Okay, do i have something realllly wrong with me for writing a basically illegal age-gap fic about Gillian Anderson???? yes def but nothing is gonna stop me... pls give suggestions, its my first time actually writing a full fledged fanfiction and its very very VERY long gulp.
4,384 words and 24,351 characters!
Evenings for you went as far as watching movies, eating too much of your brother's cereal, and smoking out of the small window above your bed. The window was your favorite for a multitude of reasons. First, it was the only one in your room that didn’t face your brother's or parents' windows. Secondly, if you ever got cool enough, you could easily sneak out of it and go to one of those massive parties that seemed to happen every weekend. For once, your evening was different. This evening, the focus wasn’t smoking or stress eating. It was sneaking your teacher through said massive window. To be honest, you thought it was as absurd as it sounds. You’re sneaking in a teacher? Way to play into the nerd stereotype, y/n. You mentally facepalmed.
Sitting on your large bed, which was covered in tulle from your frilly canopy and pink silk sheets, your hair up in curlers, you wrestled with yourself. millions of thoughts crawled, dashed, and crept through your subconscious, and you could do nothing to stop them, because if you didn’t focus on what you were thinking, you would go crazy from the stress of anticipation. Your white walls were basked in orange lighting from all of the various candles you lit in an attempt to stop yourself from freaking out about the whole situation. If you were being honest, it only contributed to your anxiety. The warm lighting made it feel like you were burning in hell, the flames from the candles only contributing to the thought. In the same vein, you took the cross off of your wall and shoved it under a pile of clothes in your closet. You figured that the fact that your teacher was a woman ( a beautiful, slender, blond woman *drool*) was a sin that the poor Jesus who was nailed to your cross shouldn’t be subjected to. Your heart rate spiked at the sound of the knocks on your window. You turned your head to the window pane behind you. There she stood, bathed in the light of the street lamp in an incredibly sheer blouse. Sweat ran down your forehead as you struggled with the latch on the window. It opened with a snap, and you both advanced to open the window at the sound. You thought she would step back when she realized that you could only open the window from the inside, but she still grabbed onto the trimming of the window and pushed it up at the same time you did. Her long, painted nails crept around the frame and almost interlocked with yours as she boosted herself up. Out from the cold of your driveway, into the warmth of your home. The mere thought made another bead of sweat fall down your brow. Before you could say anything, she took off her shoes while sitting in the window and threw them outside on the pavement. After glancing behind her to make sure she could remember where she had placed them, she looked back into your room. Still sitting in the window, she seemed to examine almost every single thing in a millisecond. After she had finished taking in your bedroom, she looked at you. You both held eye contact for a *very* long minute. You weren’t sure why you were having a staring competition, but you could tell by her gaze that she knew the answer.
“ Shouldn’t you be asleep? It’s a school night." She joked to break the silence. Before giving you a chance to respond, she swung herself completely inside your room and turned back again to close the window behind her, rather politely.
The topic of school was always a sore spot for you. As someone who was never exemplary at it, it felt more like an obligation than an opportunity to learn. It was even worse because your brother was a straight-A student, and that became the topic of most discussions your family had together... especially after receiving a letter from your school that you had been expelled two weeks before graduation for skipping too many classes. At nineteen, you had to repeat senior year at a new boarding school that your parents had sent you to. This time around, you decided that for your second senior year of high school, you would actually devote yourself to your studies.
