#Every student besides one is just lost

[foxgirlmoth]

I wanna complain about this professor so fucking bad

[nottsangel]

after dark — r.c.

pairing: ghostface!rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: smut 18+, unprotected sex, dubcon, violence, blood, murder, knife play, mask kink, hair pulling, spanking, cursing, toxic, controlling, manipulative and possessive behaviour, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, creampie, degradation, face slapping, dacryphilia, breeding kink

word count: 4.5k

summary: the bloodlust killer that has been terrorising the town could be closer to you than you might think.

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“Rafe?” you called out to your boyfriend who was attentively watching the TV from beside you on the couch, a deep sense of unease and concern in your voice. “Yeah, baby?” he replied, his eyes still glued to the screen as his warm hand moved to your thigh, giving it a squeeze to let you know that he was listening. “I’m… I’m scared” you murmured with your brows knitted, referring to the news report about a killer being on the loose, terrorising the entire town for weeks now. They played footage taken from a Ring doorbell camera that showed him wearing a black and white mask, identical to the one from the Scream movies to hide his identity, along with a full black outfit.

So far, there has been an estimated five victims, all of them male. Men between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six who are university students were the killer's primary target, it seemed. You were familiar with all of them— you had worked on group projects with a number of these people and even tutored two of them, helping them with subjects that you excelled at to earn some extra cash. To sum up, you saw all of the murdered male students regularly. Fear prickled over your skin as the reporter revealed more shocking details about the murders.

Rafe turned to face you, an empathetic smile swept across his handsome face as he moved closer to you, the palm of his warm hand resting on your cheek as he looked at you with his sparkling blue eyes. “Don’t be scared baby. You know I’ll take care of you, alright? I won’t ever let anything happen to my sweet girl” You fidgeted with your hands and looked down, letting his words sink in. Rafe always took care of you, ensuring that you were happy and healthy— he’d do anything for you. For the first time ever, though, you were unsure if Rafe could truly protect you from a bloodlust killer who has murdered men even bigger, stronger and more athletic than Rafe.

He looked off into the distance, thinking deeply as he released a hesitating breath, “Look, why don’t you stay with me here? Hmm? It’s too dangerous out there for a pretty girl like you. You’ll be safe here, I promise” you met his eyes again and nodded, feeling relieved that you can be with him every minute of the day.

Every minute of the day, that is, unless you were in class, because school life didn’t pause. Why it didn’t was a mystery to you, but the police stated that they had everything under control, which you found hard to believe. It made you feel anxious to be distanced from Rafe during those times. You not only feared for yourself, but for him as well. It became impossible to concentrate in class. Knowing that anyone could become the next victim sent your mind into overdrive. No one was safe.

You took your phone out of your pocket and opened iMessage, scrolling through your conversations before tapping your and Rafe’s. You occasionally glanced up quickly to make sure the teacher wasn't watching you before typing a message.

You: I miss you so much :( Are you okay?

Rafe 💞: Miss you more, my pretty girl. I’m alright, just hanging out with Top.  

His words still made you blush, your cheeks heating up as a tiny smile formed on your face before you quickly looked up, checking if anyone saw you texting. The teacher is lost in her own world, going over theories while you see several other students on their phones as well, evidently bored by the contents of the class. You returned your focus to your phone and started typing a new message.

You: Be careful, okay? I’m scared…

Rafe 💞: Baby, I won’t let anything happen to you, got it? You know I have your location on my phone. I will keep an eye on you. Buy yourself some pretty lingerie and I will help you relax when you get home ;)

Rafe Cameron transferred $500 to your bank account.

Your eyes grew wide before you let out a chuckle at how easily he gives you money when you don’t even need it. You hastily typed a ‘thank you’ message and slipped your phone back into your pocket with a giddy smile on your face before the teacher could notice you.

