#office hours
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Office Hours - Chapter One
Summary:
Your colleague Dr. Ancunin is a smug condescending bastard and you can't stand him. But you also can't get him out of your head.
Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader
Rating: E
Word Count: 5.2k
Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, creampie, no breeding kink, masturbation, vaginal fingering, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, like the briefest mention of suicide while talking about Hamlet
This would not exist without @zipzoomzaria's gorgeous glasses screenshots because PROFESSOR, PLS. Go follow her bc her edits are out of this world. The masturbation scene is also heavily inspired by @astarionfreak's "Are You Satisfied, Darling?" If you haven't read it what are you doing???
Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist
There’s something about him that rubs you the wrong way. It could be his arrogance, or the condescending way he peers over his glasses at you and your other colleagues. It might be the overpriced cashmere turtlenecks that hug his figure perfectly or the stupid silver earrings adorning his stupid elf ears. But every time he opens his pretty little mouth you feel a snarl growing deep in your throat.
This is the first university you’ve worked at where the theatre and English departments shared an office. Theatre and music, sure, even theatre and dance. But theatre and English? It feels insulting, honestly. English PhDs are some of the snobbiest people you’ve ever met, and they always speak to you like a child. Is it because they’re unimpressed by your MFA, like it made you less deserving of your position? Who knows. But Astarion Ancunin is no different.
“Grace, would you mind making twelve copies of pages 219-254 when you get a chance?” You hand the administrative assistant the heavy book. “You can leave them in my mailbox, I’ll pick them up later.” Grace opens the book to the instructed page.
“Oh, Much Ado About Nothing! I love that one!” she squeals with delight. “That Beatrice and Benedick,” she sighs, stroking the Complete Works lovingly. You smile at her cordially.
“They’re great, they’re basically the non-problematic version of Kate and Petruchio,” you respond in agreement.
“How tragic that Taming’s writing is better.”
You whirl around to see Ancunin walking in looking at something on his phone. He doesn’t even look up as he inserts himself into your conversation. You glare at his interruption. He looks up at Grace, bypassing you completely.
“Good morning, Grace darling, how are you today?” He sweeps over to her and takes her hand in his, planting a kiss on her knuckles. Gods he’s fucking insufferable. Not to mention unprofessional. Grace, however, blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl.
“I’m doing well, Dr. Ancunin, and yourself?” The tiefling’s voice jumps up about three pitches and her tail starts swishing excitedly.
“Leagues better now that I’ve been blessed with your presence,” he coos at her, voice positively saccharine. It takes every ounce of your patience to keep from rolling your eyes. He casts his gaze to you, and even you need to turn away from those piercing red eyes.
“Good morning, professor. Starting Much Ado with your students, I take it?” he asks with a light smile that makes you bristle.
“Yes, it’s a great way for them to practice switching between verse and prose,” you respond coolly, more than a little defensive.
“Of course, one of his best.” He glances down at the volume still in Grace’s hands and his eyebrows raise, peering over the top of his round glasses. “Going with the Bevington, hmm? Interesting. I’m more of a Norton man, myself.” He runs a slender finger along the binding as you grit your teeth. Is he really patronizing you over your choice of edition of Shakespeare’s Complete Works? Of course, he’s an English scholar.
“The Norton is a great tool dramaturgically, but the Bevington is a much better resource for actors, so, yes.” Your voice is steady but there’s an undeniable venom in it. Can he tell how much he’s bothering you? Probably, he’s almost certainly getting enjoyment out of riling you up. His little smirk would seem to suggest it, at least.
“Well certainly, and who knows acting resources better than our resident classical acting expert?” he intones, voice still dripping with honey. You narrow your eyes at him, unsure if he’s taking another jab at your degree.
“Well, as much as I enjoy standing around and debating the merit of various editions of the Complete Works, I’m about to be late for a meeting. Grace, thank you so much, I’ll be back later to pick up those copies. Dr. Ancunin,” you turn to his smug face and he looks back at you innocently. “A pleasure, as always.” You grab your papers and leave the office, feeling the heat of his gaze boring into the back of your head as you leave.
***
“Yes, Thaniel, come on in, have a seat,” you call out to the freshman loitering in the hallway outside your office. He comes in and drops his overfull backpack next to the teal club chair across from your desk. You close your laptop and smile at him warmly.
“So, Hamlet, that’s ambitious! I think it’s a good choice for you, but it’ll be a lot of work,” you say, glancing at your own copy of the monologue.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here,” Thaniel says nervously. “I’m fine with the scansion and stuff, that I get, but I still don’t get the actual words. And I know you said how important that is.”
“For sure, I can guarantee all of the bad Shakespeare you’ve seen has been because the actors had no idea what they were saying. Have you used the Lexicon?” Thaniel looks off to the side, embarrassed.
“No, I don’t really get how that works either,” he says, an air of chagrin creeping into his voice.
“No worries, it takes practice. Here, we’ll do a few lines together. So first off, to be or not to be, that’s fairly obvious, right?”
“Yeah, he’s talking about suicide, right?”
“Sure, but what is he actually saying about it? To take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing, end them. What’s ‘them’ referring to?”
“The sea of troubles?”
“Right, the aforementioned slings and arrows. So even though you might know what those words mean individually, look them up in the Lexicon to see if they have a different context here. But you’re right, he’s trying to figure out if it’s better to suffer through the shittiness of existence or to take your fate into your own hands and, well, end them.” You highlight the line and lean over your desk to show Thaniel. A voice pipes up from the doorway.
“That’s not exactly what he’s saying, you know.”
The paper crumples in your hand slightly as your fist instinctively tightens. You plaster a strained smile on your face and look up at him.
“Dr. Ancunin, thank you for gracing us with your presence. Care to elaborate?”
He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, face in shadows. Your office is unusually dark because of the storm outside, and so the bright fluorescents in the hallway give him an almost ethereal halo effect
“It’s a common misconception that Hamlet is contemplating suicide here. Life and death, sure, but ‘to take arms’ isn’t metaphorical, it’s literal. He’s contemplating dying as a result of killing Claudius, not taking his own life,” he says, almost sounding bored. You stand abruptly, your office chair skidding backwards.
“How can that possibly be true? He says ‘to take arms against a sea of troubles.’ He’s using the active voice, deciding whether or not to continue his life or end it. To be or not to be. It’s the first line in the monologue. He’s not talking about the consequences of killing Claudius.” You try to keep your voice from shaking. You know that you don't sound nearly as eloquent as him, and it’s pissing you off. He shrugs nonchalantly.
“You’re oversimplifying it, it’s exceedingly more complicated than that. The whole soliloquy is filled with war imagery. He’s at war with himself, the part of him that wants to kill Claudius and the part of him that is afraid to die.” He pushes himself off the door frame and steps back into the hallway. “But apologies, please don’t let me interrupt your instruction.” And like that he was off, leaving you to stew in silence. Thaniel looks up at you and looks back at the doorway where he stood.
“Should I…” he starts, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.
“Dr. Ancunin comes at this from a very different angle as an English academic. He’s more interested in the words on the page, rather than how they translate to the stage. But,” you sigh, loathe to give him any credit, “it’s a valid interpretation. We can go down that route, if you want, or we can look at it through this lens.” Thaniel chews his lip while he considers his options.
“I think what you said makes more sense, the suicide bit,” he finally decides. You nod and pull out your copies of the Shakespeare Lexicon.
“Great, let’s go over how to use the Lexicon again,” you say as you flip through the book, looking for the entry for ‘slings.’
***
You drop off your bag and toss your keys into a bowl on the counter. Fucking exhausting day. You unzip your boots and kick them vaguely in the direction of the shoe rack, stretching and curling your toes for relief. You hang up your wet coat and shake rain from your hair. Your eyes dart between the refrigerator, wherein resides a bottle of white wine, and the bathroom door, contemplating how good a hot bath would feel. Both? Both is good.
You pour yourself a generous glass of Riesling and strip your clothes on your way to the bathroom. One of the perks of living alone. Sitting naked on the edge of the tub, you sip your wine as the bath fills.
Fucking Ancunin.
You’re a little shocked at how much he got under your skin today. Normally you don’t think twice about him, excepting the few times you have the misfortune of passing him in the hallway. But today the fates decided to throw you together and your schedules aligned. Well, in your defense, you didn’t seek him out that second time, he was the one who decided to crash your office hours.
You don’t even like Hamlet that much. You certainly don’t care about alternative interpretations of “To be or not to be.” But you’re mostly annoyed because he had a fair point. His read makes Hamlet a more interesting character rather than a cowardly incel romanticizing suicide.
You slide into the bath, hissing slightly as the hot water flows over your chilled skin. Without prompting, Ancunin worms his way back into your thoughts. Hmmph. You take a gulp of wine to try to wash away the taste of the unpleasant image.
Well… not entirely unpleasant. He’s a good looking man, you’d be a fool to deny it. But gods he’s so smug. And interrupting your meeting with Thaniel was wildly inappropriate. Leaning your head against the edge of the tub, you try to focus your thoughts elsewhere. You’re not about to let him interrupt you again, and when he’s not even present, no less.
But there he is, in your mind, crimson eyes looking over the top of those metal frame glasses that you’re, like, 99% sure he doesn’t actually need to see. You take another swig of wine to drown his stupid face. With his stupid cheekbones. And his dumb fucking earrings that you want to bite.
Nine hells, what is happening? You’ve been drinking your wine quickly and aren’t thinking straight. You grab your phone and open Spotify, letting your daily mix play through the bluetooth speaker on the counter.
Now Playing: Hatefuck by The Bravery.
If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them?
If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?
By Mystra’s fucking grace, seriously? You growl at the growing heat between your legs. Between putting off dinner and chugging your wine, your head is swimming. You might be better off getting it out of your system.
The wine glass hits the tub edge with a clank as you angrily put it down and sink into the water up to your chin. You are satiating a purely physical need, nothing else.
You still shiver as you slip your hand between your legs, lightly running your finger up your slit. You can see his face, looking down on you through those glasses - those infuriating glasses - and your lips flutter. What does he look like under those sweaters? He’s so thin, but his clothes fit incredibly well. It’s not hard to imagine a sculpted body beneath. You spread your legs further and let the warm water tickle your folds.
His silvery curls would look so good between your legs, slender fingers wrapped around your thighs while he laps you up. At least then he’d shut up. A gentle moan escapes your lips as you run your finger along your inner lips, pretending it’s him. You could grab hold of those perfect locks, yanking on them to control where he can go, fucking his face.
