#I’ve had the professor before too but unfortunately he wasn’t in his office today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stjarnaloki · 2 years

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literature and lust (professor hiddleston)

AO3 here

hi my loves happy Valentine's Day! a completely self-indulgent Professor Hiddleston fantasy for you to celebrate <3 remember that Valentine's Day is actually a manufactured capitalist holiday and nothing matters!! happy horny dreams

Summary: Professor Hiddleston hates Valentine's Day. But he sure as hell doesn't hate you. He can't resist inviting you over as he grades your exam. The only catch? He gets to punish you for every question you get wrong.

Tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, smut, bdsm, cockwarming, spanking, dom! hiddleston and sub. reader, degradation kink, begging, pain kink, breeding kink, "slut", dirty talk, aftercare, slightly whumpy, corny ending, probably typos

Your fingers hovered over your open text messages, shaking slightly. You’d spent the last two hours in your steaming bathroom, shaving every crevice of your body bare and blow-drying your hair until it fell in a shiny curtain around your shoulders. Glitter shone on your eyelids in the pale lamplight, a delicate pink dusting of blush all over your cheeks and nose.

No, it wasn’t girls’ night out. It was, unfortunately, Valentine’s Day. And the fate of your evening rested on the success of the text you were about to send.

Your stomach was in knots as you obsessed over it. Staring at every word for typos until your eyeballs hurt, trying to picture the reaction of the man on the other end of the phone.

Enough. Fuck it. You hit send.

You: Hello Professor, I was wondering if you were okay? You just seemed very stressed today in class and I wanted to know if I could do anything?

A few seconds passed before the three little dots popped up, then disappeared again. You smirked. He was never one to keep you waiting.

Prof. H: Why would you ask me that?

Oh, god. You tried to remind yourself he liked being coarse with you. It was part of his act. But still, you couldn’t help a little thrill of fear as it shot down your spine. You had already crossed so many lines. What if he changed his mind? With shaking thumbs, you tapped out a response.

You: Only because I’ve made you feel better in the past.

Prof. H: I’m about to grade your exam. Choose your next words carefully.

You: Wait for me?

The three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again. You waited, scarcely breathing. Then, finally-

Prof. H: You have 20 minutes. Wear a skirt.

Your shoes were already on, purse string around your shoulders. The invitation was like a shot from a gun, the way you sprung into action.

You thought this bliss was too good to happen again and god, you were so happy to be wrong. Two weeks had passed since you’d last been bent over his desk, crying out his name as he found places inside of you that you didn’t know existed until you met him.

You were so sore the next morning that you had to lower yourself gingerly into the hard lecture seat with your arms. He’d watched you over the rims of his glasses as he tapped away on his laptop, the tiniest trace of a smirk gracing his lips as you hid the results of his work in plain sight.

It was wrong. So deliciously wrong. You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And now, you had twenty minutes to cross town and knock three times on his expensive apartment door.

—----------

Your steadying breath as you knocked did little to help your nerves. You felt your stomach do a backflip as the door creaked open, revealing the tall, brooding figure that haunted your wet dreams. Professor Hiddleston considered the flush in your cheeks, the red on the tip of your nose from the cold city air before he spoke in a clipped tone.

“Come in, darling,” he said. “You know I don’t like to wait.”

He turned, his broad shoulders leading you through the door and down the hallway towards his office.

He stopped at his drink cart, where six different glass decanters shone elegantly. Each held a different kind of whiskey that you were sure cost more than you made in a week.

His fingers drummed on the cap as he considered one, then unstoppered it with a nod. He poured two deep glasses, not bothering to ask if you wanted one. He handed it to you, a sly smile on his lips.

“To your GPA, my darling,” he said as he clinked your glass with his.

Your brows knitted in concern as you took a long drag from your glass. You had learned it was easier to drink it quickly.

“Should I be worried?” you said meekly, suppressing a cough from the burning liquid. He considered you, loving how you seemed to quiver under his gaze.

“Not if you behave,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Come.”

He put a hand on the back of your shoulder and led you down the rest of the hallway. The elegance of the office matched his demeanor perfectly. Sharp, polished, timeless. Bookshelves lined the walls, and you were sure from the way he taught your English class that he had read every single one. He took your empty glass from you and placed it on top of the crackling fireplace before he spoke.

“So,” you cleared your throat from where you perched on the sofa. He looked up at you, eyebrows raised in attention. “What had you in such a bad mood today, Professor?”

“Ah. Ha ha,” he chuckled with no humor. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just not a fan of, erm, Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, okay,” you replied, slowly. You knew little about his personal life, except that he liked a rough fuck and that he’d been divorced a few times. His terseness made sense now.

“Bad memories?” you squeaked cautiously.

He looked at you seriously, then back down at his shoes.

“I guess you could say that.”

His leather loafers were loud on the wooden floors as he slowly approached you, withdrawing his veiny hands from his pockets.

“But darling, you're not here to talk about that shit, are you?” he said in a low, sultry voice. “You’re here to be fucked senseless.”

His hands caressed your waist as he backed you into the wall. As your eyes shut, his hands explored your body, his huge palms covering an entire breast, gripping your forearms, squeezing the curve of your ass as he shimmied your skirt up.

He made a noise in his throat when his finger met no barriers. “No panties,” he said slowly. You met his gaze with equal intensity, as if to say what about it?

“What an overachieving slut,” he snarled, his thumb making its first contact with your clit. Your head fell back, a deep moan escaping up your neck as pleasure radiated from where his fingertip circled. But the pleasure was brief. He stopped after just a few pulses, his lips inches from where yours craned to taste him.

“Your grade determines how good you feel tonight, my darling. Do you understand?”

You nodded once. Pleased, the professor removed his finger from between your legs as you whimpered.

“Good. Now, come warm my cock while I mark your exam.”

He strode over to his desk chair with his hands in his dress pant pockets, like he was oblivious to the floods gushing between your legs at his command. Brown trousers, with a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly at his elbows.

He sat down in his plush leather chair, his thick thighs spreading wide as a comfortable seat. His hands rubbed over and over his thighs as you approached, a gesture that looked casual but you knew meant he was ferociously horny. You stood in front of him, trembling, his dexterous hands unzipping his pants and freeing his semi-hard cock. Then he spun you around and flipped your skirt up, your bare ass facing him.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath as he drew you closer to him. He growled in his throat as he took your ass in both hands, caressing and squeezing deep fingermarks in the plump skin.

He slapped you a few times, gentle in comparison to what you knew was coming, each time making you bite your lip in pain and pleasure. It only took a few pumps of his hand against your ass until his cock was straining.

“Sit,” he commanded. You turned around instantly and straddled him, one hand grasping his cock to guide it towards your dripping folds, the other bracing yourself against his firm shoulder. It was a tight squeeze without his fingers to warm up your cunt and you winced a little at the sudden thickness. The pain of him stretching you was temporary, you told yourself, and you sank deeper, whimpering with every centimeter that it disappeared inside you.

Tom moved his hips a little, exhaling in impatient encouragement. His cock slipped deeper inside of you a little too quickly with his movement, causing you to cry out.

“Shit…” you hissed between your teeth. “You’re so big, Professor,” you whimpered.

“I know.” He sounded bored.

His lack of enthusiasm at your tight cunt had you in shambles. You needed his praise, you needed him to show you that your pussy was his favorite. Nearly crying out in desperation, you wiggled your hips a little more, urging your body to loosen up enough to take him to the hilt. With a gasp of pleasure from you, the rest of his length disappeared inside you, and your thighs finally settled on his lap.

“MMmmffuckkk….” you groaned at the delicious full sensation in your lower belly.

You watched his expression carefully for any sign of pleasure. To your delight, Professor Hiddleston was unable to suppress the scrunch that passed over his eyebrows the moment your cunt unexpectedly clenched around his entire length. Sure, the man could keep his mouth shut when he wanted to. But that fleeting moment of pleasure that passed over his expression was like an electric current propelling you forward. You needed more. You wanted to please him so badly. You would do whatever it takes to hear him moan your name.

“Hm. I didn’t think you’d be able to take it raw,” he remarked in such an easygoing tone, he could have been talking about the weather. “You’re more of a slut than I thought.”

You moaned and you pitched forward into his shoulder, unable to resist grinding your hips up and down where his cock impaled you.

His hands flew to your waist in warning and gripped you with bruising fingertips, pushing you away from where your lips caressed his neck. The pain only made you moan louder.

He tsked. “You are always so needy.”

Embarrassment flushed your chest in crimson red.

“I’m s-sorry, Professor.”

“I have work to do. You’re not to move. Do you understand?” he said lowly.

“Mmmm…” you whimpered, your head falling back as his cock twitched inside of you.

Professor Hiddleston spanked you, hard on the ass.

“I asked if you understood,” his tone was even and cool, despite the fact that his punishing palm had caused your cunt to tighten briefly around him. You marveled at his self-control, both infuriating and compelling. He was a challenge to conquer.

“Yes…yes…yes, Professor…” your words were babble. “I understand. I’ll be good. I will show you.”

“We’ll see.” Professor Hiddleston replied shrewdly and picked up his pen, opening the cover of the exam with your name on it. He rolled the office chair closer to the desk, the movement producing a small thrust inside you that made you bite your own thumb to stay quiet.

The minutes felt like hours as you sat wedged with your professor inside you, dripping down his trousers. The only sound was the crackling fireplace and the scratch of his pen on paper as he checked off answers.

“First page is all correct. Smart girl.” Professor Hiddleston said softly, completely unfazed by the tightening of your cunt that happened every time he moved his arm. You rubbed your eyes in

desperation. The exam was nearly 100 questions.

The first admonishment came on the third page. The professor’s pen suddenly scratched a large “x” instead of a check and he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“Oh, dear. You mixed up Act I and II in Hamlet, darling.” The professor removed his hand from your exam and lifted your skirt with the other, smacking a wide palm on your ass that rippled up your thigh. You muttered a sharp curse at the punishment.

He rubbed the stinging mark chastely, returning his hand to flip the page.

“I know, darling, I’m sorry,” his voice slightly condescending. “You know the rules. You fail to pay attention in my class, you will be punished.”

At his sharp tone, your cunt had gushed around his cock. Warmth was spreading on his trousers underneath you, soiling his front. You were so desperate to please him.

“You’re being awfully quiet for someone as wet as you,” he remarked, scratching a few notes in the margins of your exam. “Perhaps you’re an obedient little slut after all.”

His teasing was excruciating. You wanted to cry out his name, dig your nails into his shoulders and ride his cock until you collapsed.

“Ah. Another lapse in memory, my dear,” he murmured as he scratched out one of your short response questions. “No, see, Hamlet doesn’t kill Claudius because of Horatio, he chooses not to because he thinks that he will go to heaven. That was explicitly in my notes. Did you not listen?”

“I know, I know,” you whined. “Give it a rest, please, I-I was sick the week we did Act II.”

His response was instantaneous. Your professor flipped your skirt up and spanked you hard enough that tears formed in your eyes. In quick succession, he delivered two more hard smacks until your breath came in a choked sob.

“That was for your sass,” he spat. “You know better.”

Your skin tingled with the bruises that were already forming, and you had to clench your fists to stay quiet. You remembered the first time you discovered that pain turned you on beyond belief, recalling how every one of your failed boyfriends had been too scared, too timid to push you to your limits. Tom wasn’t.

Staying still and quiet was torture. By the seventh page of the exam, you’d received two more spanks for getting questions wrong. Through your cock-drunk haze, you were calculating your grade. It wasn’t so bad, so far.

“I can feel you tightening around me,” the professor said in warning after the second spank. “You’re not going to be greedy now, are you, my little whore?”

“N-no,” you panted, shivering at the tightness in your belly. It was amazing how close you could get with so little friction. The tiny twitches of his cock against your cervix were enough to send ripples down your spine. You were sure he could feel this, too. Every time you squeezed around him, he tapped his pen a little faster on the desk. You did this for fun a few times, bearing down on him for the thrill of seeing him react, no matter how small a response.

Finally, three more spanks later, he folded the front cover back over your exam.

“93, darling,” he sighed. “A minus. I must say I expected better.”

You whined and pitched forward in disappointment, only to be caught by his strong forearm. His hand ripped your shirt off over your head in one swift movement, your breasts perched in a pink lacy bra you’d picked out especially for him.

“Did you wear this for me, sweet girl?” Tom mused as he leaned back in his squashy chair, cupping one breast and running his thumb over the lace. This new position shifted his cock inside you and you had to suppress a moan as it pushed against your stomach.

You only nodded in response, feeling a bit foolish now.

“So eager to please me, hmm?” he murmured, squeezing harder.

“Y-yes, Professor,” you stammered, your head falling.

One finger lifted your chin back up to his face.

“Do you think you deserve to come on your professor’s cock tonight?” he murmured.

Your eyes widened and you swallowed thickly. You knew the right response, but it wasn’t what you wanted to say at all.

“N-no, I d-don’t deserve it,” you whimpered, shivering.

“That’s right,” he crooned, trailing his hands down to grip your ass, spreading you wider where you sat on his cock. “I demand perfection in my class.”

You bit your lip to suppress a sob. His scorn was making your pussy clench unbearably hard around him.

“But,” he said softly, “I suppose I’m not entirely a villain. You’ve been sitting here so nicely, so wet for me.”

Your wide-eyed gaze met his and you reached for him, desperate for any chance to prove yourself.

“Why don’t you beg for this cock like the slut you are?” he growled as his fingers found your throat.

“Please, Professor,” you panted. “I can’t take this anymore. I need you to fuck me.”

“Hmm…” he considered you as he bit his fingertip. “I don’t believe you.”

“Mmmmm….” You whined. It was too much to handle.

“Unless…” he stroked your hair again. “Unless you don’t want it at all?”

“Please, daddy…” you cried out. “I don’t deserve it, I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ll do anything for you, please, please just fuck me, I’m begging you, please, daddy, j-just fuck me, fuck me like you want to, like I’m just your dirty little whore. Use me until you fill me with your c-c-cum, please, daddy, please, please…” your pants were desperate and raw.

“Fuck…babygirl,”

Your blinked in confusion, unsure you had heard him correctly. Tom was looking at you with lust flaring in his eyes that was unlike anything you’d ever seen. It was primal, the way he locked eyes with you and began to move his hips achingly slow. His facade dropped, any trace of composure gone with the word “daddy” on your lips. “Say it again. Tell me what you are to daddy,” he growled.

“I-I’m your little c-cumslut,” you cried, the slow movements of his hips making your voice shake. The teasing of the last hour had already gotten you so close, the pulses radiating from your g-spot becoming rhythmic around his cock. Still, you persisted, the thrill of succeeding in cracking him giving you the strength to keep going.

“Y-you can use m-me however you w-want,” you panted, trying to steady your voice through his increasing thrusts.

“Good girl,” he groaned approvingly.

Your desperate hips began to move in tandem with his, deepening his thrusts until your hips rolled in time with his cock, wet, unholy noises escaping from your dripping pussy. You felt so utterly full, his thick cock moving inside of you, just where it belonged.

“That’s a good girl, fuck, taking my cock like a good little slut,” he said, breathless.

“Yes, daddy,” you panted. “This pussy is all for you.”

“Oh-,” he gasped. The twitching you felt inside of you told you he was close, and the way his hands reached around the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“Be-fuck-be a good girl -ah- and come on daddy’s cock,” he groaned into your breasts. His hand found your long hair that trailed down your back and pulled, hard.

“Oh, yes-” you cried. You began to see white spots, the pain from his grip sending you hurtling over a cliff. The only thing you knew was the pounding of his cock growing faster and faster, desperation with every snap of his hips, the tightening sensation in your core unbearable.

“Come like a good girl, that’s it-oh…” Skin slapping on skin. You were crying out for him, your moans interrupted with every thrust.

“Fffu-huck…I’m coming…” your breath hitched as your climax took over. The world dissolved, replaced with an overwhelming sensation of pleasure. You convulsed around his cock, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses that felt like little electric shocks to his sensitive head. You knew your tight grip on him was too much by the way his fingers grabbed your waist, pushing you down as far as you could take him as his final, sloppy thrusts pummeled your insides.

“Mmm-oh, fuck,” he moaned in a low voice. His brows were knitted together in anguished pleasure as he felt you come around him, his hips slowing until they shuddered with his own orgasm.

You arched your back as he filled you with his hot come, your core pulling his release deeper inside. This, this was exactly what you wanted to achieve. Your professor was conquered. Unraveling together, your panting breaths intermingling as his cock sputtered within you.

Your body was jelly as you collapsed against his chest, breathing unsteadily and your vision spinning around you.

Tom was still holding you deep on his cock, locking his seed inside of you. His hands shook slightly on your hips from overstimulation.

“Jesus, fuck-” he breathed into your hair. “You were such a good girl.”

He sounded far away, and your sweaty hands clutched his arms a little harder. You squeezed your eyes closed, willing the room to stop spinning. This was so embarrassing. You scolded yourself for being too nervous to eat dinner.

“Woahwoah-hey,” worry replaced lust in Tom’s voice when you didn’t respond. “Darling, are you alright?”

In one movement, Tom picked you up, removing his drenched cock from you and laying you on the couch in the corner of his office. He tucked himself quickly back into his pants and knelt beside you, concern crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Hey, talk to me, darling,” he whispered as he stroked your cheek. “You’re pale. Was I too rough?” he sounded distraught.

“No, no, no,” you moaned, your hands flying to rub your eyes in embarrassment. “I just-whew-” The bookshelves spun as you tried to sit up.

“Shh..sh..sh…lie back, love, it’s all right,” Tom crooned.

“This usually doesn’t happen, I swear,” you stammered, trying to save face.

“Hush, darling, I’m sorry. I took far too long teasing you,” he started.

“No!” your eyes snapped to his, smiling in slight annoyance. “That was the best part,” you sighed, your head falling back onto the pillows. “It’s my fault. I was too nervous to eat before I left.”

Understanding dawned on your professor. The corner of his mouth quirked.

“I see. I’ll be right back.”

With a pat to the couch cushions, he strode confidently out of the room. You heard his footsteps echo down the hallway, and you hoped to God that he wasn’t calling you a cab, or worse calling the dean to drop you from his class.

When he returned a few minutes later, the opposite turned out to be true. He had a self-satisfied smile on his lips as he carried in a bouquet of flowers and an elaborate gold box with a bright red bow.

“Sit tight, darling, I’ll fix this,” he said, setting the flowers by your side and untying the red ribbon.

You watched him, bewildered.

At your confused expression, he chuckled. “They’re for you.”

“Tom, I thought you hated Valentine’s Day.”

“Don’t mind that,” Tom said, bringing a piece of chocolate to your lips. “Open your mouth.”

You obeyed. Your teeth broke the shell of the chocolate delicately, the gooey-sweet center spilling over onto your lips and all over his fingertips. .

“Good…” Tom hummed. He stopped your hand from wiping your bottom lip, instead bending down and meeting your lips with his tongue, swirling the sticky-sweetness away with his kiss.

“Mm..” you moaned at the touch of his lips. He broke away with a little nip to your bottom lip, smiling devilishly. He then finished the chocolate you’d bitten, sucking the caramel off his thumb as he pierced you with his blue eyes.

The sugar perked you up almost instantly. The room stopped spinning and you reached for another one, which Tom happily placed on your tongue with his mouth.

“Thank you,” you told him bashfully once you could sit up.

“You did so good for me, darling,” he said softly, stroking the damp hairs on your forehead. “Such a good girl. No one’s ever made me come like that.”

You snorted.

“I find that hard to believe,” you said as you poked him in the chest.

“Nonsense.” Tom scooped you up from where you sat and reclined on the couch, laying you between his legs so he could stroke your forehead.

“I should be thanking you, love. For giving me an excuse to not be a miserable old fuck on Valentine’s Day.”

You chuckled at that.

“What changed your mind?” you prodded, turning your head to nuzzle his hand with your cheek.

“No, no, I still hate the holiday,” he mused. “But it’s different when you have a crush on the smartest girl in your class.”

Your cheeks bloomed, words failing you.

“Can I make you some proper food, darling?”

He grabbed your hand and you allowed yourself to pulled towards the kitchen in a love-drunk haze. Monday was going to be weird, for sure.

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it. you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though. After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all? Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared). He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did. Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered. The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed. You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him. You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him. Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around. You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention. If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers. With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk. Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter. “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded. By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous. Idiotic. A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you. “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged. “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing? “Thank you. I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense. But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?” His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious. “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him. He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression. His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore. “I’m here, aren’t I? Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that? I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me. It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm. “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium. Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course. And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar. “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time. You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there. Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen. And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds. You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit. All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything. The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex. As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd. Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway. It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted. “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were. But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck. “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear. “Can you do that for me? Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped. “I can take it! Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head. “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on? Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers. You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you. Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly. You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point. "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly. He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air. He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive. The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed. He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss. Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him. Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing. His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately. "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.” It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear. You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly. "Oh, you like that idea, hm? You want to be full of my come? Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast. You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated. As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade. Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks. No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair. It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks. If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry. I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed. He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye. “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss. And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again. He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss. Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss? But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class? Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it? And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios. You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him. And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now. The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class. As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options. There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself. Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable. Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned. "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk. Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was. “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed. “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice. You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly. “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed. “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly. "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours. And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel. “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed. "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again. "A man can only take so much. I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked. "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist. Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod. It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag. “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened. Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded. “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.” He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips. “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs. “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair. He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit. Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up. He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way. I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed. "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear. "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me. Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut

2K notes · View notes

prfctethereal · 3 years

Text

NASA. | sirius black

thank u, next x marauders

alexa, play NASA by ariana grande

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: you tell sirius about your anxiety and confide about what you need from him

word count: 1,941

warnings: angst, swearing, anxiety, claustrophobia

a/n: here's the next one shot in my thank u next series. thank you for all the kind words i've already received and here's to another one. - kennedy

***

Sweltering clouds settled into the evening sky like a swarm of wasps attacking its prey. Rain droplets peltering onto the window sending loud crashes through my eardrums. And I couldn’t breathe. It felt as though everything was closing in on me. A tight arm was wrapped around my waist, keeping me still, making sure I didn’t move, but I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe.

Breathe goddamnit!

The walls were caving in. My chest was restricting. A pressure was building up, weighing me down into the ground. I couldn’t breathe. Then, I was surrounded by the coldest of water, prickling into my delicate flesh, like several tiny daggers pressing firm on me. I couldn’t breathe. Drowning in a lake of nothingness, everything felt dark and empty, yet there was still a weight around me, succumbing me until I couldn’t breathe. With the last gasp of air, I froze, my eyes lulling backwards into my head.

When they reopened, I realised that it had all been a nasty nightmare. It was the middle of the night and a small draft was coming in through the window, pushing the curtain back just far enough for a dribble of moonlight to litter onto the carpet. Beads of sweat trickled down my burning face, the heat of the moment waking me from my claustrophobic dream. My breathing was slowing down but my heart was still beating out of my chest. I sighed, wondering how I hadn’t already woken up the love of my life, whose arm is currently wrapped around my torso, bringing me in close to his chest, the top of my head, nuzzled softly into his neck.