When class finally ended for the day, you felt a wave of relief, especially since John B, one of your friends, offered to walk you home—well, to Rafe's house. You and John B used to be closer, hanging out multiple times a week, but Rafe’s possessive and jealous nature doesn’t allow you to anymore. Even though you don’t hang out with him now, he still checks in on you from time to time, showing you that he still cares about you, which you appreciate a lot. When you first started dating, John B openly expressed his dislike for Rafe. Despite your numerous attempts to convince him that Rafe genuinely does take great care of you, John B couldn’t be convinced. Their animosity towards one another runs too deep.

The two of you were walking side to side as you approached Rafe's street, wandering by large villas with breathtaking front gardens. John B didn't appear in the least bit afraid or worried and you couldn’t understand why. Everyone, including yourself, was terrified, not daring to go outside unless needed. You eyed him with confusion as you were thinking it over, which he seemed to catch on right away. “What? Do I have something on my face?” he asked, a smile appearing on his face as he continued walking. “Are you not scared, John B?” You asked with curiosity. A small chuckle left his mouth before he shook his head, “Scared? Have you seen him? He wears a silly costume from some dumb movie.” It went silent for a while as you were at a loss for words, wondering how someone could not be afraid of a murderer.

John B soon ended the silence before you could go further into the topic, “Hey, remember when we rehearsed for that play? And we had to dance together and you-“ he laughs while holding his stomach, pausing for a moment to collect himself before continuing, “and you fell and ripped your clothes?” You felt your face heat up and an embarrassed smile crossed your lips before you hit him in the arm. Those were the memories you did not want to relive, embarrassing yourself in front of numerous students and staff members. “Oh stop it! First of all, it wasn’t even that funny and secondly, completely your fault, by the way” You responded, defending yourself but unable to hide your laughter.

“It went like this” John B said before he lifted you up and spun you around, causing you to scream and laugh hysterically. “Stop! I-“ you tried to yell at him but you were laughing too hard, your abdominal muscles hurting. You two giggled as he gently set you back down on the ground before you turned your gaze towards Rafe’s house and your face dropped instantly. Rafe was waiting for you, leaning against the doorframe and standing with his arms crossed, a stern expression on his face as he looked at you both.

You swallowed and gathered yourself quickly before putting on a forced smile and turning to face John B. But John B was staring back at Rafe with an equally as intimidating look on his face, so much so that he stopped noticing you. “Thank you for taking me home. I appreciate it” you said, attempting to defuse the tension before moving slowly in Rafe's direction— but both their eyes didn’t leave each other for a second. Every muscle in your body tightened and the tension in the air was apparent.

You walked up to Rafe, ascending the stairs to his enormous home's front door. “H-hi baby, missed you” you spoke as you drew nearer to him, a whiff of his signature cologne filling your nose. You looked back at John B and saw him heading to his own home, thankfully. Rafe rolled his eyes before he turned around and made his way inside the house. As you nervously followed him and silently shut the door behind you, your brows pinched in concern.

“Baby?” you whispered, trailing after Rafe into the house as you watched his back, his muscles prominent through the tight shirt he was wearing. “Are you angry at me?” You asked in a low voice, worried about the answer. He turned around and came up to you, his large hands cupping your face as he stared directly into your eyes. “I could never be angry at you, sweet girl. You’re my everything. Don’t ever forget that, alright?” he said before you nodded, a wave of relief instantly washing over you. He kissed you on the forehead and you closed your eyes to take in the moment, feeling lucky to have such a caring and sweet boyfriend, you thought. But then the night fell.

“Fuck! No, no, no!” A terrible nightmare about the killer had you breathing heavily when you woke up in the middle of the night. You immediately sat up straight, your chest heaving up and down as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “Rafe?” You called out, desperate for his comfort and affection.

After a short while, there was still no response. Still feeling a little disoriented, your brows knitted as you attempted to sort through your thoughts. But something felt off. You extended your arm around the bed but there was nothing but pillows next to you. This is when you started to feel a little panicked and horrible thoughts pierced your mind like needles jabbing at your skin. “Rafe?!” you called out again in fear, a little louder this time with still no response. You hastily turned on the light, a perplexed frown appearing on your face. The bed was empty. Rafe was usually a very deep sleeper so waking up in the middle of the night wasn’t anything like him. You pushed the blanket off of yourself and stood up, turning off the light again before carefully leaving the room to investigate the situation.

