it's about their "masks". They both have public personas to hide their real selves behind. (Ratio directly tells us about it and wears a literal mask to hide behind, and Aventurine's whole Harmony ordeal was basically to show his inner self, so unlike the confident and cocky Aventurine other people know.)

But they know each other better and see deeper than just their public personas of "Aventurine" and "Dr. Ratio". And it's still too early in their relationship to prod deeper ("Kakavasha" and "Veritas"). So a secret third thing it is.

[notecapn]

do you remember the rumours that Heizou had a moustache? the ones before his release? no? yeah me neither

[master-of-the-railway]

Relating to your post on the subtle angst of being a machine, I hunger for all the possible physical angst elements. Where is the fear of limited or increasingly costly repair parts? Where is the worry of the shrinking pool of mechanical experts (engine troubleshooters)? The simple inescapable awareness that one's moving parts are constantly degrading? Horror relating to corrosive/damaging environments? Complex emotional trauma and strange coping mechanisms in response to the reality of their entire "family" slowly *literally* falling apart?

YES!!! YESS!!! FUCK YES!!! SOMEONE THAT GETS IT!!!!!

going to. put this under the cut bc I have SO MUCH TO SAY.

You get it SO well, so many good points there. All things come to an end, and engines especially can be kept alive for over a hundred years if they are well taken care of, but there's so many who are not as valued or who simply cannot be taken care of as well as their owners want to take care of them. And they can rarely do things about it. It's honestly admirable that some of the Sodor engines have worked so hard to protect and preserve their fellow rolling stock. Oliver is a beloved little engine, but he likely stays up some nights thinking about how if Douglas hadn't happened upon him, he wouldn't even be here right now. He'd have been melted down ages ago. Not to bring up Hiro again but he is literally the first engine that comes to mind when I think of this sort of thing. He went to Sodor so excited to be helpful and useful and was promptly abandoned not long after he'd broke down. He was stuck there for god knows how long and if Thomas hadn't found him, by accident mind you, he would've corroded and died there most likely. And yet he would've rather done that then get scrapped. Almost as if he wanted to pass away on his own terms. Like I mentioned before, we're shown often that most of the kind-hearted engines (specifically on Sodor) will put forth their best effort to keep any machine out of the smelters. Thomas listened to Hiro's story and was likely deeply disturbed that Hiro had been abandoned like that and not a single person dared to look hard enough to find him when he was still on Sodor this whole time. But with his horror, came understanding, because he knows the reality of even some of the most famous locomotives at times can be harsh and even deadly. And Spencer showed no care or concern at all, not only that, but he almost seemed delighted to inform Sir Tophamn Hatt of Hiro's existence purely to ensure that he was scrapped. He knew nothing about Hiro. He doesn't even LIVE on Sodor. And yet he took great pride in the concept of getting the old engine scrapped. As if that does not mean the very end of an engine's life. It's honestly really unsettling to me how quickly Spencer jumped to that conclusion. Not to mention the tearful horror in Hiro's voice when he was yelling out to Thomas whilst trying to get away from Spencer.

Henry was locked in a tunnel for fearing the rain would damage his coat. How often did he beg those workers that would come by to let him out? How many times do you think he cried feeling like he'd failed his entire railway and that he'd never be released again? There was no sympathy shown for him. And no acknowledgement to the terror he very likely felt for the time he was trapped there in that tunnel. He got sick not long afterwards, the anguish he went through in that time period was probably something awful. Most all machines are at the mercy of their employers. They don't have the appendages to escape the situations they get in that some humans might be able to get out of. If you deprive any machine of their fuel they cannot go anywhere. If you refuse to repair them they cannot go anywhere or function properly. There's a reason they pride themselves on being really useful. If you're not really useful, you're either sent away or you're...well...sent somewhere to be scrapped. It's the way the world works with real, non-sentient machines...and it seems like the TTTE universe operates on those same principals despite being a world where 99% of all heavy machinery is alive and can think and speak for themselves. Sometimes it's just progression, sometimes it's business, but at no time is it ethical. They are alive. They have wants and desires and emotions and fears, yet very few of the humans in their world seem capable of understanding that. There's so many scary things that come with being an engine. If you're too slow and you get less done than a new model, you're likely done for unless somebody cares enough about you to take you in and restore you. Sodor seems to work overtime to preserve old rolling stock, I'm sure they would've taken incredible care of Hiro had he not went home to Japan, and it seems like they did miss him there considering that he's still very well taken care of when he comes to visit Sodor after he'd moved back home. But there's so many engines who don't have that luxury. Hiro just as well could've been sent back or left sitting still, of course whoever owns him now clearly cares for him a great deal. The other types of machines aren't as touched on as our beloved engines are, but they surely experience the same kind of stuff. Airplanes may just as easily feel the same anxieties as old steamers do. They get antsy when they can't fly because what is a plane good for if it can't get off the ground? There's just SO many things to talk about. I really do think the fandom should include things like this in angst content more bc there is a lot of the show's own canon that is genuinely unsettling when put into real world perspectives.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I think it’d be funny if Tuvok was not helpful with romantic matters literally at all. He doesn’t care about them and has no insights. He just tells you to either marry them or never speak to them again.

[earthtooz]

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.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[reiderwriter]

🧺 Any More 🧺

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: spencer realizing that he’ll never love someone as much as he loves you. (whether that be because of a case or what have you), his mind is absolutely blown with how much he worships you and how much you love and care for him and he shows you that with the softest most sickeningly sweet sex you and him has ever done. <3

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! Discussions of case details, case burnout, very close friends to lovers, oral (f receiving), vanilla sex (p in v penetration). Discussions of mental health, and two idiots in love.

A/N: I'm hitting the prompt Vanilla for this one, so please don't be scared off by the KinkBingo tags! I had a lot of fun writing this one (and adding Pride and Prejudice quotes into the smut scene because HELLO). Let me know what you think in the replies~♡

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You hadn't seen Spencer in 100 days. Which in the grand scheme of things wasn't that long, trapped in the purgatory of a ‘what if’ the way you had been for the last eight years. 

You'd lived without him for longer than 100 days before. He'd been in prison, you'd been on assignments, you'd lived an entire life before meeting him, but now somehow 100 days was too much time, and you were exhausted. You understood why Spencer had to take some time away from you, from the team in an official capacity after everything he'd been through. You supported him even. 

But when even your free time didn't overlap anymore, you wondered if your relationship would ever be the same again. 

Spencer was a friend, your best friend, probably. You'd arrived on the BAU team, he'd rattled off some statistics, stammering the way through them, and you'd immediately warmed to the man. He was brilliant, funny, and fiercely loyal, and you tried your best to protect him even when the job seemed designed to break people like him into thousands of little pieces. 

You'd tried to convince him to leave before, after Maeve had died. You didn't want to see him heart broken again, but no one else had seemed to agree. 

“Reid needs purpose,” they'd said. “Reid needs something to do.” 

What Reid needed was to not end up dead before he had a chance to be happy, and happiness didn't come often in your field of work. 

You'd been almost vindicated a year later when he'd been shot again, almost fatally. Vindicated, maybe but distraught and inconsolable. Morgan had to carry you screaming and clawing out of his hospital room multiple times. It sounded stupid enough to yourself that it was only then you realized your feelings for the man. 

You wanted to be Spencer Reid's happiness, which was why you were so lost without him. 

He was coming back on Monday, and at least you had the weekend to sort your feelings out about everything.not just about him, but about the job you'd found didn't fit you well enough anymore, about the team you loved like family, about the relationship you knew would likely never come to fruition. 

You dumped your bags at your door when you'd arrived in your house that night, pushed yourself into your bedroom and let yourself collapse on your bed, balling up into as cozy a position as you could. You didn't even bother taking your jacket off, you just let your brain haze over and sleep rush in. 

Three quiet raps at your door lifted you up and out of bed again, not an hour later. 

You grabbed your phone, grabbed the second go-bag you kept at your house, put your shoes back on, and opened the door, expecting Emily and a new case. 

“Where are we going?” You said, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, not even looking up at your guest. 

“Hopefully, nowhere? I brought takeout.” 

Your eyes widened then, taking in all 185cm of Doctor Spencer Reid, tweed jacket and plastic bag full of chow mein included. 

“Spencer,” you breathed out, like a sigh of relief, letting the bag drop to the floor next to the first one and letting yourself into his arms. 

He held you carefully there for a second before leading you back into the apartment, wrapping an arm around you and ruffling your hair. It was brotherly, and it made you sick to your stomach. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Emily said you were back from a case,” he started, unpacking the takeaway from the containers. “And it feels wrong to eat this without you.” 

You rolled your eyes and followed him into the kitchen, pulling two forks out of the drawer nearer you and stabbing them in the top of your two cups. 

“Hey, I can use chopsticks now,” he said, defending himself against an inside joke. Spencer was always useless with his hands. 

“I don't care if you can use them, I care that they don't accidentally end up stabbing me,” you said, taking yourself back to your bedroom, Spencer following. 

“You'd hardly die from being stabbed by a wooden chopstick, maybe a papercut or a splinter but-” 

“But you're just bad enough that I don't want to risk it.” 

You kicked off your shoes again and climbed onto your bed. Spencer followed. 

“Remind me again why we aren't sitting on your couch?” 

“Uncomfortable.” 

“Or at your breakfast bar?” 

“Glorified filing cabinet right now. Eat.” 

He shook his head but complied, leaning back against your pillows as you both began carefully eating. Silently, you pulled your laptop onto your bed, opened it up, and pressed play on a movie, one you'd seen more than once, and you'd forced Spencer to watch before as well. 

In a comfortable, friendly silence, you finished your food. You stretched out in a yawn once and then curled into his side, letting his mumbling voice, repeating the movie lines as they were spoken, lull you softly into sleep. 

Spencer knew he had to leave, but he couldn't bring himself to wake you. The movie had finished hours ago, he'd closed the laptop and turned off the bug lights, but he couldn't leave. 

Unlike you, he hadn't counted the days that you'd been apart. He hadn't needed to. He knew you'd be waiting there for him when he returned, knew you'd give him a smile and a pat on the back, and immediately start bouncing ideas off of him. It was what he loved about you. 

As he laid next to you in your bed, a place he'd absolutely been before, his heart thumped. Just once, but hard. 

Even in sleep, you looked exhausted. Your shirt was crumpled, hair a mess, you were still wearing makeup, and he knew he'd probably get an earful for letting you sleep like that in the morning. You were a mess, and he still wanted you. 

The thought came to him suddenly, another painful thump of his chest echoing in his mind. He rubbed absent mindedly at his chest as if experiencing heartburn. In the dim light of the room, he let his head drop to the pillow and wrapped two shaky arms around you and pulled you in closer. 

The two of you were a picture - both in suits, both with badges still somewhere on your person, both dearly clinging to the person they feared losing the most. 

When you woke the next morning, it was actually the afternoon. 

“Spencer,” you groaned, melting under the heat of his embrace. Somehow, during the night, he'd rolled on top of you, pressing you into the bed with a delightful pressure, head nuzzled into your neck, arms tucked around your waist. 

“Spencer, we should get up,” you said again, forcing your eyelids apart as your mascara tried to glue them together. 

“Mmmmhh,” he groaned, moving to pick himself up off you for a minute but lowering himself again. If asked, he'd blame your hand in his hair, stroking the rogue curls gently, as if he were a prized pet and you their carer. 

“Spencer, its 2pm.” 

“On a Saturday.” You laughed at how pouty his voice sounded, but he complied and rolled off of you slightly, arms still wrapped around you. 

“Come on. Get up. I've got some clothes that might fit you, let's get you out of the tweed.” 

He huffed but nodded and lifted himself halfway to upright, eyes still closed lazily as he let in the light millimetre by millimetre. 