I wasn’t in the mood for cuddle time with Sirius Black unfortunately. His arm around me was no longer comforting and his soft breathing was no longer soothing, but irritating, and was setting me on edge. He was too close and I was losing my mind.

Sirius had always been clingy and I knew what I had signed up for when we started dating. Whether it was his arm around my waist or his fingers dotingly playing with a loose strand of my hair, he was constantly around me. I adored the attention but even after nearly a year of dating, I still hadn’t told him my biggest fear, which was claustrophobia: the fear of confined spaces.

He was understanding and considerate, a real gentleman, I knew that as much. Lovingly, he was always there when I struggled with anxiety, but sometimes his techniques were overbearing and sent me spiraling even worse than before. Like today, as my anxiety peaked during class.

During charms class, I was always able to concentrate. Professor Flitwick was an excellent and engaging teacher so it was always easy to feel calm in his classes, yet today, it was different. Maybe it was the rising temperatures or the tie that was just a little too tight around my neck, but the thing that sent me over the edge was my boyfriend’s hand that found its way to rest gently on my thigh.

It wasn’t his fault; it was something he always did. Weirdly, I couldn’t stand it today. Something was wrong and I needed space, but when my breath quickened and my hand started shaking, he only made it worse. I knew Sirius was only trying to help but when he had wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer into him, I couldn’t deal. I had excused myself from class and ran into the wall, tears rolling down my cheeks. Sitting in an empty hallway, I let everything out, crying until Professor McGonagall saw me when she was walking the halls and let me into her office where I could calm down.

I never explained what was wrong because nothing was wrong really. Well, I didn’t feel like anything was wrong.

That was why when Sirius suggested I stayed with him tonight, I agreed straight away. Whenever my anxiety took over, he nearly always invited me to stay in his dorm with him. We could cuddle and read books together; whatever it took to calm me down and make me feel safe again. Unfortunately, that was the opposite tonight.

Shifting out of the bed, I was hesitant to make sure that Sirius didn’t wake up as I swung my legs around and placed them on the cool wooden floors of the boy’s dormitories. I had snuck into the room so much that I knew what floorboard creaked and which didn’t, so I was fairly certain I could make it out of the room without waking anyone up.

My judgments were wrong though. Listening out, the faint sounds of the boy’s snores filled the room, masking my heavy breathing. They weren’t loud enough to mask when I stubbed my toe on the edge of Sirius’ bed, letting out of low hiss as I lost my balance and stepped onto a loose floorboard. Truthfully, it wasn’t so loud, but it felt like a rocket going off for me. Slowly, I looked back to see Sirius stirring softly in his sleep. I assumed I was safe. I was wrong.

As soon as I stepped out of the boy’s dormitories, I felt a presence behind me. Enveloping me with his arms, Sirius came up and wrapped me into one of his famous hugs. It was too much though. I wriggled free of his grip, wiping the tears forming in the corners of my eyes with the back of my hands. Hesitantly, Sirius reached out for me but I backed away, closing my hands around my chest.

“Darling?” Sirius’ voice quivered with worry, taking a step towards me.

“Leave me alone, Sirius.” I bit back at him, instantly regretting the tone of voice I had used. His face fell immediately, his usually prominent smirk wiped away by his pouting lip and his wide eyes. It seemed as so I had broken his heart. “I’m sorry, Sirius. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you did, it’s fine-”

“Come with me and I’ll explain.” Cutting him off, I beckoned him to follow me as we crept down the staircase together and through the opening portrait door. His hand was swinging by his hand, trying to tangle up with mine, but I pulled away, scared that my senses would flare up.

Normally when my anxiety would get too much, I would take a midnight walk to the astronomy tower to clear my head. Something about sitting on the balcony with my legs dangling off the side and my eyes glued to the sky calmed me in a way nothing else could. The smell of the night air mixed with the enclosed darkness felt like home. I liked being alone with my thoughts.

“I’m sorry about how I acted today.” I said quietly, as we turned a corner in the halls. Sirius knew that I was taking him to the astronomy tower as it wasn’t the first time he had caught me sneaking out in the middle of the night for some fresh air.

“Please don’t apologise, sweetheart, your anxiety is not your fault.” He replied, reaching out once again for my arm, but I dodged it moving to the side. That movement from me was noticeable enough to get a reaction from Sirius, who sighed sadly, pulling his arms back to himself.

“It’s not just my anxiety though.” I contemplated how I would explain it and Sirius frowned at my thinking face. His hands itched to grab my face and stroke my cheek with the pads of his fingers, but he stopped himself, remembering the way I had been reacting to all other forms of physical affection today.

Eventually, I found the words I had been looking for and began explaining. “I guess, it is kind of my anxiety, but it’s more than that. I have really bad claustrophobia and usually it doesn’t get the best of me. Hell, most of the time I don’t even notice it! But today, I don’t know, it felt as though it flared up all of a sudden. That’s why I’ve been rejecting your touches. It just feels like I can’t breathe all the fucking time and it hurts. I love you and I love your comfort, but I need space. Not just you, from everyone. I need my alone time sometimes, so I can breathe again.”

Sirius listened intently through my rambling, until we got to the staircase of the astronomy tower. He followed me upwards and a rush of fresh air filled my lungs when we got to the top. Walking over to the balcony, Sirius still tagged along behind, but kept his distance.

“I understand, [Y/N].” My name rolled off of his tongue almost melodically. “I just wish you had told me sooner. I feel bad, I should’ve noticed, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” I sighed out, turning back to look at the night sky. Sirius came up next to me at the balcony banister and recognised my tense body language, opting to slide a metre away from me. Smiling sheepishly, I turned and pointed at the night sky.

A comfortable silence fell between us. I wasn't sure if it was because Sirius was too unsure of what to say or if he enjoyed the quiet. Eventually, I decided to break the tension and say something to him.

“Sometimes, I dream of being a star in space.” With earned an incredulous eyebrow lift from Sirius, whose name is quite literally a star in space. I giggled before continuing. “I mean, they're so far apart from one another - light years away! You have all the distance you need, all the quiet you want.”

Sirius hummed in agreement, before pointing at something in the sky. “You see that there? That is Sirius, the brightest star is the sky. And you see that?” He waved his hand around slightly, “That is the constellation Canis Major: the constellation that Sirius is a part of.”

Another silence fell before I took another root with the conversation. “I wanted to keep astronomy as one of my subjects but I always thought that people would make fun of me for keeping it on my schedule. It was my favourite subject and I loved every moment of it.”

“You should’ve kept studying it then.” Sirius said in a hushed voice, his eyes peeling off of the sky and onto me.

“I thought you would laugh at me.” I whispered, barely audible, but Sirius heard.

“I would never laugh at you, never. Honestly, I never even knew you liked this sort of stuffed.” He paused, momentarily. “Tell me all your favourite things about astronomy.”

I smiled, blushing happily as I started pointing at different constellations in the sky. “That there is Scorpio, my favourite constellation. In all truth, it’s my favourite because it’s your horoscope sign. Oh, and that over there is the Big Dipper, or the Plough, and my mother would always tell me that was her favourite constellation. It was mine too, until I met you.”

Pausing, I looked back at Sirius who was utterly fascinated by what I was saying, clinging onto every word I said, encouraging me to keep going. “And tonight is a crescent moon, but it's about to become a new moon in two nights' time. The new moon is the symbol of starting fresh and signals for change to come. I love it. It’s beautiful.”

“The sky is beautiful tonight.” Sirius spoke after a while and I hummed in agreement, but he kept going.”

“Do you know what else is beautiful?”

“What?”

“You.”

#harry potter #marauders #marauders era #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction

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sleepysnk · 3 years

Text

not a very long chapter today, but next chapter will be VERY IMPORTANT. keep watch for it! <3

Team Player: Chapter Five

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.9k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Eren awoke to the aching of his ankle. His green eyes fluttered open as he reached for his phone on his nightstand, the screen lighting up and showing the time that said 8:55 A.M. It felt too early to be awake, but his ankle was bothering him too much.

He arose from his bed and looked over at Armin's bed. He was already gone and out to class. Eren stood up and winced as his ankle throbbed in pain.

Unfortunately for him, he was now injured way worse than he was before. His muscle was now more irritated and the nurse told him that he needed to skip the next game or two to make sure it fully healed. Eren was irritated with that. He wanted to get back on the field as quickly as he could, but he knew damn well Coach Smith wouldn't let him. Judging on how pissed off he looked on Saturday, Eren was certain there was no way he could smoothly talk to him.

Eren grabbed the side of his bed, reaching for the small bottle of pills that was prescribed for the pain. He had to take more now since he wasn't doing that well. The nurse gave him so many instructions on how to take care of his ankle, it all bombarded him at once.

Grabbing the plastic water bottle, Eren put the meds in his mouth and swallowed, feeling the pills go down his throat.

He quickly changed into a sweater and black sweatpants, making sure to wear the patch the nurse gave him. He threw on slides and grabbed his backpack, exiting his dorm to the main campus.

As he entered the main doors, he felt eyes suddenly boring holes into his head. Eren hung his head low as he stared at his phone, trying to get some attention off of him. Many people were pissed at what happened during the game, people clowned him on Twitter, giving him nicknames or posting meme videos to his fail. It was honestly kind of embarrassing for him. Many sports analysts talked about it, and Eren knew that wasn't good.

Eren's eyes averted upward as he saw Jean walking with Marco.

"Hey Jean," Eren said and approached him.

Jean stood there and clenched his jaw. "What do you want dude? You here to tell me how shitty of a lineman I am?" he asked and crossed his arms. "Look dude.. no offense but stay out of my way." he added and pushed past Eren.

Eren stood there watching Jean walk off. He's never seen him act that way before, Jean usually kept his words to himself sometimes, but it kind of made Eren feel shitty.

"You suck!" a random student yelled and looked at Eren. "Selfish as fuck.." he added and kept walking.

Eren didn't even do anything. He just walked away from the guy near him. His mind was clouded with so many thoughts, he really was the laughing stock of Trost. Everyone just stared at him as he walked in the hall to his class, what was he going to do? He couldn't exactly clear his name or whatever, the footage was all online.

He silently prayed things would go well at practice.

The day seemed to pass by slowly for Eren.

He barely did anything in most of his classes and he didn't bother to pay attention.

What bothered him the most was that most of his teammates avoided him, whenever Eren tried to say hello they all ignored him, or they told him to go away. The team’s loss was not his intention, he wanted to show everyone his talent out on the field as well as impressing the scout that was there and to make others proud.

Going on social media was the worst. People made memes about his fail, and many people were disappointed in what happened. They looked like idiots during that game, the Titans were their rivals too, which also meant that the school itself looked absolutely shitty.

Eren could care less what was happening in his physics class, the teacher just blabbed on and on about velocity and other crap. None of it seemed to interest Eren as he was just too lost in his thoughts about the game.

"You're all dismissed!" the professor called and looked around the room.

Eren stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder, he walked slowly down the hall as his ankle was bothering him still. What was he going to do?

The day had already ended and Eren decided to make his way to practice, he knew he couldn't exactly play or catch any balls, but maybe he could just observe.

He opened the door to the locker room and saw many of his teammates staring or exchanging looks with one another, he felt awkward walking in there. This hasn't exactly happened to him before either.

"What are you doing here?" Reiner asked, crossing his arms. "You're hurt. Coach doesn't want you here," he added.

Eren looked at the blonde who seemed to be in a bad mood. "I-I just… wanted to observe," he replied and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Eren." his head turned to see Coach Smith standing there with his arms crossed. "Come into my office… we need to have a chat," he said and waved him over.

Eren gulped and made his way into the office, his pulse began to race rapidly. He knew it probably wasn't good.

"Have a seat," Coach Smith said and plopped down at his desk.

Eren put his backpack down on the ground and looked at his Coach, his icy hues burning holes into his head.

"U-Um… what do you want to speak about?" Eren asked, giving a weak smile.

Coach Smith leaned back and sighed. "It's about what happened on Saturday-"

"I'm sorry. That was totally my fault, I thought Jean was going to get-" he was cut off.

"I didn't finish Eren," he said sternly and crossed his arms. "Eren what happened on Saturday was absolutely unacceptable and unsportsmanlike. Jean is your teammate! I gave Reiner that call to throw to him, not you. Your behavior lately has been very inappropriate.”

Eren looked down and bit his lip. "B-But! I thought he was going to get tackled! If I-"

"Enough. There is no excuse for your actions Eren, not only that, but you were hurt too. I told you three times that if you were hurt, to step off the field. That's not okay at all Eren. Look at you now! Your ankle is now even worse than before. Your actions are extremely selfish," he stated.

Eren fell silent as his words played into his head.

"Until you can play like a team player, leave." Coach Smith said.

Eren looked up with wide eyes. "What? What do you mean leave?!" he asked with concern in his voice.

"Until you can get your act together, you're benched and off the team. There's not buts anymore Eren, I've let your behavior slide numerous times. Your own teammates have come to me about this as well, so until you can gain some proper teamwork skills you're benched," he replied. "Don't bother coming to practice or showing up to games or I will suspend you," he added.

Eren leaned back in his chair. "You can't do this coach please! I need this season!" he pleaded and looked at him with pleading eyes.

Coach Smith stood up. "Nobody wants a player who can't think for anyone else, especially not the Chiefs," he said. "Now please… leave. Don't show up for the rest of the week," he added and went towards the door.

Eren grabbed his backpack and exited the office, many eyes watched as he exited the locker room. Frustration, anger, and even sadness rushed through him all at once. How could his own Coach do that to him!? Coach Smith has believed in Eren from the day he entered Trost. Why the sudden change?

He went outside and breathed in the cool air, the leaves fell from the trees as it was now fall. The leaves crunched under his feet as he walked back to his residence hall, he just wanted to lay in bed and sleep the rest of the day.

He eventually got back and opened the door, Armin sat on the opposite side of the room with his laptop open.

"Eren? You're back early. Short practice today?" he asked and nodded.

Eren threw his backpack onto the floor which made a loud thump come from it. "No.." he replied and sat on his bed. "It's way worse than that," he added.

Armin furrowed his brows. "What happened?" he asked.

Eren threw his phone onto his nightstand. "I got benched for what happened at the rival game, so don't expect me to be playing. I can't go to practice either," he replied and leaned against the wall.

The blondes eyes went wide as saucers hearing the news. "What? That's never happened to you before…" he said and looked down.

"Yeah.. I guess the other players have talked about it too," Eren said and adjusted his man bun. "Which is absolute bullshit to me," he added and shrugged.

Armin stayed silent as he listened to Eren rant, he knew how badly the situation was. Being injured didn’t exactly help anyone, being benched was the best course of action. Seeing the way he played on Saturday was kind of embarrassing in a way, Eren barely let anybody have the ball.

"What am I going to do? My teamwork skills are fine!" Eren complained, staring up at the ceiling.

Armin laughed a bit. "You're going to have to work on it yourself. Teamwork takes a lot of self work, it's up to you to fix it." he replied. "I wish I could help but to be honest, I suck at that kind of stuff." he added.

Eren felt a small smile draw onto his lips. "It's okay Armin… I guess I have to fix all of this on my own," he said.

"So you're benched for the next game?" Armin asked and nodded a bit.

Eren sighed. "Yup… and who knows how long either. Coach told me to not show until I get my act together," he replied, putting his arms behind his head. "Which sounds stupid to me because I'm fine the way I am," he added and shrugged his shoulders.

Armin closed his laptop and placed it next to him. "Maybe you have to accept his words Eren.. he could be just trying to help you," he said, looking over at him. "Sometimes you have to face the reality of it," he added.

Eren sat up and looked towards his roommate. "No.. there's nothing wrong with me Armin. If he was trying to help he wouldn't have benched me," he replied. "I'll be fine.. just don't worry about it," he said and stood up limping to get his medication.

Armin stayed silent and just watched as Eren took his medication. Was Eren right about everything? Maybe his skills were fine and everyone was just being dramatic, or maybe Coach Smith was right. Maybe Eren needed the work, that was something Armin wasn't sure of, but judging off the way Eren played on Saturday… he was convinced Eren did have issues on the field.

One thing was for certain, something was up with Eren.

tagging: @ererokii @eremiie @callmepromise @moomii-hime @katsuhera @flam3bird @kc-braun @backstagepaige @thicmitten @daughter-of-the-stars11 @just-a-little-sad @chayauwu @sof-yeager @basket-flower-chick @lunamoonawatcher

#anime #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot fanfiction #aot imagines #snk x y/n #snk x reader #snk imagines #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #anime fanfic #team player

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buckys-black-dress · 3 years

Text

a fine line, part one

a/n: did you really think i could control myself enough to NOT do an enemies to lovers professor!bucky fic? did you really think i have that much willpower? i fucking love this trope and it’s so cute and i definitely will be doing more of these. k bye! leave feedback if ya want, and as per usual, don’t copy/share w/o my consent! if you read this all, luv u tons <33! - ali

wc: 4.2k words

Walking into your office bright and early was always the worst part of your day. Not because you hated your job, or because you hated the students you taught, but because of your neighbor.

Being a college English professor was something you dreamed of since you were a young girl, and it was something that you thoroughly enjoyed doing every single day.

Even if it meant being up before 7 AM during the week.

But something that never failed to irritate the absolute everliving fuck out of you when you walked in was Dr. James Barnes.

Dr. Barnes was an incredibly educated man. He could tell you anything about historical events. Any day, any year, any country. But there was something about him that gave off an air of arrogance and ‘I’m better than you because of all my friends in the staff.’ You only joined the English Department of the Avengers University about a year ago, but in your time there, you’ve already built a strong reputation for yourself.

Unfortunately, you were a bit shy when it came to conversing with your coworkers. Your most prominent friends who you’ve made are Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff, the Russian Literature and Studies professors. They were the ones you gravitated to the most, naturally, and have been incredible friends since you started this job.

While they’ve been friendly, you’ve been having a pretty difficult time breaking out of your shell. You tend not to really put yourself out there in terms of sociality because of how unfamiliar you were with the setting, but you were slowly building your confidence to truly get to know your coworkers.

Steve Rogers, one of your fellow English professors, came into your classroom on this gloomy, early Monday morning with a cup of coffee in both hands.

“Mornin, Dr. Y/L/N.” Steve says while placing your cup on your desk, taking a fine morning?” He asks, breaking into a grin.

Steve was contagious when it came to his happiness and uplifting mood, and you matched his smile with one of your own.

“I’m just peachy, Professor Rogers. How was your weekend?” You ask, opening your laptop and reaching for your lesson binder.

“It was actually really nice. I got my grading and planning for the week done last week so I got to spend time with the fiancée.” He smiles, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, how nice! What’s her name again...? I keep forgetting, forgive me.” You laugh, failing to recall the name of Steve’s beloved.

“No worries, Y/L/N.” Steve laughs at your aloofness, “it’s Peggy. She actually works as a military strategist.” He says with a proud smile, which you took notice of rather quickly.

“That’s really interesting... I would never even be capable of doing anything with the military.” You giggle, making sure you have everything ready for your lesson today.

“So... Y/N.” At the mention of your first name, your head shoots up in concern. Was something wrong? “Do you have anyone special at home?” Steve asks.

Your mouth felt dry at the question. You know Steve probably wasn’t trying to pry, but you couldn’t help feel yourself shrink under the question.

“I- uh, no. Unless my cat counts.” You try to lighten the mood and lessen the speeding of your heart.

Steve takes notice of your bright blush and embarrassment. To be fair, you were embarrassed. You were well into your twenties, a successful woman with a stable job, but little to social life. Or love life, at that.

“You have a cat?! Let me see ‘em!” Steve exclaims, trying to deflect from the previous question.

“Oh! This is her...” You say, flipping a frame facing you on your desk to Steve. In the picture frame was a beautiful, tiny black cat. “Her name is Lucy.” You tell him, smiling fondly at the image.

“How old is she?” Steve asks.

“She actually just turned a year old. I thought it would be nice to have some company in my apartment when I moved here. I was getting a bit lonely.” You tell him, reminiscing on when you first adopted Lucy.

“She’s a real sweetheart.” Steve’s not able to wipe his grin away while looking at the furry animal.

“Oh, you don’t even know. She’s a spoiled little thing, you should see her when I leave in the mornings.” You scoff, looking back to your checklist on your computer.

“Y’know, Bucky has a cat, too. I think he would like to know that someone else around here has one, the rest of us all have dogs.” Steve mentions casually, but your brows furrow in confusion.

“I-I’m sorry, I know I haven’t been the most sociable person here since I arrived, but... who’s Bucky? I don’t think I’ve met someone with that name...” You search your brain for any recollection of meeting someone named Bucky, but you were coming up completely short.

“Oh! Bucky is what James usually goes by... I mean, normally people don’t call him James, just Bucky or Barnes as nicknames, y’know?” Steve clarifies.

“Oh, that makes sense,” you say with a slight laugh, “Dr. Barnes and I haven’t interacted very much since I started here... I get the feeling he’s not too fond of me.” You say with a smile to not make Steve uncomfortable. You knew the two of them were friends, as they were always chatting in the professor’s lounge and cracking jokes.

“Bucky...? Not fond of you? Did something happen between you two that I wasn’t aware of? You’re not unlikable or anything...” Steve wonders out loud, trying to understand.

“I-I’m not too sure, Professor Rogers.” You try to stop the conversation here before things got too blown out of proportion. “I hate to cut this short, b-but I’ve got a lecture in ten minutes, so I should get going.” You tell him curtly, gathering your things into your tote and seeing Steve out of your office.

“I’ll catch ya later, Y/L/N!” Steve says as he walks in the direction of his office down the hall.

“See you, Rogers!” You say back, making your way out of the building to the next.

Just as you locked your office shut, you see a head poking out of the office next yours.

You keep your head down, not really wanting to engage in any aggressive banter right before your lecture.

But of course, Dr. Barnes had other ideas. And while you really didn’t have the time, Barnes definitely did.

“Mornin’, Professor Y/L/N! Already late to your first class of the week?” James calls from his spot as you walk in the opposite direction to the exit of the building.

“I’m actually perfectly on time, Dr. Barnes. And it’s Doctor! Have a good day!” You turn back briefly for about two seconds to meet his gaze, and walk into the biting morning air, ready for the long day ahead.

Dr. Barnes, damn you for making my days ten times longer than usual.

Going home was always your favorite part of the day. Your apartment was your safe place, your place where you could drop the professionalism and not worry about having to interact with other people.

Most of your nights were spent reading, watching movies, learning new recipes, and whatever you could do to take some time to yourself. Lucy was roaming the kitchen while you were trying to perfect your latest baked good.

As Lucy intertwines herself between your legs, you look down, making sure you don’t trip over yourself.

“Luce, you have a whole plaything set up over there, why do you insist on putting yourself right ther-” Just as you were scolding your kitten, your phone rings from its’ spot in front of you on the counter.

“Hello?” You say into the speaker.