The first day, you walked into your class and looked around the room. Unlike the movies, there was no teacher at the head of the room to force you to introduce yourself to everyone, and nobody stared at you accusingly as you walked to your seat. Everyone seemed nice enough to mind their business as everyone awkwardly shuffled around the room, looking for their names on their tables. You found your spot, a green chair pushed into a wooden table. Your name was written in loopy handwriting. Coincidentally, the second you noticed it, the guy next to you commented on it. “ God… our teacher's a girl? I thought I was gonna get Mr Abbot. “ he sunk in his seat a little, and as you sat, you read his nametag. “ Joey “ with a little loop in the o. “How do you know our teacher's a woman?” you asked him. “I mean… just look at the handwriting. it’s in cursive,” he glanced at the other name tags of the children at your table. “And Aisha’s name has a heart on the i. There’s no way Mr Abbott is dotting his i’s with hearts,” Joey remarked, raising an eyebrow. The whole table seemed to giggle at that, and luckily it sparked up some funny conversation between all of the kids who were sitting around you. You figured all the other tables must be jealous, since you were the only group that was actually chatting, while the rest of the class sat idly.
Some time had passed, and luckily, as the conversation began to die down, the teacher entered the room. The first thing you noticed was how she looked. Shoulder-length blond hair, a controlled mess of curls that had hints of grey. The whole classroom suddenly felt frigid. She placed her belongings on her desk, smoothing her skirt before turning her head to greet the students. She began to speak, perfectly glossed lips opening and closing to form words that you didn't hear. You were too mesmerized by her beauty. For the next 30 minutes, the contents of the class flew past you as the only thing you could focus on was your teacher's face. You didn't even hear the bell ring. You only realized the class was over because your peers stood up and swung backpacks over their shoulders. You followed suit, placing your purse on your shoulder. As all of the children exited the class, you all passed by the large green chalkboard that had the words " Miss Anderson " in massive loopy cursive letters. Like a caramel, you savored the words on your tongue, silently mouthing them as you filed out of the classroom. It seemed like the name fit perfectly in your mouth, like your only purpose in life was suddenly reduced to saying your teacher's last name... Jesus, you're whipped. You shut your mouth when you bumped into someone tall and bony ahead of you. " Sorry..." you mumbled without looking up. "It's alright, sweetheart," said the very mature voice. For someone who wasn't listening during the lecture, it was surprising how fast you recognised who the voice belonged to. You glanced up and locked eyes with the woman. Warmth exploded across your face, and you scurried out of the classroom, too embarrassed to respond to the teacher...Jesus, you're whipped.
Before you knew it, it had been 2 months since your first day in Miss Anderson's class, and you still hadn't gotten over your schoolgirl crush, and there was no way she hadn't noticed. It was embarrassing, honestly, how easily you blushed and stuttered whenever she called on you in class. You knew you were crazy for thinking you were special when she chose you to answer things at the board or asked you questions about the material you were supposed to read for homework, but you just couldn't help it. Everything she did was just so alluring. You loved when she said your favorite words ( big ones that would be hard to pronounce for anyone but her), the way she dressed and combed her fingers through the top of her hair when helping your peers solve questions. As the weeks flew by, spring fell upon your high school campus. Children with pollen allergies sneezing constantly, flowers that seemed to be in bloom everywhere, and those precious two weeks off of school that you were excited to fill with drinking and partying, since you had somehow managed to befriend the popular kids in your grade. They discussed spring break plans quietly during her class, hoping she wouldn't notice the whispers that bubbled up from your table. " So? Y/n? Do your parents have any drinks we could take?" murmured Ashley, the leader of the group. Of course, you didn't hear her; you were too entranced in Miss Anderson to pay her any attention. She waved her hand in front of your face. " Um... hello?? " she whisper-screamed at you, drawing the attention of the whole table to your absent nature. " Huh?" You snapped your head back to the group of girls who were now all staring. "There's no way the lesson is that interesting, y/n. Don't tell me you have a crush on our teacher or something..." said another girl at the table. You could tell she meant it jokingly, but you became visibly flushed at the accusation. The heat in your cheeks gave you away before you could defend yourself. The table full of girls seemed to come to a conclusion in unison, their jaws dropping open. You tried to make an excuse, but it just came out as a stuttery whisper. The entire table gasped. " Girls, quiet down, please," said Miss Anderson, back to your table as she was writing something on the board. Your face only got redder, and all of the girls at the table giggled at the sight.