“God, my face feels horrible,” you said, itching at your nose. “How did we even sleep so long like this? My belt is still on, Spencer, my belt.” 

“If you were still wearing a weapon, then I'd be worried,” he smiled. 

You shot him a sarcastic look and finally detangled yourself, only to clasp his hands and pull him forward as well, letting him trail you to your closet. 

“Here, change in the bathroom,” he nodded and walked away, following directions with eyes still closed, as if it were really his apartment and not your own. 

100 days without him, and it was as if it had only been 100 hours. Your entire body chemistry changed when he was around, the stick holding your spine rigidly in place, dissolving into calm, into a smile and a free giggle. It felt right again, and you almost forgot you'd ever felt wrong. 

After briefly changing, you swapped place with Spencer, who'd exited the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and wet hair. 

“Dry it for me?” He asked, sitting on your couch, and you nodded your ascent. A shower and a quick change later, and you were doing just that. 

As much as he tried to keep his head upright, it kept lolling onto your thigh, yawns stretching out of him as he nuzzled closer to you. 

“Spencer, you're like a big kid, keep your head up.” 

“I'm not a kid,” he laughed, hooking his arms behind your knees and nuzzling closer into your soft sweats. “I'm just tired.” 

“You're right. A child would probably be better behaved.” 

“Our child would be,” he sighed, but you'd already turned the hairdryer back on, drowning out everything. Everything but that thump again. A child, he was thinking about children, and more importantly, he was thinking about your children. With him. 

He'd always imagined himself with a family, knowing it would ultimately stay in his imagination. But for a second, his visions changed. It wasn't just a child or two. It was you. Thump. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

He only released the image when you finally pushed his head off of you and stood, turning away from him to get a glass of water from your kitchen. 

“So, any plans today? Books to read, papers to mark, undergrads to run away screaming from?” You let the ice water cool your hot cheeks, but kept your back to him. You were hot, embarrassed, and you were looking at him in a sickeningly sweet way that could only be described as love struck or struck dumb. 

“No, no, I finished all my obligations at the college yesterday,” he said, following behind you and picking up your cup when you set it down, taking a sip himself. 

“I was… I was actually hoping we could spend some time together? Unless you had plans, which is totally fine-” 

“No, Spencer, yeah, I have no plans, that's…. Well I have to do laundry, which is a bit boring but, no. No plans.” 

“Laundry?” 

“Two week case in Florida, I don't know how you didn't smell me yesterday, Spencer. I'd be running for the hills.” 

He laughed and stepped away again, grabbing the two go bags by the door and coming back into your space. 

“How about we get this done now so we can spend the day in a Who-Trek marathon?” 

“Make that a Who-Greys Anatomy Marathon, and you have yourself a deal.” 

He pouted again, and you snorted at the sight, taking another sip of water to calm yourself before you could react safely to that face. 

“Come on, you know you've been dying to know what happens next at the Grey Sloane Memorial Hospital.” 

“I thought it was called the Seattle Grace Mercy?” 

“Oh we better get to that laundry now. You have a lot to catch up on.” 

Grabbing a bag in one hand and his free hand in your other, you made your way down to your building's laundry room. But despite the man by your side and the relaxing day threatening to stretch ahead of you, a gloom caught you in the corridors. 

You'd worked for two weeks, practically solid. You'd killed a man two days ago, or at least someone on your team had multiple shots having been fired. Another day on your job, another unsub felled, and everyone else was content with this just being a part of the job description. 

It felt like each step towards the laundry room, each thing you did that was normal, that was regular, threw back in your face the pain you endured to save lives. 

The bag in your hand weighed you down, pulling you lower and lower by the second. 

You reached the laundry room, and you found the weight almost unbearable, stopping just before you could step in. You didn't have to think about what came next though, because suddenly the bag was out of your hands and Spencer was sorting your laundry for you. 

“It's a Saturday, so your neighbour's won't complain if we separate the darks and lights into two machines, will they?” He asked, not looking up at you as he worked pouring out the fabric softener and the detergent. “Y/N?” 

You hadn't noticed the lightness in your body until the tears hit your cheeks, the weight gone with his support. 

“Y/N, what is it? What's wrong?” He said, hands cupping your face, because of course he was immediately at your side. 

“I-I can't do it, Spencer…” your voice shook, pitching upwards, your vision blurring with tears. 

“Can't do what, Y/N? Talk to me please, let me help?” 

“I can't do laundry!” You said, finally bursting into a full fit of tears and burying your head in his waiting chest. 

“L-Laundry?” He said, trying not to laugh, but the smile slipping out anyway now you were holding him. 

You only sobbed again, nodding into his shirt, aware you were probably leaving snot all over it but not being able to care. It was your shirt anyway. You would just have to add it back to your laundry pile. 

The thought set you off on another wave of sobs, and Spencer set about comforting you again. Keeping an arm wrapped around you, he put his quarters into the machines and set them off before quickly ushering you back up the stairs into your apartment. 

“Y/N? Y/N, please talk to me,” he begged, smoothing your hair out of your eyes as you tried to gather yourself.

“I don't…. I can't….” You took a breath again, aware of the way your breathing hitched in your chest as you did. 

“I don't think I can do this anymore,” you said, and his eyes widened quickly. 

“This? Y/N, if you mean this as in us, then I can't-” 

“This job,” you clarified, hands digging into the soft flesh of his arms further as he held you, finally sitting back on your couch. 

“The job. Okay, the job. That's okay. We all feel like this at some point.” 

You sniffed again and refused to meet his eyes. 

“But this isn't like the other times this - It's like my whole b-body is protesting, and I can't sleep, and if I don't, then I might get sloppy and an unsub could-” 

“Y/N, focus on my voice. You're spiralling. Listen to my voice, let's take some breaths, and think about this for a second.” 

He guided you through some breathing, a hand on your back tapping out beats even as his voice grew quiet. 

When you finally relaxed, you were sat on top of him, his hand rubbing circles into your back. 

“I think it started when you left,” you whispered. “When you went to Mexico, and then, you know,” you've voice thickened, and you couldn't get the words out. 

“And then these last 100 days they've just been…difficult.” 

“100…difficult,” he echoed, almost breathless as he listened to you. 

“It's like I can't do it without you. I never had to try to do it without you, and now I get what people say when they say this job is shitty, because it is when your best friend isn't there.” 

You gave him a weak smile and wiped away your tears, trying to climb from his lap. But his firm arms held you still, and you didn't really want out anyways. 

“When I get home, everything is different, and I can't make myself do anything. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have done that laundry. I'd let it sit and avoid it for weeks. Do you understand?” 

“Y/N, lots of people feel depressed sometimes-” 

“It's not - Spencer, I don't think this is something I can medicate my way out of. I don't know what to do because I can't do my job without you, and I can't be happy doing my job, and if I leave my job I'll be without you and then-” 

Your voice cracked again. 

“And then I still won't be happy.” The words were barely a whisper, but they were a plea, too. You weren't sure what for. 

“You can't be happy without me?” He asked, but it was more a statement than anything else. Spencer felt horrible in that moment as his chest rattled, gleeful that he was your happiness. 

“I love you,” he said, outloud finally after eight years. 

“I love you, too, Spencer, but-” 

“No, Y/N. Listen to me. I. Love. You.” The thumping of his heart set the tempo for the choir that was his senses to begin singing, as he finally leaned forward and kissed you.

“I love you, and I don't care if you're working at the BAU or if you're avoiding laundry at home. I, god, you're amazing and wonderful, and you're a human being, and you've our yourself under so much pressure for the last decade to keep me alive, to keep all of us alive really and….” 

He took another breath, leaning into kiss you one more time. 

“And you deserve a break.” 

“W-When we take breaks, people die.” 

“Did anyone die when I was teaching for the last three months? When JJ went on maternity leave?” 

You shook your head, but your brain was still a mess. 

“You all had reasons, I-” 

“You have reasons, too. Y/N…. Y/N, let me be your reason.” 

For a moment or two, Spencer truly thought you were going to say no. He thought you would get up and walk away, or better yet, ask him to leave and never come back. 

So when you pressed your lips to his, he was sure that this was a dream. 

But to you, it was salvation. Spencer Reid's love was the lifeline you'd been thrown, and it was buoyant enough to make you start floating. 

His hands kneaded the flesh at your hips as he pulled you closer still to him, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore every part of you there. 

“Y/N… love…you,” he mumbled with each spare breath he caught, and you only detangled your lips to hear him say it again as he pressed similarly heated kisses against every inch of your exposed skin. 

When Spencer's mind lost its ability to create original speech, he leant back on a lifetime of information, of learning love through books and people and marathons with you. 

“I know that all I know right now is that I love you. And I know that I always will,” he whispered, lifting you and carrying you back to the bed you'd only crawled from an hour hence. 

A hand slid under your shirt, and slowly pushed it over your head, letting it slowly drop to the floor as he held you tenderly. 

“To me, you are perfect.”

His mouth found one nipple, and he gently kissed, then suckled at it, hands softly caressing your stomach, feeling along every ridge of you as you writhed under him. 

“Of all the FBI Units, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.” 

“Spencer,” you said, voice still thick with tears, but these ones more tender, more joyful. 

His hand eased your sweats over your ass and off, his hips settling between your legs as if he found the place he was made to lie forever. 

“The truth of it is, I’ve loved you from the first second I met you.” 

His mouth trailed lower until his tongue hit your clit, brushing against it languidly, as if it was his deepest desire to taste you and nothing else ever again.

His tongue flattened and flicked and pushed inside of you as you replayed his words again and again and again. You found yourself repeating them with him. 

“I love you,” you echoed as he pushed a finger inside of you. 

“I.. love you,” you gasped as he added another. 

“I love you,” you screamed as your back arched up off the bed, finding your pleasure in his tongue, just ad you'd found love in his words. 

“You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love….” He freed his cock from his pants, and took it in hand.

“I love…” With another kiss, he pressed the tip of it against you, asking for permission silently as you nodded your head. 

“I love you.” He pushed in slowly, but it wouldn't matter how he did it because now you knew how he felt, and you didn't want to return to a time of not knowing. 

Hooking your legs around him, Spencer dropped his forehead to yours and looked you directly in the eyes as he began moving. In and out, he thrust, mouth open in a moan of pleasure, likely mirroring your own.

The poetry, the movie lines, they were gone now, and Spencer was left with nothing but you, and love, and love for you. 

“Spencer,” you moaned out, and he felt his chest swell. Pride. His name on your tongue, his body pressed to yours, claiming you as his ad you claimed him as yours. 

He came with a shudder and you were not far behind, his undoing sending a shiver up your spine as his fingers grazed your clit again. 

You sat panting for a minute, still attached, still forehead to forehead. 

You weren't sure if it was him who giggled first or if it was you, but you were glad it was one of you. 

You spent the rest of the night, the rest of the weekend, wrapped in his warmth, dressed in his love, taking each day a step at a time as you basked in his adoration.

[gb-patch]

GB Patch Games: Response About Sensitivity Reader

[Some of you might not have heard of this happening, but I wanted to address it across the board]

Hey everyone,

I want to make a post about the screenshots of comments from one of our sensitivity readers. The situation is that neither me or Rose want people to feel uncomfortable with Our Life: Now & Forever, but Rose hasn’t done anything terribly wrong and isn’t going to be punished.

The comment about OL MCs wasn’t meant to be genuine hatred towards all male players/MCs of OL. Rose wrote a reply about it-

"Hi everyone! This is Rose, I want to address the male MC comment since it was taken wildly out of context and without the lengthy discussion that was after it. I don't hate male MCs, in fact far from it, male MCs are integral to the story in OL:NF as female and trans MCs are. I think the relationship they could potentially have with Qiu could be a great asset in my opinion as they figure out their gender alongside the MC. The discussion itself was about how I noticed players were sticking to heteronormative norms by shipping Tamarack with a man purely out of societal norms than it was genuine thought into the characters and how I personally wished there was more sapphic relationships with Tamarack or just Tamarack with trans characters as a sapphic trans person myself. I didn't mean to offend anyone by it as no one but my friends who understood what I legitimately meant behind my message and it definitely wasn't meant to be seen seriously. I am sorry regardless to anyone I have offended and I love your male MCs regardless."