You move your other hand up to your breast and start teasing your nipple, feeling his lips around it. You give it a little tug and groan, just like if he nipped at it.
You imagine sitting on his pretty face, pointed ears flushed and hair a mess. Your hips buck into your hand as they might on top of him and your toes curl. You make gentle circles around your clit, thinking of all the other uses for his silver tongue. You whine and squirm at the sensations of heat radiating through your body. You slip a finger inside and hiss as you can see his pale digits entering you in your mind’s eye. You curl it upwards and gasp, his imaginary eyes looking up at you through those long lashes and a smirk playing across his imaginary lips.
“Are you ready for more of me, darling?” You can hear him murmur into your ear.
“Yes, gods yes,” you reply breathlessly into the cold bathroom air. You slide another finger in and feel that delicious stretch. The ghost of him moans, coming undone at the sight of you. You could leave him speechless, for once.
You reach over the edge of the tub and grab the box of waterproof toys. You frantically sift through your collection of dildos, trying to find the right one. Here. It’s long and svelte like the rest of him, but bright shimmery purple. You suction it to the bottom of the tub and hover above it on your knees. It sways lightly in the water, tip of it teasing your pussy just like you’d love to do to him.
Gods, to see him beg for your cunt. To see him reduced to a babbling mess, pleading to let him inside you. Your breath quickens at the mental image of him pulling on his own hair waiting for you to satisfy him. You sink down onto the dildo and your groan of pleasure mirrors what you’d like to hear from him.
You start sliding yourself on the purple dick, feeling its ridges glide against the walls of your cunt as you continue to finger your clit. You imagine your hand splayed across his chest, your black nails standing in contrast against his pale skin. You claw at the bottom of the tub as you increase your pace, desperate to see the pink raised skin that your nails leave behind. The fingers on your clit speed up as well, and you can feel yourself getting close.
“Oh gods, Astarion, don’t stop,” the words tumble from your mouth unbidden. You will absolutely hate yourself for that later, but right now all that matters is your ecstasy. You bounce atop the dildo, disregarding the water that splashes over the side of the tub as you chase your finish. Your moans increase in pitch and fervor as the various images of him in all sorts of positions flash through your mind. Between your thighs, sitting on his face, riding his dick, even fucking pegging him from behind because why the hell not?
“Astarion!” You cry out his name as you crash over the edge, legs shaking and pussy pulsing. Your orgasm reverberates throughout your whole body as you ride it out. Eventually, your movement slows and the water gently sways around you. You look down at your hand, milky juices swirling in the now tepid tub water.
Shit.
***
The next day at work, you avoid him like the plague. You keep your office door closed, usually an unthinkable act but entirely necessary right now. You double check the hallway before leaving to go teach, and then after class you immediately duck back into your office and close the door again. You even avoid the main office for fear of running into him there.
You can’t look at his face right now. You can’t possibly look him in the eye.
When 5:00 rolls around, you glance out into the hallway. Most of the other professors are leaving. To play it safe, you decide to work until 6 so that you can be sure that he’s gone when you leave. You absentmindedly grade performance responses. After you’ve read one paragraph about Miss Julie maybe a half dozen times, you realize that it’s probably time to go.
You slowly open the door and glance out into the hallway. You can’t tell from this angle if his door is open or not. You grab your bag and coat, take a deep breath, and make a beeline for the stairs. As you approach his office you realize it’s open.
Fuck.
It’s fine. You’ll just walk past it and get to the parking lot and then you won’t need to worry about it. He might not even be in there. Or if he is, he probably has his head down and won’t notice you walk by. It’s fine. You’ve got this.
“Oh, professor, a word?” His voice floats into the hallway right as you’re passing his door. Are you fucking kidding? You turn to see him sitting at his desk, head down, writing something. He doesn’t even look up at you. Prick.
“Yes?” you ask, not budging from your spot in the hall. He glances up at you over his glasses. Those fucking glasses. You want to rip them off his face and throw them out the window.
“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.” His voice is low and cool. Does he fucking know? There’s no way he can know.
Right?
You tentatively take a step into his office. It’s surprisingly cluttered for a man who always looks so put together, but it’s still warm and inviting. You can barely see the walls for being covered corner to corner in bookshelves full to bursting. He’s got a big mahogany desk in the middle of the room - significantly nicer than the university-issued one. It’s covered in stacks of papers, books, weird little knick knacks; it’s amazing how he’s able to get anything done on it. There are two chairs facing his desk, much like yours, but a rich plush velvet instead of a scratchy cotton weave. He’s got a scent diffuser somewhere, giving the room an aroma like an earthy spiced tea.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the cushy red chairs across from him. You stand there, clutching your bag, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. When he realizes you’re not going to sit, he gets up and crosses over to the door.
“Do you mind if I close this? It’s… a bit embarrassing,” he asks with a crooked smile. You can feel the heat in your cheeks rising. Your mouth goes dry and you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat.
There’s no way he knows.
Right?
But something compels you to nod, so he closes the door and walks back to his desk, but rather than sitting behind it, he leans back casually on the front of it. He’s taken off the blazer he usually wears and is down to just the turtleneck, sleeves pushed up just below his elbows. He crosses his arms in front of his chest as you stare, waiting.
“I wanted to… apologize. For yesterday.”
You blink at him, the conversation not going in the direction you expected. You had been so focused on yourself, that it took you a moment to realize what he was referring to.
“It was inappropriate to barge in on your meeting with your student. You were mid-instruction, and I needn’t have inserted myself into your conversation.” He leaned back on his hands, stretching out his lean figure to impossible proportions. The grip on your bag slackened and you couldn’t help but drag your gaze over the length of his body. He looks at you quizzically.
“I get the sense that you don’t very much like me,” he muses.
Now it’s his turn to give you the once-over, and you feel practically naked before him the way he looks at you. “Then again,” he adds, and pushes himself off his desk. He slowly advances toward you, though whether like someone approaching a vicious beast or a predator stalking its prey, it’s unclear. You retreat while holding his gaze until your back is flush against the door.
No escape now.
He gets precariously close to you and takes an unsettling whiff. When he speaks again, his voice is a husky growl.
“I think it’s entirely possible you like me… quite a bit.” He’s got at least a half foot on you, and he looks down on you with heavy-lidded eyes. The heat in your face has fully reached the tips of your ears now, and your breath comes out ragged.
“I’m sure I-” you start, but it comes out thick and raspy. You clear your throat and try again. “I’m sure I don't know what you mean,” you finally manage with all of the composure you can muster. He cocks an eyebrow at you, then slowly takes off those infuriating glasses.
“No? Then perhaps I’m mistaken, and your heart rate hasn’t increased by approximately 20 beats per second in the past few minutes.” His eyes continue boring into you. “And maybe that smell between your legs is completely unrelated.”
An undignified splutter comes out of you as you press your thighs closer together. He takes a half step back to let you respond.
“If I am indeed mistaken, then I’ve said my peace and you’re free to go.” The seductive honey is gone from his voice, and in its place is a politely professional tone. You fully feel that he’s giving you an out, that you can both laugh on this as an embarrassing moment and neither will bring it up ever again.
But on the other hand…
“You’re not mistaken,” you choke out in a whisper. The lazy smile is back and he lifts your chin with his index finger.
“What was that? Speak up.” His command weakens your knees and you wither under his gaze.
“You’re not wrong,” you say more boldly, trying to meet his energy. His smile broadens, and for the first time you notice two pointy fangs slip out beneath his upper lip.
Fucking
vampire??
That explains how he could track your heartbeat, and even more his ridiculously keen sense of smell. Doesn’t make it any less humiliating.
“No, I don’t suppose I am,” he snarls and suddenly he’s kissing you roughly, hands twisting in your hair and one knee sliding up between your legs. He pushes you against the door and lifts you off your feet slightly. You’re desperate just to keep up as he devours you, hands weakly grasping at his hips, shoulders, neck. But he’s fully in control of the kiss, and after a moment you let him take you.
He breaks the kiss but doesn’t pull away, and you’re both breathing heavily, air cycling between your lungs. Your head feels full of a thick fog and you can’t fully see straight. His hands are still in your hair, tight but not pulling - yet. You get the sense that might not last long.
He drops to his knees and you nearly double over from the sudden lack of support. He runs his nose and lips across the hem of your black denim skirt, inhaling again. Your fingers lace into his hair, but not even remotely in the dominant way from your fantasy. At this point you’re just trying not to collapse.
He looks up at you, flashing another fang-bearing grin. His hand slips up your skirt and his thumb runs across your pussy, barricaded by your sheer tights and panties.
“Darling, you’re positively soaked,” he hums contentedly. “You’d have a hard time hiding this from anyone.” You bite your lower lip, trying to keep the needy whines at bay. But when he fiercely rips the crotch of your tights and presses the flat of his tongue against the drenched gusset, you can’t stop the cry from escaping your throat. He sucks lasciviously, the debauched slurping noise ringing in your ears. Your knees buckle and he grabs hold of your hips, hiking your skirt up to your waist to get better access to your dripping cunt.
He stands and kisses you again, the taste of you lingering on
his lips. He grabs your ass and digs his fingers into your flesh, spreading them until you gasp into his kiss. In one fluid motion he sweeps up your legs and wraps them around his waist, carrying you over to that incredible mahogany desk.
He plops you down on the hardwood and you hear books and papers tumbling onto the floor behind you. He presses his bulge into your mound, this time the sound of both of your moans mingling pleasingly. He tears at your chiffon button down, trailing hungry kisses down your chest as you throw your head back in pleasure. He makes quick work of fully removing your top, though you’re certain he sacrificed some buttons in the process. You hardly care as you paw wantonly at the back of his neck, desperate for him to get his lips onto every single inch of you. He pulls the lace cup of your bra down with his teeth and starts sucking on your nipple, pressing his hand into the small of your back. You arch into him, his hands working you like a soft clay.
So much for the pleading mess that you pictured last night. Instead, you’re the one who's been reduced to shambles, begging for satisfaction.
“Puh-please,” you stutter, and those devilish eyes lock onto yours again. He snakes his way back up your chest and bites your lower lip.