Once the bell rang, you stood up quickly and tried to escape the classroom before your friends could bug you about their newfound discovery, but your bag strap got tangled in your chair before you could run away. Almost immediately, all of your friends circled around you, making fun of your immaturity at a very inappropriate volume. Now you were sure there was no way she didn't know, on account of all of your friends screaming about it. If you weren't red enough before, you were practically a tomato now, grinning while everyone teased you. Struggling with your bag strap made it difficult to be aware of what was behind you, which was why you didn't see Miss Anderson creeping up on the group. You only noticed something was wrong when everyone's demeanor began to shift. Slowly, they all became silent. " I hope you girls are being polite towards y/n. "The sound of her voice made you jump, and you craned your neck to look backwards, meeting her eyes, practically bent over your chair trying to free your bag. You only noticed that your position was forcing your skirt to flip up after a cold sweat ran down your legs. She towered over you, practically casting a shadow on your back. Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore you felt the cold tip of her pointed heel run up and down your ankle, out of view from your friends. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, making your brain tingle with satisfaction. Neither broke eye contact as she continued to create friction between her heel and the skin on your ankle. You only noticed that she was in conversation with your friends when you directed your attention to her lips, which were forming words that you had tuned out. You turned your head back to your bag, bending over further ( which earned you a sigh from her), practically exposing your entire ass to the woman behind you to tug at your bag strap. When you got it free, you pulled it onto your shoulder and attempted to squeeze past the teacher who was blocking your only point of escape. She grabbed hold of your shoulders and spun you back around to face the group. " And also, girls, don't let your friends walk around like this," she told them. " Her skirt is absolutely too high. Luckily, I'm feeling nice. I see no need to give you a detention for a dress code violation." You hadn't noticed, but while she was speaking, she had grasped your hip to steady you as she unrolled your skirt harshly. Her hand wandered from your hip to your ass, slightly palming it before quickly returning its attention to your side. At its full, unrolled length, the skirt brushed your ankles, similar to how her heel did earlier. Just the reminder of the contact between you two sent another satisfying tingle to your brain, and the spot where her heels had been seemed to grow in warmth at the thought. Once she was finished manhandling the top of your skirt, she patted your hip and stepped to the side to allow you to leave. You scurried away, walking slowly to avoid the wet spot in your lacy underwear. All of your friends walked behind you, talking to each other as if nothing had happened.
Afterwards, in the bathroom, as you tried to roll your skirt back to its original "slutty" length, all of your friends surrounded you, talking amongst themselves and doing makeup in the mirror, fixing their long socks and adjusting their plastic Mary Janes. "Um... is nobody going to talk about what just happened?" one of your friends questioned. " I don't know what you mean," you replied playfully, struggling to fold multiple layers of skirt into your waistband. "She's totally fucking into you! Lucky... I could never get this type of attention out of Mr Wilson. The last time I tried something like this, he threatened to call my parents," said one of the girls by the mirror. " Should you guys really be encouraging this?" You fought back, still trying to make it seem like you weren't interested in her. As you and the rest of the girls exited the bathroom, continuing to fight about the moral and ethical standards of having a crush on a teacher, you immediately locked eyes with the headmistress, who had a terribly stern look on her face. " y/n, you attend this school, right?" she asked rhetorically. You nodded slowly. " Then why are you the only one with your skirt two inches long?" she replied to your nod, writing on a pink pad of detention slips. She tore the one she had been scribbling on off the top and handed it to you. " Take these three hours of detention as a chance to unroll your skirt, as I'm sure it must've taken you hours to roll it up that high." She peered at you from over her glasses as you held the small pink piece of paper and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. " Alright then, goodbye, girls!" The headmaster's heels clicked down the hall, leaving you and all your friends to glare at the back of her head. " Well, so much for that bonfire tonight. In three hours, everyone with cars will have already driven there! And there's no way I'm gonna convince my mom to drive me to a random beach to party..." You said, absolutely sullen. Your friends all groaned at the realization, disappointment spreading across everyone's faces.