And most of the comments were about me. I’ve seen screenshots of the full conversations and they’re not as harsh as the cropped snippets made them out to be. It was longer discussions about not including Derek in any base game Moments for no good reason and not having any plus-sized love interests in OL1 because I was afraid players wouldn’t accept it. That’s not a lie, it’s what I decided for the game I created, and it is ridiculous of me. I’m the one who should be feeling embarrassed over how OL1 will forever be that way, not the people who remember that I did that. I’m not perfect and Rose actually cares more about the players than making me feel like I am flawless.

I also don’t want to tone police an employee venting about their boss in private, on their own time. Both the OL games deal with personal, important topics. This is sensitive work, and it can bring up frustrations. Sometimes people do use harsh words among friends, but they wouldn’t ever say it to a person seriously and directly.

I understand if you wouldn’t want to see anyone speak badly of a dev you like, but I promise it’s not a point of contention between me and Rose. I don’t feel mistreated in anyway. Rose genuinely cares about the Our Life series, and that’s why they get fed up with me over certain parts of the game.

Rose has never been unkind or unreasonable to me when working on the project, and their advice is detailed and well-explained. They do care about the game and want it to avoid having content that upsets people because of my own ignorance/shortcomings.

This being shared publicly from a private server is targeting Rose and seems to be a continuation of things that have happened before this. I don’t want this to continue happening. If you do still have concerns over the one comment about the community, you can let me know. But again, I don’t want people being mistrustful of Rose on my behalf for comments about me in conversations with missing context.

Do not send angry messages to Rose about any of this. We’ll do our best so that OL2 will be better than I was before. Thank you to everyone who reads this and participates in the community!

[nightingale-prompts]

Deathday Party

Part of this post series > link

Tim had no idea he was being courted by Danny and was making his way to an official engagement at this rate. What he did know was that Danny had invited him to an important party at the mansion of none other then Vlad Masters.

Danny had mentioned that his family and Masters had a rocky past but it had gotten better before he left for university. Tim wasn't convinced due to the stories Danny had offhandly mentioned. The guy had tried to out Danny to his parents and rallied the town against him. So excuse Tim for not wanting Danny to go back to a homophobic town like that and a bastard who did something so petty just because a kid's mom wouldn't sleep with you.

But Danny was his friend. The only normal friend he had who treated him like this. Sure he really likes giving gifts and has a fascination for flowers but that's all the more reason to look after him. It was pure luck that Tim befriended him before a cult did.

Tim was still going to supportive and still needed to make it up to Danny for not visiting Amity Park last time. So he packed and boarded the plane a few days before the party.

Danny began introducing Tim to everyone in his family. For the most part, it was a warm welcome. Danny's dad told him that they would have to sleep in separate rooms because "He knows how boys could be and there will be no funny business."

Tim was indignant but reminded himself to be polite. Danny's dad may not be the most accepting of LGBT people but this was his home.

Danny only blushed and brushed his dad off, after all, he and Tim hadn't even kissed yet.

Danny's friends were cool though. Sam was definitely the source of Danny's gothic tendencies. She and Danny discussed herbs, crystals, and graveyards together while Tim got to know Tucker.

The next day they went to the Masters' estate and Tim met Danny's other family. Dani or Elle was Danny's little sister or cousin or something. It was confusing but she immediately took a liking to Tim.

"Ooo, he's cute~ You dont mind sharing right Danny?" She teased linking arms with Tim.

"Knock it off Elle. He's too old for you anyway and if Vlad heard you he'd set Tim on fire." Danny admonished her pulling her off by the hoodie.

Tim didn't catch that Danny was being completely serious about the fire part.

Vlad Masters would be out of the house until the party that night but the mansion was being set up for the event. Apparently, the "Deathday" party was a bigger deal than Tim thought. The guest list was a mile long.

From what Tim gathered a death day was a celebration of life after a near-death experience. Like if someone flatlined during surgery and are brought back. Its actually a pretty smart way to deal with trauma by making the event a reason to celebrate.

Tim had heard from Danny of the day he was electrocuted and that it changed his life. He definitely had the scar to prove it. Danny had gotten a UV tattoo over it or something because it glowed faintly at night. It was pretty cool.

That evening Tim was handed his costume for the event. The party had a royal theme, something that didn't seem like Danny's idea. Still, Danny's silver and ivy green dublette looked...pretty good. Tim dressed in a similar red and gold suit.

"You look good." Danny pulled out an ornate emerald cravat pin and pinned it to Tim label.

"You too," Tim said without thinking but Danny smiled before going back to putting the finishing touches on their outfits.

It was...intimate to say the least as Danny pulled back Tim's hair. He fastened their capes and a (fake) dagger to his belt.

Danny put put on a subtle layer of makeup. Darkening his eyes, cheeks, and lips. It gave him a pale and deathly appearance.

"I have to look my best. I don't want anyone to think I'm just using you as arm candy." Danny laughed.

"That implies that you are using me as that already." Tim jested but stopped when Danny pointed to the makeup trey. "You're joking."

"Im not. It's an important event and this isn't Gotham. There are alot of people i want you to meet. Just play along." Danny begged.

Tim agreed letting Danny put on a bit of black and red makeup.

"Aww, Tim. You look absolutely ghastly. Your funeral ready." Danny gushed as he turned to grab the last things they needed. Two circlets with stars emblems embedded in them.

Tim laughed internally. Danny was always to positive Tim forgot just how goth he was. Tim knew he shouldn't be surpised.

Tim and Danny walked to the mansion's ballroom which was full of guests dressed similarly to them. The room glowed eerily under green-flamed torches. Very gothic. On second thought this suited Danny.

A staff member er...servant announced their arrival.

"His Highness the High Prince of the realm of infinite space and his guest."

None other than Vlad Masters approached. He had thrown this party for his godson and wanted everything perfect. He eyed Tim critically before speaking to Danny.

"Daniel I heard about your...friend from Elle. Its that what he is?" Masters studied.

"He's my-"

"Boyfriend! I'm his boyfriend." Tim interrupted. He was not going to let this homophonic piece of shit undermine Danny's sexuality again and try to embarrass him. Especially on such an I'm day. " Tim Drake, son of Bruce Wayne and head of Wayne Industries. I've heard a LOT about you Mr.Masters."

After a moment Vlad nodded and smiled.

"You've chosen well. He's quite the catch my boy. Happy Death Day." Vlad patted Danny on the back before going to mingle with Danny's parents who where tearing up the cheese platter.

Danny blinked owlishly at Tim. Tim had never used that word yet, Danny thought they were not at that stage yet.

"Sorry Danny, i got caught up." Tim sighed.

"You know he's going to tell everyone right?" Danny laughed "I hope you're ready."

Danny dragged Tim to meet his ghost friends for the rest of the evening between dancing and eating.

Tim had fun meeting Danny's fellow goth friends who complimented him a lot. They were definitely strange but they really loved Danny. The whole party was like a Renaissance festival meets one of those novels that Jason loved. Actually, Jason would be so jealous of him right now. Tim made sure to take pictures. Some of them came out fuzzy but it was enough to make Jason mad.

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part two)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You’re at the library the next morning, enjoying how quiet campus is on a Saturday. You’re trying to focus on a discussion board you need to respond in, but your mind is elsewhere.

You can’t believe you agreed to Rafe’s idea. But you don’t regret it. He may be a jerk through and through, but he’s surprisingly a really good listener in bed.

You’re pretty sure he gave you the best orgasm you’ve ever had with someone. While it was an awkward challenge guiding him, you realized how liberating it was getting exactly what you wanted instead of quietly hoping the guy you were with knew what to do.

Your phone buzzes and lights up with a text. It’s 9:44 am and the notification is from Rafe.

Rafe: if you ever want practice sucking dick let me know

You flush and instinctually look around to make sure nobody in the barren library can see your screen. You reply: good morning to you too.

You take a second and send another message. The thought of going down on him rouses you. And, of course, the feedback will be helpful.

You: might take you up on that

Rafe: might?

You: might :)

Rafe is lying in bed, nursing a minor hangover. When he thinks about what happened on the other side of the wall in your room last night, he gets turned on all over again.

Feeling you cum around his fingers was fucking amazing. Knowing he did that to you, made you shake like that, was like an achievement. And he wants to keep doing it.

He texts you: we’re having a party on the beach today. bring friends

Rafe’s brand new to the frat, but he has already learned how important it is to invite as many people as he can to events. And if he’s being honest, he really wants to see you again.

You: only if you dont hit on them. i cant subject them to that

He feels his lips quirk up in a smile. When you don’t have a stick up your ass, you’re actually kind of entertaining.

Rafe: wtf why

You: you’re a fuckboy

Rafe: nahh you said i was amazing

You: i said the sex was amazing. and thats only because i told you what to do

Rafe: you can’t take all the credit

You: watch me

Rafe: you’re annoying

You: YOU’RE annoying

You: send me the address and time for the party

He quickly sends you the details.

This is the best idea he’s ever had. No strings attached sex with a hot girl who has zero interest in a relationship and can be brutally honest with him. He gets to fuck and improve his skills. It’s a dream.

Later that afternoon, Rafe watches the setting sun as he hangs out with a couple of his frat brothers in the sand. The party’s slowly starting to fill up, conversations growing in volume over the sound of the waves crashing on the shore.

“We don’t host a lot of parties here,” Blake continues to explain to Rafe.

Blake’s a sophomore legacy and Rafe has slowly realized that he sort of looks up to him. He’s involved in the frat and seems to know everybody.

“It’s ‘cause it’s impossible to get people to pay cover, so we don’t even ask for it,” Blake says.

“No door to do it at,” Sam, another sophomore adds with a laugh. Blake looks back and shakes his head.

“Fun police is here,” he hollers. Rafe turns to see pacing towards the keg next to the same girl he saw you with last night.

His pulse quickens as he takes you in. Your shorts are barely covering anything. Damn.

You glare at Blake as you pick up a red solo cup.

“Kidding,” Blake says. “We were kinda being assholes the other night, weren’t we?”

Your lips twist into a small smile. Rafe isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t like you looking at Blake like that.

He didn’t mention to anyone that you two hooked up last night. No particular reason - it just didn’t come up. But clearly, he’ll have to fill the guys in later. They need to know you’re off limits.

“Thanks for admitting it,” you say, filling up your cup. “Why can’t you be my neighbor?”

You look over at Rafe, whose jaw is clenched. Him and that temper. Admittedly, you’re already kind of sexually frustrated over how good he looks in his tank top, his big biceps exposed.

“Life’s unfair,” Blake replies with a bigger grin. You return it. It makes Rafe’s blood run hot.

“I guess it is,” you say as your friend finishes filling up her cup.

You walk away and Rafe realizes he didn’t exchange a single word with you. The second you’re out of earshot, he leans towards his buddies.

“I’m hooking up with her,” he tells them.

“Your neighbor?” Sam laughs. “Cap. That chick hates you.”

Rafe almost tells him not to call you a chick because of your advice last night. Wow. He really is learning from you.

“Didn’t hate me last night.” He takes a sip of his beer.

“Wait, for real?” Blake asks.

“Yeah.” Rafe loves the confidence high he’s riding right now.

“How was it?” Blake asks.

Rafe decides to lie. Painting it as a boring experience will make his buddies lose any interest they might have in you.

“Fine,” he says casually. Yeah, right. It was incredible.