“Y/N! How are you?” Natasha’s voice came through the speakers, making you pull the phone away from your ear.

“I-I’m good, Natasha. What’s up?” You ask, wondering why she was calling you since she was very clearly not at home.

“W-Well,” she lets out a laugh with commotion in the background, “a few of us are down at the bar a couple blocks away from your place, I think.” Another round of ruckus in the back, “would you like to join us?”

“O-Oh... who else is there?” Your voice came through softly, making your nervousness evident through the phone.

“Just a few people in our group... Wanda, Banner, Stark, Rogers, Wilson, Odinson...” Natasha’s voice trails off, like she was still going to mention someone else, but was holding her tongue.

“Oh... Uhm, I was just in the middle of a recipe, but I think I could swing by for a bit...” You look down at your mixing bowl, covering it and placing it in the refrigerator.

Lucy scurries through to your closet once you open it, searching for something to wear, because your current situation was quite frankly sweats. Choosing a black turtleneck and jeans, you dab on a little bit of makeup and pull on some boots, making your way to your car and warming it up.

Once you made it to the bar, you were met with a stench that only bars have, one you haven’t smelt in years. College was fun while it lasted, though.

The first person you spot is Wanda, who’s sitting at the bar waiting for drinks, you presume, so you make your way towards her.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you came! Natasha said you were, but we weren’t sure, you don’t normally do, but it’s perfect! I’m so excited, we never hang out too much, you know? And-” Wanda was rambling, and although you could tell she didn’t want to offend you, it stung. You know you haven’t been out with your coworkers, but it was just one of the effects of your social anxiety.

“It’s okay, Wanda. I know, but I’m gonna try to come out more... I think it’s time.” You tell her with a small smile.

“That’s great, Y/N. I’m glad, you deserve to let loose and have fun every once in a while, you know. It’s okay to relax.” She pats your shoulder, and you can feel her warmth in it, both physically and emotionally. It was nice.

“I- Yeah, thanks, Wanda. Do you need a hand with the drinks?” You ask, seeing the two full trays.

“Yes! If you don’t mind, we’re just back there. We got you a drink too, but we didn’t really know what you liked so we just played it safe.” She explains, pointing to the Old Fashioned on the tray.

“Oh! You didn’t have to...” You trail off, placing the tray down on the table.

“Hi, Y/N! Didn’t know you’d be joining us tonight, good to see ya!” Steve says while scooting further down the booth seat to make room for you, everyone else welcoming you.

“Thanks for inviting me, guys. I guess I really did need to get out of the house.” You say while sipping on your drink.

As the chatter around the table starts again, you quickly end up finishing your drink, caught up in the atmosphere around you and how you were having such a good time.

Maybe this isn’t so bad. I should do this more often.

And as this thought came to your head, Natasha sees that you’ve finished your drink, motioning to the empty glass.

“Need another, Y/N?” She points to the bar, “I’ll come with, I need one too.”

You nod, scooting out of the booth.

“I’ll just have a glass of red,” you tell the bartender, Natasha giving you an odd look, “I still have to drive home later..” You laugh when she hums in realization.

While waiting, a tall guy with dark hair is already chatting up Natasha. And just when you didn’t think your night could get any weirder, you feel someone come up next to you.

“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here all by yourse-” But the voice was cut short as soon as you turned your head towards whoever it was. As soon as your mind recognized the face, your eyes widened, met with equally wide, ocean blue eyes.

“Y/N?! What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice was filled with confusion and mild disgust, ouch.

“I-I was invited... By Natasha...” Your voice was meeker than you wanted it to sound, because who the hell was Bucky to question why you were here?

“Oh. I didn’t know it was you, for the record.” Bucky states, watching in satisfaction as you look down at your wineglass that the bartender placed in front of you. She gave you a sympathetic look, turning back to another customer.

“I-Yeah, I figured, Barnes. Sorry to disappoint you, I suppose.” You grab the glass and walk back to the table, trying to not look as though someone just called you ugly to your face.

“Y’know, I don’t quite understand why you can’t just let her be.” Bucky turns his gaze to Natasha.

“I just... don’t like her. It’s as simple as that, Nat. She walks around acting all high and mighty, like she isn’t equal to us.” He reasons, trying to make his point.

“Bucky... Maybe if you took five seconds to get rid of that ego of yours, you’d know the kind of person she is. And she is most definitely not as pretentious as you’ve made her out to be. She’s a human being, just like the rest of us here.” Natasha finishes defending you, turning back to the table, leaving Bucky even more confused than before.

As the night went on, you very evidently avoided anything that had to do with Bucky. If he came by the table, you would waver your gaze elsewhere, and if he initiated the conversation, you would keep quiet. Although you knew it was probably the easiest way to avoid conflict with him, you could tell you were folding in on yourself.

And Wanda and Natasha most definitely noticed.

Every time Bucky spoke, it was like you would disconnect. Focus your mind elsewhere, filling your head with thoughts completely unrelated to your current atmosphere.

“Y/N, what do you have planned for the holiday break?” Sam’s voice pipes up, trying to include you in the conversation.

“Oh, uhm... Not much, I usually stay at home and make myself a nice meal. Take some time to myself, y’know.” You smile at the thought of the holiday season. You were completely ready to take the time off to catch up on self care.

“Oh, no family to go see?” Steve’s voice asks from across the booth.

“Uh... no, not really.” You try let out a light laugh at the answer, trying to not show the stiffness of your body at the topic at hand.

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable...” Steve says, trying to rectify the situation.

“No! You’re completely okay, Steve.” You reassure him, not wanting to make things even more uncomfortable.

“Well, now that we’re on the topic,” Bucky’s voice breaks the silence, “Y/N, how come we know, like... nothing about you? You’ve been at the university for a bit now and this is the first time we’re seeing you outside of work.” Bucky’s expression was smug as could be, and you were really fighting the urge to cry right now.

“Bucky, leave her alone.” Wanda’s voice was coming as a warning, daring Bucky to go even further.

“No, I’m not trying to sound rude or anything,” Bucky keeps pushing, “but you just seem to act like we don’t deserve your time, like you’re better than all of us or something.”

“Buck, that’s enough.” Steve’s voice was like ice. “Just leave her alone, for God’s sake.”

The table falls silent, your eyes fixed on your hands in your lap.

“I-I’m sorry, guys...” Your voice was holding on by a thread. “I think I should go, thank you so much for inviting me out with you guys. Have a good night.” And with that, you slip out of the booth, disappearing out the front door at an exceptional speed.

The rest of the table was watching Bucky with several emotions, including mild disgust, anger, and hopelessness.

When will this stop?

That night when you return to Lucy, you were drained. Tired. Exhausted. Ever since you were a child, it seemed that you couldn’t outgrow your shyness and quietness. The only place that made you feel like you belonged was your lecture hall. And although you tried, several times, to overcome this horrid quality of yours, it seemed that you could never escape it.

It just always came back.

And you know how it made you seem to others. Pretentious, snobby, it gave you an air of a superiority complex.

When in reality, it was exactly the opposite. You were so afraid to speak sometimes that you just choose not to. You didn’t want to be judged or ridiculed for saying the wrong things, so you thought it was better to keep quiet.

Becoming a professor definitely helped you break out of that shell a little bit, but it never really translated outside of the classroom.

Flopping down on your grey comforter, you realize that you couldn’t continue to feel like this. It was years and years of meekness, of keeping to yourself. That was the reason why you were almost 30 with no boyfriend, no fiancé, and certainly no husband or child.

You knew you had to make a change, but you didn’t quite know how to. But that’s something you’ll have to worry about later, because you were close to passing out right now.

The following week had been... different. You were spending less of your lunch hours in your office, alone, and finally accepting Natasha and Wanda’s consistent invites to eat with them. It took them by surprise at first, but they welcomed you with open arms.

It was now Thursday, and you were in Wanda’s office, digging into your pasta salad that you’d packed.

“So, Y/N, just out of curiosity...” Natasha speaks through her lunch, “What suddenly made you want to join us? I mean, after last week, I wouldn’t be surprised if you never wanted to see us again.” She laughs a breath out, clearly feeling guilty for last weeks’ events.

“Well,” you supply after a moment to think, “I realized something. After James... spoke his mind, I guess you could say, I realized that he was right, in a way.”

“Wha-” Wanda interjected but you continued to explain.

“I realized that I had removed myself so far from the people that I see every single day so much that they don’t even know me. And it’s been like this most of my life... I usually just keep to myself, but I think that even though I’m terrified of speaking to people I don’t know, it’ll never get better unless I actually try.” You release, feeling a metaphorical weight lift off your chest.

“Well, Y/N, I’m glad you finally chose to let us in... But Bucky was still an asshole, and totally out of line. We know we can’t speak for him, but we’re all really sorry for what he said... He doesn’t even know you, and he shouldn’t have made those assumptions about you.” Wanda says after a moment of silence.

“Thank you, guys.” You smile, gathering your things and standing up. “I have a lecture to prepare for, but... thank you for everything, both of you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had good people in my life that I can call my friends.” You’re shocked at the fact that you feel two sets of arms wrap around you at your confession, holding you tight.

“Y/N, you don’t ever have to thank us for being your friends... you deserve good things, never forget that.” Natasha tells you, and for the first time, you actually believe it.

“Okay, I actually have to go now, but I’ll see you two later?” You ask, already halfway out the door.

“Yeah, we’ll text you!” Wanda yells back, and you’re making your way back to your office to gather your belongings for the lecture.

But of course, you could never get ready for a class without Barnes popping out and giving you a little pep talk.

“Afternoon, Y/L/N. Getting ready to bore another groups of kids to death?” He asks, a smug look on his face with a mug held in his hand.

“Actually, Dr. Barnes, I happen to have excellent students who truly enjoy being in my class, being that I don’t teach any 101s, that’s more Steve’s part. But thanks for the concern.” You tell him, shutting the door behind you and letting out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

You’ve never spoken to anyone like that in your life before.

And James was equally shocked at your attitude, standing in his doorway, dumbfounded with his mouth hanging open. He was staring at your shut door, wondering where the quick with came from.

He begrudgingly turns back into his own office, truly trying to process what just occurrfaxed.

While you slung your bag over your shoulder, there was an infectious smile gracing your face, proud of not being his doormat for the first time.

That day, class was even better than usual, and you even let your students out early, telling them to enjoy the rest of their day.

And that night, you went home feeling the best you’ve felt in a long time.

You went into the university the next week feeling refreshed from you girl’s weekend that you hosted at your apartment, inviting Natasha and Wanda, and even another professor named Carol who you’ve recently befriended as well- to unwind and have fun with.

And as you swing the usually locked door of your office open with ease, your eyebrows furrowed.

I remember locking it when I left on Friday...

But the only thing that seems to out of place is the iced americano and chocolate croissant sitting on your desk.

On the bag of the croissant, there was writing that read, ‘Thought I’d make it up to you.’

Who the hell would go out of their way to bring me breakfast? You thought to yourself. And they know my usual...

You honestly assumed it could’ve been one of the girls, but you don’t know what they could’ve been making it up to you for. Maybe girl’s night? But still, everyone did a good job of bringing things with them to compensate for you hosting.

But nothing explains the door being unlocked. But you weren’t really afraid. You didn’t keep anything too valuable in there anyways, taking most papers home with you, and keeping classified files sealed in the file cabinet.

It didn’t really scare you, but you truly wondered who would go out of their way to do something like this for you.

The rest of your day went by pretty quickly, and it was oddly quiet. Specifically from the office next door.

It’s now 5 PM, and not a peep from James.

It unsettled you, to say the least. First the breakfast and unlocked office, and now not a word from him.

It was weird.

You spotted him talking to Steve earlier in the day, but you haven’t seen too much of him either.

Although, there was a staff meeting tonight, so you’d definitely see him then.

As you made your way to the designated conference room with Natasha, you see Dean Fury waiting for everyone to arrive. He greets you with his usual disgruntled look, which you’ve learned to not take personally over the time you’ve spent here at Avengers University.

Slowly, everyone made it in, taking a seat.

“Good evening, staff. I hope you’ve all had a productive day thus far, but there’s a reason I’ve called you here tonight. I have a proposal for all of you.” Fury explains, making you all curious.

“I’ve decided, after a few months of toying with the idea, I’d like to do partner teaching. Each and every one of you will be assigned a counterpart, and you will both help each other in making the others’ teaching environment better. Here at AU, we’re committed to always pushing the envelope, and that means that sometimes, you’ll have to get uncomfortable. And if you’re wondering, there’s no way out of this. You all have to do it. Each one of you has received an email to your .edu inbox with your partner assignment and further instructions on how this will be done.” A pause overtook the room as everyone pulled out their phones to check their emails. “Happy teaching, we start next week, folks.” Fury finishes, exiting the room.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t believe your eyes when they saw the opened email.

Dr. Y/L/N, you’ve been selected to teach alongside Dr. Barnes.

Oh fuck no.

And the look he was sharing with you from across the table confirmed he was thinking the exact same thing.

a/n pt.2: ooooooh cliffhangerrr!!! holy shit y’all this bitch long asf. don’t worry, part 2 will be coming soon! comment and lmk what you thought down below! this might have a part 3, i haven’t decided yet !! lol, anyways, i have class in an hour, so bye! if you made it this far, i seriously love and. appreciate you!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #prof!bucky #professor!bucky #prof!bucky x prof!reader #college professor au #Bucky Barnes #bucky fic #ive been writing this for so long omf

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sxfik · 3 years

Text

darling, you're the one i want

chapter one | two | three ....

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: Kang Sol A was never known for her luck, but she suspected it to be more like a curse when after almost 5 years, she bumps into her rival and the bane of her existence: Attorney Han Joon Hwi. What's worse? She has to work with him and she's sure that she'll either kill him or kiss him before this is all over

After Kang Sol B was freed from the clutched of her mother, her new found freedom spurred her into a night in bed with the mysterious Ji Ho. Yet, when he walks into her office the next day, she is faced with the realization that she is now working with the same man she slept with. What's worse? He's insufferable and she just might have to kiss him to shut him up.

a/n: hello hello! it's been almost a month since i've written a fic and probably even more time since i've truly been active on here. this fic is a product of me, @akinosakiya, @am-bi-vert and @thenerdywriter creating 20 different threads on twitter about an idea (which eventually got turned into a whole group chat just for hc and fic ideas). truly this fic is dedicated to all of them, the hanguk law school gc on tumblr and twitter. this fic is multi-chapter and written from 6 povs (basically it will be pretty long). as always, enjoy!

KANG SOL A was not known for her luck. Maybe it was a curse, or maybe just her destiny to be unlucky in life. She was irrevocably late this morning, despite setting 6 alarms and taking extra care the night before to ensure everything was in order before she left. But of course, in classic Sol A fashion, she was late despite every effort.

She was greeted with the shining sun and chirping birds as she speed walked towards her office building, her hair slightly disheveled in the breeze. Her hand clutched her briefcase as she speed walked towards the office, her lanyard swaying as she moved with purpose.

It had been almost 2 years since she started working for Kang's Toy Co. and 3 years since she graduated from Hanguk Law school. Life had been a rollercoaster since then, an endless ride of ups and downs as she tried to stabilize herself into her new life. She had clawed her way up from the struggle of her 1L year, getting to be an expert on late nights and sleep deprivation. Nonetheless, she graduated with an offer set up at Attorney Park's office which kickstarted her career and her life.

She'd be lying if she said everything was smooth from then on; it was quite the opposite. Just like she predicted, she had to take clients that she disliked and didn't trust, but when you were trying to make rent and put food on the table, it didn't matter. Luckily, she never had to compromise her beliefs too much during those years, and she was able to build her reputation as a trustable and hardworking lawyer in the community.

Soon enough, she was taking on higher profile clients, and gifted with the ability of being picky about who she defended. All of a sudden she was going to events and mingling with the upper class of Seoul. What was a poor girl, raised by a single mother, doing in such a ornate hall, sipping champagne that was worth more than anything she'd ever owned. Yet, those very same events led her to her name twin, Kang Sol B.

Kang Sol B, clean cut and straightforward, was one of her closest friends and CEO of the company she worked for. They met by chance at an event, after a particularly successful case, and somehow, the two women who were so unlike each other, hit it off. They ran into each other by chance again and they met for drinks. Sol B's level-headed, confident attitude balanced her energetic, eager mind. Not to mention, she fit right in with Ye-Seul and her dynamic, the three being thick as thieves. Soon enough, Sol was offered a job at her company as a corporate lawyer and she jumped on the chance at working with her. The rest was, as they say, history.

Shaking off her thoughts, her legs propelled her forward, her vision almost hazy and her mind clouded with the need to rush, rush, rush. The morning was particularly busy, with so many employees rushing into work and walking in their own world. Still, today was especially important as the company is announcing a joint enterprise between two of the biggest toy companies in Seoul. She picked up her pace, nearing the entrance, when, in her frenzy, she crashed into the oncoming figure.

"I'm so—"

"Sorry!"

Her head shot up, her eyes widening at the familiar voice. And there he stood, in all his glory, Han Joon Hwi: Second Round Judicial Exam Passer, and the bane of her existence.

She had the unfortunate luck of meeting Joon Hwi during their 1L, during a particularly intense class where she was grilled to death by her professor. The actual ordeal was a haze, all she could remember was her throat tightening and instant panic flooding her mind and body. Joon hwi, thinking himself some kind of knight-in-shining armor, swooped in to save her, answering in her stead.

And then, he decided to rival her during one of their constitutional code classes, arguing in favor of a law that was, in her mind, despicable. "You have to look at it in perspective," he coolly replied to her smoldering anger when she questioned him on how he could support such a thing. It was set in stone, then, that Kang Sol A did not like Han Joon Hwi.

From the moment they met, it was like he was specifically designed to drive her crazy. The way he smirked, the way his whip smart comebacks would leave her stumped, the way his arms filled out that stupid white shirt, the way he'd look at her like he could see right through her. Just about everything about him made her want to scream.

Dislike was an understatement when it came to Joon Hwi. It was more like a never ending annoyance, his presence and every move frustrating her, making her lungs tight and her heart race with exasperation and irritation.

She was nicknamed Lady Justice, after a particular comment from Joon Hwi himself. If it was to shame her, it clearly didn't work as it only fueled her headstrong attitude. In fact, it spurred her into more arguments with the illustrious Joon Hwi, the temperature constantly rising as they would circle each other and argue until their lungs burned and they were breathing heavy. The whole school would gather to see them spar, the tension so thick that they wouldn't notice the crowd they would draw as soon as the two would even look at each other.

He was the genius of her school, that much she couldn't deny. Still, the what he said about her in their final year...

His hand gripped her wrist, startling her out of her thoughts in an attempt to support her, and his warm touch seared into her cold skin as he pulled her up slightly. Joon Hwi blinked back at her, his face shocked before settling into a familiar smirk that drove her up the wall.

"Long time no see, huh, Lady Justice?" his eyebrow quirked up slightly as he took her in, and the scowl settled into her face. Like this day could have gotten any worse, it was just her luck to meet him.

"Not quite long enough, Attorney Han," she quipped back, snapping her arm away from his grip. She blew out a soft breath, in an attempt to get her bangs out of her eyes to face him properly. He continued to look down at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he chuckled in response.

He didn't look any different than he did 3 years ago, except that his shoulders had grown broader, his chest a little firmer. He wore a black coat, and underneath, his signature black suit that he had worn during his internships during school. His hair was styled differently, now styled up rather than down in bangs that used to give him an innocent look back in their law school years. It suited him.

"So, you work for Kang now?" he asked her, rushing forward to catch up with her fast pace. Her hand gripped tighter on her bag as she picked up her pace, trying her best to not let his sudden presence taint her morning.

"No, I'm definitely just walking towards the building with the large sign that says KANG TOY CO. for absolutely no reason," she replied, her voice laced with impatience.

"You haven't changed one bit, Kang Sol," he laughed, tilting his head forward, blinking and looking at her as if he knew something she didn't.

She paused in her tracks, looking up to the man who scrambled to turn to face her. "Why are you here, Joon Hwi?" she asked him, suspicious of his sudden presence.

He raised an eyebrow in response, and she could feel the irritation build in her chest as she looked up at him, impossibly confused. They stayed in place, their feet glued to the pavement and she forgot all about her earlier mission to get to her office asap. His face hadn't changed too much from their school days, his expression overflowing with mirth and mischief. But his face did hold a tiredness that wasn't seen before, as if the time has taken a toll on him. What happened to you, Han Joon Hwi, for your face to hold exhaustion that was never seen before?

"You'll find out," he replied curtly, before spinning back and walking towards the building. Her office building. She rushed forward now, trying to catch up with him as she looked up curiously, but he avoided her looks as they walked into the office.

They marched on in, flashing her badge at the entrance of the office, and Joon hwi, somehow, managed to follow. Did he start working here and never let her know? Does he even work as a lawyer? How could she not know? She let out a deep breath, trying to calm her racing mind as she walked into the elevator, and he marched in right by her side.

People filed in one after the other into the elevator, everyone in their morning rush to get to their cubicles and start their days. The elevators was filled to the brim, yet Kang Sol was still aware of Joon Hwi's presence, almost like her mind was blaring an alarm that He wasn't supposed to be here.

She momentarily shut her brain off, a task that she trained herself on after her struggles in her 1L, choosing to focus on the people milling around the elevator. Her eyes would flit through every person, and then the ceiling, and most importantly, she refused to let her mind stray to Han Joon Hwi, despite the curiosity eating her from the inside out.

The elevator was next to empty when she reached her floor, and she picked up her pace as she marched out of the elevator before he could. Sol kept her gaze trained ahead, but her body was feeling for the presence of someone else marching behind her.

Somehow, he managed to get ahead, probably with those stupidly long legs of his. His hand jutted out to open the door to the meeting room, and he paused, turning slightly towards her.

"Ladies first," he said, his expression almost neutral. If it wasn't for the slight crinkle near his eyes as he smiled, she would have taken the gesture as genuine and not intended to mock her. The gesture morphed from chivalry to a taunt that he knew something she didn't.

"Thank you, Attorney Han," she shot him a tight smile, before marching her way towards her teammates.

Ye-seul, her best friend and fellow lawyer, caught Sol's gaze and patted to the seat next to her and finally, Sol sank down into her chair, letting out a final sigh of relief.

"You're only a couple minutes late, the director isn't here yet," she said, taking a sip from her hot coffee. Ye-seul narrowed her eyes at her, and then looked up at Joon Hwi, before looking back down at her.

"Oh thank god," Sol, opened up her briefcase, getting out one of her legal pads and a pen incase she needed to take notes, as she expertly avoided her best friend's questioning gaze. The silence between them stretched, as Sol tapped her pen against the paper impatiently and Ye-seul let her gaze bore into her.

"Why was Han Joon–"

"Good morning," the baritone voice of Director Yang boomed across the meeting room, his voice loud despite the lack of a microphone. "Let's go through this meeting smoothly, as it is a very important day for both Kang Toy Co and Seo Media. Today, we have gathered to announce a collaboration for a toy line between both companies."