The only sound you could hear as you wandered around his house was the clock ticking as you made your way to the stairs, slowly walking down. His enormous house was terrifying at night, your trembling, sweaty hand gripping the railing tightly. You gasped at hearing heavy footsteps coming from the kitchen downstairs. Tears started forming in your eyes, afraid that anything had happened to Rafe. Scenarios played in your head of the killer entering the house and taking Rafe, torturing him or even worse, murdering him.

When you got to the bottom of the stairs, you took your time making your way to the kitchen while holding your breath. The footsteps became louder now as you approached the person. You were so scared and worried about what you might find behind the wall that tears were streaming down your face. You approached the kitchen cautiously and peeked inside. It took you a few blinks to get used to the darkness, but you exhaled deeply in relief when you saw Rafe in the kitchen, unharmed. Thank god. You reasoned that he must have gotten hungry or wanted to grab a glass of water. You hurried into the kitchen to hug him tight and take him back into bed immediately.

“Rafe? Baby? I saw you weren’t in bed so I-“ you began, feeling relieved to see your boyfriend standing in front of you before your jaw fell as you stood there, unblinking, trying to process what you were seeing. “Rafe…” You gulped and stared in horror, taking in the black and white mask he was holding in addition to the fresh blood on his body. You blinked a few times, thinking you must be still in a dream, but that wasn’t the case— Rafe was still standing in front of you, equally as shocked before he slowly approached you.

“I can explain” He whispered softly, wary of what to say. His expression showed panic as he hurriedly placed the mask down on the table. “Okay, okay, it’s all good. We got this” he mumbled to himself as he rubbed his temples, letting out a frustrating moan. Fear coursed through your body as you stood there motionless and terrified. “Baby, listen, alright? Sometimes-“ he began, pacing around the kitchen at this point, “Sometimes things just gotta happen. We don’t always have a choice, got that? And- and, I just gotta protect you- gotta protect you from all those bad men who wanna take you away.” Your legs felt weak and all kinds of emotions shot through your body. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything. Your breathing quickened as Rafe continued his ramblings. “I just- I just can’t let that happen, alright? You’re my sweet and innocent girl. I can’t let anyone take you from me, never.”

Your trembling hand moved to your mouth and your eyes grew wide when it finally clicked whose blood it was on Rafe. “Rafe? Is that…” you gulped, secretly hoping you were wrong. “Is that John B’s blood?” he turned around quickly and locked eyes with you. “Baby, you know I didn’t have a choice, okay? I had to do it. I need to protect you, protect you from all the evil in this world” He said, trying his best to convince you. You blinked a few times, tears streaming down your face as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. Everything was difficult for you, your head hurting. But you loved Rafe. He was everything to you. He took care of you. He looked after you. In the end, he was the one who was always there for you no matter what. You needed him. You wiped the tears from your face using your shirt's sleeve and glanced back at him, nodding. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and you could see the relief immediately wash over him.

“But…“ Your heart was pounding out of your chest and your mind was racing with a gazillion thoughts. “But what if anyone saw you?” Taking the mask off the table, Rafe covered his head with it. “That’s what this is for” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. You looked him up and down, examining every inch of him, from the ghostface mask to his blood-covered body, the muscles emphasised by his tight outfit. Fuck. You felt something happening inside of you. It wasn't worry or fear— it was something else. Rafe’s masked head tilted as he stared at you, trying to read your expression.

“Wait a minute…” he began, moving closer, “I know that look” Rafe chuckled and he approached you slowly as you took a step back with each step he took forward before your lower back hit the kitchen counter. His face came closer to yours as your breath hitched. He reached over to the kitchen counter beside you, grabbing the knife from next to you and putting it under your chin to lift your head up. “You dirty fucking slut. I see what’s happening here” His face drew nearer, whispering into your ear, “you’re turned on by this.”