When the last bell rang, you bid your friends goodbye and walked up to the detention classroom. After taking a deep breath and mentally preparing yourself to brave the three hours of boredom ahead of you, you turned the knob, which seemed to slip and slide under your sweaty palms. A familiar quiver ran up your spine when you realized who the proctor for the detention would be. " y/n? Why are you here?" asked the stunning blonde woman sitting at the large brown desk at the head of the room. Again, the words that you had prepared to explain what had happened before you entered the room escaped you, and the 5 minutes of mental prep seemed to disappear as you began to ramble out a rushed explanation. Miss Anderson giggled. " Slow down. Use your words," she said. Although the sentence made your heart rate spike, you managed to spit out a coherent response. " Um... After you unrolled my skirt, I may have re-rolled it... and the headmistress may have caught me... and she might've gotten angry and given me a three-hour detention. All alleged, though." She laughed again at your lame joke. " Three hours?" she checked the clipboard that was in her hands. " That seems like overkill, huh? How about you just do some chores for me, and you go. I know you have a party to attend this evening." She raised her arched brown eyebrow at you. You nodded vigorously. "That's the spirit. Grab the broom from the closet in the back, and sweep up around the desks, will you, doll?" she asked. " Wait, how do you know about that bonfire?" you questioned, mostly to distract yourself from the shock of her calling you a pet name. " Well, it's not like you and your friends are particularly quiet when discussing your *ahem* plans during my lessons. Plus, there's nobody else in detention today. I've usually realized that whenever the children have things planned after school, they try to avoid getting into trouble." At her last point, you glanced around the detention room. Floors and walls made out of hardwood, trimmings on the ceiling... and 24 empty desks stared back at you. You were wondering why your friends' uniforms were up to total standard, complete with the long, itchy socks and uncomfortable, blister enducing mary janes. Guess you missed the memo.
You made quick work of crossing the distance from her desk to the storage closet, grasping the broom and returning to the front of the room to sweep the places surrounding her desk. You hadn't heard her get up, but as you were looking around for the broom in the closet, she left her spot at her desk to stand at the large window, gazing out of it. As you swept, you eventually made it to the corner of the room that was closest to her. The closer you seemed to get to the woman, the clumsier you became while sweeping. Frustrated grunts left your mouth as you fumbled with the handle of it, and your grasp on the broom made it so that you couldn't sweep without brushing your shoes. " You know that's bad luck, right?" said Miss Anderson. You hadn't noticed she was watching you sweep, since you had been preoccupied with your sudden inexperience with the broom. " You're wayy too superstitious. I've never heard of anyone getting bad luck from sweeping... And plus, you asked me to do this." Your words came out more aggressive than you meant, but the broom was causing you so many problems that you just couldn't help it. She must've found it endearing, because she laughed at your response. " No, sweetheart. I mean sweeping your feet. It's like sweeping away all of your good luck." Somehow, her response only annoyed you more. " Well, I can't help it! " you responded. (real mature, y/n.) This earned you another giggle from the woman. It was almost patronizing, and you chalked it up to her laughing at your inability to sweep, along with your new " bad luck". "Fine. If I'm gonna have bad luck..." You whispered, warning her of your incoming attack. " Then you are too!" With that, you took the broom and aggressively swept the tips of her heels. It only took a second for her to register what had just happened, and almost immediately a playful grin spread across both of your faces. She launched towards you, and you dashed away from her grasp. Giggling and running like two elementary school children, you both weaved through the empty desks, with you just outside of her clutches. Every time she got close, you dodged her. After a particularly successful dodge, you turned around to gloat. Not looking where you were going, you tripped backwards on the leg of a chair and flew backwards, hitting your head on the hardwood wall. Pain exploded across the back of your skull, quickly spreading to the front of your head and leaving your vision spinning. "Oh my god, are you okay? I'm so sorry, baby. I shouldn't have..." Your teacher was crouched in front of you, your face right in front of yours. Your heart was beating impossibly fast, beads of sweat running down your neck. She continued to attempt to console you, but her beauty was just so distracting, all up close, that you had just automatically tuned out her words to devote all of your attention to taking in her facial features. Maybe hitting your head had given you a terrible concussion, but something had suddenly made you incredibly bold. The only thought on your mind was the fact that you were practically breathing in the air that she exhaled, and that if you only moved a little bit forward... you would be...