Applause filled the room as the director paused, looking at each team assembled in the room. Oh. So that's why Han Joon Hwi is here.

"As such, we will be needing our talented lawyer teams from both companies to help draw the legal terms and details between the two companies, as well as negotiate the terms for the toy line itself. This is an exciting time for both companies and we hope that this partnership is fruitful for both parties. Now, I will be announcing the teams and their assignments for this coming quarter and in preparation for the toy line itself," he paused, flipping through the notes he held at the center of the room.

"I'm proud to announce that Attorney Kang Sol and Team One from Kang Toys will be working with Attorney Han Joon Hwi and Team One from Seo Media." Sol's eyes shot up to Joon hwi, both their eyes wide with surprise. "Your teams will be heading the terms of the collaboration as well as working closely with both CEOs for any legal issues that come up," Director Yang nodded to both parties, before continuing down his list.

Her eyes were still on his, her mouth close to gaping open before she quickly shut it and avoided his gaze. Out of all the people, it had to be her that was paired up with him.

Kang Sol A had bad luck, indeed, but she was starting to think it was more like a curse instead.

#mine #solhwi #law school #jtbc drama #jtbc law school #law school jtbc #law school netflix #law school kdrama #kang sol a #kang sol b #han joon hwi #seo ji ho #jeon ye seul #min bok gi #jo ye beom #jtbc #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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yeet-me-dad-dy · 4 years

Text

Bloody Mary

Warnings: Blood

Summary: You find yourself on Hannibal’s menu. Unfortunate for him that you’re not easy prey.

Characters: Hannibal + Vampire Reader (Gender Neutral)

Words: 3,537

Hannibal rested back against his kitchen counter, humming a quiet tune as he flicked through his recipe box. Whatever recipes he ultimately settled on making you into needed to be perfect. You deserve only the best recipes, and the recipes must deserve you, too.

You and Hannibal met two weeks ago, when he accompanied Jack Crawford to your little classroom in the local college to ask about some strange symbols that were found at a recent crime scene. He was there to create an on-the-go profile of you for Jack, something that the FBI agent had started doing when some little bird whispered worrying things into his ears at night and made him paranoid that no one could be trusted.

Despite being experienced at profiling, Hannibal had great difficulty reading you. In fact, he wasn’t able to read you at all. He was too distracted by… well, you. He didn’t know if you had the same effect on Jack, but your very presence caused Hannibal’s head to spin. There was something about the way you moved, the way you talked, your scent, your smile… your eyes, god, your eyes. When you shook Hannibal’s hand, you looked straight through him. You looked into him, peeled back the curtains and gazed at his very soul as if it was as easy for you as making a cup of coffee. His heart had caught in his chest, and there was, momentarily, a very real fear that you knew exactly who and what he was.

Was this why he decided then and there that he was going to kill you and eat you? It may have contributed to the decision, as well as the certain level of arrogance that you carried, safely tucked under your jacket. As he thought about it more and more afterward, though, he came to the realization that it wasn’t fear that drove this decision, nor was it a dislike, or the belief that you were rude. You weren’t. Arrogant, yes, but not rude. You were perfectly pleasant. In the end, he concluded that it was desire that made the gears in his head turn toward your demise. You smelled divine, you had soft skin, a strong body. You were intoxicating- perfect - and he wanted to devour you in the most literal sense of the word.

With a pleased sigh, he closed his recipe box and returned it to its rightful place on the counter, then checked the time. It was nearly 11pm. He should go to bed, he knew, but his mind was racing with thoughts and plans. It was far too busy up in his head for him to be able to sleep. Instead, he stretched, poured himself a glass of red wine, and headed for his study, where he sat at his desk, retrieved a pen and paper, and began to write.

“Agent Crawford, Dr Lecter. Good to see you’re both well.”

You greeted Jack and Hannibal with a dazzling smile and a handshake, then motioned to the twin chairs in front of your desk.

“Make yourselves comfortable, please.”

Jack obeyed, but Hannibal couldn’t. He couldn’t look at you without thinking of your flesh in his mouth, so he wandered over to a nearby bookshelf and absentmindedly browsed the array of titles, his focus on the conversation behind him.

“What do you have for us, Professor?” Jack asked pleasantly, and Hannibal glanced behind him only long enough to see you take a seat in your expensive desk chair and open an old tome to a marked page, which you then spun around to show Jack.

He kept one ear on the conversation, but didn’t hear much. His head was swimming again, confirming that your presence was the source of the problem and not the vanilla body spray you had been wearing the day he met you, but were not wearing today. Before he knew it, Jack was clapping him on the shoulder to get his attention and thanking you for your help.

“It’s my pleasure, Agent Crawford.” You had come around to stand on their side of the desk, hands tucked into your pockets. “I’ll help in any way I can. I want to see whoever is doing this caught and cuffed. Not only are they killing innocent people, but they’re playing with things they shouldn’t be. They’re a danger to everyone. You have my number, so please don’t hesitate to call if you need me. I’m available any time of the day or night.”

“I appreciate that, Professor. Truly. It seems like it’s getting harder and harder to come across good people nowadays.”

You nodded solemnly. “You two be well. And stay warm out there; the forecast calls for snow this weekend.”

Jack chuckled. “You too.”

He strode from the room without looking back, sure that Hannibal would follow. He would, in a moment, but he needed to talk to you first. He took in a deep breath to try and clear his head and stopped before you with a gentle smile.

“Did you get my invitation?” he asked.

You nodded and offered him a smile to match his own. “I did, and as honored as I would be to join you for dinner, I’m afraid I can’t. I have a very strict diet, one that I know that you won’t be able to provide for. I am truly sorry.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, only the barest gesture to indicate that he wasn’t sure he believed what you were telling him.

“Whatever your special diet is, I am sure that I would be able to accommodate. I am quite the skilled chef. I can make anything you should request of me.”

You tilted your head as well, a perfect mirror to Hannibal. “I’m sorry,” is all you said, and the last you would say on that matter. He returned home that night, disgruntled and inconvenienced, but not put off in the slightest. There was always the chance that you would decline his invitation, and so he would have to find another way to get you to his house. If you wouldn’t join him as a guest, kidnapping was always an option.

It wasn’t difficult for Hannibal to discover that you stay on campus late into the night, and sometimes all night. Jack had been very useful in uncovering information about you, even if he was ignorant of the fact that it would be used against you. You have many admirers at the college, both students and colleagues, you work hard, you rarely sleep, you arrive early and stay late, or you don’t arrive at all. The days when you don’t arrive, it’s as if you’ve fallen off the face of the Earth. No one knows when you’re about to take one of your impromptu vacations, or where you go when you do, and quite frankly, everyone is too afraid to ask, though they wouldn’t tell Jack why.

He decided, after a few days of contemplation and careful planning, that taking you late one night would be the best decision. There would be no one else on the campus, at least not anywhere near your office, and no one would question your sudden disappearance if that was something you did frequently anyway. He scouted the parking lots before hand, thought through all of his tools to decide what would be best for knocking you out, made sure his car’s back seat would fit you comfortably, and prepared you a place in his house, where you would stay, alive and healthy, as he slowly cut you apart, piece by piece, meal by meal, to devour you.

When the night finally came to pay you a visit, large snowflakes fell gracefully from a black, moonless sky, the stars beyond obscured by thick clouds. The parking lot was sparsely lit by dim street lights placed few and far between, and they illuminated the snow that had begun to stick to the ground. Hannibal would have to hurry. He didn’t want his footprints giving him away.

He strode purposefully across the blacktop, using his phone to light the way, until he came to one of the college’s ornate side doors and the steps leading up to it. He tucked his phone into his pocket, pulled on his black gloves, and tried the door. Locked. He expected this, which is why he had stolen your key earlier in the week. He retrieved the key from the inside pocket of his coat and unlocked the door with a soft click. He opened it and stepped inside, then closed it quietly against the cold outside.

It was much warmer in here, comfortable, and the hall was dimly lit with the emergency lights that the school keeps on during the off-hours to deter intruders. He had stared at the college’s blueprints so often and for so long since deciding he would have you, that he knew the way to your office like the back of his hand, despite never reaching it from this entrance before. Down the hall, take a right, go up the stairs, another right, two lefts, and yours was the office tucked at the end of the corridor.

There were no windows in this hallway, and thus no emergency lights. The walk to the thick walnut door that closed off your little sanctuary from the rest of the campus was done in darkness, and Hannibal’s shoes made no sound on the tile floor as he approached. He never gets nervous before a kill, but tonight, he had to pause and steady himself before he finally raised his knuckles to the wood and rapped three times.

“Come in,” your voice answered from inside.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open. The large room was dark. The only light came from the lamp sitting on your desk that illuminated a large, ancient-looking tome open on the surface, and you sitting behind it with your hand on the page.

He stepped inside and offered a polite smile.

“Hello. You didn’t hesitate when you heard the knock. Are you expecting someone?”

You chuckled and leaned back in your chair to stretch.

“No, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had a visitor at one in the morning. Although uncommon, it does happen. Usually it’s one of my students, though. Please, come in. And feel free to turn on the light.”

Hannibal flicked the lightswitch and closed the door behind him, then strode forward, taking a moment to study his surroundings. A bust of an unknown figure by the window, thick curtains, fireplace tools… all things you could use against him should this go poorly.

“Are you fond of the dark, Professor?” he asked as he took a seat in one of the chairs across from you.

“Yes, I am. The lights give me a headache,” you smile.

“Well, I won’t be here for long, and I’ll be sure to turn them off when I leave.” He returns the smile.

“What can I help you with, Doctor?” you ask as you mark the page you were studying in the book, close it, and scoot it aside.

“I was on my way home and thought I’d stop by. There are some things about these murders that have struck my curiosity.”

He meant the recent string of homicides that you were consulting with the FBI on, of course.

“The kind of curiosity that I can help with?” you asked with a raised brow.

“Yes, perhaps. Agent Crawford came to you because you teach a course on occult studies. You know the symbols that were carved into the victims, drawn on the walls in blood, scribbled on the floors…”

“And is it those symbols that you’re curious about?”

“I’m curious about all of it, Professor.”

You and he talked for quite some time, far longer than he expected to. He supposed that kidnapping you would take him all of fifteen minutes if all went well, but when he looked at the clock on the wall behind you, it had been over an hour and he hadn’t even considered what he had gone there to do yet. He had to admit to himself later that he enjoyed your company and the conversation; not only the topic, but how passionate and insightful you were about your work, and how excited you seemed to be to teach someone something new. He supposed he knew why you became a teacher, then. Eventually, an opportunity arose, and he knew he had to cut the conversation short and take it, or he would leave there without his prize.

He asked you the specifics of the origin of the ritual that the murderer had seemingly been trying to perform, and you rose from your chair with a grin.

“I have a book here that explains it in great detail that I would be willing to let you borrow. Let me just find it.”

You strode around your desk and made your way behind Hannibal to the massive bookshelf on the far left wall. It was as you searched the titles for the one you needed that he pushed himself to his feet and strode quickly toward you. He wanted to strangle you, not enough to kill you, of course, just enough to knock you out. He wanted to feel you in his arms, squirming, writhing, choking, struggling to breathe, fighting to free yourself. He wanted to feel your heart pounding in your chest as fear flooded your senses. He wanted to smell your delicious aroma as your body went limp in his arms. He wanted to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck as you finally fell unconscious.

He darted forward, like a viper striking its prey, but instead of wrapping his arm around your neck, he felt a shove between his shoulder blades and then the sting of a nearly broken nose as the bookshelf came forward to meet him. He managed to maintain his footing, and spun around with his hand covering his nose, eyes watering from the pain, to press his back against the books and steady himself. You stood before him, and he watched as your soft, friendly smile twisted into a wicked grin, and those gentle eyes that seemed to see all went dark, your gaze morphing into something predatory.

It took him longer than he liked to admit to realize what had just happened. The speed with which you stepped out of the way and spun around to shove him into the bookcase was nearly inhuman.

“To be entirely honest, Dr Lecter… I expected more. I expected a challenge.”

Hannibal only blinked in response, confused and unsure how to proceed. He hadn’t accounted for this.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” You took a step forward. “I know you came here to kill me, Doctor, but you’re going to have to try a bit harder than that.”

“I didn’t come here to kill you,” he mumbled through his hand as blood from his nose began to seep between his fingers and drip onto your carpet.

You clicked your tongue as you watched the crimson droplets fall. “That’s gonna stain,” you growled.

That’s when Hannibal’s survival instincts kicked in. He retrieved his knife from his pants pocket and flicked it open. A crude weapon, yes, but effective. He managed to clear the tears from his eyes and accept the pain in his nose well enough to remove his hand. And then he struck. Or, he tried. You dodged effortlessly out of the way, not only of his first attack, but of his second as well, and then his third, his fourth, fifth, sixth. It was as if you knew every move he was going to make before he did.

“Come on, Doctor Lecter. You’re a killer. Kill me.”

Mocking… you were mocking him. He sneered and adjusted his grip on the knife’s hilt.

“You know, Professor… mocking is rude.”

He lunged again, missing your cheek by a fraction of a centimeter, and then your neck by just an inch on the backstroke. Strike after strike was either dodged or blocked, and then suddenly, you were on the offensive.

You landed a jab to his ribs, and then another to the other side. You shoved your foot behind his heel as he stumbled back, and he fell back against the window. The cold of the glass sent a shiver down his spine despite his wool coat… or maybe it was the sudden realization of the situation he’d found himself in. You held him against the window with an arm across his chest while the other curled around the fist that held the knife and pinned it flat, immobilizing the only method of attack he had. The thick curtains and the bust were too far for him to reach, and your hips were against his, rendering his legs useless.

Hannibal panted hard, struggling to catch his breath after expending far too much energy trying to wound you. You, on the other hand, hadn’t even broken a sweat. Despite dodging every attack he had made, you weren’t breathing hard. He furrowed his brow. You weren’t… breathing. He couldn’t feel your breath on his face, your chest wasn’t rising and falling. He was imagining things, surely. You were just breathing lightly. That must be it.

“That was much better, Doctor Lecter, thank you for the exercise. I’ve been sitting in that chair for far too many days and nights. I’ve been needing a good fight to wake me up, and here you are providing one. Now tell me… if you weren’t here to kill me, then why creep up behind me?”

“You didn’t accept my invitation,” he panted.

You smirked. “So you were going to knock me over the head and drag me home, was that it?”

“Not knock you over the head. I was going to suffocate you.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t have done much, Doctor. But to be fair, neither would knocking me over the head, so I suppose you chose what you thought was the best option.”

His nose and ribs were throbbing, and all the late hours preparing for this night seemed to catch up to him all at once. He was exhausted. “What happens now?” he asked quietly, gazing into those cold, dark eyes of yours. “Will you kill me? Toss me from this window? Use my own knife to gut me?”

You chuckled and released him, but remained close. “Eventually, perhaps, but now. That would be too easy. Boring.”

“So you release me and revel in the terror I feel, looking over my shoulder every second of every day, waiting for the knife in the dark?”

“That’s a wonderful way to put it. Yes, I think I like that idea.”

He grins weakly, exhaustion evident on his bloody face. “And what makes you think you’ll be able to get to me? What would you do, I wonder, If I told Agent Crawford that you are the one doing all of these ritual murders?”

“He would believe you, I’m sure, but it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to slaughter an angry mob that came banging on my door.”

Hannibal scoffs. “You think you can stand against an army of armed and armored law enforcement?”

You only smiled, not the wicked grin, nor the soft smile from earlier, but something altogether different. Something… bone-chilling.

“I want to show you something, Dr Lecter.”

Gently, you reached out and took hold of his wrist, his arm and his knife long since fallen to hang loosely at his side. Your black gaze bored into him as you raised his hand and pressed the edge of the blade to your throat.

“Cut,” you ordered.

“You want me to kill you?”

“You won’t kill me. Now cut.”

Something happened in his head when you gave the command the second time, as if you had taken hold of his strings to puppet him. He didn’t want to, truly, and he didn’t understand why you were ordering him to, but he couldn’t stop himself. He drew the blade across your neck, cutting deep.

There was no gush of blood, no choking, no stumbling back, no terror in your eyes. You stood there, calm and collected, with that not-quite-right smile as blood slowly oozed out of the wound and ran down your neck. And then, the unexplainable happened. Your wound began to heal. Hannibal watched, eyes wide, as the gash slowly knit itself back together, until it was as if he had never cut you in the first place. Not even a scar remained as evidence of the deed.

He understood all too well in this moment that what he had gotten himself into this time was far too deep to ever get out of. His heart beat frantically in his chest, his breathing was heavy and ragged, adrenaline flooded his veins. He swallowed hard.

“What are you?” he tried to ask calmly, but his words came out as barely a whisper.

Your lips twisted into a deadly grin and you leaned forward. You took in a deep breath, breathing in his scent. Then, you whispered into his ear.

“My dear Doctor… I’m your worst nightmare.”

#hannibal x reader #hannibal + reader #hannibal fanfiction #vampire #vampire fanfiction #vampire reader #hannibal x vampire reader #hannibal + vampire reader #spooktober

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

„Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

“Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

“Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

“I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

“Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

“I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

“Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

“Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

“Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

“Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

“Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

“Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy��s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

“Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

“I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

“We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

“Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

“Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

“Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

“Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

“Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

“It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

“Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

“Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

“She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

“Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

“Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

“Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

“Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

“Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

“Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

“This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

“No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

“Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

“A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

“A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

“Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

“You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

“I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

“If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

“I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

“If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

“Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

“Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

“Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

“Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

“Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

“Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

“Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

“Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

“We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

“She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

“Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

“You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

“First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

“I—”

“Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

“I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

“No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

“I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

“Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

“Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

“Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

“Sylvain, what do you want?”

“Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

“How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

“Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

“In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

“To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

“If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

“A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

“Because I have eyes in my skull.”

“Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

“You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

“Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

“What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

“Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

“You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

“Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

“I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

“I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

“Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

“That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

“I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

“That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

“Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

“You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

“You wanna bet—”

“That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

“Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

“I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

“I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

“But?”

“But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

“Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

“Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

“Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

“No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

“Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

“He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

“Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

“Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

“I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

“Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

“Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

“That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

You groan.

“But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

“He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

“What?”

“The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

“I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.

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harrysweasleys · 4 years

Text

Torture and Reward

Synopsis: After suffering punishment from Umbridge, the person that comes to your aid is one of the people you dislike the most.

Warnings: language, torture, blood

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: sorry this took so long!!! i’ve been feeling under the weather lately and have been resting but here ya go! my requests are open. :) gif is from google!

“Good practice today, guys,” Harry called out to the witches and wizards scattered across the Room of Requirements, each practicing different spells and jinxes.

A mumble of ‘thanks’ and ‘until next time’ sounded from the group and each of them slowly started making their way out as discreetly as possible. You walked over to where Ron and Hermione stood, both of them smirking as Harry made his way over to Cho on the other side of the room.

“See you back in the common room, Harry,” Hermione grinned, turning away and walking out the door, you and Ron in tow.

“It’s about time that lovestruck fool confesses his feelings for her,” you chuckled after getting the ‘ok’ from Neville and turning the corner down the hall, the coast clear of the Inquisitorial Squad and Filch.

Practicing in the Room of Requirements had become a much bigger struggle now with Umbridge’s band of suck-ups patrolling the halls at every hour of the day, hungry to catch students in the act of doing something they shouldn’t be. If you guys were caught, and the name ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ came to light, you’d all be screwed.

“Reckon he won’t be back in the common room for another little while,” Ron scratched the back of his neck, which was still hurting from when Hermione hit him with ‘stupefy.’ He had complained about it quite a bit, but his crush on Hermione was big enough for him to eventually drop it and accept her win.

You chuckled at his comment, noticing that the rain had picked up and become a heavy downpour by now. The sun had practically vanished, and all you could think about was getting back into your dorm and cozying up in bed, listening to the rain fall and wrapping yourself up in the warm blankets.

However, as you reached the portrait hole, you remembered you left your bag in the Room of Requirement, and so your bed would have to wait even longer.

“Bloody hell, I left my bag behind,” you stopped in your tracks, resisting the urge to slap your forehead due to your forgetfulness.

“Can’t you just go get it tomorrow?” Ron asked, and you could see himself crash on the couch by the fireplace.

“Can’t,” you started making your way back out of the portrait hole and down the stairs, “Homework!”

You could hear Hermione shout something to you but all you understood was ‘careful’ so you shot her a thumbs up and continued rushing down the stairs, hopefully without getting caught by any of the people on watch. As you made your way downstairs and then back up again, reaching the seventh floor, you didn’t get the chance to round the corner before you ran into a thick body.

“Watch where you’re — oh! Malfoy!” you instantly recognized Crabbe’s voice and your entire body went rigid. You looked up to face him and noticed that indeed, from around another corner, Malfoy came strutting up with a smirk on his face.

You felt your blood run cold, you knew that no matter what excuse you’d come up with for why you were here, he’d still end up dragging you to see Umbridge. You didn’t exactly have a good history with Draco Malfoy, and there was no doubt he’d take any chance he could get to make your life living hell.

“Well, well,” he sneered, “Fancy seeing you here. What’s got you in such a rush to get to the seventh floor?”

You crossed your arms, avoiding the gaze of him and Crabbe, who were immediately joined by Goyle once he heard talking.

“It’s really none of your concern but if you must know...” you brain scrambled trying to find something, “I was... running from someone.”

Malfoy laughed dryly, “Nice try, we’ll see if Umbridge believes you.” He grabbed your wrist forcefully and nodded at the two other boys, motioning for them to follow.

“Wait, no,” you resisted, tugging your wrist back, “Fine, fine, I was looking for someone. I was meeting Neville.” Why Neville’s name popped into your head, you had no idea. You hoped you weren’t going to get him in trouble by throwing his name out there.

“Well, we’ve been standing here for nearly fifteen minutes and Longbottom hasn’t shown his stupid face,” he crossed his arms, looking at you as if he could see right through your lie, “Rather unfortunate. For you, not for me. I get the joy in bringing you to Umbridge. My first official victim. Crabbe, Goyle, stay here. I’ll be back.”

Your heart sunk, but you tried not to show it. You scoffed as he grabbed your arm, dragging you down the hall with proud determination in his step. To say you weren’t friendly with Draco Malfoy was the understatement of the year. He had made it his life’s goal to torment your group of friends. Although you routinely snapped back and told him off, putting him in his place, he never seemed to lighten the blow any chance he could get.

“Famous Harry Potter not here to save you now, is he?” he turned back to face you, his grip on your arm tightening as you guys got closer to the devil woman’s office.

“I don’t need Harry around to save me, Malfoy,” you snapped, “Unlike you, I don’t need people around me every second of the day to feel braver.”

He stopped in his step, looking back at you with eyes that could kill, “You know nothing about me, Y/N. So shut your mouth and keep walking.”

“I would,” you raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one who stopped walking.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and turned around, dragging you behind him once more. You kind of had an idea as to what was in store for you once you reached her office. Harry had come back from detention with a bloody, scarred hand, the words ‘I must not tell lies’ inscribed into his skin. Chances are you’d be dealing with the same fate.