“W-What?” you said, trying to sound confused but you couldn’t deny it, you knew he was right. The pointy end of the knife slightly dug into your skin. Instead of feeling scared, you could feel your core aching for him. “Don’t act stupid. God, you’re even more fucked up in that little head of yours than I thought” Rafe chuckled before he took the knife from under your chin and slipped both hands under your ass, hauling you up quickly and tossing you over his shoulder with ease while holding the knife in his hand. You let out a small squeal before he walked you both towards the bedroom.

“Tonight, I’m gonna have to show you who the fuck you belong to.” Rafe stated in a low voice through his mask, causing you to feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. You felt ashamed, as well as a horrible person. Your skin was stained with blood at this point— John B’s blood. But as much as he was your friend, Rafe was your boyfriend, your caregiver, your everything. And you started to think that maybe… maybe he was right. Maybe you need someone to protect you, to keep the bad men away. Maybe Rafe saw something in John B that you didn’t— in the end, you knew Rafe only ever wanted the best for you. You both loved each other forever and always, and apparently, that went as far as killing for you.

Rafe threw you onto the bed after pushing open the door to his bedroom and shutting it behind him. You slightly bounced on the bed before you turned around, resting on your elbows as you looked at him with big, innocent eyes. He stood in front of you, his arms folded and the moonlight seeping through the cracks of the blinds, illuminating your boyfriend’s menacing demeanour— the blood-stained black and white mask, a knife gripped in his right hand, and the slightly torn black outfit, indicating that John B tried to fight for his life. The only features of your boyfriend’s face visible were his blue eyes, gazing directly at you.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and listen to me, alright?” he said, with a harsh and intimidating tone. You nodded as you swallowed, anticipation raging through your body. He slightly tilted his masked head, thinking about what he was going do with you till an idea struck. He approached you slowly, footsteps heavy due to his boots. His right hand played with the knife, showing that he had plans with it. He leaned over you when he was close enough, then slid the knife under your shirt. Gazing at him with wide eyes, you gasped as he quickly tore apart your clothes, leaving you only in your bra and underwear.

“Prettiest fucking girl I have ever seen. Fuck, I am so lucky.” He now placed the knife under the straps of your bra and sliced it open, then he did the same to your underwear and tossed it aside. You let out a small whine, and he turned to face you immediately. “That… that was my favourite set” You sulked as you gazed at the shredded lingerie set lying on the floor. Rafe simply chuckled before he gripped your face forcefully, turning you to look at him. “Don’t be fucking dumb, you know I can buy you every single lingerie set that you want in the whole fucking world.”

Before you could say anything else, he grabbed your body and turned you around, placing you on your hands and knees with your ass facing him. You were soaking at this point, your wetness dripping onto the mattress. You suddenly felt the cold knife against your core, gathering the wetness as you shivered and tried to remain motionless. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re dripping. You could’ve just told me you had some fucked up kink for killers, you know. Would’ve made it a lot easier for me” Rafe taunted, and you just knew he was smirking under that mask.

“Grip the sheets baby, maybe even bite them if you need to. Dunno how high your pain tolerance is.” he said, causing you to worry for a moment as your hands clutched the sheets under you. “But I guess we’re about to find out.” He slapped your ass swiftly before you felt the sharp knife against the skin of your ass, digging into the flesh. Your eyes closed and your teeth clenched together as you hissed at the sensation.

“R… A…” he began, as he carved his name into your skin. “It- it hurts” you cried out as you gripped the sheets. “Nuh-uh, not done yet. F…” he continued, unaffected by your whines and pleads. “E…” When he was done, he stood back to admire his work of art. “All done. Looks pretty good if I say so myself.” he said with a satisfied tone. Your eyes began to well up with tears as a result of the stinging in your skin. “All fucking mine.” He said before throwing the knife on the ground.

 “On your knees in front of me. Now” he ordered, and you didn’t waste a second before you were sitting on your knees on the ground, gazing up at him through your eyelashes. His gloved hand brushed over your face before gripping your chin, “You are nothing but my dirty whore. Got that? My property. And I will kill anyone that gets in the way.” You nodded, feeling desperate for him. He undressed himself, leaving him completely naked except for the mask on his face. You observed him— the muscles on his toned body, the blood splatters, his hard cock leaking precum. You needed him.