Rafe watches Blake turn, surely to check you out.

“She’s cute,” Blake mumbles.

“Bro code, man,” Sam says, slapping his friend’s chest. Rafe is kind of relieved he said that.

“Shit, my bad,” Blake says with a chuckle, looking at Rafe. “You like her?”

“Oh - no,” Rafe laughs. “No.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I talked to her, right?” Blake says it as more of a statement than a question.

Rafe realizes he shouldn’t care. This whole arrangement is so both of you can get better at sex with other people. He doesn’t know what got into him thinking you owed him loyalty. His impulse to be possessive serves no purpose here.

“Go for it,” Rafe says.

Dusk falls as you stand in a crowd with Liv, your feet sunken into the sand as you drink and chat.

You told her about your arrangement with Rafe and were surprised to hear how jealous she was, mentioning how rare it is to find a guy who cares about giving his girl an orgasm.

You had to clarify to her it’s because Rafe’s ego needs all the stroking it can get, especially in the bedroom. And that you are not his girl.

You know it’s a crazy situation to be in with someone, but it’s worth it. You’ll learn what you can from him, and he’ll do the same with you, and then you’ll use what you picked up with people you actually like.

As the night goes on, the crowd gets bigger and closer together. It’s dark at this point, the moon covered with clouds.

Rafe’s been looking at you all night, at your bare legs, thinking about how he had his mouth between them last night.

You feel your phone buzz in your back pocket. When you pull it out, you see a text from Rafe: you ever fucked in a car? or are you too scared lol

You look up to meet his gaze from eight feet away at most, shaking your head in incredulity as he smirks at you.

The abruptness of his message, the promise of doing something so outside your comfort zone, is thrilling. But still, you just have to mess with him.

You reply: too scared :( no thanks

You laugh at the way Rafe’s face contorts at his phone. He looks up at you.

You text again: jk let’s go

He flashes his middle finger to you and you return the gesture. He then cocks his head behind him to signal you to follow.

“Tip for you,” you say when you approach him, walking away from the crowd together. “Don’t flip off a girl you’re trying to fuck.”

“Is that not good foreplay?” Rafe asks with a smirk.

“Aw, did I teach you that word?” you say.

“I knew it before.”

“Sure,” you say. “Just like you knew that girls fake it.”

“You’re annoying,” he groans, amusement in his tone.

“You’re annoying” you say, echoing your text conversation from earlier. You playfully shove his shoulder. He hardly budges.

You approach the parking lot and Rafe pulls out keys to remotely unlock his car.

“Get in,” he says, stopping in front of a large black SUV and opening the right backseat door. You notice the luxury brand immediately.

“This is your car?”

“Got a motorcycle, too,” he replies smugly.

“It makes so much sense now.”

“What?”

“You’re rich,” you realize. Rafe shrugs in such a pompous way.

“And?”

“That’s why you’re so…” you begin. What’s the right word? Entitled? Arrogant? Shameless? “You.”

Rafe scoffs at you, unsure of how to take the comment and unsure if he should even care as you settle in his car. He ambles in behind you, settling on the leather seat and shutting the door.

You don’t feel shy to initiate like you did last night. You straddle him, immediately locking lips, feeling him freeze in what you think is surprise before his hands drag over your hips.

Rafe really wants to grab your ass but he remembers you telling him he shouldn’t jump right to groping.

He tastes like beer and he smells like cologne as you deepen the kiss, weaving your lips together. He dips his tongue into your mouth and your noses nudge together, wet lips smacking in his dark, quiet car.

He shuffles under you, the leather squeaking, allowing you to feel his hard-on between your legs, his hands finally wandering over your ass and gripping hard. Lust burns in your stomach.

Your mind drifts back to what he texted you this morning. You’ve been thinking about it all day. You sit back, unable to see much of Rafe in the darkness, but enough to see that his eyes are half-closed, drunk off the feeling.

“I wanna practice…” you say, stroking him over his shorts. “You know.”

“Say it,” Rafe coaches, his dimples caving into his cheeks. You roll your eyes. Right. This is why you’re doing this. To stop being so reserved.

“Sucking dick,” you finally say. Hearing and watching you as your words spill out of your mouth makes his skin prickle with excitement.

“My turn to teach you, huh?” Rafe’s voice is deep and husky, dripping with desire. You nod, your bottom lip trapped beneath your teeth as you continue to stroke him.

“Should I keep doing this?” you ask, palming him.

“You got it, baby,” he rasps lazily. “Touch it before you put it in your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you half-chuckle. Rafe smirks. He knows you love his dirty talk.

“You can talk, too,” he encourages. “Try it.”

You twist your lips in apprehension, but push yourself past your comfort zone.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this all day,” you admit, goosebumps blooming across your skin. “About how your cock is gonna feel down my throat.”

“Goddamn,” he groans, his hands gripping your ass tighter. How’d he get so lucky to be here right now? “That’s good.”

“Yeah?” you whisper, gratified. You unbutton his shorts and pull down his zipper.

“You liked the way it felt inside you last night, didn’t you?” he asks. He shifts to give you the space to pull down his shorts and boxers.

You watch him shut his eyes in pleasure as you wrap your bare hand around him, no fabric in the way anymore.

“I loved it,” you whisper, giving into the impulse to kiss him again. When your thumb rubs over the bead of warm precum on the head of his cock, he bites your bottom lip.

You move to position your head at his groin, your knees on the carpeted floor of his car. You lean forward, slowly putting your lips around the tip, feeling just how wet your panties are when you taste him.

“Shit,” he shudders. You slightly raise your head to dribble spit onto his thick cock, bringing your hand up to rub the moisture over his length.

“Sit up,” Rafe says. “I wanna watch you spit on it again.”

You straighten and the sight of your line of saliva dropping from your mouth to his dick makes Rafe feel like he might go crazy.

His cock is slick now, your hand sliding up and down it easily.

“Should I use both hands?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he huffs. You nod, both your palms rubbing over his girth, cupping and twisting.

He’s about to tell you to start using your mouth, but you drop a hand, leaving the other at his base, and take him in.

Your hot, wet mouth feels unbelievable. You start to suck and slide over him nicely, leaning up and down.

“Squeeze harder,” he instructs, and you nod with his cock still in your mouth, your hold stiffening at his base. You’d assume gripping this tight would hurt, but this is why you’re doing this with him. To learn.

You take a little more of him with every dip of your head, lips locked as spit dribbles down your chin. The sound of your slurping is fucking amazing to him. Your tongue twists and curls as you move.

“Keep using your tongue like that,” Rafe says to you, his words whispered and rushed. “And take as much of my cock as you can. Try to take all of it.”

You nod again, pushing down, gagging but reaching all of him, your nose touching his toned stomach.

“Fuck, yes,” he moans. “Good fucking girl.”

The praise makes you stir with enticement as you pull back, then take all of his length again, flicking your tongue.

“Just like that,” Rafe grunts, his voice hoarse. “Look at me.”

You meet his eyes in the shadowed car, his chest heaving. Rafe might just lose his mind at the way you look with your mouth stuffed with his cock. He reminds himself this is supposed to be instructional.

“Guys love this shit, okay?” he says. “When you look up like that.”

You pull back, making him watch his cock slowly get uncovered as you pop off of him.

“Is it wet enough?” you ask.

“Yeah, baby, you’re doing a good job,” he replies. You nod and sink onto him again, starting to move faster, moving your hand in sync with your mouth.

“Hold my balls,” he tells you. “Not too tight.”

You obey, cupping the soft flesh with one hand while the other remains wrapped around his cock. You squeeze gently, massaging his balls and earning a deep groan from him.

Wow. You really are learning a lot from him.

Rafe feels his stomach tighten. He’s close.

“You gonna swallow?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, muffled and vibrating over his cock. You never have before, but you really want to impress Rafe and do this right.

He starts to shake, his voice reduced to a whimper. You feel him get even harder, then shudder.

His hot cum hits the back of your throat in one hard splash, trailed by short spurts. He moans his way through his orgasm, his load heavy.

You take it all, making him smile as he looks down at you, panting.

“That was… fuck…” Rafe huffs, titling his head back, his jawline sharp.

It’s pretty gratifying seeing such a big, loud, arrogant man reduced to this tired, heaving mess. He rakes a hand through his hair as you shift to sit next to him.

“A-plus?” you ask. You’re expecting him to tease you but he nods.

“Fuck yeah,” he laughs. “Give me a few minutes. I want you to show me how to make you cum on my dick.”

Nerves suddenly bubble in your stomach. Even after what you just did, the thought of fucking him in here makes you feel on edge.

“Let’s do that another night,” you say, adjusting your top.

“What? Why?” he asks. He looks at you, lips still parted as he breathes heavily.

“We could get caught.”

“The windows are tinted,” Rafe tells you. “Nobody knows we’re even in here.”

You look away, which by now, he has learned means you’re embarrassed.

“Holy shit, why do you get so nervous all of a sudden?” he laughs. “Do you feel bad for liking sex or something?”

You swallow hard. You never thought about it but... maybe he’s right. There always is a little bit of shame attached to every hook-up you have.

He called you out on your lack of confidence last night. Here he is, doing it again.

Rafe doesn’t understand how a girl can be so sure of herself one minute, then ashamed the next.

“Relax,” he says. “Don’t think. Just answer, understand?”

“Okay,” you say.

“Do you want to fuck?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“Yeah, I do,” you relent.

“Then take your clothes off.”

(part three)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[harunayuuka2060]

Riddle: ...

Riddle: I initially thought Ace was overreacting when he said they're incredibly attractive. And that scent… They smell like white winter roses.

MC: *smiling*

Riddle: ...

Riddle: What do you want to discuss, MC-senpai?

MC: I'm not sure. How about you start?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Trey mentioned that you received complaints from the students of Heartslabyul dorm and wanted to hear my side of the story.

MC: That's right.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: First of all, I want to say that it's not my fault if those students are incompetent. As the dorm leader, I must ensure they follow the rules.

MC: *chuckles*

Riddle: What's funny?

MC: It's nothing. Anyway, do you want to play a game with me?

Riddle: A game?

MC: A board game from Arendelle. You're going to love it.

MC: *has explained the rules to Riddle*

Riddle: ...

Riddle: *looking at the cute, tiny sentient snowmen*

MC: Are you ready, Sir Riddle?

Riddle: What's the goal of this game?

MC: To reach the goal and keep as many pieces alive.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: *ten out of his 50 tiny snowmen have quit and left the board*

Riddle: What-

MC: My, and I assume they were your talented pieces too.

Riddle: I still have forty left!

MC: *smiles*

*after an hour*

Riddle: We're almost there! *has been pushing hard one of the snowmen*

The tiny snowman: *gives up, cries, and leaves the board*

Riddle: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU USELESS THING!

*All of his remaining pieces got mad and left.*

Riddle: ...

MC: ...

MC: It seems I won.

Riddle: ...

MC: *smiles* A captain is only as good as his crew.

Riddle: ...

MC: You are welcome to retain the competitive individuals in your group. Yet, wouldn't it be splendid if none of your resources were squandered?

Riddle: Are you saying that I should be more lenient?

MC: A stance not of leniency, but of practicality.

MC: Although you may find it challenging, following in the footsteps of the Queen of Hearts, I do recall that she still listened to reason.

Riddle: ...

MC: *stood up gracefully*

MC: I enjoyed our game and I look forward to playing another one with you.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: *stood up from his seat too*

Riddle: Let me walk you to the entrance.

MC: You will? *chuckles* We might end up in a sweet shop.

Riddle: Are you craving sweets? I could ask Trey to make some for you.

MC: *chuckles* Please and thank you.

Leona: *seeing Riddle and MC walking together*

Leona: ...

Leona: What the heck are they doing here?

Ruggie: Who? The new student?

Leona: Tch.