“Puh-please what?” he mocks your stammering, but makes up for it when he rolls his hips forward, dragging that delicious hardness against you. You squirm, trying to pull him closer but he’s got your arms locked in his grip. His lips leave yours and ghost over the flesh of your neck. He very gently scrapes his fangs across your jugular, eliciting a ghoulish moan from you in return. By all the gods, you hadn’t even considered that as a part of it. His movement made it clear that he won’t bite unless you want him to.
But holy hells do you want him to.
“Gods Astarion,” you gasp, and you swear you can feel his cock twitch at the sound of his own name. “Fuck me then bite me, or the other way around I don’t care, but please get in me!” The string of words almost sounds foreign to your own ears, but you’re well beyond the point of trying to sound clever. In an instant, he’s undone his belt buckle and his erection springs forth, bouncing and already dripping precum. He roughly shoves your panties to the side and sinks his cock and teeth into you simultaneously, drawing out your cry of both pain and pleasure. You wrap your legs and arms around him, trying to pull him in deeper. You can feel his mouth filling up with your hot blood just as your cunt fills up with his dick.
You’re panting as you grow more lightheaded, clinging to his neck. Unthinkingly, your fingers stroke his ears, playing with those tiny silver hoops. He lurches and pulls away from your neck, looking absolutely feral with your blood dripping down his chin, which only sets you off more. You angle your hips toward him, trying to get him to start thrusting into you. He pushes your back down onto the desk and hooks his elbows beneath your knee high boots. Then he starts pounding into you properly, and you feel like you’re close to losing it. You grab onto the edge of the desk as he revs up his pace, his cock stretching you out as he keeps your legs close to your ears. You can feel the heat mounting in your core and you know it won’t be long before you come. But at this point you’re just trying to hold on for dear life.
“Fuck, gods, Astarion, I’m-” You finish before your sentence does. He doesn’t relent as the orgasm wracks your body, if anything, he fucks you harder. Just as you’ve barely come down off your climax, he pulls out and yanks you off the desk, spins you around and pushes your face down into the smooth mahogany, warmed from where you had just been. He enters you again, this time from behind, and already you’re working your way up to a second one. Your bare tits squish against the polished surface and he grabs your hair, pulling your head up and arching your back into him.
For the first time you notice the mirror on the opposite wall across from his desk. But rather than both of you, you only see yourself, disheveled and well-fucked, lips swollen from his abuse. Your hair is pulled up by an invisible force behind you. Another unexpected aspect of vampire fucking.
You desperately wish you could see his face because you can feel his thrusts getting more uneven and erratic. You try to turn to get a glimpse of him, but his grip on your hair remains tight. But even if you can’t see him, you can hear him, his grunts and the low string of incoherent swears pouring out of his mouth. The sound of him getting lost in you is enough, and your own moans start building and mixing with his, an utter symphony of epicurism.
His hips give a few more broken thrusts and you can feel his climax, setting off yours. The throbs of his cock match those wracking your cunt, and you hold onto the edge of the desk as the waves wash over you. Once they’ve come to an end he pulls out, and you can feel his semen dripping out of the sudden emptiness and running down your leg. You quietly say a thankful prayer for your IUD.
You’re both panting as he collapses onto your back, planting a half-hearted kiss on your spine. You weakly push yourself up off the desk and see the devastation of papers, smears and fluids. You turn yourself around and relish in his appearance. Your blood is splattered on his fine cream sweater, his usually perfectly coiffed curls damp and sticking to his forehead. You reach up and wipe the remainder of your blood off his chin. He smirks and kisses you, significantly more gently this time.
“That was good,” you murmur through steadying breaths, “but next time, keep the fucking glasses on.”
#astarion#astarion fanfic#astarion fic#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate fanfiction#astarion ancunin#astarion smut#baldurs gate smut#fanfiction#smut#professor astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x you#office hours
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mareddie onscreen break up but it's just him texting her hey marisol it over
This made me laugh so hard I’m gonna puke
#HEY MARISOL IT OVER#YOU DONT EVEN UNDERSTAND HOW FUNNY THIS IS TO ME#fave#asks#anonymous#office hours
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Light Games (Mexico City, June 2023), by Abelardo Ojeda.
#street photography#original photographers#artists on tumblr#photographers on tumblr#mexico city#fotografos en tumblr#fotografos mexicanos#mexican photographers#ciudad de méxico#cdmx#spiderman#red boots#office hours#contemporary photography#art photography#art gallery
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Office Hours, Part 32
Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague.
Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)
Word Count: 2k
Rating: M
A/N: Thank you all for your kind comments on this story, both here and on Tumblr. This story is quickly coming to an end, but I hope you will enjoy the last chapters! ����
With an exhausted sigh, I drop one of the last boxes into the living room and take a moment to catch my breath. The early afternoon sun floods into the house from the tall bay window, casting beams of light onto the overflowing bookshelves and the pale couch. Boxes are scattered all over the place, and the sound of loud voices coming from outside and the thudding of heavy boots against the old wooden floors disrupt the usual tranquillity of the house, but it is still home.
Home.
The last few days have not been the most restful. Since the end of the term and the college party a few days ago, Richard and I have spent every waking moment packing my belongings, making room in the house, and correcting exams, and we have not gotten nearly enough sleep, but the fatigue and stress do not compare to the happiness that fills me.
I make my way toward the front door, but before I know it, a pair of strong arms circle my waist from behind and pull me into a warm but sweaty chest.
“Oh, God—you’re all sweaty!” I exclaim and try to wriggle out of Richard’s embrace.
His rumbling laughter reverberates through me as he leans in to brush his lips against my earlobe. “That doesn’t usually bother you.”
Warmth floods my cheeks, but before I can respond, William peers down from the bannister overhead. “I’m right here.”
It is Richard’s turn to blush, and we giggle in embarrassment as William walks down the stairs and back outside. William, Claire, and Beatrice all kindly offered to help us with the move today, and I certainly do not want to leave them to do all the work, even if there are only a few boxes left in the truck. But as I turn around to face Richard, I cannot yet will myself to go back outside. His cheeks are red and his hair is an irresistible tousled mess of curls, and I cannot refrain from running my hand through it as he smiles at me.
“We’re going to live together,” he says, his gaze warm.
“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” I reply teasingly, earning a look of fond annoyance from him.
He chuckles, then squeezes my hands. “You’re not nervous at all? No second thoughts?”
“Of course not! Why, did you expect me to have second thoughts?”
“No, I just—it’s a big thing.”
Unable to stop myself, I grin and glance down at his groin. “Yes, it is a big thing.”
He laughs as another blush blooms on his cheeks. “You’re impossible,” he says, shaking his head, though the affection in his eyes is undeniable.
My mischievous grin widens as I revel in the playful embarrassment I have managed to cause. “But seriously,” I begin, traces of laughter in my voice, “I’m not nervous and I’m not having any second thoughts. I’m so thrilled that we’re going to live together.”
His smile softens, and he leans in to gently kiss me. “Me too.”
William’s voice reaches us from outside. “Come on, lovebirds! Stop snogging and grab some boxes!”
Chuckling, I give Richard’s hand a final squeeze before dragging him outside, though I wish I could spend the rest of the day kissing him. The air is thick and humid under the bright afternoon sun, but thankfully, after Beatrice and William make another trip into the house, only one box remains in the truck, and Richard effortlessly lifts it as if it were not filled with tons of heavy books.
“Well, that’s the last of it,” Claire says with a relieved sigh.
“Thank you so much for all your help!” I say as we follow Richard into the house.
“Anytime! It’s the least I could do to repay Richard for all the times he’s helped Will and I move in the past.” She looks up at Richard as he drops the box into the living room. “Remember when you helped Will and I move into our first flat?”
He chuckles in remembrance. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”
“It does!” she responds with a nostalgic sigh before turning her gaze back to me. “It was right after I graduated from uni. We moved into this horrible tiny flat in the Leicester city centre that was always cold and had no storage space, and I nearly broke up with Will because he never picked up after himself, and it was driving me crazy.”
“Typical Will,” Richard says with a deep, rumbling laugh, and Claire rolls her eyes in agreement.
“And the worst part is that he’s still like that! I hope for your sake, Lorelei, that this clown is tidier than his brother.”
I chuckle. “Well, Richard can be a bit messy, but he tends to contain his mess to his office, and as long as it remains that way, it’s fine with me.”
“Day one and you’re already the boss in the house, are you?” Richard retorts playfully as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “And I’m not messy—you’re just a neat freak.”
“I am not!”
“Yes, you are!” Beatrice chimes in as she walks down the stairs, causing them to laugh. “We only lived together a few months and I honestly think any longer might have ruined our friendship.”
“Bea!”
“It was all ‘don’t dry your hands with that dish towel’, ‘you haven’t vacuumed your room in two weeks’, and ‘take off your shoes on the rug, you’re trailing mud all over the hallway’.”
“Stop before Richard changes his mind about living with me,” I respond with an embarrassed chuckle.
But I have nothing to worry about as Richard pulls me into a hug and says, “Don’t worry. You’re my little neat freak, and nothing anyone says is going to make me change my mind.” He then presses a tender kiss atop my head, and I blush as Claire and Beatrice smile knowingly.
“Well, Lorelei, you are officially moved in!” William announces as he joins us in the entry. “But don’t worry—we still have the truck so there’s still time to change your mind and run. Because I’m telling you, my brother can be difficult to deal with.”
“Rumour has it you’re the one who’s difficult to live with,” I respond teasingly.
William tilts his head questioningly, then narrows his eyes at Claire. “What lies have you been saying about me now, Amy Dunne?”
Chuckling, she raises her brows in challenge. “Just that even our five year old son is often tidier than you are, which is not a lie.”
“Only because you’re always nagging him to clean up his messes,” William retorts.
“Well, at least one of you listens.”
“Behold, our future,” Richard whispers playfully in my ear, causing me to giggle.
As the scorching summer sun makes way for a refreshing evening breeze, we all work tirelessly to unpack as many boxes as possible. We leave the endless boxes of books for later and tackle the kitchen first, and soon enough, all the counters are covered in dishes waiting to be organized into cabinets, forcing us to eat dinner in the living room, plates piled high with pizza. I grow silent when the conversation inevitably turns to Richard’s imminent move to Boston, selfishly wishing we could pretend for tonight that he is never leaving. Richard is clearly proud and excited about this new opportunity, but when he rests a hand on my thigh and squeezes me tight, I know he, too, wishes the same.