“Make yourself useful for once” he growled, before slapping your cheek and causing you to hiss. “Suck.” was all he said as he grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you towards him. You started by swirling your tongue over the tip and around the length of his shaft, causing him to throw his head back and grunt. He became impatient quickly, as he pushed your head further down, his cock hitting the back of your throat. “Juuust like that, princess, doing so good for me.”You were momentarily taken aback by his sweet words, but you weren’t unfamiliar with his mood swings. You knew what to do to get him to praise you— being a good girl and doing what he says, at all times. You never wanted to disagree with Rafe or reject him. You'd go to any lengths for him.

“Holy fuck” he growled as you continued bobbing your head, saliva running down your face. He had a strong grip on your hair as he fucked your face while you held on to his thighs. He let out a grunt before shoving you off him right before he could cum, sending you stumbling backwards a little. He gestured with his head for you to get back on the bed as he grabbed the knife from the ground. You hurriedly returned to the bed and waited for him on your hands and knees before he positioned himself behind you. He then slapped your ass, making you cry out as the cuts from earlier made it sting even more.

“Aww, does that hurt, princess?” he asked, running a hand over the spot he had just slapped as you nodded, trying to hold back the tears that were starting to well up in your eyes. “But my girl can handle that, right?” he said as he teased your core with his fingers. “My girl can handle anything, as long as she got me.” he unexpectedly slipped a finger into you, causing you to moan out at the feeling. He moved in and out before adding another one, pushing his fingers knuckles deep into you. You arched your back as he curled his fingers and moved them against your g-sport skilfully. Rafe was amazing at fingering, making you squirt and cum countless times. But he quickly pulled out before you could even feel your release nearing, causing you to whine. “I know baby, I know. But I need you to cum around my cock, alright?”

He grabbed your hips and positioned himself at your entrance before he pushed into you in one quick thrust without any warning. You gasped as he buried himself into you balls deep. “Always so fucking tight. Fuuuck” Rafe groaned as he watched his cock disappear into your body. He wasted no time by thrusting in and out of you right away as he stretched you out completely. You felt a hint of pain but it was soon overpowered by pleasure. He set a steady and rough rhythm, massaging your walls perfectly.

“You’re gonna be mine forever, got that? No one will ever get to touch you.” he said as he gripped a handful of your hair and yanked your head towards him. He took the knife from beside him, but you were too cock-drunk to even notice it while your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You unexpectedly felt the icy blade against your throat, causing you to gasp. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.” he whispered into your ear, his voice muffled because of the mask as he continued his brutal thrusts along with the sharp knife against your throat. You felt your release building as your wetness trickled down the sides of your thigh. His cock felt so deep inside of you, hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

“Gonna cum so fucking deep inside of you, sweet girl, you’re gonna be leaking my cum for days.” he growled with one hand firmly gripping your hip and the other holding the knife. “Even better if a baby starts growing in that pretty body of yours, so I can fully claim you as mine.” His words made you even more aroused and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release. “I’m c-close” was all you could manage to say as you heard him groan from under the mask.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my cock like the dirty slut you are” his words were enough to push you over the edge as your orgasm washed over you, causing you to see stars and your body to shake. You cried out with your mouth agape as you clenched around his cock. “Good fucking girl”

You could feel his hips stagger and lose rhythm, knowing he was close as well. One last powerful thrust and you could feel his warm cum painting your walls, milking every last drop of his seed inside of you. The grip on your hips tightened, nails digging into your skin as he rode out his high. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” he cursed while panting. You collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You attempted to get up but rafe quickly stopped you, gazing at you through the mask.

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” he chuckled, before flipping you onto your back and caging you between his arms, “Round two, princess.”

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!” 

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place. 

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding. 

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to  theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.” 

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.” 

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between. 

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room  having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?” 

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it. 