Now, detention you could handle. Merlin knows you’ve gotten enough of those running around with Harry, Ron and Hermione all of these years. But blood was a different story. Blood you couldn’t handle. You nearly passed out when Ron got his leg mauled by Sirius Black — or Padfoot, really — in your third year, and had to hold back a gag when Harry got scratched up after facing a dragon in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament in your fourth year.

Blood was not your thing.

But you were also not going to give Malfoy or Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing they had affected you.

After too short of a walk, the two of you had arrived in front of her door and Draco was knocking loudly, his chest puffed out in pride.

“Come in,” her sickly sweet voice was muffled from the other side of the door. Draco swung the door open and you felt your face turn into a grimace.

Umbridge was sitting at her pink desk, drinking from her pink cup of tea and wearing her pink robes — but not just that — she had hundreds of picture frames around the room, each one had a tiny kitten on it. The constant ‘meow’ was disturbing. There was something morally wrong with this woman.

Draco pushed you in and you stumbled over your two feet, too distracted by how disgustingly pink the room was to remember why you were even here.

“Well, Mister Malfoy, why have you brought Miss Y/L/N to my office?” she placed her teacup down and looked at you, an evil smile gracing her thin lips. You glared at her, and then to Draco, before going back to her.

“Found her wandering the seventh floor,” he let go of your arm and crossed his arms over his chest. You looked down to your wrist, noticing the red, irritated skin that was left where his hand previously was.

“Mind explaining why you were on the seventh floor, dear?” Umbridge asked you, eyes glistening.

“Don’t call me dear,” you muttered, “And I was there to meet someone, like I told Malfoy. I was meeting someone and we were going to go for a walk.”

She stood up and pulled out a chair next to her desk, pointing at it, “Sit.”

“No.”

Her smile faltered but she covered it, eyes boring into you with extreme resentment, “When I tell you to sit, you sit.”

You could see her hand reach the wand on her desk and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You knew it was illegal, but you were also aware that she didn’t have boundaries when it came to how she’d treat her students.

You looked over at Draco — who also seemed slightly taken aback by her threat — and sat down.

She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. She placed them on the tiny desk in front of you and grinned, sitting back down in her giant pink chair.

“Malfoy, you may stick around, after I am done with her I must speak to you,” she nodded at him, and he took a seat, looking over at you, the prideful expression on his face having disappeared once he noticed how disturbed you looked.

You bit your cheek, looking down at the blank parchment in front of you with resentment, “What am I writing?”

“Watch your tone with me, I can very easily make this worse than it has to be,” she squinted at you, “Write ‘I must not wander corridors past curfew.”

Your head snapped up, “What? I wasn’t out past curfew.” You were certain that the reason you were being brought here was because she had suspicions about Dumbledore’s Army. There was no way it was past curfew.

“Professor, it wasn’t that—” Draco started to speak up but was cut off by Umbridge holding her hand up.

Her smile became more twisted by the second, “Just write it.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up the quill. You knew just what kind of quill this was and so didn’t even bother with the whole ‘I haven’t got any ink’ part.

“What’s she going to write with?” Draco leaned back in his chair, every trace of his cockiness gone as he took in the scene in front of him.

“My blood, Malfoy, it’s a Black Quill,” you smiled sarcastically, looking down at the paper and beginning to write. He didn’t reply, but you could see him eyeing your every move with caution.

As you started writing, you could feel the immediate sting on the back of your left hand. The pain moved up your arm, causing focus to become difficult. You bit your lip, turning your hand away and squeezing your eyes shut. The pain was said to be quite bad, but this was a little worst than you expected. Harry said it felt like being scratched by a cat. He never mentioned that it actually felt like something was scratching against your bones.

“Professor, sorry, is this even legal?” Draco asked, but his voice sounded distant over the painful ringing in your ears.

You didn’t dare look at the back of your hand, knowing that there was definitely enough damage to cause bleeding. You could feel drops of blood trickling down your fingers as you continued to clench your hand shut.

As you finished writing the first sentence — yes, only the first sentence — you felt the pain ease slightly. You let out a deep, shaky breath, not wanting to look up and have anyone see how much pain you were currently in. You were usually good with pain, except on your hands and your nose. Those somehow always manage to get the biggest reaction from you.

“As long as you don’t go off telling anyone, it’s perfectly legal,” Umbridge’s voice was loud and clear now, almost taunting you as you struggled to keep your face neutral.

“How many times?” you spoke through gritted teeth, still glaring down at the paper, the previous sentence you had written looking unfortunately lonely on the page.

“Let’s say... ten, shall we?” you could hear her taking a sip of her tea and you wanted nothing more than to pour it on her face and smash the cup against her forehead, but you controlled your urges and placed the quill on the parchment.

As you started writing again, the pain scorched your hand once more. It was as if you were digging even deeper than the previous sentence. You swore the cut was down to the bone, but you knew that was impossible.

Three sentences in, four, five, six. The pain never stopped. You could feel your entire body shaking, your left hand going more painfully numb with each letter you wrote. You didn’t notice Draco getting agitated, nor did you notice Umbridge basking in the glory of torturing a student.

Finally, after the longest three minutes of your life, you had finished writing the sentence ten times, and the pain in your hand stung like a bitch. You finally looked up at Umbridge, shooting daggers with your eyes and hoping she’d actually end up dropping dead.

“Well, did you get the message?” she asked, smiling at you over her pink tea cup.

You grit your teeth, clutching your bleeding hand to your chest and not even caring about it staining your robes, “Yes.”

“Well, you’re free to go,” she pointed towards the door, “Malfoy, stay behind.”

You got up with wobbly legs and shot a glare at Malfoy, blaming him for bringing you here. He looked almost apologetic, but you didn’t care. This was his fault.

As you stormed out of the room, you let out a deep breath and shut your eyes, letting a tear fall down your cheek as you continued clutching your throbbing hand to your chest. That wasn’t legal, there was no way she could just torture students like that. Harry has taken it way better than you did, but this wasn’t okay. She couldn’t do this.

You rushed back to the common room, walking in and storming upstairs to your room. Luckily, no one had noticed your forceful entrance and minded their own business. Or so you thought.

As you threw your body down on your bed in frustration, Hermione walked into your shared dorm and shot you a confused look, “You left to get your bag and returned half an hour later without it, what happened?”

You lifted your hand, showing her the words ‘I must not wander corridors past curfew’ cut into your pale skin. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin was still very much irritated and swollen.

“That witch,” Hermione seethed, sitting down next to you on the end of your bed, “Here, give it to me.”

You held out your hand and she placed her wand on it. A second later, your hand was wrapped tightly in thick white bandage, shielding your cut. The pain was still there, but it somehow felt better.

You gave her a tired smile, “Thanks, Hermione.”

She asked you what had happened, and you gave her all the details about running into Malfoy, down to every last thing Umbridge had said. She was furious, as were you, but the sudden exhaustion from tonight’s events hit you like a train, and before you knew it, you were completely dozed off.

---

Breakfast the next morning was awkward. Hermione had told Harry and Ron what happened, and the two of them were ticked off as well. When they weren’t shooting death stares at Umbridge, they were making sure you were okay. Harry had been through this before and knew how painful it had been, so he told you how to handle it and make sure it went away without leaving a nasty scar. His hand was almost good as new by now, the letters fading more and more by each passing day.

You were so focused on trying to convince your friends you were fine that you hadn’t noticed Draco looking over at you from the Slytherin table.

When you eventually caught his eye, he looked away immediately, a pink tint on his ears and his sad eyes looking at the vast array of food on the table.

You brushed it off, still mad at him for his proud manner last night, and continued picking at the fruits on your plate, your appetite lacking more than usual.

“We should get going soon, we’ve got Divination and it’s so bloody far. I’m not quick on steps,” Ron said through a mouthful of breakfast sausage, grabbing a goblet of pumpkin juice and downing it at the same time. You chuckled at Hermione’s disgusted expression and picked up your books, making a mental note to eventually go get your bag back. With the chaos of last night, you completely forgot about your bag.

As you stood up, you noticed Draco doing the same. You didn’t think much of it and followed your friends out of the Great Hall. Right as you were about to start up the stairs, you heard your name being called from behind you.

“Y/N, wait!”

You stopped walking and turned around, noticing Draco running over to you, his blond hair bouncing out of place with every step he took. You turned around, telling your friends to save you a seat in Divination, and turned around to face the Slytherin.

“What do you want? Coming to drag me to another fun torture session?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin as you instinctively grabbed your left hand.

He looked down at you, “No, I just want to say I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Do you even know what that word means?” you scoffed, trying avoid his gaze but it seemed nearly impossible. His eyes were burning into you with insane intensity and you were suddenly very aware of your close proximity. In the five years you had known the proud Draco Malfoy, not once had you ever heard him say the words ‘I’m sorry.’

“Listen, I went too far last night. I shouldn’t have brought you in to her. You didn’t deserve what she did and I’m sorry I caused it. I didn’t realize she was going to do that. It was awful to watch and I can’t imagine how it was for you.”

You were so ready for a snarky comeback, but the sincerity in his voice was so rare and faint that you couldn’t find the words to do so. You looked up at him and surprisingly, you found yourself smiling softly.

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day you’d admit your faults, Malfoy,” you grinned teasingly, a smirk on your lips. You had never seen him like this before, he actually looked genuine. And despite how often you two were at each others’ throats, you couldn’t find yourself wanting to make a comeback.

He nodded slightly, “Well, I could tell that last night was tougher for you than you let on. And, honestly, like I said, I didn’t enjoy it either. So, yeah, I apologize.”

You smiled at him, “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

His eyes met yours once more, “What’s that?”

“Don’t bring another student to her. I don’t want anyone else going through that. She doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.”

He seemed to agree with you because he gave you a curt nod, “You got yourself a deal.”

Maybe it was his honesty and vulnerability, but something about the way he was looking at you was different than any other time he had done so. His blue eyes seemed softer, and the platinum blond strands that were hanging in his face were almost asking for you to push them back into place.

Oh no.

There was no way you could find Draco Malfoy attractive. Your friends would kill you.

“Well, I’ve got class to get to,” you pointed to the Divination book clutched in your hands and bid him goodbye, walking up the staircase in a rush to get to class on time. You hated the fact that the whole way there, you were thinking of how gently he was speaking to you, and how close he was standing, and how good he smelled...

No.

You couldn’t think of him that way.

You had been so caught up in thinking of him that you nearly tripped over the last step, entering the dimly lit classroom in a stumble. You apologized to Professor Trelawney and sat between Hermione and Harry, mumbling a ‘thanks’ for your saved seat.

The class seemed to pass by quicker than usual, and as that was usually a good think because Divination was so boring, it had passed by quickly because you were thinking of Draco’s apology — which wasn’t a good thing.

There was something so different about the way he spoke to you that morning that you couldn’t get his stupid handsome face out of your mind.

“Y/N?” Hermione snapped her fingers in front of your face, eyebrows raised, “Earth to Y/N?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was thinking of... never mind,” you shook your head and faced her, “What?”

“We’re partnered up, we have to do each other’s palm reading,” she stated matter-of-factly, grabbing your right palm as your left one was still wrapped up.

You blinked, taking a second to process what was happening and then opened your palm wider so she could read it. She gazed back and forth between your hand and the wide open textbook, figuring out what everything meant.

“Well, you’re gonna die young,” she smiled sarcastically, “And of course, within the next week, a secret love shall reveal itself.” It was no secret Hermione hated Divination as well, and found amusement in the non-factual predictions that were made in class.

“Lovely, let me see yours,” you grabbed her hand and slid the textbook closer to you, looking over each description.

“So, apparently, you’re gonna have a falling out with a loved one,” you read, smiling at her with fake enthusiasm, “You’re going to fail at something important, and maybe lose a limb in the next three years.”

Hermione burst out laughing, shutting the book loudly. Professor Trelawney dismissed the two of you since you were finished and you both made your way out of class, giggling about your stupid predictions.

---

The weekend rolled around quickly and you had made plans with Hermione and the boys to go to Hogsmeade. There was definitely a butterbeer waiting for you at the Three Broomsticks. With the stress of exams and assignments in the coming weeks, you were in need of a good escape from the Hogwarts grounds.

Saturday afternoon, you all walked over to the village in the warm sunshine, soaking in the rays and admiring the mountains without the clouds interrupting your view.

As you guys walked in to the Three Broomsticks, the dull chatter and sounds of conversation filled your ears as the four of you picked a table in the corner next to a window. You grabbed the chair next to the window, admiring the people passing by outside, living their lives in a hustle and bustle.

Harry and Ron went to the counter and got four butterbeers, bringing them back with smiles on their faces. You took yours and drank a large sip, the warmth of the drink making you feel all fuzzy inside. You were all in light conversation, talking about something Flitwick had done in class last week, when your eyes darted outside.

The bell next to the door dinged and in came Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise. You had managed to go nearly two days without seeing or thinking of him, hoping your new found attraction was only a one-time occurrence, but as he looked over in your direction and smiled at you, you swore your heart did a slight leap.

Goddamn it.

“Why’d that ferret git smile over here?” Ron muttered, a thin line of foam above his top lip.

“I don’t think he was smiling at us,” Harry brushed it off, “Why would he?”

He did have a good point. Why would he smile at you?

You tried to ignore the way his eyes lingered on you from where he was sitting, your full focus being on Harry complaining about the upcoming OWLs, but it was tough when you could practically feel the gaze from the Slytherin boy across the room.

Too agitated to focus, you abruptly stood up and excused yourself, saying you needed to head to the washroom. You took off down the small hall and entered the ladies’ room, rushing over to the sink and looking at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were tinted with a slight pink hue, and you knew it was because of Draco and his across-the-room stare.

You cursed yourself, knowing that if you kept up this weird attraction, it would eventually develop into a crush. And there was no way anyone would be okay with that.

You washed your hands, shaking your head at yourself, and prepared to walk back out there. You were just not going to stare at Draco. Easy enough, right?

Wrong.

As soon as you opened the door to step back out, the man himself was standing right in front of you, leaning against the wall, the light from the window illuminating his face and casting a dramatic shadow on his other half.

“This is the ladies’ room,” you found yourself stupidly saying. You wanted to smack yourself. Of course he knew this was the ladies room.

“Uh, yeah, I’m aware,” he chuckled, crossing his arms. Goddamn it, he looked fine as hell. You took a deep breath and prepared to walk past him, but his hand wrapped around your wrist and stopped you in your step.

“Your bandage is gone,” he looked down to your left hand, which still had a clear mark of what Umbridge had your write, but it was closed up enough that you weren’t worried about it getting infected or anything at this point.

You didn’t know what to say back, so you were thankful he started speaking again.

“Uh, so, listen, I don’t know what happened that night, when I brought you to Umbridge, but I still can’t help the guilt that’s eating me alive.”

You smiled softly, “Seriously, it’s fine. It’ll heal, it’s not like she killed me or anything.” You tried lightening the mood, but he didn’t smile.

“I want to make it up to you,” he muttered, a light pink tint on his cheeks. You wanted to tease him about it, but you couldn’t. You were finally seeing a better, kinder side of him and you were gonna take it and run with it.

So, you walked closer and learned on the wall next to him, “How so?”

He mumbled something so quickly you didn’t understand a single word, but the fact that he avoided eye contact when saying it made you want to hear it even more.

“Come again?”

He took a deep breath and spoke clearly, “I want to take you to Hogsmeade next weekend. You and me.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. You leaned off the wall, heart pounding out of your chest. Had he just asked you on a date? A literal date? Draco Malfoy? Asking you on a date?

If this had been a week ago, you would have laughed in his face and stormed off, but now, he was like a whole new person to you, and you wanted to take him up on his offer. Something inside you — call it a gut feeling — convinced you that this wasn’t a twisted, insulting joke, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“Alright,” you grinned, “You and me.”

He visibly relaxed, a confident smirk making its way back onto his face, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

He walked off, leaving you grinning like an idiot, your cheeks warmer than ever. You couldn’t go out to your friends looking like this, they’d know somethings up. You actually got a date with Draco Malfoy. Those are words you never, ever expected to say.

You took a moment to cool yourself off, calming down the warmth in your cheeks, and made your way back out to the table. Your cheeks were less pink, but the smile was still on your face.

“Why’re you grinning so hard? Did you have a really good pee or something?” Ron raised an eyebrow at you as you took your seat once more, thankful that your hair was in your face to hide your stupidly happy expression.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” you nodded, taking a sip of your butterbeer and catching Draco’s eye across the room. He sent a wink your way and turned back to his conversation.

You couldn’t wait for next weekend.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy reader insert #harry potter imagines

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poptod · 3 years

Text

Subterfuge (Baxter x Reader)

Description: You’re the new medical examiner. Like most medical examiners, you’re a little... different.

Notes: aghhhh im caught in so many lies with my family and friends that im gonna fucking break down but if i tell anyone the truth im gonna get my ass beat on several different levels WC: 1.7k

The latex gloves on your hands did little to stay the cold blood, staining up the skintight material that clung to your sweat. This wasn't the first time you had your hands wrist-deep in organs, but it was the first corpse who had a bullet in his eye, and the first time you were completely alone.

Your years as an assistant were finished, and now you were a full-on doctor––a medical examiner, to be specific. A coroner. The one who deals with the dead. Not a particularly charming profession, but far more interesting, and far more safe than most others.

There was one problem, though––the policemen. You were never a timid person, but some of them just got to you, itched beneath your skin and sped your heart. Why that was hadn't yet been identified, so instead you focused on something you understood; the human body. The stiffness of refrigerated muscle, the stench of uncleaned organs, a mask chafing against your cheeks. The heat of a bright light on your neck.

The man below you was a particularly unfortunate man. Died young, was never quite fully healthy, and had few friends and family. His method of death was what caught the eye of one of the detectives, though it seemed cut-and-dry to you. There were no struggle marks, puncture wounds, bruises, or even scars on his body. Only the bullet hole. He had to have done it himself. Still, it wasn't your job to question the detectives––only to bring them the information you gather.

"How's he lookin'?" Asked a man from behind you, the quiet hinges of the door swinging shut as he entered. You shot up, eyes instantly meeting his.

"Haven't gotten far. About through the small intestine," you said, gesturing to the different jars and plastic boxes categorized with the man's organs. The nearest to you was the lungs. You noted the scrunch in the man's nose with mild amusement.

"Gotten the bullet out yet?"

"Oh, yeah. Already sent it up for ballistics," you said with a curt, polite smile.

He remained silent after that, watching you work from the safe, mostly smell-free area of your desk. With his back leant on the table, he crossed his arms with intent eyes.

"You're the new medical examiner, aren't you?" He asked after a particularly wet squelching sound came from your working fingers.

"Yes sir," you said, nodding. "Started yesterday."

"Oh, this must be new for you then."

"I've done autopsies before, but this is the first time on my own, yes," you admitted with a tinge of embarrassment. It was the truth, that this was new, but he didn't have to mention it.

"Well then, welcome to the team," he chuckled. "My name's Baxter."

"(L/N). Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. I'd shake your hand, but," he trailed off as the both of you turned to your bloodied gloves.

"Don't worry," you said, a grin spreading across your face. "I'll give you a raincheck on that."

He hummed, uncrossing his arms and legs as he began to saunter over to you. For the most part, you could easily ignore his eye, stuck between your concentrated expression and steady hands. Having teams of professors and doctors looking over your shoulder for exams had prepared you well.

"Find anything curious?" He finally asked.

"Not really," you mumbled, gently cutting open the flesh of the stomach. "Not yet. There aren't any cuts or contusions of any notable kind. Only wound I could find was the bullet hole and an infected bruise on his toe. I'll be sending blood, stomach, and stool samples up to Peters soon, I'm sure you'll know more then."

As you took the samples out of the victim's stomach, Baxter circled the brightly lit table, stopping when he reached the feet. There he knelt, scanning the pale blue skin.

"How do you suppose he got this?"

"Haven't gotten there yet, but I'd assume he bashed it against some furniture," you said. He eyed you curiously but remained quiet for a moment.

"Looks like a puncture wound," he said slowly, contemplating his words carefully before he spoke.

"Give me a moment, sir," you said with a huff, sealing up the stomach tubes and setting them on the tray beside you.

Since you were the only doctor present, you had to hold the stomach walls open yourself, which kept you busy for a good two minutes before you could look at Baxter's little pointer. To your immense relief he waited patiently for you to finish sewing and setting away your tools, before shuffling to the side to make room for you at the end of the table.

As he noticed, there was a small, dark spot beneath his big toe's nail. Digging into your white coat pocket, you pulled out your magnifier glass and set it up close to the cold skin.

"Could be right," you said softly, focused more on your sight than your tongue. You raised a gloved hand, pulling at the wound, pushing on the bruise till the hole widened.

"Needle mark?"

"That's what I was thinking," you said, shoving your magnifier glass back in your pocket. "Good eye, Baxter. I'll tell Peters to check his blood for any trace drugs."

You circled back around to your spot on the table, sorting through the six tube samples before lifting the case into your arms. Noticing your small stumble over your feet, he rushed over to join you, taking the case from you.

"I can take this up for you," he offered, his wide, grey eyes set strictly upon you. The sudden closeness had your words stammering and stuttering.

"Um – y- yeah, thank you," you said with a smile, your chest tight as he left. Only when the door shut behind him did you breathe again, turning back to the patient beneath you.

Hopefully, when you got the chance to meet the rest of the officers, you wouldn't slip up like that––messing up in front of one person was enough, and Baxter already felt like a very strange person, so probably would mind your oddness the least. The others would be less forgiving, or at least that's what you assumed. Most of the police you'd met in your life had been incredibly straight-cut, diamonds-up-the-ass kind of people.

"What a strange lad," you commented to your patient. "I should bake him some cookies."

The rest of the autopsy took three hours, full of rotting stenches and labelled gizzards. Your thirty-minute break was reduced to ten as the victims of a bar shootout came in, the three bodies riddled with bullet holes, leaving the cause of death obvious to anyone who stopped by. You didn't see Baxter again that day––not until it was done, and you were wrapped back in your personal coat, heading towards the elevator.

He caught the door before it could close in front of you, and as you rushed in with full hands you hurriedly thanked him. A bell dinged and the door shut, leaving the two of you alone in the enclosed space, the buzzing florescent light buffering between you.

"Did you hear about the shootout?" You asked when it became clear to you that this was a slow elevator.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I got a call and stopped by, but... they were already gone, and the, um.. the others were dead."

"Well, if they weren't then, they are now," you said, once again ignoring his questioning eye. "I had to put their brains in some jars."

To your surprise, he chuckled, brushing the hair off his face and readjusting his perfect posture.

"You know, usually it takes some time before new people start making jokes about the dead," he said, grinning as he looked at you out of the side of his eye.

"I'm a fast learner and a natural comedian. Mother always was disappointed in my career choice... wanted me to be a court jester," you teased with your own giggle, heart beating rapidly at the prospect of someone pretty enjoying your company.

"You do well in both careers. Do – do you need some help with that?" He asked, noticing your struggle with the varied bags in your arms.

"I think I can do it," you said, huffing as you tried to hoist the plastic back onto you. Before you could help it two of them slipped, nearly falling but halted when Baxter caught them mid-air.