Eventually, I make my way upstairs to continue unpacking in the bedroom, letting him enjoy his success and discuss his plans with the others. I am halfway through a third box of clothes when a knock on the door interrupts me, and I turn to find William standing in the doorway with a hesitant smile.
“I was just coming to get some boxes to put in the recycling bin,” he explains, pointing to the pile of empty boxes in the corner.
“Great, thanks!” I say. “But you can leave one or two here—Richard might need them to pack some of his things.”
William nods, then pauses. “You doing ok?”
I turn to him after folding a jumper into the drawer. “I’m doing great,” I answer with a slightly confused frown.
“I mean, it can’t be easy—with him leaving for a year.”
“Ah. That.”
William nods slowly.
“Well… I wish he didn’t have to go, obviously,” I reply with a humourless chuckle. “But he has to—I want him to! I’d have to be really stupid to try to stop him, and I’d have to be even more stupid to give up on what we have because of this.”
“My brother’s lucky to have you.”
I smile, unsure how to respond.
“I mean, to be able to count on you through all this…”
“Are you referring to his ex Rebecca?” He nods. “Well, it’s different… We’re different people and—and he’s not asking me to uproot my whole life for him. It’s just one year, right?” I shrug again, trying to convince myself that it is not as difficult as it is.
“Right.” A few moments of silence later, William chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come up here and get so serious. I just—I like you and I think you and my brother are great together. And I guess this is my weird and really awkward way of making sure you’re doing ok and reminding you that my brother’s a great guy and I think he’s worth the wait.”
“He definitely is. And thanks,” I reply with a shy smile.
He smiles in return, then clears his throat. “And hey, I know I’m not Richard. I mean, I’m funnier and more good-looking than him,” he begins with a playful smirk, causing me to chuckle. “But if you’re ever feeling down or whatever, and you want someone to talk to or hang out with while he’s away, I’m here. I can tell you all sorts of embarrassing stories about him.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I might take you up on that.”
At that moment, Richard steps into the bedroom, and the brothers exchange a look before William leaves us alone, winking at me as he walks through the door. Still smiling, I turn to Richard, and the love I feel for him, and the joy of moving in with him momentarily chase away the ache in my heart. For now, he is still here, within arms’ reach, and I can pretend that this day is only the beginning of our new life together and not bringing us closer to our separation.
With a soft smile, Richard closes the space between us, and I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent as he wraps his strong arms around me. We remain in this embrace for a little while as the sun slowly dips below the houses at the end of the street, but eventually, Richard breaks the silence. “He’s not really funnier than me, is he?”
My laughter echoes through the room as I look up to meet his eyes, which sparkle in the golden warmth of this summer evening. “No, of course not, love.”
A playful grin lights up his face. “Good.”
Then he slowly leans in, and, understanding his intention, I stand on my tiptoes to meet his lips halfway in a tender kiss. He holds me tight, the fingers of one hand gently tracing patterns on my back while the other cradles my face, pulling me even closer and urging me to part my lips. I shiver as his tongue caresses mine, still marvelling at how easily he can awaken desire within me. Eventually, we are forced to break the kiss, and he rests his forehead against mine, his tender eyes slightly darker than usual.
“I love you,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur.
“I love you, too,” I reply in the same tone, pressing a lingering kiss onto his bearded jaw.
“We’ve made some pretty good progress with the unpacking already, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Good. So how about I start hinting that we’re getting tired so they leave and we can be alone?”
I chuckle at his suggestive tone. “I like the way you think.”
Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @sazzlep @albionscastle @evenstaredits
Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list or tagged in future chapters💙
#richard armitage fanfic#richard armitage x oc#richard armitage x reader#richard armitage x you#professor au#office hours
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I was inspired to draw this scene of some ~under the desk shenanigans~ from chapter 2 of @charmandabear's AMAZING modern au professor Astarion x Tav fic, Office Hours! if you haven't read it yet, go check it out on tumblr or ao3, it's probably one of my favorite fics that I've ever read.
uncensored version of the first pic is under the cut 😏 I haven't made much nsfw art before so I hope you like it!~ might draw more if the mood strikes
I love a flustered Astarion~
#bg3 fanart#astarion smut#nsft#office hours#bg3 nsft#astarion x tav#gale is also there and blissfully - thankfully - unaware
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Another nsfw piece featuring professor from @charmandabear's Offie Hours!
#astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion fanart#baldurs gate astarion#astarion x tav#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion smut#office hours
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Spock spocking.
#spock#mr spock#star trek tos#star trek tos fanart#star trek fanart#hazeilus#vulcan star trek#vulcan#starfleet#office hours#spirk
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(ask-imaginary-dreamers) Begonia walks over to Layrian, “Man, that dude seems like a pain. Is he always like that with you or is he just in a mood? How long have you even been working for him?”
The Transformation Stone allows to transform Begonia into this universe form.
As Layrian exits the label's headquarters, he sees Begonia who has a question for him.
After I've became an assistant of him, I was forced to go to his office every time he tries to fire me...
Layrian still hears Arin's lecture and screams. Seems he starts to become nervous after hearing that.
Oh, sorry... I think that's enough for me to tell... I wanna rest before the extremely hard day tomorrow. Anyways, here something I've picked up, bye!
Layrian is not in a mood to tell more about Arin's situation. He also gives a flyer to Begonia which has a Casta Records logo and address.
[ @ask-imaginary-dreamers ]
#answered#layrianwhimsicott#begoniadeerling#office hours#pokemon#pokeask#chrono#/ he's back! the return of the king!#/ congrats begonia you literally made him nervous /lh#/ next update might or might not feature layrian because I'm like currently picking an asks that not so tough to answer as for me#/ also thinking of redesigning rimi's parents because the current refs are very old
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Hey Reid, really random question, but what do you discuss in office hours generally?
For context, I'm a new undergrad student (on a joint English, drama, and creative studies course, I know this isnt your department but it's not too relevant) and we've been sent forms to fill in about what we want to discuss with our personal tutor in our first meeting with them. I have no idea what you're supposed to talk about in these sessions and as the semester's only just started we're not yet doing assessments, coursework or big projects at all. Plus, as a joint honours student I don't know whether I can talk about my other subject well with her or not as she's only from one subject's department.
The only thing I was thinking I could talk about would be the fact that it's become clear already that my passion in the subjects is completely different to everyone else's on my course (there's only about a dozen of us in the classes for one of my departments) and I guess that leaves me a little directionless so maybe something about careers to do with that but I feel like it's such early doors to start discussing careers.
Anyway yeah, as someone who has already been there and who I believe is now doing it too (if wrong, sorry!) do you have any general recommendations of what students can talk about in office hours with their personal tutors or other teachers? Thank you!
Psst, I'm going to tell you a secret: the vast majority of students do not actually come to office hours. Even though they should! It literally cannot hurt! And coming to office hours is a great opportunity to build rapport with your instructor/TA and get academic help! But out of the approximately 300 student's I've had, I've met with maybe 10 of them.
I say this not to be cynical, but to drive home the point that you are winning by just showing up. You don't have to come with a list of perfectly prepared questions—you're a student, and you are, by definition, learning! Do the readings and assignments, and engage with your instructor.
Now, I'm not sure how your program works, and you say tutor rather than TA, so the etiquette might be a little different. A tutor is there to help you academically, while a TA is there to answer some questions, but by and large you are expected to be in charge of your own learning experience.
As a TA, I'm generally happy to meet with students by appointment, but I also really appreciate it when students are able to understand that I am 1) a human being with a finite amount of time and energy, and 2) my job is to support you but not hold your hand. Your section may not be the only one your TA is responsible for, and they also have their own studies to attend to.
Here are some things that are appropriate to ask from your TA:
To look over a paper draft and offer feedback (provided this is something they have offered to do as part of their job)
Request feedback on an assignment after your grade to know what you could do better next time
Schedule a meeting to discuss topics you are struggling with
And some things that are not appropriate to ask your TA:
Questions where the answers can be found on the syllabus (due dates, percentage of grades for certain assignments, the readings for a given week)
When will I get my grade? (See my above point about being only human. If assignments have been turned in, assume your TA is working on getting them back to you, and that they cannot do so immediately. Give it at least two weeks before checking in)
Asking for a particular grade on an assignment
As for your first meeting with your tutor/instructor/TA, I'll reiterate: just show up! Introduce yourself, say hi, and don't feel too much pressure to hit the ground running.
Here are some posts I've made that you might find relevant:
Tips to make your professors love you
Student conduct
Citation how-to
Thank your professors
Take a deep breath. I sense that you might be someone who puts a lot of pressure on themselves to be perfect. Nobody else is expecting that from you. You're learning, and it's okay to be unsure and make mistakes! Trust in yourself to do your best in the moment; that's all you can do.
-Reid
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H. LECTER
🫀— he/him . 43yo + fictive : @grahams-heart <3
TAGGING .
my palace is vast - original posts
office hours - asks
blood and breath - aesthetics
they know - source posting
a stab of hunger for you - will 🫀
tw: [_] - triggering content
INFORMATION .
Hello, ^^ I am a fictive of Hannibal Lecter from NBCs Hannibal. My pronouns are he/him, and I am 43 years old (bodily 18+). I’ve found my Will. :)
Don’t ever hesitate to message me or send an ask. I’m happy to interact and always looking for sourcemates. :3 It does take a minute for me to comfortably speak with a person, so please be patient with me!
#they know#blood and breath#office hours#my palace is vast#hannibal#hannibal lecter#hannibal nbc#osdd system#osdd#osdd 1b#actually traumagenic#looking for sourcemates#sourcemates interact#did osdd#actually osdd
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Office Hours - Chapter Six
Summary:
Astarion surprises you with a night at the theatre that doesn't go quite according to your plan.
Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 4.7k
Tags/Warnings: rough/angry sex, hair pulling, emotional manipulation, dubcon, bad BDSM practices, angst, daddy kink, reminiscent of Ascended!Astarion, discussions of domestic abuse (in Taming of the Shrew)
Hi. Hello. My sweets. My darlings. This is it. The chapter where you absolutely must mind the tags. Just know that I won't take you anywhere that we won't be able to come back from. Know that I, too, am an absolute baby when it comes to intense subject matter in fics. But I want you to take care of yourselves and your hearts. As always, shoot me a message if you'd like more specifics.
Photo credits: Zaria for Green Pussy Suit Astarion and Nephi Garcia for the incredible dress.
Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist
“In the library? Babes, are you insane?” Shadowheart's voice reaches a pitch you’re fairly sure only dogs can hear. You curl your knees into your chest and cover your face in your hands, feeling the exact appropriate amount of shame.
“I know, I know. All logic goes out the fucking window around him. All I can think is ‘mm, good dick makes brain go brr.’” You let out a frustrated sigh into your hands.
“Do you want to get fired?” She pulls your hand from your face so you can't hide from her pointed stare.
“Oh trust me, I ran about forty different scenarios of that happening through my head on the drive home.”
“Did you, now? And in how many of these did he also get fired?” Shadowheart presses, knowing how your anxiety can get out of hand.
“Like, two,” you groan and drop your head back onto the couch cushions. “I don't know what comes over me. I feel like I can't tell him no.”
“Wait, wait.” Shadowheart grips your knee, suddenly worried. “You can't tell him no as in it feels too good to stop? Or as in it doesn't feel safe to say no?”
“Nine hells, no, the first one!” you respond, horrified. She squints at you and you squirm under her gaze until you’re finally more truthful, both with her and yourself. “Well, I mean, mostly. Like it's not like that. But like also not not like that, you know?”
“I can assure you I do not,” she says in a flat voice, not interested in joking around. You sigh dramatically, trying to find the right words to describe how you feel.
“Like. Okay. Am I fully consenting to everything we do? Yes. 100%. Oh gods, yes.” Your cheeks tinge pink even thinking about it. “But like… am I going against my best judgment? Do I feel like I should say no? Does part of me kinda wish I would say no? Like… maybe?”
“Tav, that's not okay. You need to talk to him about this.” Shadowheart’s voice is soft with genuine worry. Which is ridiculous, because she’s focusing on the wrong thing.
“No, see, that's the thing. It's not actually a him issue, it's a me issue. Like there's something wrong with me, I see his most toxic traits and suddenly I'm like a horny teenager!” Your voice increases in pitch as you grow more hysterical. “How am I supposed to call him out on it when the only words that will come out of my mouth are ‘yes daddy, more please’?”
“Is there anything redeemable about him at all? Besides being good in bed?” She leans back, taking a sip of her wine and fixing you with an incredulous look.
“I mean… yeah. He’s witty, and bantering back and forth with him is fun. He’s incredibly smart, as loath as I am to admit it, and I like hearing his ideas on things, especially his interpretation of Shakespeare’s text.” You don't even notice the smile growing on your face, but Shadowheart does. “And he’s got this unexpectedly soft side. Like he seems cold and aloof on the outside, but he cares, deeply. About his students, about his cat, about-”
“About you?” she interjects, and your smile falters.
“I don't know, Shade,” you say quietly, almost ashamed to look her in the eye. “I think so. I hope so. But it's not like we've been seeing each other for that long, he’s under no obligation to feel anything.” You practically swallow the last sentence, a truth you're reticent to voice.
“And you?” she asks softly.
“Man, I don't fucking know. I just want to keep getting laid and not catch feelings, is that so much to ask?” you whine. She laughs, but you can tell that she's only humoring you.
“For you? Probably.”
***
It's been several days and your busy schedules have kept you and Astarion apart for most of it. Save the occasional tension-filled passing in the hall, you've barely interacted at all. You're almost beginning to believe that your whirlwind affair has come to an end when you find a mystery package at your apartment door.
It's made out to you with no discernable return address. You bring the box into your apartment while examining it, trying to ascertain its origin. It doesn't even really look like it was sent through the mail, it looks like it was dropped off.
You take out your phone and call down to the front desk. It rings a few times, then a somber voice answers.
“What dost thou require?” His voice is deep and crackled, like some ancient eternal being.
“Hi Withers, it's Tav in 3C. Do you know anything about this package that was left at my door?”
“I have inspected it, and determined it safe for you to open. It was brought by someone claiming to be a friend.”
“Can you tell me anything about this someone?”
“No.”
And the line goes dead. You laugh and shake your head. If Withers says it's safe, then it probably is. You’d trust that wrinkly old man with your life, honestly. You cut open the tape sealing the box shut and lift off the top.
Inside is something wrapped in tissue paper with a note stuck to it in Astarion's immaculate handwriting.
Tomorrow evening
The Rosewood
Seven o’clock
Wear nothing underneath
You let out a small involuntary moan when you read the last three words. You carefully unwrap the tissue paper to find a fabric that looks like it's made of starlight. You pull out the midnight black dress and go slightly breathless when you get a good look at it.
It’s a backless dress with a sweetheart neckline and intricate gold embellishments that almost make it look like armor. It has a lavish gold neck piece attached by several gold chains that drip over the skin. The skirt is made of a weightless black fabric that shimmers with gold as you move it in the light. It almost appears to be cut into two panels with dual hip-high slits.
With a dress cut like this, you wouldn't be able to wear undergarments even if you wanted to.
Your heart hammers in your chest as you think about what he might have in store for you. You're not even sure what's running at the Rosewood right now, but it could be complete trash and you wouldn't even care. You probably won't even be able to pay attention, too distracted by Astarion sitting next to you for two hours.
You feel a pulsing between your legs at the thought. You think of his hand sliding up your knee while you struggle to keep a straight face. Or him reaching an arm around you, gently sliding his fingers into your hair before giving it a sharp tug.
Another moan works its way out of your throat and you follow it up with an annoyed groan. You can really get swept up at the most inconvenient times. It’s not like you don’t have any work you need to do or anything. You roll your eyes as you stalk off to draw a bath.
***
Waiting in the lobby of the theater, you’re feeling surprisingly nervous. The dress, though beautiful, is not particularly comfortable. With all of its various chains and pieces, you needed Shadowheart’s help just to put it on. It helps that she’s also incredibly talented when it comes to hair and makeup, so in truth you feel positively glamorous.
When you see Astarion, however, everything goes silent. You’re certain that he’s posing for you the way he’s stopped to adjust his cuff. The cut of the suit he’s wearing is exceptionally flattering and you imagine running your hands all over the emerald velvet. His crisp white button down is almost sheer and you desperately want to pull him into you by that forest green silk tie.
But you can’t tear your eyes away from his face. This is the first time you've seen him wear makeup, and the simple smokey eyeliner look makes his red irises pop. He’s decided to forgo his glasses, presumably opting for contacts instead to show off the makeup. He’s also swapped out his standard silver hoops for little daggers with a red rhinestone glimmering at the hilt.
He looks up at you the moment you lay eyes on him, or more specifically, the moment your heart starts to beat out of your chest. He flashes you a devastating smile before striding up to you and pulling you into a deep kiss. You can’t even be bothered to care that the other patrons are probably staring as he slides his hand onto your bare lower back, his cool touch sending a shiver up your spine.
He pulls away from you just enough to breathlessly ask, “Are you ready to sit down?”
“Huh?” You’re distracted, too busy plotting a mental path to the bathrooms to fuck him. He lets out a winded chuckle.
“The play. House is open, would you care to find our seats?” His palm is still pressed against your back and you can barely form coherent thoughts. You still don’t even know what play you’re here to see. You just want—no, need—to be near him.
“Um, yeah,” you respond, still trying to get your bearings and remind yourself how to be a person. You let him lead you into the theater, and only once you're in your seats do you realize that neither of you grabbed a program. You pull out your phone to see if you can look it up, but service in the Rosewood is notoriously bad. Instead you just need to sit still next to Astarion, who looks like a dream and smells even better.
He glances at you as your heart quickens again and his lips curl into a smile. He slips his hand behind your neck and lightly runs his finger along the seam between the golden collar of the dress and your flesh, sending goosebumps down your arms. He leans toward you until his lips are almost brushing your ear.
“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” he whispers, his breath tickling your earlobe. You turn your face toward him on instinct, your chest heaving as you try to steady your breathing. Your lips hover inches apart, anticipating the kiss, when suddenly a throng of noisy actors come barreling down the aisles. You snap away from Astarion as the cacophony of their shrieks of laughter, calls across the audience to one another, and drunken banter fill the house.
One of them clambors onto the stage and shouts, “For God’s sake, a pot of small ale!” He’s dressed in rags and appears by far to be the drunkest of them all. Three servingmen swarm him with various shouts of, “Will’t please your honor?” He shoves them all away and proudly takes up space center stage.
“I am Christophero Sly! Call not me ‘Honor’ nor ‘Lordship,’” he bellows as the rest of the players make their way onto the stage.
Christopher Sly… you’re wracking your brain to remember which play he serves as a framing device for. Most productions cut this scene because it’s long and completely irrelevant. You just can’t for the life of you remember which play he appears in.
The scene continues with their drunken antics and slapstick comedy as the players address Sly as “my noble lord,” making him believe he’s a king that they’re about to perform for. Eventually they carry Sly out on a makeshift palanquin as the “play within the play” begins. Two handsome young men in preppy clothes enter, holding a book and wearing glasses that aren’t too dissimilar from Astarion’s round metal ones. The one without the glasses speaks first.
“Tranio, since for the great desire I had to see fair Padua…”
Tranio? Isn’t he one of the characters in Taming of the Shrew?
He knows you don’t like this play.
Well, if it’s all that’s playing at the Rosewood right now…
But if that’s the case why not just, like, see a movie?
You shift uncomfortably in your dress and cast your gaze towards Astarion. He smiles, taking your fingers and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles before turning back to the stage. He keeps your hand in his, absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.
You can feel your heart pounding in your ears and you find yourself wondering what’s running through his head. Just when you think you have him figured out, he does something to surprise you. And honestly, not always in a good way.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. You know the creative team at the Rosewood wouldn’t pick this show if they weren’t going to try to do something with it.
But even still… is this text even redeemable?
You sit through the entirety of the show cringing as the audience around you laughs at flagrant displays of domestic abuse. The actors, several of whom you’ve worked with before, are trying their hardest to make the lines playful, but some things just can’t be recovered. Between the forced starvation, physical intimidation, and gaslighting, you wonder why companies even bother performing this play anymore. No matter how witty the writing is, it’s just too out of date to be a good season choice.
When the time comes for Kate’s final monologue, you watch in pain as the actress tries to wink-wink-nudge-nudge her way through lines like “place your hands below your husband’s foot.” She’s young, and you wonder if this is one of her first professional gigs. You get a little sad knowing that she’s probably just desperate to do anything, even if it’s trash.