Ruggie: ...

Ruggie: You know the new student?

Leona: *walks away*

Ruggie: Hey, Leona! Are they your friend?

[penny-anna]

Summary of last night's transformer discussion:

- transformers (probably??) don't have genitals but the fandom likes to give them dicks & buttholes

- looking at fanart it seems people mostly go for robo dick of some variety

- are transformer dicks retractable? If so when they extend do they make the noise. You know the one.

- friend E feels that part of the appeal of Transformers is that they don't fuck and therefore should not have penises

- asked if she's okay with them having vaginas responds 'well they do have valves'

- we consider the concept of transformers using a male to male cable like a double ended dildo. Friend E on board w 'cable stuff'

- my friend who's name is also Katie shares that one transformers writer described a scene he wrote where one transformer spins another transformer's wheels as 'the most erotic thing he'd ever written'

No conclusion reached.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x dc AU where Dick adopts teenage Danny into his family with Kor’i and Mar’i

Mar’i had always wanted a sibling, all seven years of her life in fact!! Toys and play times with friends couldnt possibly compare to having a brother or a sister, and she knew this as a fact from some of her school mates.

So when her dad brings home a kid that was all cut up and bruised, and her mom patches him up because something about his “biology” was weird- Mar’i sees this as an opportunity in the making!

Danny is healing up slowly but surely in Nightwings house, and he feels like a total intrusion. He’s now seen their faces and it feels like so much trust has been placed in him with no way for him to repay it. So he’s moping a bit, hanging in his room reading a book based on his video game series when a small child walks in, her arms filled with board games and toys.

“Hello, will you be my big brother?” Is all she asks him with a straight face, her eyes incredibly serious for someone so small.

“Er, im just here until-“

“Want to play a game?” Mar’i changes the subject favoring a specific board game in her hands. Rule number one of negotiation is to never let them say no- her uncle Damian taught her that.

“…yeah, sure.” Danny accepts because honestly? He could at least repay Nightwing and Starfire by babysitting right? They play a few games and then dinner gets brought in and for once, Danny feels like he’s having a normal family meal.

Next time she comes into his room, he’s focused on healing one of his larger wounds from the power in his core- he’s floating and his eyes are green. Mar’i is ECSTATIC. He fits in PERFECTLY.

“WILL YOU PLEASE BE MY BIG BROTHER?!?” Mar’i persistently asks every single day. Danny laughs and smiles and pats her head.

Once he’s feeling better, he starts patrolling with Nightwing, just to pay him back. Not that he’s having fun bashing goons and getting solid hero advice for the first time in his life.

Then he goes to Tameran with Kor’i for a diplomatic mission (his royal ambdassadorship/ king titles tbd) to discuss the Infinite Realms and why they absolutely need to abandon their attempts to use ghost artifacts. Kor’i explains how proud she is of him as they fly home.

He gets invited to all their family outings now, and he is overwhelmed by how accepted he is. How much the Bats all seem to leave him space for boundaries but invite him to do things very much to his interests (they are detectives after all). Once its safe, Jazz comes every now and then from her Ivy League college to hang out with them all and spend time with Danny. She gives him the advice he needed to hear about accepting good things into his life and deserving happiness.

One day Mar’i has a bad day at school, and when Danny gets home from his own community college classes- he brings her into a big hug, makes her a cup of tea from her mom’s home planet and once she’s comforted and happy again he says “hey, what are big brothers for?”

[halfmoonshines]

soft spot

damon salvatore x reader

summary; you're injured in a fight with a rogue vampire who breezed into town, and Damon is being weird about it

hurt/comfort

----

You tried to stay hidden in the shadows outside of the streetlight, but your rapid heartbeat probably would've given you away either way.

"Who the hell is this guy?" You heard Damon mutter from the spot he was tossed just a few feet away from you, dusting the dirt from the trash cans he'd squished like cardboard. His ice blue eyes spared you a quick glance but didn't say a word, trying not to draw any attention your way.

Damon intervened as Caroline was struggling to grapple with the stranger. In the span of a moment, she was on the ground groaning with a broken arm and he had launched the assailant to give them a chance to regroup - right toward you.

You couldn't help the little gasp that you emitted, no matter how much time you spent around these creatures this was a vampire. One in particular who would have no hang ups about snapping your neck.

Per their supernatural hearing, it didn't take long for the mans vicious senses to find you, and took half as long for him to have a bruising hand around your neck.

The sound of Damon yelling your name was distant in the background, you were focused on the threat literally snarling in your face.

"Don't you smell good?"

That was as far as the stranger managed to get before Damon had the broken handle of a broom protruding from his back. His grip slipped off your throat as his body slid sideways and you toppled to the ground, heading bouncing off the pavement hard enough for you to see stars.

Damon's voice was faint to you again, but you could hear him begging for your attention. Caroline was in the background too, in panicked discussion with someone over the phone. You couldn't get your eyes to focus though, hair becoming wet and warm.

The eldest Salvatore's touch on you was feather light, his mouth still moving with words he wanted you to latch onto but you had already lost the dance with consciousness.

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The first thing you were aware of when you woke up in a bed was that it was decidedly not yours. The next thing you noticed was that you weren't in any pain, just a bit stiff when you went to sit up from the bed. Someone had definitely given you blood, which was against every rule her and her friends had discussed, but from the smell of the sheets behind you - Damon wouldn't have cared either way.

You made your way out of the room and down the stairs, vaguely knowing the layout of the boarding house from your handful of times actually coming inside. Over the last few months you had become dangerously intertwined in Elena's grapple with the supernatural, despite Bonnie's vehement advice to go as far as possible. You were emancipated, you could switch schools and move to Pennsylvania.

No, you couldn't. Once your conscious had been opened to everything around you, once you were aware of the dangers of the dark - you could never ignore that. Better the evil you know.

Speaking of.

You came upon Damon in his favorite spot, a tumbler of bourbon in his hand while he leaned up against the fireplace. The suit jacket he had been wearing earlier that night was discarded on the couch behind him, a small amount of blood on the collar of his shirt still.

"You always look so broody." Poking fun at him might not be in your best interest, but you figured you'd give it a go. Over the last few months, your and Damon's relationship had morphed into something you couldn't quite understand, but moments like these had seemed to become more comfortable between you.

"I believe you're confusing me with my much broodier younger brother." Damon's words were laced with sarcasm, but his tone didn't have a hint of amusement.

You felt suddenly awkward, in his space and home. Just because you had gotten kind of comfortable lately didn't mean he wanted to be around you.

"Well, thanks for the whole life saving thing." You began to babble nervously, a faint pink glow to your cheeks. "I'll get out of your hair. Sorry for taking your bed, I don't even know what time it is-" You had begun turning toward the door, making to just leave and find a way home. How you could this age and still flustered in front of attractive men, especially murderous ones was beyond you.

Damon appearing in front of you almost made your heart stop, hair stirring at his incredibly fast movements. He was barely a foot away, his piercing gaze holding your confused one. From this close you could smell just how much he had probably drank.

"Are you... okay, Damon?" Your voice wavered a bit under the heat of his stare and you saw the muscle in his jaw working overtime while he looked like he was debating whether or not he wanted to actually say anything to you.

"You don't have to thank me for saving you when you were in danger because of me." His eyes had drifted from your eyes to your neck, voice whisper quiet.

Vulnerability was the last thing you expected from the man standing over you. "What do you mean? It wasn't your fault. Just wrong place, wrong time and I so happen to be the weakest link." You hoped your voice conveyed even a bit of humor.

His eyes snapped back up to yours, head tilting slightly while he assessed you. Damon's hand rose to grab a lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger in thought. Your breath caught in your throat, feeling like you were on the precipice of something.

"My weakest link, maybe. Have I told you how much I like your hair?" His voice was still quiet, an innocent lilt.

Your mind was reeling, half drunk on his closeness and hazed by confusion. Where was this coming from? Had he drank a small liquor store and now he was confusing her for her much more appealing best friend?

"Damon, I'm not sure how much you've had to drink, but I'm happy to brew you a pot of coffee. Does that even work for vampires?"

You had started to pull away, making to turn toward the kitchen but Damon was infinitely faster than you. His drink was discarded, one hand going to your upper arm and the other to your waist, tugging you back into his vicinity.

"On the contrary, I don't think I've ever been so sure minded, sparrow. I'm sorry for not protecting you tonight." His voice was tight now, the warmth of his hands tingling down your body.

"It's not your fault, or job, Damon." Your voice had quieted to match his, all humor leaving. You didn't know where this guilt had come from, but it was misplaced. Since you'd met Damon he'd made some bad decisions, but you had also seen his sacrifice so much for the sake of the team. Even if others didn't acknowledge it, he didn't need to add anymore to his plate.

"I'd like it to be. My job." His reply was lightning quick, eyes pinning yours in place.

Were you dreaming?

Damon's signature smirk was visible for a split second, telling you that your confusion was written all over your face. "I think that I'm asking you, in the most coming of age movie way, if you'd like to go steady?"

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send any fic requests here!! all comments/criticisms/requests welcome

[satoruhour]

a/n: jjk 236 spoilers, mentions of suicide from reader’s side, no comfort, cry. around 1.4k. tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @saiki-enthusiast @arminsumi @shotorus @satohruu so yall can suffer w me

the first signs of grief manifests in you when there’s a bright light that signifies gojo’s disperse of cursed energy, the familiar hollow purple that obliterates half the buildings around the two strongest sorcerers — one from the heian and the other one from our times. surely, your lover wouldn’t do something as foolish as involving himself with the blast, but gojo satoru is always one to take risks.

when he took up the job of taking care of megumi and tsumiki at just eighteen years old and providing all the things they needed to fluorish. gojo is risky as he convinces a kid with a terrifying curse to make some friends and learn about cursed energy. he sometimes puts himself in danger when he takes up more missions he can shoulder just to show the higher-ups that he can kill them any time.

gojo satoru has the world of jujutsu in his hands; how his birth had changed the trajectory of the society, altered the balance of the world and now—

“satoru!” you call out once the smoke clears and he’s still there, intact, smiling a sick smile like the many times you’ve seen him done at megumi and after burning french toast. you brief a sigh of relief and the pounding of your heart calms down momentarily before sukuna emerges and he’s missing a hand and a leg and your heart pulls lower and lower seeing the kid you raised be such a ragdoll for sukuna’s entertainment. but there was always the hope to isolate the king of curses’ soul and save megumi somehow. shoko and you had discussed it, you know it to be true, it has to be true, until there’s a sharp noise that cuts through your ear drums.

it’s high-pitched, like a flash of light that shines in your eyes too abruptly and you have to cover them. but it blinds you as much as it deafens; an attack from god knows which end and you swear you hear the reaper’s scythe.

gojo thinks you look beautiful like this; hand on your cheek and head in your hand as you watch him and the melodic sounds of the knife hitting the cutting board. you’re so concerned about him cutting his hand again that you’ve dragged your chair all the way into the kitchen to watch him closely, which was counterintuitive; the whole reason why he had bled in the first place was because he was looking at you so much.

he admires the way you curl into yourself on the beanbag in the apartment, a book on your lap on how to get to know your teenager better, hair falling over your eyes and the reading lamp not even helping that much in illuminating the words. gojo skims over your features and the way your chest breathes slowly, like everything good in the world. he hopes he’s able to get that with you in this life, for as long as he lives.

you feel it before you see it in the screens that the fight is broadcasted from — something is missing. a light has switched off, satoru has stolen the blanket at night and left you freezing again, seeing your favourite snack missing from the fridge. and you run. past the students you’ve raised, past the bright blinding screens and into the battlefield, past the debris and each crunch of cement under your feet brings a fresh bout of tears to your eyes. the tokyo winter is cool, snow starting to slowly fall upon you and the saltiness on your face seem to crystallise and harden and you’re not even sure any more. there’s a tingling feeling in your feet, in your finger tips and a pull of your heart. you know where gojo is before you see him.