"What do you have in here?" He asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to glance inside.

"Clothes," you said after a mumble of a 'thank you'. "One of the women here had a lot of clothes to get rid of and, well, I need some. And I'm sure one of my roommates could use them, too."

"Oh. Do you have a car?"

"You could call it that."

"I'll help you carry these there, then," he said, taking another bag off your shoulder. The loss of stress on your muscles left you relieved, and you sighed happily.

"Thank you, sir."

You tried to contain your smile as you led him through the parking lot, slipping between the empty spaces to get to your tiny vehicle. Legally it wasn't even a car––actually, you'd built it from the basis of a golf cart, slowly adding and changing features until it drove and looked essentially like a car. Hard work, but you'd been doing it since you stole it in the 7th grade.

Rarely did you ever get along with people, and so Baxter's politeness had sparked a delight in you that brought a ceaseless smile. When you took the bags from him, you thanked him again, attempting to hold a conversation while shoving the bags into the back of your car. He chuckled at your strained words, but eventually helped you when he got over his amusement.

"It was nice to meet you today, and thank you, again," you said once the backdoor was slammed shut beneath yours and Baxter's combined strength.

"Pleasure to meet you, as well. Drive safe now," he said, shaking your hand with a grin.

"Oh I will," you assured him, laughing. You clambered into the driver's seat, shutting the door but leaning out the open window. "If I don't I'll have you on my ass."

"You know it!" He said as he walked away, his bright laugh echoing in the mostly-empty parking lot.

#detective baxter x reader #detective baxter #the little things #rami malek #rami malek character

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welcometothemxdhouse · 3 years

Text

Lectures (pt.3)

I know this took a while i’ve just restarted uni after a year off so it has kinda been chaos. Originally i was only going to make this a three part small fic but i’m actually kinda enjoying thinking about how i’m going to develop Frederick in a timeline outside of the tv show. I want to try and keep his personality as close as possible, and i know there is a dark side to that which i may explore, but mostly this is just me wanting to give him a hug.

Also just a mention; all the words in italics are like internal thoughts.

This is gender neutral except one line which indicates that reader is female. I wanted to write the line because it is important to me but there was no way for me to make it gender neutral-i’m sorry, i hope you can easily skip over it.

Warnings: Actual smut this time lmao. Nothing crazy just basically oral (male receiving). Also mention of an age-gap/student-professor relationship.

Taglist: @feedthemadness-sweetie @prurientpuddlejumper @jonesy201 @madamsnape921 @charlottegrice

Three weeks had been and gone before you were alone with Doctor Chilton again. It was excruciating watching him peacock around the lecture hall twice a week as if nothing had happened-as if you didn't fall asleep every night with the thought of his lips on yours and his hands on your thighs.

You were snapped out of your daydream by the sounds of annoyed groans, disappointed sighs and an exam paper being dropped on your desk. You looked up just enough to spot the grade written in black ink before dropping your head down into your hands. Fuck, you thought, i’ve really gotta work on that. Before you even had time to consider dropping out for the 100th time this semester, the stern voice of your professor muttered what you’d been hoping to hear for almost a month,

“See me in my office after class.”

It wasn’t a question but a demand and fuck if it didn’t shoot electricity straight to your core. You knew there was a possibility he really did just want to talk about the exam but considering the reactions of everyone around you and the way Doctor Chilton was currently giving them a collective telling-off about how “nobody takes the class seriously” and “no one was proving themselves intelligent enough to be in this class”, you assumed he wanted to see you privately for a different reason.

You began to pack your things and followed your best friend out of the hall. Ever since you told them about what happened between you and Doctor Chilton they had stopped being so mean to him with everyone else, unfortunately right now they were clearly too angry to care.

“I worked my ASS off for that exam and what? He just decides i’m too dumb to take his class because I misunderstood one question? Which, by the way, was phrased shitty anyway”, you interrupted them by grabbing their arm and dragging them to a halt, “WHAT?” they snapped in response.

“Chilton wants to speak to me about the exam.” you replied. Your friend stopped and stared at you for a second, the smirk rising on their face matching the blush rising on yours.

“The exam, huh?”

“Yes. The exam”

They freed their arm from your grasp and condescendingly patted you on the cheek before turning on their heels and walking away,

“Have fun!” they shouted from down the corridor. Well...at least they stopped being angry for two seconds.

----------------------------------------------------------------

You found yourself, once again, in the corridor outside your professor’s office, only this time the awkwardness of the first meeting was gone. Assuming he wouldn’t have returned from the lecture hall yet you leant against the wall and began mindlessly scrolling on your phone. Your thoughts began to wander to the last time you had been here:

You had just begun to reach down and unbuckle his belt when the sound of a heavy knock on the office door made Doctor Chilton practically jump out of his skin.

Suddenly you became aware of a presence in front of you. You looked up quickly, assuming it was Frederick trying to pull you from your daydreams for the second time today but instead locked eyes with a guy you recognised from one of your classes.

“Hey?” you muttered, trying to wrack your brains for any memory of his name.

“Hi”, he replied, meeting your stare so intently you felt yourself shift uncomfortably on the spot, “I saw you stood here all alone so I assumed you’d want some company”

The actual audacity of men, you laughed to yourself, where the fuck do they get it?

“I’m good, but thanks anyway.”

He lifted himself off the opposite wall and stepped closer to you, crowding you so close that you subconsciously squeezed your knuckles and held your breath for what was to come.

“If you are going to make out, please do it somewhere other than outside my office.”

You whipped your head around to see Doctor Chilton standing next to you both nonchalantly, leaning on his cane with one hand and unlocking the door with his other. When he raised his eyes to meet yours you threw him your best ‘i am two seconds away from kicking this guy in the balls’ face before said guy turned his attention back to you,

“Apologies Professor”, he smiled to himself, “you know my name Y/N, message me.”

You watched the almost-stranger leave before turning back around to meet Doctor Chilton with a sigh,

“I actually don’t know his name.” You whispered, just loud enough for Frederick to hear and you smiled to yourself as he let out a small laugh in return.

Frederick signalled for you to enter his office first and then closed the door behind the both of you. He paused as if he was debating what to say to you before settling on a quiet,

“Are you okay?”

You wondered briefly if he was normally this gentlemanly. If this is what the real Frederick Chilton was like then his strict, obnoxious image was not doing him any favours. You decided you liked this version better.

“Yeah i’m okay. Not to get all feminist on you but it’s nothing every girl isn’t used to.” you paused and dropped your head to look awkwardly at your shoes, “i guess that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though.”

A painfully long silence followed and you wondered, just like last time, if you’d put him off with your stupid comments. You were just about to apologise when his voice, softer than usual, mumbled

“You can leave if you want, Y/N. I’m not a monster, i’m not going to force you to be here.”

You almost gave yourself whiplash with how quickly you moved to reassure him. You stepped closer to him and rested a hand on his cheek, relishing in the feeling of his stubble scratching your palm as he tilted his head to lean into your touch.

“I want to be here, Doctor Chilton.”

“You can call me Frederick while we’re alone, Y/N”

You reached up on your toes and tentatively pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Okay, Frederick.”

You moved to pull away until Frederick grabbed both sides of your face and pulled you back to him, moaning softly as you lightly bit his bottom lip after a few seconds to deepen the kiss. His hands moved to circle your waist as he walked you back towards the door, reaching behind him and twisting the lock. As soon as you heard the click in the door you detached yourself from Frederick and smiled as you heard him whine quietly at the sudden loss of contact. You grabbed his hand and lead him to his desk, pulling the chair out from behind it and pushing him down to sit. As soon as his legs hit the chair you saw his body stiffen and his eyes began darting around the room, looking anywhere that wasn’t at you. Your stomach twisted in a knot as a million worries passed through your mind within seconds.

“Frederick...? What’s wrong?”

“I just...”, he flicked his eyes back to you and away again, “I don’t do this often.”

Your breath hitched as you realised what the issue was. He was nervous. This handsome, smart, sexy professor was nervous about having sex with you. Damn this man and his adorableness. If your time alone with Frederick so far had taught you anything it was how easy it was to forget this man was your senior by a substantial amount of years. You momentarily wondered what happened in the course of his life to make him have to cover this shy, awkward, sweet personality with the one that makes everyone hate him. You must be so lonely, Frederick Chilton. You walked over to the desk and perched on the edge, the irony not lost on you later that all three of your first encounters began with you on one of his desks. You leant forward and traced his jaw with your index finger,

“If you don’t want this, we can stop.”

“No i do want this, i want you.” He paused again, “i made you wait three weeks...i don’t want to disappoint you.”

He hardly had time to finish his sentence before you surged forward and captured his lips again. The height difference between the desk and the chair meant his neck was exposed to you above his collar as he reached up to match the energy of the kiss. You dipped your head and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his jawline, the whimpers and groans that slipped out of his mouth made shock-after-shock fire down to your core. Watching “Professor Chilton” outside of this office would never have given you a clue that he would be as submissive as he seemed to be now. You made a mental note to explore that later on if this ever happened again. Oh this is definitely going to happen again. As you moved off the desk Frederick’s hands instinctively went to rest on your thighs like the last time you were in this position. You, however, had other ideas. You shuffled to your feet then rapidly dropped to your knees. Frederick’s eyes widened and you heard his breath catch in his throat as he realised what you were doing.

“Fuck Y/N” he groaned, looking down and almost coming in his pants at the sight of you with your dishevelled hair and kiss-swollen lips reaching to unbuckle his belt.

“Is this okay...” ,you asked, stilling your hands and peering up from under your lashes, “sir?”

The moan that came out of Frederick as you simultaneously brushed your hand over the bulge in his trousers was positively abhuman and shit it was hot. You undid the button and zipper on his trousers before pulling them down just enough to lift his dick out of his underwear. If you weren’t dripping before then you certainly were now. You had no idea how he could ever be worried about disappointing you with a dick the size of his - your jaw was practically aching just looking at it. With no hesitation you settled back on your heels and began kitten-licking the tip before licking a stripe along the underside of his dick and taking him into your mouth. Frederick grunted and moaned above you as you took him deeper with every dip of your head, eventually gagging slightly when he hit the back of your throat. The sound of that alone made Frederick grasp the back of your hair with both hands and pull you off him in a panic,

“If you keep doing that i’m gonna..” he stuttered, embarrassed. When you looked up at him he was so flustered it was almost sweet. You wrapped one hand back around his dick and reached around to place your other hand on top of his on the back of your head.

“Come for me, sir”

You tapped the hand on the back of your head as a signal for him to push your head back down and you took him in your mouth again, bobbing up and down with even more ferocity, scraping your teeth lightly along his veins a few times. You felt his dick throb against your tongue and you moaned, hoping the vibrations would be what he needed to push him over the edge.

“Shit Y/N i’m...” and with one last bob of your head you felt his come hit the back of your throat and you instinctively swallowed.

You pulled off Frederick with a obscene ‘popping’ noise before meeting his eyes and licking your lips, making sure he knew you’d taken every last drop. You buttoned up his trousers and raised yourself to perch back on the desk-you wanted to revel in the scene in front of you for a second. Frederick was a mess. He was breathing heavy and beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead. His hair was sticking up in every direction and his hands had settled to rest on his thighs as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stop them from shaking. He wasn’t lying, he really doesn’t do this often.

“What is the saying? Take a picture, it will last longer?” he snarled, clearly off-put by your staring.

“Maybe one day i will.” You smiled as you hopped off the desk and nudged his legs open with your knee so you could stand between them. You bent down and pressed a heavy kiss to his lips before walking towards the door.

“See you soon, Frederick”.

#Frederick Chilton #frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton fanfic #frederick chilton x y/n #hannibal fic #hannibal fanfiction

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mysticmegaraofficial · 3 years

Text

A Sham Psychic || Ben & Meg

TIMING: Present. LOCATION: Coffee Plus PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @mysticmegaraofficial SUMMARY: A ‘psychic’, a cultist, and a spirit walk into a bar.. CONTENT: Body Horror Mentions, Grief Mentions

Looking around the tables of Coffee Plus, Ben settled in his usual corner of the shop with a book and a tall iced coffee. The weather had been unseasonably warm lately, which had put an unfortunate damper on his prospects. Not many people were interested in sitting in a Coffee Shop in the middle of summer. But, he’d keep an eye out anyways. Shifting in the seat that was just a bit too small for his wide frame, Ben looked around at the other patrons with an appraising eye. A woman sipping coffee as she read the newspaper, a young man who looked quite fidgety as he waited for his espresso, and-- Ben’s eyebrows creased together as he took in the woman who was… doing fortune telling? In the corner of Coffee Plus of all places? Whatever she was saying clearly had some kind of an affect on the person she was talking to. Ben watched her, analyzing the way she spoke, the way her eyes moved. A hack. A sham. Incredible, even in White Crest, there were people trying to play the part of the psychic.

Ben watched and waited until the client had slid a crumpled twenty across the table and walked away, visibly shaken. Interesting, interesting. Smiling to himself, Ben took his coffee cup and strolled across the shop towards the woman. “Hello there. Are you doing… fortune tellings?”

“Are you sure?” Jolie’s quiet voice was hard to hear, her shaking hands clasped around her to-go coffee cup. Meg felt sorry for her. Losing a partner so soon after marriage must be one of the hardest things someone could go through. Pierce’s spirit stood over her, disfigured and sad, but mostly full of concern for his wife.

Meg hadn’t planned on doing any readings in Coffee Plus this afternoon. She had just settled down at a corner table when tear stricken Jolie and her ghost husband approached her. Jolie was, apparently, a fan. Please, she said, I’m so lost. Admittedly, Meg usually charged for impromptu readings since she wasn’t keen on using her downtime to do her job. That said, she didn’t charge Jolie anything. This woman wasn’t an excited fan eager to meet a celebrity, this was someone in a lot of pain. Besides, Meg always had a soft spot for crying women anyway.

“I’m sure,” Pierce said. “I just want Jo to be happy. I don’t… I want her to process her grief, and move on. And to look back on our memories together with fondness.”

An emotionally mature ghost was a godsend for Meg. She reached across the table and gripped Jolie’s hand. “I’m sure,” she said, softening her voice. This wasn’t on television, so it didn’t need a big finish. “I see happiness in your future. You’re going to succeed in writing. Publish the novel you’re writing. And even if you don’t form a better relationship with your mother, you will still be happy.” Pierce had very helpfully provided those details for her.

“But --”

Meg smiled at her. “I know it must be difficult for you -- I mean, picturing a life without the one you love? But I can sense Pierce. He longs for you to go through the tunnel of grief and come out the other side. It won’t be okay today or tomorrow and the sadness you feel may never go away completely, but the pit of grief and sadness will shrink so you don’t fall in every time.”

“You’re sure?” Jolie asked. “Do you really see success and happiness?”

Meg nodded. “I do. I promise.”

In the end, Jolie walked away sniffling. She seemed calmer though, not quite at peace and not quite okay, but satisfied with what Meg gave her. Pierce gave her a nod, and followed after her, and both disappeared through the exit of the coffee shop. Meg relaxed a little, and considered grabbing her book from her purse when someone else approached her.

She glanced at the man, taking a sip of her coffee. “Psychic readings,” she corrected. “Fortune telling is a different sort of art. But no -- well, yes. Technically. This was an…” Meg paused, tapping her cheek as she tried to think of the right description. “Fantastic coincidence, me and that woman both being here at the same time.” Meg smiled at him.

“Anyway, were you just curious, or were you looking for a reading?” Meg gestured to the empty chair across from her that Jolie vacated. “I wouldn’t mind company either way.”

Ben hadn’t paid much attention to the woman who had left, but he caught a glimpse of her wiping her eyes as she left the shop. Clearly, whatever this hack had said must have struck a nerve in her. A very emotional one. But how? There was always a trick with these things. Ben had seen a great many things, met a great many creatures that could masquerade as almost human. He was familiar with the werewolves that howled in the night and the vampires who leeched life from the residents of town. But he knew there were no such things as psychics or mind readers. Otherwise, his family would have been found out long ago. Arching a brow in the appearance of interest, Ben asked, “Psychic readings? What exactly does that sort of thing entail?”

A fantastic coincidence. What that meant, Ben had no idea in the slightest. “You know, you’ve piqued my curiosity. If you don’t mind, I’d love to have one done.” And see if I can uncover this sham.

Meg examined him, making sure to keep her face friendly and open as he took the spot across from her. A part of her wanted to make the man cough up cash payment for a reading, but she technically offered and it wouldn’t be fair to charge him anything when her previous guest hadn’t been charged a dime. “I’m so thrilled I’ve managed to pique your interest, ” Meg said. “A psychic reading is … Well, in layman’s terms an attempt to discern information about your past and how it’ll affect your future with my gift -- my heightened perspective of being able to look through the fabric of time and space.”

She reached to take a sip of her iced coffee right when she felt the presence enter the coffee shop. Her stomach sank, brief flashes of the last time an unexpected spirit came into this establishment. Not a great memory for her or anyone else who had been here that day. It wasn’t a poltergeist, though. Meg watched as the girl dressed in fashion Meg herself wore in high school phased through the wall, floating over to their table to examine them, taking her place behind the man. Was this his ghost? Or was she just being a spirit medium magnet again?

“Of course,” Meg continued, “I do have to give you a warning.”

The spirit made eye contact with her, and Meg raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Hello,” the girl said. “You… can see me?”

Meg gave the slightest incline of her head. An unfamiliar expression flashed across the girl’s face.

“... This is Benjamin Campbell. Everyone calls him Ben.”

Meg continued speaking to Ben. “I do real psychic readings - I’m not going to tell you what I think you want to hear. I’m going to tell the truth. And you may not like it.” She was taking a risk with her next question. The ghost may be lying, or producing old information hoping she would fail. Meg was fine with taking risks. “Will that be alright, Mister Campbell? Or do I have permission to call you Ben?”

Ben made himself comfortable in the seat across from the woman, his expresison politely neutral and open as he listened to her prattle on about how she could look through the veil of time and space. As if she could do such a thing. Zombies, vampires, demons, gremlins, and horrifying creatures that could steal the faces of his colleagues? Of course they existed. Psychics? People claiming to peel back the void? Utter garbage. There were no such people, or else His Lord would have warned him. Hrvsht’ooooor had offered all kinds of advice to the Campbells over the years, whispering the ways to avoid detection, describing the sort of creatures who were unfit to be sacrificed to him. Like the walking garbage disposal that Ben had an unwilling alliance with. Psychics did not exist, plain and simple.

Taking a sip from his coffee, Ben watched with mild interest as the woman seemed to stare not at him, but past him. She really was keeping up with this whole act of seeing past the unseen, wasn’t she? Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her words, Ben smiled instead. “I think I can handle the truth.” He said with a shrug. When he said his name, Ben raised an eyebrow. “You may call me Ben. I hope you don’t think that’s enough to impress me though.” He said, turning the plastic cup of his ice coffee to show the hastily scrawled “Ben” on the side. “And my family is quite well known around town.”

Meg grinned as he turned the coffee cup towards her. Really, she should have caught that, even without the spirit lingering over his shoulder. “You’ll have to forgive me when I say my goal isn’t to impress you,” Meg said with a flippant wave of her hand. “Too many psychics like myself spend far too much time trying to impress people with their gifts -- trying to make people believe them. People will believe whatever they want, regardless of what I say or do. So I just give the truth, and let people take what they will from that.” Still she clapped her hands together. “Fantastic. There are many people who can’t handle the truth. You may call me Meg, by the way.”

“I remember his mother,” the girl said suddenly, and Meg fell silent to listen to the secrets she whispered. His mother. His job. Meg smiled.

“Your mother worked in the front office at the high school. Before my time, of course, but she always had cookies on the table for the kids. Nice lady, everyone loved her.” Meg sipped her coffee. “And you -- work at the college now, right? I suppose I should have said Professor Campbell. Forgive me.”

The woman brushed away the obvious dig with a nonchalant wave of her hand, making Ben’s grin only grow wider. Not in mirth, but in irritation. She was really going to keep up this charade? These sort of scams were just that-- scams. There were tricks, there were ploys, there was subterfuge abound. But he had to admit that her dedication to the act was something else. “Meg. Charming to meet you.” He said with a nod, before taking a sip from his coffee. He watched her expression intently. She wasn’t looking off into space like she had been before, but he could see the slight way her pupils dilated as though she’d been struck with something--

At the mention of his mother, Ben offered a nod. “Yes, my mother did. She also enters the annual bake off every year and, again, we’re quite well known in town. If you know me, you know my mother.” He said with a blasé expression on his face.

Oooh, he didn’t believe a single word she was saying. Amusement grew in Meg, a little more than it should. She was, in fact, a fake psychic with some otherworldly capabilities, so it wasn’t exactly offensive when people could see the actual truth. More often than not, their disbelief was rooted in the special kind of place lots of White Crest citizens resided. “It’s a pleasure,” she confirmed. She leaned back in her chair, nodding along at the information he willingly gave to her. “No wonder all the kids loved her then. You must have great taste in baked goods.”

“He doesn’t believe you,” the girl said, frowning. The spirit seemed far more upset by this than Meg was. Meg was already calculating exactly who Ben was -- rather, making generalizations about his character from his attitude, body language, and the information she had, and was ready to continue on with her reading when the spirit offered her something more.

“You loved to learn -- I mean, you’d have to, if you’re a Professor. But only in the subjects you find interesting. You’re not a Professor of Physics, hm? I see your past -- you making your physics lab partner do all the work for your project. Stellar grade, that A+. A shame Wyatt had to share it with you - naughty.” Meg said teasingly. It was all in good fun, of course. Meg herself had definitely bribed her sister into doing some work for her when they were younger, just like Meg had posed as Willow on request to break up with her boyfriend because she was too scared to do it. Children were funny.

Crossing one leg over the other, Ben leaned back in the chair, his considerable bulk pressing against the back of the thin chair as he regarded the woman. Meg. Her name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And he certainly didn’t recognize her. She’d confirmed that she was younger than him-- his mother had retired a year after he’d graduated high school, having no other reason to remain in the school district now that her sons were no longer a part of the system. Which meant she was a local. She wasn’t just some drifter who had set up shop in White Crest, drawn by the peculiarities of the town. “My mother’s spoiled me on them, that’s for certain.” He said coolly.

Ben kept his eye trained on Meg’s face as she next spoke. There was something off about this whole thing. She didn’t know this information off the top of her head. It was almost like she was being fed it, like someone was telling her. Ben’s forehead wrinkled in a frown at the woman’s next assertion. What? Physics? He’d taken that class over two decades ago, he couldn’t be bothered to remember every peer he extorted. Of course, he had a feeling it was true, but she didn’t need to know that. “I can’t say I remember that. You’ll have to excuse me, but high school was over twenty years ago for me. I have no idea who Wyatt is.”