Maybe you’re being a little harsh. All of the individual elements of the show—the acting, set, costumes, direction, lighting—were quite good. You just can’t get over how irredeemable this text is. Worth teaching, yes, and maybe even taking Act II out of context just for the fun banter and clever wordplay. But professional theatre companies should really just retire this one.
In the Lyft back to your apartment, you decide to get Astarion’s take on the matter.
“Do you think it’s possible to redeem a text like Taming in a modern age?”
He pauses for a moment, continuing to look away from you and out the window.
“I do, yes,” he finally answers. “I think it takes a skilled hand, but it can be successful when done well.”
You sit on his response, chewing it over. You decide to take a different route.
“I guess a better question is do you think it’s worth trying to? Like, what are we getting out of it anymore?”
“Is entertainment not enough?” he says with a laugh. You wrinkle your nose at him.
“Sure, if you’re a basic ass bitch. But I want my art to mean something. And I can’t think of what this play can possibly mean if it’s not ‘shrill women are annoying and should learn their place.’” You cross and uncross your legs, trying to keep yourself decent.
“Last I checked, you enjoy being put in your place,” he says in a low hum and your pussy betrays you with a clench.
“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re grateful that the dark car hides your reddening cheeks. “It’s different.”
“Is it, though? Ultimately it is a text about two dysfunctional people finding comfort in one another.” His sincerity catches you off guard, and almost makes you angry that he’s been taken in by the propaganda.
“That’s only a valid interpretation if you ignore half of what happens in the play. They’re not equally dysfunctional, Kate literally gets beaten into submission and pretends to be happy about it. Petruchio is exactly the same from the start to the finish, he has no fucking character arc.” Your hands start to shake as you try to keep your cool. You’ve had this conversation far too many times with men who think they can interpret out the sexism by simply glossing over Kate’s abuse.
The Lyft stops in front of your building and you thank the driver as you get out. Astarion follows you, and you’re not even sure if you want him to accompany you upstairs. But you remain silent as you walk past Withers and into the elevator.
“You’re overreacting,” Astarion says once the elevator doors close. “People are drawn to this play for a reason. The text is excellent, and no one truly thinks of Petruchio as an abuser.”
“Are you joking?” Your voice gets shrill and the similarity to Kate isn’t lost on you. “The whole thing normalizes his abuse. The fact that people don’t think of him as an abuser is the problem.”
“It’s a slapstick comedy,” he snaps, his voice growing stern. “Are you going to tell me that we need to cancel the Three Stooges because it promotes violence?”
“Don’t be fucking condescending,” you spit. “It’s not the same and you know it.”
“How is it not the same? Suddenly because it’s a woman in the role it no longer counts? Are you implying that women should be barred from certain types of performance because of their gender?” He walks past you into your apartment and you throw your keys and bag on the counter, not even bothering to see where they land.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, now you’re just twisting my words,” you grumble, more frustrated than ever by your inability to match his eloquence.
“So use your own words,” he sneers, whirling around to face you. “How is it not the same?”
“It’s because- well, I- It’s different, just- argh!” Your head is clouded by your attraction to him, which has annoyingly only grown over the past few minutes of shouting. You’re suddenly reminded of the smug arrogant bastard that you first met. He lets out a jeering laugh.
“See? You can’t even defend your own point.”
His sardonic cruelty sets something off in you and you angrily grab the lapel of his green suit. Your intentions are a complete mystery even to you, because as soon as you’re within inches of one another, instincts take over. You crush his lips into yours and pull him backwards until you thump against the door behind you. He paws hungrily at the dress, sliding his hand under the slit and around to grab your bare ass. You gasp into his touch, feeling equally frustrated and aroused that he even controlled what you wore tonight.
Your fingers make their way into his hair and you pull hard, breaking the kiss and leaving his mouth open, panting. His eyes are sparkling with a fire that you haven’t seen yet and a low growl manifests in your throat. He smirks and buries his teeth into your shoulder, something he usually asks bespoke permission for. You cry out in response, twisting your hands tighter into his silvery locks.
He unlatches from your shoulder and pushes his knee past the front of your skirt and up onto your bare cunt. You grind wantonly against the velvet as he kisses you with bloody lips. He grabs hold of the delicate chains of the dress and yanks, detaching them from the collar and making the entire bodice crumple and pool around your waist. Your nipples immediately harden at the sudden exposure to cold air and he pinches one sharply between his fingers. Your hips roll into his leg as you groan, fully ruining his pants. He continues to bite around your neck and shoulders, placing little puncture wounds in his path, marking you as his.
You grab onto his tie and push him away so you can shimmy out of the rest of the dress. You’re now down to just the gold collar of the dress and your heels, a look you wish you could hate but don’t. You pull him across your living area and toward your bedroom, shoving him down onto the edge of the bed.
“Thou hast hit it, come, sit on me,” he says, quoting Petruchio with a sinister grin. Kate’s retort falls out of your mouth reflexively.
“Asses are made to bear, and so are you,” you hiss as you straddle his hips, wrapping his tie around your hand until you’ve gripped it up to the knot. Your other hand violently unbuckles his belt, yanking it through the loops with a snap.
“Women are made to bear, and so are you,” he says with a caustic laugh, digging his nails into your ass cheeks. You tug sharply on his tie, bringing his lips close to yours.
“No such jade as you, if me you mean,” you snarl and silence him with an angry kiss. You don’t want to encourage his idiotic behavior, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said this wasn’t a fantasy you’ve had before. You fumble with the buttons of his suit jacket, trying to get him undressed as quickly as possible. You’re not sure if you feel more vulnerable or more powerful being undressed while he’s still fully clothed, but either way you want him naked, now. You get about three buttons into his shirt before you grow impatient, ripping it the rest of the way open and sending buttons flying.
Good. Let him need to repair his clothes for once.
You push him flat onto his back and descend onto his chest, alternating kisses, licks, and bites. Your dull human teeth don’t have nearly the same effect as his fangs, but it just means you get to bite twice as hard in order to leave a mark. He writhes beneath your touch, and you feel a twisted satisfaction at the quiet little grunts and gasps you’re finally pulling from him. He’s rarely this vocal during sex, and it’s only serving to spur you on more.
His groans build until you capture his nipple in your teeth and bite down, causing him to shout and buck his hips up into you. In a flash he flips you around onto your back and he bears down on you, eyes dangerous.
“Little love, do you think you’re in control?” he asks in a low growl, his hand gripped around your jaw. You sneer and slide your leg against the strained bulge in his pants. He hisses and your smile widens.
“Right now? Yes,” you coo, continuing to press your calf against his velvet-covered cock. You grab the tie still hanging around his neck and pull him close.
“If you want it back, fucking take it.”
If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them?
He kisses you roughly, catching your bottom lip in his teeth biting hard enough to puncture the skin. He pulls back slightly, a drop of your blood running down his chin and a snide grin. He makes like he’s about to kiss you again but shoves your face away before your lips make contact.
This is the worst you’ve ever seen him—the most arrogant, the most condescending, borderline cruel even. And you have never been more turned on.
If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?
“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, licking the blood from your lips. “Go ahead, choke me, daddy.”
The feminist in you is horrified, but the little gremlin controlling your libido is having the time of its life. It squeals with delight when his hand closes around your throat, just barely constricting your breathing.
“You insolent little brat,” he breathes into your ear, pulling up on your jaw. “I will absolutely ruin you.”
And there will be no tenderness, no tenderness.
“Do it, coward,” you spit, and he lets go just long enough to finish undressing from the waist down. He grabs your still heeled ankle and presses your leg up by your shoulder, stretching you wide enough to take him without any prep. You gasp as he fills you, the stinging pain outweighed by the gratification of finally feeling him inside you.
The only thing that I ask, love me mercilessly.
He sets a punishing rhythm, one knee on the bed and the other foot still firmly planted on the floor. He bottoms out with each long thrust and you grab hold of his hair to brace yourself. He winces with the pain but doesn’t slow down, and your moans grow high and loud as he continues to furiously pound into you.
“Gods, fuck, Astarion,” you keen, your desire coiling in your belly and threatening to explode. “Keep going, daddy, fuck me please.” He grunts with the effort and your dirty talk seems to be having an effect as his pace falters. You jerk your hips up into him, chasing your orgasm, until finally it barrels through you like a runaway train. You pull on his hair as you come and that sets off his, his pulsing cock pressing against the clenching walls of your cunt.
He stays deep inside you as the aftershocks reverberate through both of you, until the only sound remaining is your heavy panting. He drops his forehead to touch yours, a pleasantly tender moment after some of the roughest sex you can recall having. He starts to giggle and you follow suit, suddenly giddy. He pulls out of you with a squelch and walks to the bathroom to get a towel to clean up the mess you’ve left behind. He wipes you down gently, a surprising bit of aftercare you’re not accustomed to with him. He plants a tender kiss on your lips and you feel dizzy with affection for him.
You settle up against the headboard of your bed, his arm around you and both of you looking at your phones in a companionable silence. After a moment, he lets out a small chuckle.
“What?” you ask, turning your head towards him quizzically.
“I’m just shocked that worked, is all,” he laughs, shaking his head. Your confusion grows and you furrow your brow.
“What worked?” you laugh with him, but something doesn’t feel right.
“The whole night, taking you to see Taming, getting into just enough of a fight to result in,” he vaguely waves his hand, gesturing to the edge of the bed, “all of that.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?” You pull away from him and your stomach drops. Surely he can’t be suggesting what you think he’s suggesting.
“You get riled up so easily, I thought this might be fun.” He still doesn’t seem to have picked up on your heart pounding in your ears, which is frankly unusual for him.
“Are you saying… Wait, are you saying that you planned that fight? So, what, we’d have angry sex?”
“Of course, you don’t think I actually believe anything that I said, do you? Taming of the Shrew might be well-written, but it’s a rubbish play to produce.” He finally turns to you and sees that you’ve gone white as a sheet. “Oh, darling, don’t take it like that, you’re positively adorable when you’re angry, I couldn’t resist.” He tries putting his hand to your cheek but you flinch away like he’s burned you.
“Get out,” you say in a low voice, unable to even look at him.
“What?” He’s still laughing. He doesn’t get it. “My sweet, didn’t you-”
“GET. OUT.” Your voice has a venom in it that even shocks you. He stares at you in horror until you shoot him an icy glare. “Now.”