“s— satoru…” you mumble, eyes welling up with more tears when his bottom half stays standing, baggy pants stained with red, red and more red and you’ve never hated a colour like you do now. you hate it, you hate it, you hate it even when he’s proposed to you with a red velvet box and gotten you valentine’s day chocolates in that same darker red and there is just too much blood.

and then it’s like the hierarchy of grief doesn’t matter any more. all those articles you’ve read preparing yourself after gojo’s fated meeting with death at sixteen, and then after shibuya — you think you can’t handle any more of the collecting and patching up and crying and headaches and holding a finger up to your chest and hoping you’d kill yourself with your own technique. the only time you’d accept the absence of the bright blue on his face is when he was sleeping and his chest moved with even breaths, not like this.

not like this. 

“satoru—” your voice cracks and you cannot even see. tears and tears and mucus and the fresh crunch of snow under your feet as you step closer to his severed body.

“baby…” he mumbles, barely above a whisper, hand twitching and reaching out in the direction of your voice because this is infinitely worse than getting stabbed in the neck by toji fushiguro, perhaps a little worse than seeing your best friend of your high school life get manipulated by a cursed user. satoru wants to demote all of that and say that seeing you stumble to your knees in front of him while you hyperventilate and sob hurts the most. 

“d-don’t move, ’toru, we— we’re going to get you b-back, okay?” you’re playing with god now. “shoko!” the doctor stifles a sob at your cry, broken up by the feedback of the sound system. she knows you’re trying to defy god.

“i don’t think—” the light is slowly dying. the world’s light, the student’s light, your dawn and dusk. “m-my love, everything is…”

“satoru, please, you need to—!” they say the last sense to go is touch and hearing. you crouch to his face to see him react to your warmth, eyes moving an inch to where he thinks you were and puts all of his cursed energy into one hand just so he could hold your cheek. you, warm as always as the sun and everything good in the world, a new rush of warmth overtaking his hand when your tears flow over his battered, tired hands, the same hands that has drawn over his love time and time again over your body and you are a canvas made of gojo satoru’s endless, unconditional ardour.

“i-i’m…” it fades out, his voice box is almost gone and you wail again and the snow from below wets your knees. his name is all that leaves your lips and you think if you can’t play god, you can only beg, even if your religion is solely gojo satoru.

“no, no, no no nono, satoru, c’mon, baby, stop it!” you scream in his face, words all mushed together when you feel the breath of life leave his chest, the blues die out in his eyes, “i love you, i love you, darling, i love you—” your lover barely manages to muster a small smile and you scramble all over his chest, clutching at the tattered black t-shirt and his hand that is starting to go cold and he has the energy to mutter out a stupid remark like gojo satoru always does.

“i’m sorry i got y-your favourite outfit stained with red, princess…” satoru whispers and that breaks the dam fully. you sob and groan and cry and wail until your voice is hoarse and you cannot speak any more and gojo wants nothing but to full heal himself again just so he could stop your crying. perhaps hold your face in his hands and kiss your forehead and nose and lips and embrace you until you couldn’t breathe. perhaps even to tell you he loved you more than anything and everything; more than poems and that foolish line he just had to say at the end and kikufuku and waking up next to you.

but in what world will gojo satoru ever get repose and a normal life? you hope for every other universe to have him be a preschool teacher, or maybe a florist, or even a superstar. but not in this one, no.

the hand that caressed your cheek is replenished again with cursed energy.

satoru gives you three squeezes.

[jo1sstuff]

I think I know who the Archivist is, and it's not Jon. (TMAGP SPOILERS AHEAD)

(TLDR: I think it's Celia. Read on to see why!)

So.

I know the title sounds kinda click-baity, and this is gonna be a bit long, but this is such a ground-breaking theory that you'll hopefully want to stick around.

This is just a theory, so I might be wrong, but it would explain a lot.

I listened to TMAGP 29 earlier, and since my sister doesn't listen to TMA/TMAGP but I like to talk to her about it, I was mentioning the whole "It's on the train" thing, and a crazy theory popped in my head. So now I'm here sharing it with you all, so you can discuss it and maybe prove me wrong/right.

Anyways, I'm gonna start with something that might seem confusing at first, but it'll make sense later.

So we all know Celia, right?

Well, it's pretty much confirmed that she's from the TMA universe, but there are still a few things that don't quite make sense.

For example, the 'sleepwalking' thing she does. She'll wake up somewhere with no memory of what happened.

While I've seen some theories explaining it as the TMAGP Celia sharing a body with TMA Celia, it doesn't make much sense to me. Why would the TMAGP Celia still be in there? Wouldn't TMA Celia be able to communicate with her? Why hasn't anyone else mentioned seeing Celia when she 'sleepwalks'? Wouldn't TMAGP Celia have friends that would talk to her? If so, why wouldn't they notice it's not the same Celia?

Anyways, that theory just doesn't make sense to me.

Another thing that will make sense later: We all remember Michael Distortion from TMA, right?

And how his reflection looked different than how he sometimes looked in person?

An Avatar looking different through glass; whether through Sasha's window, or in the reflection of the cafe's window.

That was the thought that made me first come up with this theory.

The other thought was the "It's on the train" bit.

Sam and Celia get on a train to 'follow' the Archivist. Alice, however, sees it on the train with them.

(technically we don't know for certain that it was the Archivist, or if it was in or on top of the train, but it context makes it seem like the Archivist was in the train with them)

Why wouldn't Sam and Celia notice it? It's a monster that's all eyes, how could they miss that? Sure, it might have been hiding, but they likely weren't the only passengers on board. So why didn't the other passengers see it?

Well, what if they do see it, just not it the right way?

Because of the whole 'avatar looking different in windows' thing, what if that's why they don't notice?

Because they're not looking through the window?

Alice is though.

Alice is looking through the window.

She sees it.

What if, the Archivist is in a human form, but Alice can only see it because she's looking through the glass at it?

But who would it be?

Celia.

It's Celia.

Who else could it be?

What if, when she's 'sleepwalking', she's actually in Archivist form?

Sam got Archived, after all. And shortly after that, Celia appeared.

Wouldn't Celia have noticed the Archivist leaving?

Unless she just came to.

And she's so used to it happening, that she isn't bothered by the time she finds Sam.

Who knows how far away she got, after all. Maybe it was only one alley away, maybe it was a few blocks.

She'd have some time to compose herself.

And after that disorienting event, she managed to find her way to the O.I.A.R. and found Sam.

She was in the same area and time-frame the Archivist was there.

It's her.

Another thing: The statement-givers. Aka, the talking corpses. Aka, people that got Archived by the Archivist.

I'll bet that every time it mentions Celia having a 'sleepwalking' episode, it was around the same time that someone got Archived.

I'm not gonna go back through the episodes to see if I'm right on that, but if someone else will, it would be very much appreciated.

How exactly Celia became an Archivist, I don't know.

Maybe when she changed universes the Eye decided to make her its new 'precious little boy girl'. Maybe (if we believe that TMAGP is Somewhere Else) the Archivist part of Jon got stuck in Celia. Maybe she even became an Avatar by herself, who knows! I certainly don't.

Another thing I don't know is whether she'd remember what happens when she's the Archivist.

She seemed surprised to find Sam, after all.

And (if I remember right) she doesn't know how she gets to places while she's 'sleepwalking'.

I also don't know how Jack fits into this, but he's a mystery of his own.

Anyways, feel free to chip in with your own thoughts and criticisms, I could be completely proved wrong next episode after all!

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Can't Hide The Way I'm Feelin' Pt. 1

You have a propensity for tardiness, and your new interim professor will have none of it.

Reader is Intersex- Smut to 'cum'

A/N: Thanks to @gswha for this request- it's kinda grown a bit so it'll be a two-part affair! We're basing this Nat interaction off of Natalie Rushman, since she was pretty 'professorly' XD

Word Count: 6.4k

"Shit," you mumble to yourself, hopping around your dorm room, trying to get yourself dressed as quickly as you could. Your leg got stuck in the material of your jeans, causing you to fall to the ground with a loud thud as you stared up at the ceiling. "Fuck." You had overslept. Again. But this time, you were late for your Slavic Studies class, and you knew you had a fill-in teacher today. They would be a long-term substitute, something about your primary teacher having a family emergency back in Europe. With luck, you would get a substitute that didn't care- but you knew you weren't that lucky.

As you rushed out of your building, the cold wind slapped you in the face, reminding you that you had forgotten your jacket. You quicken your pace, the chill of autumn making you shiver as you make your way to the lecture hall. The door was open a crack, and you could hear the muffled sounds of the class already in session. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable scolding that awaited you.

You pushed open the door, trying not to make it creak as you attempted to sneak into class. Your eyes darted around, finding your best friend, Steve, already in class. He normally looked disinterested, as this was his least favorite class in his schedule this semester, but he seemed to have a newfound excitement surrounding the class. You wondered what had changed, but that question was soon answered when your eyes landed on the figure at the front of the room.

Before the class was a toned figure, her curves accentuated by the black dress she was wearing. Her burnished copper hair was done in waves, cascading down her back, and moving like there was a gentle breeze through the lecture hall. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, snapped to you as the door creaked shut. She was the new teacher, Dr. Natasha Romanoff. You had heard whispers about her, rumors of her sharp wit and strict demeanor, but you weren't prepared for the reality of her presence.

The room fell silent, all eyes on you as you stumbled over your own feet trying to get to your seat. Dr. Romanoff's gaze didn't waver, and you felt the weight of her stare like a hand pressing into your chest. She tapped her foot impatiently, the sound echoing through the room like a metronome counting down to your doom.

"Well, don't just stand there," she said, her Russian accent thick and commanding. "Take a seat and don't interrupt my lecture again." You heard a few snickers, and quickly made your way to sit next to Steve, the look on his face a mixture of amusement and cockiness.

Dr. Romanoff went back to her lesson, her voice firm and knowledgeable as she discussed the historical significance of the Cyrillic alphabet. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering as you watched the woman down below. Steve leaned over and whispered, "You really know how to make an impression." You shot him a glare, but his smirk only grew wider.

You smacked his forearm, a dull thud echoing throughout the silent hall. "Shut up, Steve," you whisper-yell at him, the thud again drawing the attention of your new temporary professor.

"Is my lecture disrupting you two?" Dr. Romanoff's sharp gaze swiveled from Steve to you. The room was so quiet you could almost hear the pages of the textbooks rustling with the tension.

"No, ma'am," Steve said quickly, his smirk replaced by a look of contrition. You nodded in agreement, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"No, Professor Romanoff." you echo, looking down at your books.

"Good," she turned back to the board, scribbling a few more things. "Oh, and Ms..." she turned around, her attention directed right at you.

"Y/N. My name is Y/N."

"Right, Ms. Y/N. I know you missed the beginning of class," she began, walking to the end of the riser that she was on down below. "But I go by Dr. Romanoff." She leaned against the podium, folding her arms across her chest. "I expect punctuality from all my students. This is not a high school hallway, this is a place of higher learning. I'm sure you can appreciate the difference, yes?"

You nodded, swallowing down the embarrassment. Steve was shaking with suppressed laughter next to you, and you shot him another glare.

"If you can't respect the rules of the classroom," Dr. Romanoff continued, her eyes boring into yours, "then maybe you don't belong in this class."

The sniggers echoed across the classroom, as your peers stifled thier laughter. The heat in your cheeks grew into a full-blown blush, spreading down to your neck. You knew Dr. Romanoff's words were a warning shot, and you weren't going to let it get to you. If she was going to call you out, you would make her regret taking this class on.