“Mother’s do tend to do that,” Meg agreed, her easy smile still on her face. I can’t say I remember that. Possibly the truth, especially if high school was twenty years in the past for him. Meg quietly cheered to herself. She was younger than him. High School was what? Fifteen years for her. She knew that eye cream she bought did wonders for her. Before she could continue on, the spirit spoke again, her flash of anger causing the lights to flicker ever so slightly. Meg crossed her legs, leaning forward on her elbows as the spirits whispers floated to her ears.

“Wyatt Miller, he was one of your teammates from when you played Football. I think he was the one who… What was it? Fumbled the ball during the state championship?” Meg’s smile widened. She was actually enjoying this reading quite a bit. Benjamin didn’t seem like he was exactly pleasant, and she found just a tiny bit of joy knowing she was right about everything she was saying. “You threw your helmet at him. Chucked it even, you were so angry… It was scary.” Meg echoed the spirit, head tilting to the side. “Are you an angry person, Benjamin? When things don’t go your way? You should watch your temper. You never know when it could get you into trouble.”

Ben was about to respond when he noticed the way the lights in the coffee shop began to flicker. What was that? A trick of the light or just some theatrics? This woman must have a friend on the inside, someone who was manipulating the lights in the back of the store to make it seem as though she had some kind of “power.” How else would they be doing that. And, as the woman spoke up once more, Ben knew that she had to have an informant. Someone from his high school days. Someone with a keen memory, or maybe just a vendetta against him.

Ben kept his expression pleasantly amused as his mind raced. Who was she? And more importantly, who was her informant? Who was telling her these things about him? Because, if they had as long a memory as it seemed, they would need to be dealt with swiftly. He couldn’t have his high school antics coming back to haunt him, not when he was so focused on his goal. If this wasn’t a public place, if this woman wasn’t… visible. Oh, he would love to watch her bleed for Hrvsht’ooooor. Not die, that was an honor she wasn’t worthy of. But bleed and beg and suffer for Him? Ben would love to see that. Instead, he stood up with a shake of his head, chuckling. “High school emotions run high. Teenage emotions. Everyone gets a little out of hand at that age.” He said with a rueful expression on his face. “I shudder to think what life would be like if we were to judge everyone on their highschool personas.” He said before casting a shrug in her direction. “Tell your friend, or whoever told you about me, that I’d love to meet them. It’d be nice to catch up on old times.”

He seemed amused, which kept the light airy talk between them. Ben clearly didn’t believe her, and it was almost funny watching him wash everything off as typical high school antics. “That’s true, I suppose. Too much testosterone and puberty,” Meg said. But she couldn’t help the cheeky grin that came across her face as she finally leaned back in her chair, reaching down to pull out the book she was reading. “You’re ending the reading early,” she told him. “Why? Are you afraid I’ll find a secret you don’t want anyone to find out about? Are you hiding something you don’t want me to see?” The question was innocent enough and left unanswered. Meg laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she opened her book to continue where she left off the previous night.

“He’s not my friend,” the spirit said suddenly, and Meg looked up, brows furrowed. She had forgotten the girl was there. The girl wasn’t looking at her anymore though, she was looking in the direction Ben had walked off towards. After a moment, the spirit turned and walked away from the table. She didn’t seem interested in Meg at all. She was going to call out to her, but the second she caught sight of her back, Meg’s voice caught in her throat.

The girl’s spine and back of her rib cage were pried open, sticking out every which way. Translucent organs stuck out, unseen from the front. Meg was never a great at anatomy, but she was pretty sure the only thing missing were the girl’s lungs. Meg’s eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t help but glance off in the direction Benjamin went.

A coincidence, surely. Right?

#wickedswriting #para #para ben #ben

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noona-clock · 4 years

Text

Him

Genre: College!AU, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jinyoung x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 1,685

“And that’s all I got for you today, folks,” your professor announced before closing his laptop and ending the slideshow presentation. “Class dismissed.”

A low buzz of activity suddenly filled the lecture hall as your fellow classmates began to pack up their bags and then make their way to the door. Once you slipped your laptop into your backpack, you followed them, sidling down your row of seats and loping down the stairs.

Before you reached the door, though, your professor called out your name. “One second,” he said.

Your brow furrowed slightly, and you gripped one strap of your backpack as you turned toward him. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you still interested in a TA position?”

The wrinkle in your forehead suddenly smoothed out as your eyebrows rose. “Oh -- yes. Yes, absolutely.”

Last week, you’d asked your professor if he would need a teaching assistant for this class next semester. Unfortunately, he’d said ‘no’ at the time, but maybe now he’d changed his mind!

Your parents’ business had run into some financial trouble recently, so you would have to pay your own way through school from now on -- but it was way too late to apply for a scholarship this year, which meant you had to find a job. And fast.

Obviously, you would work retail or in one of the campus food halls if you had to, but a TA position was perfect for you and your organizational skills -- especially for a professor in the literature department.

“A colleague of mine was talking about needing one, so I thought I would tip you off,” he continued, and while it was little disappointing he didn’t need one himself, you couldn’t afford to be picky right now!

...You actually couldn’t afford anything.

“Thank you so much,” you replied, shooting him a hopeful grin. “That would be perfect.”

Your professor reached for a sheet of paper on the lecture stand and handed it to you. “It’s Professor Stewart, he teaches Medieval Literature.”

Well. Your major was British Literature, but hey. Britain was around in Medieval times, so you could totally follow along with the curriculum.

Hopefully.

You took the application from him, and he gave you Professor Stewart’s office room number before you thanked him again and headed out the door.

You decided to fill it out now so you wouldn’t get caught up in your studies and forget, so after exiting the lecture hall, you made a beeline to one of the study rooms in the literature building.

After scratching down your information and answering all of the questions in your favorite green ink pen, you hurried out of the study room and made your way to the offices on the second floor.

You searched the small numbers on the side of each door, looking for the one your professor had given you not even fifteen minutes ago. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw another figure coming down the hallway from the opposite end, walking toward you, so you stepped over just a bit to the side so he -- or she -- could get past you.

But when you found the office number you were looking for and stopped walking... so did the other person.

You shifted your gaze to look at this other person, quickly realizing it was a him.

And... a very handsome him.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, and you once again stepped to the side so he could get past you.

But he stepped to the side at the same time, like he was allowing you to get by.

“Sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly, now taking a step to the other side.

...But he did the exact same thing.

“I -- I’m trying to get to this office, actually,” you explained, your lips curved into a very clumsy grin.

“Oh,” the guy replied as his brow furrowed. “...So am I.”

And it was then you noticed he had a piece of paper in his hand just like you did.

“Are --” you gulped. “Are you applying for the --”

“TA position for Professor Stewart,” he finished. “Yes.”

You shifted your weight slightly and let out another awkward chuckle. “Me -- me too. I really need a job, and who wants to wash dishes in the dining hall, right?”

You weren’t sure why, but you anticipated the same sort of reaction from him. He would let out a nervous laugh, smile a bit anxiously, and wish you luck.

Instead, you got raised eyebrows. You got a very serious expression.

And you got, “I have the highest GPA in the department, and I’ve taken two of Professor Stewart’s classes before. You should probably just recycle that, if I’m being honest.”

It took everything in you not to jerk your head back with surprise.

But you did knit your brows together and say, “Excuse me?” in a very annoyed and confused tone.

“I’m going to get the job.”

You just kind of... stared at him for a few moments before letting out a disbelieving laugh. “What makes you so sure? My professor seems to think --”

“I already said,” he interrupted. “I have the highest GPA in the department. Professor Stewart knows me. He knows how impeccable my work is, there’s no reason why he wouldn’t accept me.”

“My work is impeccable, too!” you scoffed.

“Trust me. As soon as he sees my name on the application --” The guy turned his piece of paper around and tapped on his name.

Park Jinyoung.

“He won’t have to even look at yours.”

“Okay, getting hired simply because the boss knows you is called ‘nepotism.’ You know that, right?” you reminded him, trying your absolute best not to sneer at him.

One corner of Jinyoung’s mouth quirked, and he murmured, “Well, at least your vocabulary skills aren’t lacking.”

All right -- it was time to ask a question you should’ve asked about two minutes ago. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Jinyoung immediately shook his head.

You narrowed your eyes in confusion, your forehead even more wrinkled than it had been just a few moments ago. “Do you always treat people you’ve just met like this?”

I mean! The guy was being incredibly arrogant and had just insulted you! ‘Well, at least your vocabulary skills aren’t lacking.’ Who says that without even knowing someone’s name?!

Jinyoung looked at you as if you were just a little bit crazy before he let out a soft chuckle and answered you. “No, of course not.”

“Ah, so I’m just that lucky,” you retorted, barely holding yourself back from rolling your eyes.

“Not it when it comes to getting this TA position.”

You actually laughed at that. You had to! Because the nerve of him! It was so ridiculous that you had to laugh -- otherwise, you probably would have punched him. And there was a good chance Professor Stewart would have found out about it which would have definitely hurt your chances of getting the position.

“I guess we’ll leave that up to Professor Stewart,” you countered with pursed lips. You reached over to open up the mail slot in Professor Stewart’s office door and slid your application through.

If Jinyoung had been a normal person -- meaning polite and not a total asshole -- you would have held the thin, metal flap open for him so he could slide his application in, too.

But he wasn’t a normal person. He wasn’t polite. He was a total asshole.

So, you didn’t hold it open for him.

You let it close with a fairly loud clang, turned on your heel, and strode away from him with your head held as high it could possibly be.

It wasn’t until you stepped outside of the literature building that you let out an extremely frustrated groan. Honestly, you felt like clenching your fists and stomping your feet, too -- but you would hold off on giving into those urges until you got back to your apartment.

Seriously, though! You had never in your life met someone so irritating and arrogant and annoying and handsome and aggravating and presumptuous as that guy! That -- that Park Jinyoung.

Ugh!

Hopefully -- if there was some higher being out there in the universe -- you would never run into him again. You hadn’t run into him before today, so it stood to reason that the odds of seeing him after today were pretty slim.

As you marched toward the nearest bus stop on your apartment complex’s route, you realized -- he hadn’t even asked you what your name was. You hadn’t given it to him, and even if he had asked, you probably wouldn’t have answered.

The fact he didn’t know your name was a pretty good sign that he probably wasn’t fuming about you as you were about him. So, you would let yourself be bothered on the bus ride home, and then you would stop.

You would stop thinking about his arrogance. His stupid little smirk. His dumb face. My word, did he have a dumb face. Just thinking about it made you even more angry than you already were.

But what put the icing on your angry cake?

His dumb face was just so perfect.

How sad that his extremely good looks -- and I mean extremely -- were wasted on someone with that personality!

Okay, you should probably just stop thinking about him now. The bus ride was far too long to let your thoughts go on like this. The bus wasn’t even here yet.

So, you took off your backpack and plopped down onto the bench with a sigh.

That was it. No more thinking about -- no, you wouldn’t even think his name. No more thinking about him. Instead, you would think about an email to draft and send to Professor Stewart once you got home. That was definitely more worth your time than... him.

In fact, by tomorrow, you were pretty sure you would forget all about him!

Yep.

Totally!

He would be 100% completely and utterly and positively forgotten.

Part 2

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xumos-hoe · 4 years

Note

hiii i’ve been reading all ur works and i love it so muchhhh😭😭😭 and i want to req can u make a headcanons about the boys when MC forgot to put their bra on and they can see MC’s nipples through that thin shirt lmaooo 😂😂 and thank you i luv u

SKXMEKWMX NOOOOO I HATE THAT THIS HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE😔