Without a word he stands and quickly puts his clothes back on. You stay in your bed, naked and curled under a sheet, until you hear the front door of your apartment slam. With shaking hands, you call Shadowheart.
“Moonmaiden’s delight, did you enjoy yourself? It certainly sounded like you did.” The sound of Shadowheart’s bubbly laugh usually makes you smile, but right now it seeps into your skin like poison.
“Shade, please come over,” you whimper, and the second the words leave your mouth, the tears begin to fall. You don’t hear her hang up, but you do hear a muffled, “I’m going to fucking kill him!” through the wall. You pull your knees further into your chest and sob.
#astarion#astarion fanfic#astarion fic#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate fanfiction#astarion ancunin#astarion smut#baldurs gate smut#fanfiction#smut#professor astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x you#bg3 au#college au#bg3 modern au#astarion x tav#astarion romance#office hours#baldurs gate au#astarion angst
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118 group shot where everyone else is bald but hen is wearing a Hannah Montana wig
somebody find me a good group shot I will try to make this happen
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….why did i set this story in the 1700s.
#ivy.txt#office hours#i think i may have to take the cop-out route and write it as if it’s being translated for a modern audience#because. i do not think i can confidently do the ‘thee’s and ‘thou’s and ‘runneth’ shit
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3pm and on. Clueless error handling, be like: Exchanging smaller subsystems, step by step, until behaviour changes to the better. (So far, it won't.) With things reasonably complex, one ends up in unchartered territory just way too soon. Here be digital dragons. And no model as a guiding light.
#outerworld #later that day #office hours #technology and its amazing consequences
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Office Hours, Part 31
Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague.
Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)
Word Count: 4.1k
Rating: E
A/N: Hi everyone! It feels like I blinked and suddenly I haven't updated this story in over 7 months, ooops 🙈 I moved abroad and went back to school in September to start a postgraduate degree, so I've had very little time to write over the past few months. I hope you can all forgive me and are still interested in Lorelei and Richard's story! If you are, I've tried to make this chapter extra special... 😈
Before I know it, the spring break is over, and I am drowning in emails, deadlines, and assignments to correct. Thankfully, however, the telltale signs of summer bloom across Oxford as the term unfolds. The air, once crisp, now carries a gentle warmth, accompanied by the hum of bees and the fragrance of blooming flowers along the banks of the River Cherwell, which beckons scholars and locals alike to punting excursions. Days lengthen, inviting late-night strolls through narrow cobblestone streets while the evening sky blends into hues of soft pastels. The fast-approaching exams threaten the leisurely atmosphere of the city, but when I walk through the sunlit streets with Richard’s hand holding onto mine, I feel as though time stands still; there are no exams, no piles of unmarked essays on my desk, and Richard is here, and he is not leaving. Not now. Not ever.
I try to be happy and excited for him—I am—but with each passing day, it becomes harder and harder to imagine being thousands of miles away from each other. But we have many things to look forward to; in a few days, we will officially be on summer holiday, and I will move in with Richard. That is what I need to focus on. His imminent departure looms over us, but it does not change the fact that we love each other and are determined to make this work. A year ago, I was offered a lecturer post at Exeter College. It was more than I had ever dreamed of, and I thought life could not get any better. Little did I know I would meet Richard and fall in love with him. The past few months have been a whirlwind, and it still surprises me how fast things have progressed between Richard and me—how quickly he has come to mean the world to me. The thought of losing him terrifies me, but we have been through so much already, so I have to believe that we can get through this next year.
“Lorelei?” A knock and a familiar rumbling voice pull me back to the present moment.
Richard stands in the doorway to my office, one hand resting against the aged wooden frame as he smiles at me. The unbuttoned collar of his white shirt draws my attention to his throat and the patch of hair peeking through. Just like the first time we met.
“Hey,” I say with a smile.
“Lost track of time?”
“What?”
“It’s half past four.”
“Oh,” I breathe out as I glance at the time on my phone. “Sorry—I completely lost track of time, yeah. Hope you haven’t been waiting for me too long.”
Richard shakes his head as I throw my laptop and notebooks into my bag, then rush to the door, but he blocks the way with his arm. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, smiling at the concern in his voice. “Just have a lot of things on my mind.”
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and the tender look in his eyes tells me he is thinking of kissing me, but the hallways are busy with students and professors, all rejoicing at the end of the term.
“Good or bad things?” he asks, his hand lingering on my jaw for a moment longer than it should in this environment.
“A little bit of both,” I reply, but when he merely continues to watch me, I sigh. “There’s still so much to do before the move. I haven’t packed any of my clothes or anything from the kitchen—”
“Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you pack. Don’t worry about that.” I nod and offer him a grateful smile. Then he frowns. “That’s not what’s bothering you.”
Sometimes, I wish he did not know me so well. “It’s just the move combined with research deadlines and all the exams I’ll have to correct in a few days,” I say, not wanting to bring up the true cause of my discomfort. I do not want him to feel guilty—he should be excited about this research opportunity, and he deserves nothing less than my unwavering support. “Have you gotten any news on that flat you were interested in?” I ask a few moments later as I lock the door to my office before walking towards the main staircase, trying to appear unphased.
“Not yet, but it’s still early in Boston so maybe I’ll get some news later.”
“Right,” I say with a smile, but it hits me all over again that we will not only be separated by an ocean but by time as well, and the thought of needing to wait hours for a text or call from him when he wakes up each day claws are my heart.
“So I told Michael about Harvard’s offer.”
“How did he take it?” I ask, knowing this was difficult for him as they have been friends and colleagues for many years.
“He took it well. I mean—it’s not like he could do anything if he didn’t like the idea of me leaving for a year; I’m allowed to take time off from teaching for research. That being said, he told me he was happy for me and that it would be great for the department and the college to have one of their professors working with a famous scholar like Stanley Griffin.”
“Just as great as it is for Harvard to have one of their professors working with you, I imagine,” I say, looking up at him.
Richard chuckles skeptically. “Lorelei, he’s Stanley Griffin.” He speaks the scholar's name almost as if he were talking about Shakespeare himself. “His anthologies are used in most English departments.”
“Well, only one of you is a professor at what is arguably the most prestigious university in the world.”
“I guess,” he replies with a sheepish smile that warms my heart.
The sun burns bright in the sky above the dreaming spires, casting long shadows on the cobblestone beneath our feet as we walk through the main quadrangle toward Broad Street. All around us, students rejoice in their newfound freedom, lounging at cafes, iced coffees in hand, discussing summer plans while cyclists whizz by, their wheels clicking against the cobbled paths.
“I can’t believe it’s so warm and sunny today and we have to spend the whole evening indoors for the staff party,” I groan as I step into Richard’s car, throwing my bag on the backseat.
“We don’t have to go,” he says, closing his door and buckling his seatbelt.
“Of course we have to go.”
“Lorelei, these things tend to be really dull. They call it a party but it’s just a room full of tired academics who’d rather be at home or locked in their offices, and they serve ridiculous canapés that leave you starving at the end of the evening. Although, admittedly, there’s always an open bar.”
“Alright, then let’s stop and get burgers on the way and stay close to the bar for the duration of the not-so-party party.” Richard chuckles as he steers out of the parking spot. “Come on, our presence is expected. And it might be the last time you get to see some of our colleagues before you leave.”
He does not say anything for a while, then he reaches out to squeeze my thigh, and I know he, too, is thinking of the long months of loneliness ahead.
In an attempt to change his mind, I intertwine our fingers and smirk as I say, in a light, sing-songy voice, “I bought a new dress for the occasion that I think you’ll really like. It’s navy, and sleeveless—I just hope it’s not too short…”
Richard shakes his head but fails to hide his smile. “I see what you’re trying to do, sweetheart.” As we stop at a red light, Richard notices my expression and sighs. “Alright, let’s go to the stupid party—but we’re not staying too late.”
***
It took longer than expected to get ready at my flat. Despite agreeing to attend the event, Richard prevented me from getting dressed with languid kisses and lingering caresses, but eventually, we managed to tear ourselves from each other and leave.
The city is submerged in the sun’s golden farewell to the day when Richard and I arrive at an imposing, Jacobean-style mansion near The Queen’s College, and as we walk through the tall wooden doors and into the main hall, I cannot help but gasp and look up at the ceiling high above us, causing Richard to chuckle.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, squeezing my hand as he leads me toward the grand staircase.
I nod. “I think I’d prefer to just walk around the building instead of going to the party,” I begin playfully, but Richard shakes his head.
“Oh, no, no, no,” he says, letting go of my hand to hold my back and push me forward. “You practically dragged me to this thing so you better not leave me for even a second.”
I bite back a smile. “What if I need to go to the loo?”
Richard chuckles. “Okay, you’re not leaving me except to go to the loo.”
The hubbub of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air as we step into the grand room lit by the setting sun and the soft glow of chandeliers hanging from the frescoed ceiling. I spot familiar faces in the crowd while we make our way to the bar, but most people I do not know, so I am grateful for Richard’s reassuring presence, and I already dread having to attend events like these without him next year.
“So here we are,” Richard says dispassionately after we order drinks. “Now do you believe me for saying these things are boring?”
I shake my head in amusement, then bite my lips, suddenly feeling shy.
“What is it, sweetheart? You’re blushing,” he points out with a curious smile.
Hesitantly, I lean in and speak in a soft voice only he can hear. “Would it be less boring if I told you I’m not wearing knickers?”
Richard laughs, but then he catches my eyes and gulps heavily. “Are you—you’re really not—?”
I shake my head, slowly gaining confidence as his eyes darken. He laughs again, the sound deeper and hoarser, telling me exactly how he feels about my styling choice.
“This is a work event!” he playfully chastises me, and I giggle as he brings a hand to my back.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure this party wasn’t too dull for your tastes.”
He smirks. “I now suspect I’ll be feeling unwell or tired rather soon and you’ll have to bring me home earlier than planned.”
“Oh, yes? And how will we spend the rest of the evening once we’re back home?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Well, for starters, you’ll take off that lovely dress and bend over—”
Heat rises up my neck, and I nearly choke on my drink when, just at that moment, someone calls out to us, forcing us to pull apart suddenly.
“Richard, Lorelei!” Professor Bennett greets us with a kind smile. “I was beginning to wonder if maybe you wouldn’t be joining us.”
Richard glances at me, a cheeky grin illuminating his slightly red face, before turning back to Professor Bennett. “Last-minute outfit crisis,” he replies teasingly, squeezing my waist.