But as the day rolled into night, you found yourself back in your usual routine. Your friends dragged you out to the local college bar, the smell of stale beer and sweat already wafting through the door. You knew you should keep it light tonight since you had an early class tomorrow, which was your Slavic Studies course. But one drink turned into two, and before you knew it, you were three sheets to the wind. You woke up with a snoring, drooling mess of a woman naked on your chest.

Her hair was a tangled mess of blond, and she had the name of the bar inked on her lower back. You couldn't even remember her name. She was beautiful in the drunken haze of the night before, but in the harsh light of day, she looked like a college freshman who had gone wild on spring break. You gently peeled her off, noticing the time on the clock that read 9 AM.

"Fuck," you whispered, jumping out of bed and shoving your feet into your shoes. You had five minutes to get to class, and your head felt like it was going to implode. The room spun as you stumbled around, trying to grab your bag and jacket. The girl stirred, rubbing her eyes and looking around, bewildered.

"You're leaving?" she slurred, her voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah," you said, trying to sound nonchalant as you threw on your shirt. "I've got class."

The blond girl frowned, sitting up and crossing her arms. "Can't you just skip it?"

"Not if I want to pass," you replied, zipping up your jeans. "Besides, it's Slavic Studies with Dr. Romanoff. She's not the type to let you slide."

"Oh, the hottie professor," the girl said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Can't miss that."

You rolled your eyes, pulling on your shoes. "It's not like that," you mumbled, grabbing your keys and phone from the nightstand. "It's just that she's really strict. You can see yourself out, right...." you waited, not remembering the girl's name.

She rolled her eyes, standing up in her bare glory in the middle of your room. "I should have known you wouldn't remember a thing," she said, snatching her dress from the floor. "Figures you'd be that one."

Ignoring her, you dashed out of the room, the cool air outside a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed you had just vacated. You had never been so late for a class before, and the thought of facing Dr. Romanoff's wrath made your stomach twist into knots. Your feet pounded against the pavement as you sprinted towards the lecture hall, your heart racing in your chest. You weren't sure if you wanted to push her buttons, but yet, here you are doing just that.

You burst through the doors of the lecture hall, sweat beading on your forehead and your breath coming in gasps. The room was eerily quiet, the students all staring at you, and in the front, Dr. Romanoff had her arms crossed over her chest, her expression a storm of annoyance and anger.

"I see punctuality is not a concept you are familiar with, Ms. Y/N," she said, her voice as sharp as a knife. The class tittered again, and you felt your cheeks burn as she called you out. You took your seat, trying to ignore the snickers and smirks of your classmates. Steve was even stifling his laughter.

The lecture continued, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn't focus on the intricate history of Eastern European linguistics when all you could think about was the woman in front of you. She was a force to be reckoned with, and you had never been one to back down from a challenge. You felt a strange thrill at the thought of pushing her buttons, of seeing how far you could take this game of cat and mouse.

Your mind drifted to picturing that red hair in a flaming halo around her head as she lay sprawled out on your bed, or what her raspy, thick accent would sound like moaning in your ear as you pounded into her. You felt a twitch in your pants and quickly shifted in your seat, hoping no one had noticed. Steve's elbow dug into your side, and you snapped your head towards him, only to find him grinning like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Earth to Y/N," Steve whispered, jolting you out of your trance. "You okay over there?"

You shot him a glare, trying to keep your face from giving away the embarrassing direction of your thoughts. "I'm fine," you hissed, turning back to the front of the class. Dr. Romanoff was still speaking, her eyes scanning the room as if daring someone to interrupt her again.

For the next few weeks, you managed to show up to class on time twice, but the rest of the days were a blur of oversleeping, forgetting your homework, and stumbling in late with a hangover. Each time, Dr. Romanoff's displeasure grew more palpable, her eyes narrowing at your disheveled state. You found yourself drawn to her, the challenge of getting under her skin becoming a thrilling game that you couldn't resist. The tension in the room was thick, a silent battle of wills that had the rest of the class either avoiding eye contact or eagerly awaiting the next confrontation.

One rainy afternoon, you sauntered into class, drenched from head to toe, your hair sticking to your face. You had been at the bar the night before, trying to dull the pain of your latest failed relationship. Dr. Romanoff's gaze followed you like a spotlight as you shuffled to your seat, the sound of your soggy shoes leaving wet prints on the floor.

"Is there a reason you feel the need to make such a grand entrance every day, Ms. Y/N?" she called out, her tone icy.

"I do it just to get your attention, Professor Romanoff," you emphasize the 'professor', saying it just to dig at her a little bit more.

Her eyebrow quirks up at your remark, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she turns back to the board, her hand gracefully writing out the day's lecture notes. The class shifts uncomfortably, the energy in the room charged with the unspoken tension between you two. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at getting a reaction out of her, even if it was just a minor one.

Days turned into weeks, and your little game of rebellion became the norm. You would show up late, sometimes smelling faintly of the bar, your eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and she would give you that look—a mix of annoyance and something else you couldn't quite place. You knew you were pushing her buttons, and it was thrilling. Each time she called on you, you would give a half-hearted answer, just enough to get by, watching the frustration build in her eyes.

But as the days grew shorter and the leaves turned a fiery hue, Dr. Romanoff's patience grew thinner. One particularly dreary afternoon, you stumbled in, your breath reeking of last night's tequila, your eyes glued to your phone as you took your seat. The room was silent except for the steady patter of rain outside.

"Ms. Y/N, may I have your attention, please?" she said, her voice slicing through the air like a knife. You looked up, noticing the rest of the class had already settled in, their eyes on you. You felt a flash of annoyance, but also something else—desire. You had never been the rebellious type, but Dr. Romanoff brought it out in you.

You set your phone down with a clatter, smirking. "Sorry, Professor. Did I miss anything important?”

Her eyes narrowed, and you could see the muscles in her jaw tense. "Only your own dignity," she quipped, her Russian accent rolling off the words like a purr. The class snickered again, and you felt your cheeks burn with humiliation. But you weren't about to let her win.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Dr. Romanoff?" you asked, playing coy. You knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn't help yourself. The thrill of the chase was too exhilarating to resist. Steve elbowed you in the side, making you let out a small grunt.

Her eyes narrowed even further, the storm clouds in her gaze hinting at the tempest brewing beneath her calm exterior. "No, Ms. Y/N, but I believe it's time we had a little chat after class."

The words hung in the air, electric with promise. You felt a mix of dread and anticipation, your heart racing in your chest. You had pushed her to her limits, and now you were about to face the consequences. The lecture dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity as you waited for the moment you'd be alone with her.

Finally, the bell rang, and the room emptied out, leaving only the faint echoes of retreating footsteps and the soft patter of rain outside. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation to come. Dr. Romanoff was still at the podium, her eyes never leaving yours as she packed up her things.

"Ms. Y/N," she called out, her voice as sharp as the click of her heels against the floor as she approached. "I've had enough of your disrespectful behavior. It's time you learned the importance of punctuality and respect."

You met her gaze, your heart racing as you felt a strange thrill at the promise of retribution. "What are you going to do, Professor?" you challenged, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget," she said, her voice low and dangerous. She gestured towards the door at the end of the classroom. "Follow me."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of fear and excitement as you followed her into the empty hallway. The door to her office was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open, revealing a small, neatly organized space filled with the scent of old books and something faintly metallic. The rain outside had picked up, drumming against the windows like a serenade to your impending doom.

"Take a seat," she ordered, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. You obeyed, your legs feeling like jelly as you sat down. She closed the door with a firm click, and the room seemed to shrink around you. She moved around the desk, heels clicking as her hips swayed in a way that was both mesmerizing and intimidating.

"You've been testing my patience," she began her voice a soft caress that belied the sternness in her eyes. "It seems like you are a bit..." She paused, her gaze drilling into yours. "Distracted."

Your heart raced as you sat there, trying to come up with a witty comeback, but your mouth was as dry as the Sahara. You had never felt so...exposed in front of a teacher before. But there was something about the way she was looking at you that made you feel like she saw right through your bravado.

"I know college is a time for fun," Dr. Romanoff continued, her voice taking on a softer, almost...understanding tone. "But it is also a time for growth and learning. And your behavior suggests to me that you are not taking any of this seriously."

You opened your mouth to protest, but she held up a hand, silencing you. "Don't bother with excuses. I've heard them all before. Instead, I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself."

Her gaze was unyielding, and you felt a strange sense of anticipation. "I'm listening," you said, leaning back in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Good," she said, walking over to the bookshelf and pulling out a thick, leather-bound tome. "You will be staying after your last class every day this week to help me organize the library. And," she added, turning back to face you with the book in hand, "you will be completing all assignments due in the next two weeks by the end of the week. Along with showing up 10 minutes early to class."

Your jaw dropped at the severity of her punishment. "But-"

"No buts," she cut you off, her eyes flashing with a fiery determination. "You want to act like a child, I'll treat you like one. Now, get to work." She settled a stack of books into your lap, leaning back against her desk.

You took the books she handed you, feeling the weight of thier pages and the gravity of her expectations. The smell of leather and dust filled your nose as you looked down at the title of the first book: 'The Historical Significance of Slavic Mythology'. This was going to be a long week.

"But what if I don't finish in time?" You asked, the challenge in your voice clear.

Dr. Romanoff's smile was a sharp line. "Then you'll learn the value of time management," she said, her eyes sparkling with a hint of something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "But I suspect you'll rise to the occasion, Ms. Y/N. After all, I've seen the potential in you."

You scoffed internally at the idea of potential. You were just trying to get through the semester with decent grades and not too many awkward run-ins with your ex. But something in her tone made you want to prove her wrong. Or maybe it was the way she said your name, the way her accent rolled over the syllables that made your stomach flip.

You took the books and trudged out of the classroom, feeling the weight of her gaze on your back. The rain had picked up, soaking your clothes and making you shiver. As you walked to the library, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of anger and excitement. You had never had a teacher who had affected you like this before. She was like a force of nature, and you had no idea how to navigate the storm she had just thrown you into.

The library was a quiet sanctuary, the only sounds were the occasional rustle of pages and the dull murmur of the rain outside. You found a secluded corner and began to organize the books, your mind racing with thoughts of Dr. Romanoff. Her stern demeanor was a stark contrast to the way she had looked at you, something in her eyes hinting at a deeper curiosity, a challenge that you hadn't quite figured out yet.

As you began to slot the leather-bound textbooks back into thier locations, the stark click of heels soon followed you into the library. Dr. Romanoff had slipped into a long black trench coat, shaking off an umbrella as she walked around to the back of the librarian's counter. She leaned against it, watching you with a curious expression, the material of her dress hugging her figure in a way that made you swallow hard.

"Ms. Y/N," she called out, her voice echoing through the vast, silent room. "You're going to need to focus if you want to get all of this done in time."

You glared at her over the stack of books, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Working on it," you muttered, trying not to let your annoyance show.

"Good," she said, her eyes scanning the rows of books. "Remember, Ms. Y/N, this isn't just busywork. It's an opportunity for you to show me that you're capable of taking responsibility for your actions."

You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to snap back. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, meticulously placing each book in its rightful spot. Hours passed, and the library grew darker as the rain outside turned into a full-blown storm. The only light was the dim glow of the pendant lamps that hung from the high ceiling, casting eerie shadows across the bookshelves.

"Is this really necessary?" you complained, your voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "I'm going to be here all night."

"Well, if you're here all night, I guess you can't be whoring yourself around at the campus bars." Dr. Romanoff's voice was as sharp as the crack of thunder outside. You whipped your head around, glaring at her.

"Excuse me?"

Dr. Romanoff didn't flinch at your outrage. She leaned over the counter, her elbows resting on the cool wood as she studied you. "I know your type, Ms. Y/N. You think you're above this all, that you can just skate by without any real effort." She paused, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "But I see through your facade."