Ily too anon, hope you enjoy🥺❤️

MLQC crew seeing MC’s nipples through a thin shirt

~~~~~~~~

Victor

Wasn’t so much a “shirt” since it was a swimsuit.

Vic’s weekly swim lessons🤩

You’d recently purchased a one-piece swim suit and decided to wear it that day since your go-to swimwear was at the dry cleaners

Why didn’t you account for the material being excessively thin and tight? I dunno. but since the problem didn’t come around until much later, you hadn’t thought much of it.

The material clung to your breasts, hugging every dip and curve tightly, especially in the water as Victor guided you through a back-float. His face hovered close to your body, half submerged in the water as you struggled to stay afloat.

“Try not to struggle so much—and if you happen to drown, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to save you.”

You took in a shaky breath as you braced for the moment your temporary instructor would remove his hands. With the intake of breath, your chest puffed out significantly—and due to the chill of the pool water, something started to poke through your bathing suit.

Now...it wasn’t like Victor had been eyeing that area on purpose—he was just as nervous as you were to let go in case you wound up actually drowning.

He looked over your entire figure one last time before leaving your side, and...

that’s when he was met with the little accident around your chest.

Your nipples poked out through the spandex, especially since the swimsuit was a bright color that contrasted with the water, which made them even more obvious.

Victor had a brief second of disbelief where he wondered if he might be seeing things, but when he blinks and your nipples are still there in plain view, he averts his gaze as discreetly as possible.

What isn’t so discreet is the color in his ears as he scoffs and refocuses on the task at hand.

Thankfully, you’re too busy struggling between life and death and don’t notice the tightening sensation around your breasts, or the dumbstruck gaze that glances at them.

“Victor... You can let go now, I think I got it...”

Your request falls on deaf ears when you feel Vic try to pull you out of the water instead.

“Ha. Not a chance—your form is even worse than before. We’ll try again next week.”

“But—!”

Which a small tsk, Victor scoops you out from the water. You almost fight against him, but back down after noticing the irritation in his features.

You nearly fall into his chest with the sudden force, but a quick pair of arms steady you instead.

Unfortunately, this position isn’t so convenient for Victor. The first thing that pops into his mind is the possibility of your nipples pressing into the planes of his chest at that very moment

...so without a second word, you’re lifted into the air and placed on the edge of the pool. When he speaks again, you’re surprised at the sudden assertiveness of his voice.

“Now go get changed. I believe I promised you a meal after today’s lesson.”

You instantly perk up at that and run off to the locker rooms. Could you even deny his cooking?

But in your excitement, you don’t realize that he never actually promised you a meal after today’s lesson.

Actually, Victor just wanted a bit of alone time to ease the heat in his face and crotch.

Lucien

In addition to forgetting to wear a bra—you hadn’t accounted for the forecast and forgot to bring an umbrella.

As though Lucien expected it because he did, the first person you spot when you step out of the office is your boyfriend’s smiling face peeking out from the window of his car.

You decide to make a run for it, even though the rain was coming down in torrents—soaking you before you could manage to slip into the warm interior.

Lucien laughs quietly as he watches you take a few deep breaths after your awkward sprint and lean against the chair.

“Just as I expected...You ought to check the forecast more often, or otherwise, I’ll keep having to come rescue you.”

You turn away meekly and shrug. “You’re busy enough as it is, and I don’t want to keep burdening you.”

He falls silent and takes a moment to admire you from afar, though you don’t notice it—and what you also don’t notice is the split second something catches the professor’s eyes and his gaze drops to your chest:

to find your nipples in near-perfect view.

White shirts and rainfall, along with the lack of bra, made for quite the view.

Lucien raises an eyebrow when he realizes what he’s looking at, but his face remains as expressionless as ever.

Your drenched clothing sticks to all the right places, especially against your breasts and the flushed nipples poking from underneath. In fact, the shirt was so thin that he could even spot the tinge of color from your areolas.

It amuses him that you don’t seem to notice something so painfully obvious...

But ever the gentleman, Lucien looks away, unfastening his seatbelt with a soft click that catches your attention.

You turn towards the source of sound, only to find Lucien stripping himself of his raincoat. And before you realize it, Lucien has handed his coat over to you.

“Lucien, why are y—?”

The professor shakes his head and laughs again, rebuckling himself. He glances out the rear window, daring one last glance at your chest before returning to the road.

“It seems a raincoat wasn’t the only article of clothing you had forgotten to wear today.”

You pause for a moment to think back at his words before it hits you.

The gasp of horror that fills the space of the car earns a few chuckles from Lucien as he watches you throw his coat over your body furiously.

It wound up becoming one of the quietest car rides in your life.

Kiro

In your defense, your current lack of bra shouldn’t have been a problem.

You don’t even realize it when Kiro swings by to drop off some of your belongings that had remained in his suitcase after you and his’ last trip together.

It was close to midnight, and all you were dressed in was a thin pajama shirt and matching shorts—too exhausted to remember you’d thrown off your bra earlier and that this getup was definitely not suited to greet guests.

You swung the front door open with a yawn to meet the smiling eyes of the superstar as he stared back at you fondly, lifting your belongings.

The smile disappears off of Kiro’s face when he realizes he may have interrupted your sleep.

“Ah! Miss Chips, were you asleep? I knew I should’ve brought these in the morning...”

You shake your head and stifle another yawn.

“It’s alright, I haven’t even gotten into bed yet.”

“But look at you! Already in your slippers and pajamas and—”

He falls silent in an instant. You almost don’t realize the sudden lull in the conversation where his gaze has dropped to your chest after a certain something catches it.

And by ‘something’—the tips of your nipples poking from underneath your pajama top, and thanks to the corridor lighting—clearly.

Your belongings almost slip from Kiro’s hands when he notices and forgets to speak—what were the two of you even talking about again?

You stare back at the man in front of you, caught off guard by his sudden speechlessness and the dumbfounded expression on his face. Not to mention the color in his face...were his cheeks always that pink?

Before you know it, all of your items are thrust into your arms as Kiro readjusts his hat and turns away timidly.

“...Definitely should’ve came in the morning...”

“What was that?”

But before you can get your answer, Kiro has already made a beeline for the elevator, waving to you from afar.

“Good night, Miss Chips!”

Gavin

Birdcop was staying with you for a few days while the injuries from his last mission healed. You were adamant about him staying with you because this boy was in no shape to help himself at home alone.

You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard Gavin call for you from the kitchen.

He’d offered to purchase some take out while you showered, and in your excitement, quickly throwing on everything except a bra.

Gavin’s back was turned to you as he gathered utensils from the counter. You sat on a bar stool and searched for your order before Gavin called out with a smile.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

But you were already too busy eating to hear him mention anything about heat.

When Gavin finally turned, the last thing he expected to see were the evident peaks in your shirt.

Suddenly, the food wasn’t the only thing hot.

You were too busy squeezing sauce onto your meal to notice anything off about your clothing. And worst of all, when you moved to throw the little packet away, your breasts bounced gently with the force.

jesus. he had no idea why he was still staring.

He wanted nothing other than to hide the pink in his face, that you would inevitably notice and comment on.

Did you really not realize your...

Even the thought flustered Gavin to his very core—so wiping his mind clean of any lewd thoughts, he turned away and summoned all his might to talk to you with a straight face.

But the VOLUME of how suddenly he cleared his throat gave away too much.

“Aren’t you a little cold like that?”

You stared up from your food to look back at Gavin.

“What do you mean? I actually thought it was pretty warm in here...”

Barely registering what you had said, Gavin ran off to your bedroom to retrieve a jacket before calling out from over his should

“You’ve been worrying about me this entire time, I almost forgot to take care of you.”

Shaw

Shaw has probably done a lot of questionable things, but he’s polite enough not to ogle at a woman’s chest.

Especially when the chest in question is rightttt by his face.

You accompanied him for drinks one night—the root of the issue was that you had forgotten to do the laundry and ran out of bras.

You didn’t really think that the shirt you wore was something that called for a bra anyway; and for good measure, topped it with a cardigan.

The reason for the cardigan slipped your mind as you felt yourself becoming tipsier and warmer. Without a second thought, you quickly peeled it away and began to fan yourself with your hands.

Shaw snuck a glance at you—but he couldn’t recall seeing you walk in wearing such a thin tank. And as he checked you out, something seemed off:

He choked loudly on the drink in his hand after noticing the pair of nipples poking through the material of your cami; in addition to the slight bob of your chest as you reach over to ask for another glass.

At this point, there’s no telling whether the pink in his cheeks is from intoxication or the sight you’ve unwittingly provided him with.

As Shaw glanced away, he pushed your cardigan back towards you.

“Don’t be stupid and put it back on.”

You glare at him and push the cardigan back in his direction. “But it’s so hot in here...”

He figured you’d be too drunk to realize your nipples and that the guys beside you had probably noticed as well.

With a small tch, Shaw draped the cardigan over your body and pressed you into his chest.

Your eyes widen in suprise when you realize how closely he’s holding you, but before you can say anything, Shaw leans close to your ear and whispers low:

“I don’t like how these assholes are looking at you—so do us both a favor and stay close.”

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.15}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 6.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

They hadn't technically agreed to meet again before breakfast, but Robin almost counted on it that Snape would be waiting for her at some point between where they had parted half an hour ago and the great hall. And indeed, it was the entrance hall where they crossed ways as if by coincidence, and for a brief moment Robin wondered how he always did that. Snape seemed surprised to see both Jorien and Cas following after Robin, which was understandable after what she'd told him a few hours ago, and Robin didn't waste time to address the matter at hand.

"I gave both of them detention for today." She said with a small sigh. "And now they-..."

"She can't actually give us detention." Jorien cut in, glaring at Robin, then turned to face Snape. "Right? There's something called rules, which Robin obviously has never heard of before! She's in no position to give us orders!"

"And what, pray tell, gives you the audacity to judge that?" He replied with a sharp glance at Jorien, and it took the wind out of her sails immediately. "If you had questioned my decisions like that, Miss Blakeley, you would be serving more than one day of detention."

"So she's actually allowed to do this?!" Jorien looked entirely exasperated now. "Her word is law?"

"Obviously." Snape scowled at her in his usual manner. "I will be seeing you in my classroom after breakfast."

"That's got to be a bloody joke!" Jorien groaned and stormed off without another word, entering the great hall with anger radiating off her in palable waves.

"I, uh… Sorry, for… her." Cas said quietly, giving both Snape and Robin an apologetic look. "We, I mean, I… will see you. Both. After… yeah." Without another glance at either of them, she made her way through the large doors as well, disappearing into the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

As soon as the doors fell shut again, Robin closed her eyes and sighed deeply. After a night like the one she's had, this is not how the morning was supposed to go. And it certainly wasn't a good idea to treat the healing wounds of one relationship with the cutting edges of another.

"I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen, and it certainly wasn't supposed to happen like this." She finally said as she opened her eyes again to peer up at Snape. "Thank you for having my back nonetheless."

"Any time." He replied calmly, as if he hadn't just given Jorien a death glare half a minute ago. "And don't be sorry. This conflict obviously has great significance to you, and therefore I would like to see it solved as well."

"Thank you." She sighed softly, then ran a hand through her hair while collecting her thoughts. "I just wanted to sort this out… but then things escalated and I did the only thing I could think of."

"You gave them detention."

"Yeah." Robin still was entirely unhappy with that fact, but she would make the best of it now. "Cas was quick to accept it, but Jorien…"

"She reminds me of you in your first year."

"Ugh… I know." Robin groaned, rolling her eyes, but she still couldn't help smiling a little. "She's heard too many of the cutting remarks I direct at other people. She's gotten rather good at hurting people with her words herself."

"Perhaps I should indeed have given her even more detention for her behaviour then."

"Nah… Wouldn't fit in with your punishment policy, would it? She would hardly have learned from that; her problem is her anger, not discipline or authority."

"Indeed." He mused, watching how Robin leaned against the wall behind her with a sigh. Almost curiously, he raised his eyebrows at her then. "So why did you choose to give them detention in the first place? Not that I wouldn't approve of that decision, but it surprises me nonetheless."

"It's the only possibility to get them to stay in the same room, with each other and with me. The only legal one, at least." She shrugged, clasping her hands between her back and the wall.

"Clever. As always."

Robin's lips tugged upwards into a small smile upon the comment, but she tried not to let it cloud her focus on the problem at hand. "I'm going to make them talk to each other, and it won't be pretty. I've gotten a good glimpse of it already, and I'm honestly not looking forward to the entire thing unraveling. But they've got to stop what they're doing to themselves, and to each other."

"Their actions have an effect on you even more than on each other, I believe."

"Yeah… But they don't know that, and they don't have to. I'm good if they're good with each other, and I'm willing to do a lot to get them there. They won't have to thank me afterwards, not even talk to me if they'd prefer not to."

"You'd be surprised by how much some people are willing to forgive." He quirked an eyebrow at Robin, and she had to smile yet again. Alright, he had a point.

"We should go in, or breakfast will be over before we've had a bite." She finally said and pushed herself off the wall. "Should be dreadful as always, without anyone to talk to."

"Actually, I would be glad to miss the inquiries about my whereabouts that are certain to come up at the head table."

"Since when do you bother with inquiries about anything at all?" Now it was Robin who quirked an eyebrow at him with a small smirk.

"Just because I have no intention to reply to them unfortunately doesn't spare me from hearing them."

Robin couldn't help laughing at the pout in his tone, and she found herself wishing that she could just fight off all the inquiries he didn't want to hear. She didn't particularly like answering annoying questions either, but she didn't dread it nearly as much as Snape did. Somehow, she thought it to be her task, her privilege to spare him from that.

"You could always pretend to be listening while really thinking of something else. With your usual range of reactions in public, nobody would notice a difference." She mused with even more of a smirk, and for a short moment, she even got one in return.

They entered the great hall then, each moving to their respective tables in silence, but as far as Robin could tell, both in as much contentment as the situation allowed. Of course, both hid it in their own way. Snape with the usual public scowl, and Robin with the usual calm neutrality. She would get Cas and Jorien to talk to each other today, there was no doubt in it. She would make sure that this would be a good day after all.

… … …

The detention served its purpose wonderfully indeed. Being forced to stay in the same space for an entire day meant that Cas' and Jorien's conflicts were prone to escalate eventually, and once they did, it was also inevitable for the storm to pass. Even better, they were quicker to forgive each other than Robin had anticipated. By lunchtime they were mostly talking to each other again, and by the time detention was over they were back to being best friends after all.

Neither remembered to apologise to Robin when they left detention that evening, they didn't even acknowledge her involvement in their conflict at all. But on the flipside they were quick to treat her as their adult friend again, their big sister rather than their enemy, which left things off as if nothing had happened in the first place. To Robin that was a good enough result, she didn't need an apology nor a thank you. Only for things to return to normal between the three of them, and she had definitely achieved that.

So when she sat in the office again that night, drinking coffee with Snape while refusing to leave just yet even though she was tired enough to fall asleep over her mug, she knew that she had been lucky. From here on, things would start to be alright again indeed.

_______________

Robin cursed under her breath when she flipped the book in her lap shut with a bang that was loud enough to echo through the curves and edges of the arcades around her. Her free period was about to be over, having passed all too soon, while yet the dreadfully slow pace of her classes on this mid-May Friday seemed to be trickling by like endless seconds turned to dust. It was just two more weeks until the end of term, until exams. Two more weeks until her N.E.W.T.s in herbology and potions. She had been studying relentlessly ever since February, and ever since that day in March she's had Snape by her side again to help her as well. Still, she felt like there wasn't enough time to cram all that unnecessary and redundant theoretical knowledge into her head. All those facts she knew would never be of any relevance to her, or some of which she straight out believed to be wrong. But she still had to know them if she wanted a good grade, and thus she used every minute of every day for studying.

Things between Robin and Snape had returned to normal quickly after their shared crash-and-burn experience in March. Well, perhaps not quite back to normal. There were certain things that were different now, positively different. Honestly, they were closer than ever, and Robin couldn't be more glad about that. Ever since the beginning of May they had paused their usual evening lab work (which usually was of a more experimental nature by now, if not mandatory restocks or preparations), and instead started trying to perfect Robin's skills in making every and any potion that might possibly come up in the practical part of her final examination. It was a great way to practice, and she was thankful beyond measure for his help, but still Robin couldn't help feeling entirely unprepared. Snape kept on telling her that she would be fine, but honestly it didn't ease her nerves too much. She would never be as good as him at actually making potions, and she would never be as good as she wanted to be either. If that was even possible in the first place.

So when another free period ended with an entirely unproductive feeling, she climbed out of her arch in the arcades with stiff limbs and a scowl. Stupid textbooks… who the hell wrote these bloody things anyway? They were practically useless for anything other than passing standardized tests. She seriously considered writing a potions textbook herself at some point, while she made her way towards her charms class, just for the sake of it. Perhaps she would keep it in mind as a career option.

Luckily charms was the last class of the day, but it would still be a dreadfully long afternoon if Flitwick would continue his endless lecture about a spell to write in different fronts on blackboards, which he had started last week and never quite managed to finish. Robin sat down at her desk with a sigh, but only took off her sunglasses at last when Flitwick gave her a pointed look for it. Yes, perhaps it wasn't polite to wear sunglasses inside, but had he ever tried to see anything while facing a window the sun was shining through?! Obviously not. Thus, Robin was left squeezing her eyes together to keep looking at the charms professor while he started the class. But her misery didn't last long.

Two minutes into class time, the door flew open and in strode the only saving grace that was even better than sunglasses right now. Still, his trademark billowing robes and overall dramatic entrance made Robin smirk way more than she probably should have. Without even knowing what Snape was here about, she started packing up her things already on instinct. If this was coming to be a repeating pattern, she would gladly oblige.

"Severus?" Flitwick asked in mild surprise that equalled that of his students. Perhaps it was the fact that Snape never bothered to knock that came as such a surprise to everyone, or perhaps they simply were scared to be in trouble.

"I'm afraid I need to steal Miss Mitchell from you, Filius." He stated as neutrally as ever, and Robin tried her hardest not to smile like an idiot. Of course he was here because of her… he would've sent one of the second years he was supposed to be teaching right now for anything else. Robin took a quick moment in her mind to pride and chide herself for the fact that she knew his class schedule better than her own.

"Uh, certainly! I mean…" The slightly dumbfounded charms professor glanced at Robin who had already gotten up and shouldered her backpack without a concern in the world. "For… for how long?"

"The entire lesson, of course." Snape drawled in feigned annoyance and gave his colleague a look that made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't answer any more questions. Thus Flitwick merely nodded, averting his eyes from the intense gaze, and then continued his lesson as if nothing had happened.

Robin followed Snape out of the room, and only once the door had undoubtedly fallen shut behind them and they were alone in the hallway, she allowed herself to smirk up at him. "Am I needed somewhere or did you just miss me?"

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly in return, a shadow of a half-smirk ghosting over his lips for a second, but then he started leading her down the hallway with a serious expression. "I have a favour to ask of you."

Robin's eyebrows rose in an instant, and she looked up at Snape again instead of where she was walking. "Do go on."

"I need you to take over the second year potions class that I am supposed to be teaching right now." He said in an instant, as if glad to get the request out at all, but after a moment of silence, doubt obviously made him continue. "If you are in your right mind, you will straight out decline any participation in this and-..."

"I'll do it." Robin cut in with a small smile that threatened to grow into a smirk. When he gave her a surprised glance, she added, "Have I ever been in my right mind?"

"Probably not." He mused, and finally the doubt faded from his face to be replaced by subtle relief. "Thank you."

"Anytime." She smiled, then quirked an eyebrow at him as they made their way towards the stairs to the dungeons. "Might I ask though, why do you need me to watch over your class?"

"Because I need to teach Morgan's seventh years." He sighed, obviously discontent with the fact. "Morgan reported that he was feeling ill after lunch, and Professor Dumbledore asked me to take over the class in respect to the impending final examinations. That, however, leaves my own class unattended, which I strongly disfavour for the very same reason. Even second year students should be well prepared for their exams."

"And why would you ask me, out of all people, to teach a class? Don't get me wrong, I'm honoured… But why choose the one person who has close to no experience with this thing, while there's a bunch of competent professors at this school?"

"They are not competent." He said, but when Robin gave him a look, he rolled his eyes and added, "They are competent in their subjects, not in ours."

"Alright, so you picked me because I'm good at potions. Better someone who knows the subject and nothing about teaching than someone who knows teaching but nothing about the subject. I get that. But what if I'm horrible at both?"

"Keep in mind that they made Morgan a professor. I think you should reevaluate your perception of what it takes to teach a class around here."

Robin let out a snort at the comment, shaking her head, and she did indeed feel more comfortable with the circumstances in an instant. If bloody Morgan could do this, she could too.

"I can only hope I won't screw this up." She finally sighed when they reached the crossing where they would need to part ways. "But I'll do my best to fill in for you. Even if the gap is quite a bit too large for me."

"Thank you." He was quick to reply, but then paused for a second. "You will be perfectly fine; the gap isn't nearly as large as you believe it to be. In any case, you can always scowl and have them write an essay should you find yourself uncertain what to do next. Works every time."

"I'll remember that." Robin huffed with a small smile, and only when Snape moved on to his own class, she remembered to ask the important questions. "What am I supposed to teach them anyway?"

"Revision of the term, ideally." He replied over his shoulder, and Robin couldn't help wishing he wouldn't go. "But try to remember that they aren't you. Lower your expectations, or teach the students to meet them."

With that he was gone, rushing up the spiral staircase while Robin made her way down. Oh God… had she actually agreed to teach a freaking potions class?! Second years, admittedly, but still! What was she supposed to do, make an entrance like Snape and scare the hell out of them? Actually… no no no, she couldn't do that. Fuck. She should just try to do the same thing she always did when tutoring Cas and Jorien, that had always worked just fine. Even with up to twenty people at once! Wasn't much of a difference to an entire class, was it? Only that they were actually going to expect her to teach them something, not just help with revision. But then again, it was supposed to be revision after all. Breathe, Robin… She could almost hear Snape's voice in her head by now, as often as he had said that to her over the last few weeks when she started panicking over exams. And breathing she did indeed, as she stood in front of the door to the classroom. She could do this. It was potions, she loved potions. She knew potions. It would be alright.

With a perfect calm neutrality she opened the door, and made her way towards the front without a hint of doubt shining through. At least she finally got the desk she's always been meaning to trade for.

… … …

A little more than an hour and a half later, Robin was surprised to find that everything had been alright indeed. Nothing had exploded, nothing had been damaged, and everyone had come out alive and a little smarter than before. She had done a revision of the entire school year with them like she was supposed to, and surprisingly enough, the students had actually been more than willing to accept her as their teacher for the day. A good mixture of calm politeness and menacing scowls had kept everyone in line without making them despise her, which was as good an outcome as Robin could've hoped for. And perhaps some of them had actually learned from her explanations and little tricks after all.

It was only when the students started leaving the classroom that she allowed herself to feel out of place again, being the teacher, and sitting on the edge of Snape's desk like that. He surely wouldn't approve of such a thing, but for some reason Robin was intrigued to find out what he would do about it. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get to. Just when the last student had left the classroom, someone else came in instead.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Robin jumped off the desk immediately when the headmaster came sauntering through the aisle between the students' rows. "I, uh… Sorry, I didn't… What brings you down here? I mean, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Mitchell." He bowed his head ever so slightly with that small smile of his. "Actually, I-..."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Robin looked at Dumbledore almost expectantly, uncertain what to do or how to react, but he merely mentioned for her to go ahead before retreating to a shadowy corner of the room, picking up and studying a few jars in well feigned interest.

"Come in." Robin thus called out, feeling like an idiot to do so when there was an actual authority figure in the same room, but Dumbledore's wordless prompt for her to see to whatever was the issue had been clear enough.

"Sorry… if I'm interrupting." A small voice spoke from the door, and a second later one of the girls who had been part of the class just moments before reluctantly came back into the room. "I… uh, I was just wondering if perhaps… you had a minute?"

Oh god. Robin's mind raced with a million questions in return. She wasn't supposed to be a replacement for Snape! Well she was, in a way, but just for the revision part of the class! But as long as he wasn't here, she might as well fill in as good as she could for this as well.

"Wouldn't you like to speak to… Professor Snape about whatever the issue is instead? He should return soon, you can wait here if you wish." She asked, but the girl shook her head vehemently in return.

"No, I mean... do you… uh, have time for me perhaps? Before he returns?" The girl asked again, barely loud enough to be heard, and Robin did her best not to display any of the unease she felt. This wasn't her place… but she wasn't one to let people down who asked for her help.

"Certainly I have, if it really is me you wish to talk to." She finally replied with a calm little smile, much like the one Dumbledore had shown her seconds before. Sometimes inspiration was drawn from the most desperate of places. With a certain glance at the young girl who only nodded, Robin motioned to the chair in front of the desk. "Come sit down then. I don't bite."

The girl quickly scurried to the place she was pointed to, then looked up at Robin who sat down on the edge of the desk again like it was the only suitable place for her to claim. Really, she wouldn't dare to take a seat on the other side of the desk. She didn't want to give off the impression that she actually had anything to say around here.

"What can I help you with?" She prompted when the girl still wouldn't speak up after a while of quiet observation. Bloody hell, this felt odd… she wasn't supposed to be in this position.

"Well, I… uh, I noticed that you are… explaining things differently than Professor Snape, and you know so much, and I… I'm just horrible at potions!" The girl broke into tears so suddenly that Robin had a hard time keeping up with the sudden shift. "I always feel like I don't understand anything at all, and everyone else got what you explained today so well and I just… I didn't understand at all! I will fail my exam for sure! I just… I don't even understand why I have to learn all this nonsense! All those stupid little details… Why is that even important for anything?!"

While the girl kept sobbing relentlessly even after her rant, Robin honestly just felt lost in return. For a moment she was frozen, then she frowned, and finally she simply felt helpless. What was she supposed to do now?! What's one supposed to do with crying children? Bloody hell...

"I am certain the situation isn't half as bad as you make it out to be." She started, trying to use her most comforting voice, but the girl just kept on crying and crying as if she had been holding off just to unleash it all on Robin now. Oh geez… what was a professor to do in a situation like that? Use their brains. So Robin did. "Hey, look at me for a moment, yes?"

The girl did look up indeed, which was something at least, and Robin grabbed the first object on the desk she could get a hold of (which happened to be a burning candle), then held it out in front of her. "You know this spell?" She asked, while at the same time turning the candle into a drinking glass.

"Yes…" The girl sniffled, looking first at the glass and then at Robin. Without hesitation, Robin handed the object to her.

"How about this one?" She asked again, and this time she filled the glass with water to the brim.

"No…" The girl replied in a quiet voice, and while the water didn't spill over the edges of the glass, tears kept spilling over in her cheeks nonetheless. She looked at the glass in confusion for a moment, then back at Robin.

"Drink it." Robin ordered calmly, keeping her eyes on the girl who frowned a little at the odd request, but obliged without protest. Half a minute later, the glass was empty and Robin took it from her to set it aside. By now the girl had stopped crying and merely looked a little confused, but by far not as devastated anymore. So far so good. "Do you feel better?"

The girl nodded quietly, so Robin went on.

"See, you knew the charm to transform the candle into a glass, yes? It is a very basic spell, one of the fundamentals of transfiguration, you could say. The second spell I used served to fill the glass with water. You didn't know that one, but I can assure you that you will learn it sooner or later. But now imagine… What would you do if you knew how to conjure water first, but nobody had ever taught you how to get yourself a glass? Would be awfully hard to drink, wouldn't you say?"

Again, the girl nodded, and she even smiled a little at the image Robin was painting with her words.

"So we need the basic spell first, to make any use of the more advanced ones after that. Because without the basics, the difficult things wouldn't be of any value to us. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

"I think so… It's important to know the basics, because you need a ground and matter to build on and work with."

"Exactly!" Robin offered her a small smile, even if it was feigned. "And it is exactly the same with potions. You need the basics and the details first, if you want to understand the complex structures later on."

"I can see that, I guess…"

"Good!" Robin sighed under her breath. "Now, did I understand you correctly that you're afraid of the exam for this class?"

"Yeah... I've been having problems in potions for a while now. I just don't understand how things work together and how they relate to each other. And you obviously are great at it, so I just… wanted to ask for help, I guess. Or even just some advice."

"If you have problems in a subject, you shouldn't hesitate to talk to the professor as soon as possible. Not just two weeks before the exams." Robin replied, but tried to keep the accusation out of her tone at least, if it was already so very present in her words. Calling out wrong behavior probably wouldn't help right now.

"I know…" The girl peered down at her hands in her lap, picking at the edge of her skirt while effectively avoiding Robin's eye. "But I was too scared to say anything, before now. I just… I thought I would only get yelled at anyway."

Again, Robin wanted to sigh. Somehow, she always ended up stuck between what people believed about Snape and what he wanted them to believe. There was fairly little she could do in between those two, without disregarding the reality of either. "I understand. And I won't tell you to talk to anyone you feel afraid of, even if I probably should. But I will say, out of my own experience and sincere belief, that people sometimes will surprise you if only you give them the chance to."

"Really?"

"Yes. No matter what you believe to know about someone, you must always leave open the possibility for them to change your mind. Nobody likes being trapped inside a box not made for them."

"You mean people should stop categorising?"

"No. Categorising is important for us to function in a world of such complexity. It would completely overwhelm us if we didn't categorise. What I'm saying is that you should keep in mind that you never know all there is to someone, that the picture you have of them isn't necessarily who they really are. And that when you put the world into boxes in your mind, you should always leave the lid open."

"I've never thought about it like that… but I guess you're right. Thank you." The girl gave Robin a timid smile in return. "I will try to talk to Professor Snape tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps he can help me find a point to start catching up with the class."

"Make that tomorrow morning and you might actually find him in a good mood." Robin said before she could help it, and upon the girl's confused face, she added, "When you've known someone for a while, you also know the best time to talk to them about certain things. Tomorrow morning, yes?"

"Yes! Definitely!" The girl nodded and rose to her feet with more energy than anyone should have at this point. "Thank you, professor!" With that she grabbed her back and skipped down the aisle towards the door, where she disappeared and was gone two seconds later. Only then Robin's mind snapped out of it, and she frowned to herself for a moment. Had the girl actually called her 'professor'? Robin shook her head at the odd encounter and turned the glass back into a candle before she would forget about it.

"That was quite impressive, if you allow me that one remark." Dumbledore's voice startled Robin enough to make her jump off the desk once more, heart jumping into action equally while a rush of adrenaline spread in her veins. Bloody hell… she had completely forgotten about him. And honestly, Dumbledore was remarkably good at making himself practically invisible. Perhaps actually indivisible, who knew.

"I wouldn't call it impressive. Self-defense would be more like it." Robin replied sincerely, while trying to keep up her facades nonetheless. There was no use trying to fool Dumbledore, but she wouldn't make it easy for him to see through her either. "I really just wanted her to stop crying. It made me uncomfortable."

"Still, your advice was remarkable, even if perhaps a little difficult for a child to fully understand. Say, what did you put into that water?"

"Nothing." She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's something my parents did with me when I was little. Just give a crying child a glass of water and they will stop crying to drink it. That means they will stop crying for crying's sake, and a great majority of children's problems will already be solved at that point. At the very least, it'll be easier to have a calm conversation from there on."

"Interesting. After long years of teaching at this school, I still find myself learning something new about human behavior every day. Even if by now, I believe to have quite a bit of insight into the… mind of the common person."

"I don't. I mean, I'm not good with people, neither with children nor adults. Remembering little tricks like that, or making use of logic and knowledge to manipulate someone for their own good… Some people might call that insensitive or rude, but it really only is a means to function like any other." She said, as the question about Dumbledore's presence here came back to her mind. "Anyway, I think the girl will be fine if she actually takes the advice about keeping an open mind. But what was it you wanted to say, before we were interrupted in the first place?"

"I meant to say that I came here looking for Severus." Dumbledore smiled, and finally sauntered out of the dark corner he had been dwelling in. "I believe he might be in the possession of a book I would like to borrow for a few days."

"May I ask which one?" Robin inquired, curiosity winning over reason and definitely over manners as well. "I've read all of them at this point, so I'll probably be able to tell you if what you're looking for is part of his collection."

"Of course you have…" Dumbledore's smile turned into a sincere one, and Robin couldn't help wondering why he seemed to be so very amused by what she'd said. "The book I am looking for is a collection of spells about literature and literary mediums. You see, I unfortunately made the mistake of leaving a book of great value too close to Fawkes when it was time for him to burn… You certainly can imagine the outcome."

Robin eyebrows rose in surprise at first, then she had to smile at the coincidence, and finally her brows furrowed into a frown. There was no such thing as a coincidence when it came to the headmaster. And even if that story was true, a great wizard like him surely didn't need a random book about literature spells to help him out. Curious…

"I believe I can help you with that. As it happens to be, I'm in the possession of the very book you are looking for as well. That might spare you plenty of waiting time." She said anyway, putting on her own calm neutrality once again as she turned to summon her copy of the book out of her bag. Then she skipped down the two steps in front of the desk and approached Dumbledore, handing it to him with a smile that mirrored his own. "Well, actually I was the first to have the book, but then I gifted him a copy as well… Anyway, you might find something suitable on page 46… or perhaps it was page 64, it's been a while since I've read it."

Dumbledore accepted the book with a small bow of the head, and a peculiar glance at Robin that to her was more unsettling than reassuring. "Thank you, Miss Mitchell. I will be sure to return it to you before the end of term."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Sir. I know where another copy is, should I need it."

"Of course you do…"

Somehow Robin found herself annoyed by the many times he said that, by the way he said it even more, but she didn't let it on. Instead she merely held his gaze, unfaltering and steady even though it was still so very unsettling. Deeply inquiring and invasive even, while yet hidden behind the calmest contentment and innocence. He was so much more difficult to read than Snape was. For Robin, at least, but she knew that it was an unfair comparison to make from her perspective. She was as biased as she could be.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?" She finally asked, after what seemed like hours of silence.

"Not that I am aware of. Thank you for the book." He mused with a knowing smile, then turned around to leave. As soon as the door fell into its lock behind him, Robin let out a long breath and returned to the desk in a slow saunter. What an odd encounter. Another odd encounter.

When she took her perch on the edge of the desk again, putting the books she had used during the class back into their place, she finally realized what had bothered her about the entire thing. Dumbledore had been the one to tell Snape to take over Morgan's class, and therefore he must've known that he wouldn't find him down here. That means he had either come here to wait for Snape, which was highly unlikely, or he had meant to seek out Robin in the first place. In which case he must have known that she possessed the particular spellbook as well. And he haid lied to her without her noticing even in the lightest. But… why on earth would he do any of that?

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