To both of your surprises, as unnatural as the kiss should've felt, it worked so well. Your lips worked perfectly in tandem, opening and closing occasionally to allow your tongues to twirl and dance around each other. You used your two top teeth to nip at her bottom lip, like you had always fantasised about doing during lessons. You couldn't see it, but you could feel the smile tug at the lips that were all over yours. She held onto your waist, sliding you up the wall as she stood from her kneeling position. The passion was basically palpable; the burnt smell from the friction of skin on both of your lips rubbing against each other was something that you only could've dreamed of. The kiss was broken suddenly, which made your eyes snap open in confusion. "Miss?" You asked her, looking into her eyes accusingly. She just stood there, holding you against the wall with your legs wrapped around her midsection. She stared at you with a mix of awe and fear, the nervous grin on her face giving away everything she felt. The two of you just sat there, gazing at each other for a while. Words felt unnecessary as you both savored the silent appreciation. One of her hands left your waist (proving her surprising strength, as she was able to hold you up with one hand) to move one of your pigtails out of the way of your neck. She made a show of twirling around the curled pieces of hair that stuck out of the little ponytail, using her manicured fingers to form loose finger curls with them. You noticed her fingernail color then, a beautiful wine red that glinted as the sunlight from the window bounced off of it. It was almost like she began to play with your hair to distract you, because as soon as your attention was off of her, she dove into your neck, placing an assault of kisses and bites onto it. You felt pathetic for doing so, but you couldn't help but whimper and squirm while she sucked on the sensitive skin. The harsher she got, the louder you became, causing her to have to cover your mouth. You gingerly licked at the fingers clamped around your lips, causing her to laugh into your neck. "You want them in your mouth so bad, huh?" she asked you. You couldn't do anything but nod, because you knew that anything you attempted to reply would just come out as a stuttering mess. " Fine then." She removed her hand and slipped one of her slender fingers into your mouth for you to busy yourself with as she returned to her work on your neck. You tried to impress her by suppressing your whimpers while looping your tongue around her nail, making a show of it. Right before she could insert another delicious finger between your lips, an alarm went off on her phone on the other side of the room. The loss of contact between your neck and her lips made the veins embedded in your neck throb and pulse with longing. She carefully dropped you back onto your feet before walking back over to her giant brown desk to silence her phone. " Detentions over." She said, grinning coyly towards you. You pouted. " We were just getting to the best part...Maybe, um... it doesn't have to end?" you proposed, looking at your shoes, suddenly feeling a pang of shyness. " D-do you wanna come over to my house? Tonight?... I could sneak you in through my window?" You offered, using this as a chance to look back up at the woman, which only made you more nervous. " I'll think about it. But for now, detention's over." She replied coldly. " Oh. Alright, then." You swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. Grabbing your bag, you quickly left the room, silently praying that she would come and see you later tonight.
And now, you were sitting on your bed, looking at your teacher moving away from the window to sit in front of you, cross-legged, just like you were. That familiar feeling of nervousness seemed to creep up through you again before she started making soft, casual conversation. Eventually, the conversation emerged from... well, conversation to making out. Funnily enough, while the two of you were kissing, you found yourself thanking god for ultimately fulfilling your perverted wishes.
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