Her words stung, and you felt a surge of anger at her accusation. "You don't know me," you snapped, slamming a book down on the counter. "You're just a teacher, not my mother."

Dr. Romanoff's smile grew wider, as if she enjoyed your defiance. "And yet, I see more of you than you think," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "I see the potential, the intelligence, buried beneath your carelessness. Maybe you should quit acting like a child, and I wouldn't have to watch you like your mother."

You felt your cheeks burn with indignation. "I don't need a babysitter," you spat out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"No, you don't," she agreed, her eyes still piercing into yours. "But what you do need is discipline."

You rolled your eyes, but something in her tone made you pause. There was a command there, one that resonated deep within you, stirring a part of you that you had buried under layers of carefree college debauchery.

"Is that what you think you're doing?" you asked, trying to keep the anger out of your voice. "Disciplining me?" You set the books down, stalking over to the counter she was leaning against.

Her eyes never left yours as she straightened up. "Maybe that's what you need," she said, her voice low and measured. "Someone to push you to be better than you are. Someone to show you that you can't just glide through life without consequences."

You scoff at her implication. "Yeah, right, Romanoff. That'll show me."

Her expression turns serious. "It's Dr. Romanoff to you, and I mean every word."

You leaned forward, inching your face closer to hers. You were taken aback slightly by the appearance of slight freckles on her face, and how deep her eyes truly were. "You think you can just tell me what to do and I'll listen?" You challenged, your voice low and steady.

Her gaze never wavered. "If you want to pass my class, yes," she said firmly. "But I suspect it's more than that. You crave structure and guidance. Perhaps even...punishment."

"Well, Dr. Romanoff, I would like to see you try." You said, your voice was full of bravado. You were tired of her judgments and her constant needling. You were an adult, capable of making your own choices. You pretended to not notice her breath hitching slightly, and her pupils dilating at your challenge.

"Very well," she said, straightening up. "If you wish to push this, I will give you a taste of what you're asking for." She stepped around the counter, and for a moment, you felt a twinge of fear. But then she opened the drawer and pulled out a stack of index cards. "These are the dates and times of all the assignments due in the next two weeks. You will write them down, and I will check in on your progress every day after class."

You took the cards with trembling hands, the weight of her expectations suddenly feeling very real. "Is this really necessary?" you asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of your voice.

"You want to see me try, then this is what you asked for, Y/N. And if you still feel the need to spend the night in between someone's legs while blitzed out of your mind, and show up late to class, you will really, truly feel the weight of the consequences of your actions." Her eyes bore into yours, and you felt the challenge in her words.

You turned, walking towards the exit as she called back to you. "Ms. Y/N?" she called out over the books on the counter. You stopped your hand on the doorknob. "Don't forget, I expect to see you promptly in the morning. And don't forget, all those assignments will be double credit whether you do them or not."

Her words hung in the air as you stormed out, the rain now coming down in sheets. Did you feel a strange mix of anger and...excitement? The thought of her waiting for you, watching your every move, was surprisingly thrilling. You didn't know if you were more annoyed at her for making you feel this way or at yourself for letting her get to you. But, if you complete all these assignments with a decent enough grade, you may not have to step foot in her class the rest of the semester.

The next day, you show up to class early, a miracle in itself. After the night you had, drinking yourself into a stupor, and banging some random in the bar bathroom. You groan as you sit in the same seat, feeling the dread of Dr. Romanoffs arrival like a tight coil in your stomach. When she walks in, she doesn't even look at you, but you know she's aware of your presence. You're determined to prove her wrong, to show her that you can handle the work, that you don't need her to babysit you.

The week passes in a blur of early mornings and late nights, your eyes glued to textbooks and your hand cramped from writing notes. You're surprised to find that you're actually learning something, that the Slavic myths and histories are more interesting than you had ever given them credit for. But every time you start to feel a sense of pride in your work, you remember her words—how you're just doing this to avoid her wrath.

On Friday afternoon, you drag yourself into the library, the anticipation of the weekend a distant mirage. Dr. Romanoff is already there, her office light shining like a beacon in the otherwise empty room. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

"Did you complete the assignments?" she asks, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

"No, I've been running myself ragged for my own entertainment," you reply, sarcasm thick in your voice as you dump the completed assignments on her desk. She takes them without a word, flipping through each page with a critical eye. The tension in the room is palpable, making it difficult to breathe. You can't tell if she's impressed or if she's just biding her time before delivering the next round of punishment.

Her eyes finally meet yours, and you see a flicker of something else. "You've done well," she says, her voice devoid of any warmth, her eyes running up and down your frame. "But this isn't over. I will grade these tonight. But, your behavior in class needs to improve."

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You felt a strange sense of accomplishment, but also a weird anticipation for what she had in store for you next. "What do you want from me?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"Nothing," she says, her voice cold as ice. "Except for you to start acting like an adult. Your education is not a game to be played with. Have a good weekend, Y/N."

You leave the library feeling both relieved and disappointed. You hadn't realized how much you had been looking forward to the confrontation, the way her sternness made you feel...alive. As you walk back to your dorm, the rain has stopped, leaving the world feeling fresh and clean. You decide to take the long way home, needing the time to clear your head. The less-than-holy thoughts that had been running through your mind about the woman had been all-consuming, and lately, they had begun to affect your... performance with others.

Your Friday night comes and goes, a blur of partying and regret, but you can't shake the feeling that Dr. Romanoff's punishment has changed something within you. You find yourself craving the structure she had imposed, the way she had made you feel...seen.

Saturday was more of the same, you woke up around midday, and your head was a pounding reminder of how you spent your Friday night. The silence of your room was broken by the incessant buzzing of your phone. It was Steve, asking if you were going to make it to the party tonight. You groaned, wondering if your body could take another night like last night.

You rolled out of bed and stumbled to the shower, you couldn't help but think about Dr. Romanoff. Her eyes had been haunting what little dreams you had been having the last week, a mix of curiosity and desire swirling in your subconscious. You felt a strange sense of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again, of feeling her gaze on you in class. You shake your head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. Your efforts were futile, however, and your thoughts soon trailed down a dark and dirty path.

You couldn't help the arousal that coursed through your veins at the thought of your professor begging for her punishment, instead of being the one to dish it out. The water cascading over your body did little to cool the heat that had built up within you. As your shower continued, you began to stroke your length, imagining what it would feel like to sheath yourself inside her. The way she would grip the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning white as she took your punishment with every thrust.

You groaned, the water now turning cold, as you reached your climax. The image of her, begging for more, was burned into your mind as you stepped out of the shower. You had to get dressed and get out of there before you did something stupid, like go to her office and bend her over the desk she so often chastised you behind.

You had never had a teacher affect you so deeply, and it was driving you crazy. You tried to shake the thoughts as you got dressed, but they lingered like the scent of her perfume in the library. The party was in full swing by the time you arrived, the bass thumping through the walls and the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat. Steve was already there, his arm around some girl you didn't recognize.

"Hey, you made it!" he shouted over the music, a grin on his face. You nodded, trying to push aside the thoughts of Dr. Romanoff. You grabbed a beer and let yourself be pulled into the sea of bodies, dancing and shouting. The party was the same as every other one, but you felt...different. More aware, more alive. The way you had felt in the library, under her watchful gaze. You continued to drown your thoughts, trying to wash them out of your mind completely.

Losing count of how many drinks and shots you had, you stumbled past the various half-clothed couples making out, the drunken antics, and party games as you made your way out the door of the house you were at. The cold night air slapped you in the face, an attempt by Mother Nature to sober you up a bit as you walked back towards your dorm. You couldn't get the image of Dr. Romanoff out of your head, even amidst the chaos. Deciding that you didn't want to face your dorm just yet, you meandered your way to an off-campus bar up the road.

Inside, the warmth of the bar was a stark contrast to the cold outside, and the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke was oddly comforting. You found a quiet corner and slumped into a chair, ordering a whiskey neat. The bartender, a burly man with a thick beard, gave you a knowing look but said nothing as he slid the drink over to you. You took a sip, the burn of the liquor doing little to numb the arousal you felt about your teacher.

As you sat there, the whiskey warming your belly, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched. You glanced over your shoulder, expecting to see Dr. Romanoff standing there with a disapproving look, but it was just the usual college crowd, too absorbed in their own drama to notice you. But the feeling remained as if her eyes were on you even when they weren't. You continued to drink, your eyes darting around the room until you finished.

"Well, I wish I could say I'm surprised to see you here," a familiar, smoky voice came from behind you. You whipped around, and there she was, Dr. Natasha Romanoff, in a pair of tight black jeans and a leather jacket that hugged her body in all the right places. She took a seat next to you, her eyes never leaving yours.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to keep the shock out of your voice.

"I might ask you the same question, Ms. Y/N," she replied, her voice filled with a hint of amusement. "This is hardly the place for someone who's supposed to be studying."

You felt your cheeks heat up at the rebuke, but she wasn't wrong. You took another sip of your whiskey, the liquid burning a path down your throat. "I needed to try and erase some thoughts," you mumbled, not quite meeting her gaze.

Dr. Romanoff leaned in closer, her eyes searching yours. "Thoughts about what?" she asked, her voice dropping to a murmur that seemed to resonate through your entire body. She slowly slid in next to you, her glass sliding on the table before you.

You swallowed hard, the alcohol doing little to ease the sudden dryness in your throat. "Just...about someone I'm trying to forget," you lied, hoping the dim light of the bar would hide your blush. "They're a bit...intense, and out of my league."

Dr. Romanoff's smile was knowing. "Intense, huh?" she said, her voice low and teasing. "Sounds like a challenge you're not quite ready to handle." She leaned closer, her floral perfume slowly overtaking your senses. "But I suspect you enjoy the thrill of the chase."

"Yeah, I do, at times." You replied, the whiskey loosening your tongue. "But sometimes the chase isn't worth it." You took another sip, trying to keep your cool. Her proximity was unnerving, and the way she leaned into you made it difficult to think straight.

"Is that so?" She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving yours. "And what makes you think you're not capable of handling something intense? From what I have overheard, it sounds like you're...very, capable." The way she said "capable" had your heart racing, and you knew she wasn't just talking about schoolwork anymore.

You tried to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly. "I can handle myself," you said, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at her interest, her curiosity about you. "But sometimes, I just want to cool my jets, you know?"

Her gaze was piercing, as if she could see right through your bravado. "I know all about wanting to cool off," she said, her voice taking on a seductive tone that sent a shiver down your spine. "But sometimes, the heat is what makes us grow."

You didn't know how to respond to that, so you took another gulp of your whiskey, the liquid burning a path down your throat. She leaned in even closer, her breath hot against your ear. "But if you truly want to escape your troubles, I can offer you something that might help."

Her hand reached out and brushed against yours, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You felt your pulse quicken, your heart hammering in your chest. "What are you talking about?" you managed to ask, your voice hoarse.

"Well, Y/N," she began, her voice low, not helping your brain try to forget what she may sound like in bed. "I will miss seeing you in the library, helping me out." She took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe if you can show up on time, I can help you out."

Your thoughts raced. Did she just offer you a deal? Did she just flirt with you? "What do you mean?" You asked, trying to play it cool, even though your heart was racing.

"Well, Y/N, you'll just have to wait and find out." Dr. Romanoff's smile was enigmatic, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. She leaned back in her chair, the leather squeaking slightly as she put some distance between you. "I'll see you on Monday, Y/N." she winked before she got up, leaving you sitting there, dumbfounded.

The weekend dragged on, filled with a mix of anticipation and dread. Monday couldn't come soon enough, yet you wished it would never arrive. You found yourself both terrified and thrilled by the prospect of what she had in store for you. You tried to distract yourself with friends and more partying, but the thoughts of her kept creeping back in, unbidden and unwelcome.