I shake my head, trying to ignore the tingling in my belly caused by his last words to me.
“And this is what you landed on?” Professor Bennett says playfully as he looks Richard up and down, causing me to laugh.
“Well, not everyone has your fashion sense, Michael,” Richard responds with a chuckle.
“Maybe we should start being evaluated on that; that way, I might stand a chance against you and win the teaching award for once.”
Smiling, I look up at Richard and then back at Professor Bennett. “Richard was voted favourite Professor again?”
“He sure was!” he says, raising his glass to Richard.
“How amazing!” I exclaim, momentarily resting my hand on Richard’s chest. “Congrats, love!”
Richard’s grateful smile is made all the more endearing by the faint blush blooming on his cheeks.
“But don’t tell anyone—I haven’t sent out the official announcement yet.”
Professor Bennett then turns to greet a passing colleague, so I lean into Richard. “I know one person who for sure voted for you,” I whisper with a teasing smile, thinking of Jane Taylor and the stars in her eyes when she speaks to him.
“Shut up,” he responds, though he fails to hide his smirk as he pinches my waist, causing me to giggle.
“Hey, there you are!” Natasha’s familiar voice interrupts us, and I turn to see her squeezing her way around a couple of Ph.D. students. We all greet her, but then she notices Richard and seems to hesitate for a second before she says, “Apparently, congratulations are in order!” Richard smiles shyly. “Working with Stanley Griffin—that’s exciting!”
“Yeah, it is,” Richard replies with a nod, though he momentarily tightens his hold on me.
“I must say, thank God for you, Lorelei,” Professor Bennett begins, causing me to frown in curiosity, “under different circumstances, I’d be worried about losing Richard to Harvard forever, but I know as long as you’re in Oxford, he’ll be coming back,” he says with a fond smile.
I chuckle, then try to come up with a playful response, but I cannot ignore the heaviness in my heart. How can I miss him already when he is still here, holding me tight?
Thankfully, Richard steps in. “Don’t worry, Michael, you won’t even get a chance to miss me. I’ll be coming back periodically to check in on my postgrad students—that sort of thing…”
“Yes, sure. For the students, of course,” Professor Bennett says teasingly, and from the corner of my eyes, I notice Richard staring at me longingly, and heat rises to my cheeks.
As they continue to joke around, Natasha catches my eye and gestures for me to follow her. I reassure Richard I will be right back, then step aside, concerned by the frown on her face.
Once we are far enough from the others, she reached out to caress my arm and asks, “How are you feeling?”
I gulp, suddenly understanding her previous hesitation. “I’m fine.”
She nods slowly, biting on her lower lip. “So he’s leaving for a year…”
I nod, struggling to gather the strength to respond in words.
“That must be really tough for you.”
“Yeah, it is, but… we’ll make it work.”
“So you guys aren’t—aren’t breaking up or anything, are you?”
“Oh, no!”
She lets out a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God! When I heard the news earlier today all I could think of was…” She trails off and laughs nervously. “You guys can make it work. I know you can.”
I smile. “Yeah, I hope so.” Then my smile widens. “Actually, I’m moving in with him.”
“Really?” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up in genuine happiness.
“Yes! We want to make the most of the time we have together before he leaves, and this makes it a little easier to reassure ourselves that we’ll get through this together.”
Natasha nods and squeezes my arm. “I’m so happy for you two!”
“Thanks,” I reply, grateful for her friendship. Then I notice Richard eyeing me from the bar, but before I can say anything, Natasha smiles in understanding.
“Alright, go back to your man,” she teases. “I just really wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll go see if I can find Sarah somewhere.”
I give Natasha a quick hug before making my way back toward Richard, who is now conversing with two men I do not know. As soon as he notices me, he excuses himself from the conversation and, wrapping one arm around my waist, pulls me slightly to the side of the bar, away from prying ears.
“Everything okay?” he asks in concern.
“Yeah, Natasha just wanted to check in and make sure I was alright given… you know…”
Richard nods, then looks down at me with an exaggerated pout. “You left me alone when you said you wouldn’t.”
“So needy,” I tease as I rest a hand against his solid chest, my fingers absently playing with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “You were talking with Michael so I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay, new rule: when we’re at an event and you tell me you’re not wearing any knickers, you have to stay within arm’s reach.”
I burst out laughing, though heat rises to my cheeks at his rumbled words. “Alright, I can abide by that rule.”
“You better.” He smirks before leaning in to kiss me. His lips are soft and warm against mine, sweetened by the wine he has sipped. I can feel passion simmering deep within him, and when I reluctantly pull away sometime later, all too aware of our surroundings, Richard groans quietly. He then takes one quick glance around the room before leaning in conspiringly. “I think we might be able to sneak out of here for a little bit,” he says in a quiet voice, then gulps, and I am momentarily distracted by the movement of his Adam’s apple. “You know, to explore the building like you wanted.”
“Right. To explore the building,” I repeat, smiling innocently. He finishes his drink in one big gulp, then winks as he takes my hand to lead me out of the crowded room.
The sound of our shoes against the polished stone floor echoes through the long hallway as we search for a more private place to continue the evening, failing to contain our laughter as we try door after door, in vain. We have nearly reached the other end of the building when we finally stumble upon an unlocked door. We cast furtive glances around us to make sure we are alone before slipping inside what turns out to be a small reading room with bookshelf-lined walls and a few rows of desks, illuminated only by the lamposts in the street below. The sweet, earthy scent of aged paper and leather-bound tomes fills the air, but then Richard wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, laughter lingering in his eyes, and the familiar smell of his cologne surrounds me. I can still hear echoes of the party in the distance, but it all disappears when, with a soft smile, Richard leans in to rest his forehead against mine. One of his hands is now tangled in my hair, holding the back of my head and pulling me closer as we share our breath, lingering in this moment, allowing ourselves to pretend that the rest of the world does not exist.
When he finally claims my lips in a hungry kiss, I let my eyes flutter close and, standing on my tiptoes, circle my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to me as I drown in his passionate embrace, content to pretend that my only worry is knowing we will eventually need to pull apart for air. We move against each other out of instinct, ignoring the time and place, fuelled by an evening of flirting and lingering touches and our impending separation. He lets go of my lips to trace a path along my jaw, down my neck toward that sensitive spot below my ear, and the warmth of his tongue combined with the rasp of his beard sends heat spiralling down my spine. My hands are now buried in his hair, tugging on the soft curls, and he groans into my neck before reconnecting our lips.
Without breaking the kiss, he effortlessly lifts me into his strong arms and sets me on one of the desks, spreading my legs apart with his body. Already, I ache for him; heat swirls through me, buzzing incessantly between my legs, and when he squeezes my left thigh with one of his large hands, I cannot help but buck towards him and whimper, the desperate sound of desire echoing through the room.
“Be quiet, sweetheart,” Richard murmurs against my lips, and a rush of arousal floods my core.
As his hand slides higher up my thigh and slips under my dress, I cannot help but chuckle. “Are we really doing this?”
Richard grins. “Don’t act innocent; you knew we’d end up in this situation the moment you decided not to wear knickers.” I giggle into the kiss at the deep, unbridled lust coating his words. “I can’t resist you.”
He pulls away just enough to watch my face as he teasingly slides two fingers over my folds, coating me in my arousal. Biting my lips, I wriggle on the desk to grant him better access, and when his fingertips brush against my clit, the whole room seems to pulse with the intensity of the pleasure tingling through me. Richard knows my body by heart now—he knows exactly where and how to touch me to have me panting in his arms in no time. He sets up a languid pace, alternating between drawing circles on my clit and slipping a long finger inside me, only allowing himself to increase the pace when I latch onto his shoulders, my hands pulling on his tweed blazer. My breath hitches in my throat when he slips two fingers inside me, crooking them and almost instantly finding the spot that has me arching my back and whimpering his name. My legs are now wrapped around him, my thighs pressing into him as he catches my mouth, taking the breath from my lungs and the moans from my lips.
My release washes over me in a dizzying wave, pulsing through every fibre of my being, leaving me hot and panting as I cling to Richard while he continues to pleasure me, not stopping until I collapse in his arms. A car horn echoes in the distance, reminding me of our surroundings. Even so, as I look up to meet Richard’s lust-darkened eyes, desire flares in me again, and the warm weight of his hardness pressing into my inner thigh reassures me that this is far from over. Licking my lips, I raise a hand to teasingly caress him through his trousers, revelling in the whimper he fails to hold back. One of his hands returns to my hair, gently tugging as I slowly reach for his belt buckle—
The door creaks open.
In an instant, Richard and I pull apart, and I hasten to tug my dress back in place and press my thighs together just as a security guard steps inside. His eyes flicker between Richard and me, his expression a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.
“Er, sorry, guys—this room is supposed to be closed. You can’t be in here.”
Too mortified to speak, I turn to Richard, and he smiles sheepishly at the security guard. “Apologies, we didn’t realize. I was just showing her around.”
The security guard nods, then steps back to let us pass. My face burns as we mumble apologies, but he walks away as quickly as he first appeared, leaving us to stand awkwardly outside the reading room.
“I guess we should stick to our offices,” Richard muses playfully.
My heart still hammering in my chest, I look up at Richard, biting my lip, but then my eyes drift down to the noticeable bulge in his trousers, and I burst out laughing.
“That man certainly won’t be losing any sleep trying to decipher what you meant by ‘showing me around’,” I giggle.
Richard looks down and tries, in vain, to adjust his trousers. “Do you think he noticed?”
“Well, I hope for his sake he doesn’t make a habit of staring at strangers’ crotches. But if he does, then yeah, he definitely noticed.”
“It’s all your fault,” he replies with a grin. Laughing, I wrap my arms around him and look up to meet his tender gaze, but he quickly takes my arms and reasserts a more appropriate distance between us. “You’re not helping.”
“Sorry,” I chuckle as I straighten his blazer, not wanting to let go of him.
“Oh, yes—you look very sorry.”
“How about I make it up to you instead?”
Richard grins. “Does that mean we get to go home?”
“Yeah, I think sneaking away sounds like a good plan.”
The ride back to my flat is filled with stolen glances and lingering touches. As soon as we arrive and lock the door behind us, he pulls me in for a passionate kiss, and I melt in his arms. His touch is tender and possessive, and with each kiss, each caress, we reassert our love for each other, surrounded by the boxes that signal the beginning of our new life together.
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