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it. 

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it. 

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length. 

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorsky @fan-goddess

[1800jjbarnes]

◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟑𝟏: 𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐟 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡 - 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 ◇

Lesson One, Be A Good Girl

【Synopsis】 : Your professors just want to help you learn and gain knowledge. Your first lesson happened to be very educational...

『W.C』 : 2.3k

-> Genre: College Au. Smut. 

Pairing: Professor!Stucky x Student!Reader

[Warnings] : Age gape (reader is in her 20s while Bucky and Steve are in their late 30s). Swearing. Dry humping. Oral. Deep throating. Pet names. Semi-public sex. Fingering. Dirty talk. Slight power play. Heavy cum play, saliva and fluids cause I lost control. IM SORRY. Filming, mention of taking photos. Reader is curvy and beautiful. Unprotected sex. Piv. Steve and Bucky are huge!! Beefy men! Hehe. Some mxm and hints of prior seggy times with one another. Also, these two like to use terms that could consider the reader to be a “toy” of sorts. Which she is not and the boys do like her more than that I just got carried away like I normally do when I write things at 2 in the fucking morning. Oops.

Read part one first

Masterlist | Kinktober List

You gasped loudly, Bucky’s large hands slamming you onto the desk. Steve had lifted you up off your chair, ripping your panties down while pulling up your skirt. It all happened so fast. Legs spread, Bucky's hot clothed crotch humping against your aching core. Your hands gripped the edge of the table, vaguely hearing both men whisper and chuckle. You felt so exposed under their gaze even though you were mostly clothed. Steve’s deep chuckle caught your attention, making you shiver. “Look at that. She’s leaking down her thighs.” Steve squatted down beside you, snaking his hand along your plump flesh. Picking up some of your juices that had spilled down towards your ankle. You had practically come just from them throwing you around like a rag doll. Bucky’s hips snapped against you, letting you feel his growing erection. He let out a groan, feeling your slick seep onto him.

“Fuck I might just nut humping this desperate cunt.” Bucky gulped, his hands digging deep into the skin on your hips, creating crescent shapes from his nails. Your ears were ringing, as you felt so overwhelmed and they hadn't even touched you where you needed them yet.

“Stevie...Jamie..” You gasped, suddenly hearing a loud clank of a belt buckle. A hand gripped your chin, letting your wide eyes see Steve’s cock leaking pre-cum on his exposed tummy while he held the hem of his shirt up.

“Be a good baby and open up.” he let go of your chin, moving to pump his dick, tapping his red tip against your sealed lips. You opened up obeying every word both men gave. Flattening your tongue, you let Steve's large girth slide into your wet, warm mouth. “Fuck that’s it, baby. Take every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your jaw went slack, stinging slightly as you tried not to gag. Steve’s moans quickly filled the room, and he knew if they continued, they would only get louder. So he bit down on the fabric of his shirt he had been tightly gripped in his hand. You could feel him in your throat as he kept his thrusts slow and steady.

“Fuck look. She's getting excited just from sucking your cock Stevie.” Bucky had knelt down, coming face to face with your cunt. His mouth watered, studying the way you clenched around nothing every time Steve thrusted into you. “Okay Tiny, for your first official lesson, let's see how quickly you squirt on my face.”

You whimpered around Steve’s cock feeling Bucky’s tongue lap a long, slow strip of your cum, sucking on your lower lips before pulling away with a pop. His mouth was hot and abusive, his fingers slipping in next to his tongue. They were pumping at a pace that was making your lower tummy burn. Your jaw was slack, tempting to lock or close tightly around Steve. He seemed to notice picking up his pace in order to release deep down your throat. “Fuck Sugar I think I’m gonna bust down this pretty throat of yours. Is that okay? I want to empty myself in your mouth.”

You whimper around Steve’s cock from his filthy words. Your fingers squeezing his thighs, a silent way for you to say ‘yes, please, do as you please’. and so he obeyed, snapping his hips against you, spilling ropes of cum down your throat. You tried to swallow it all but it was like his seed was endless, and when he finally stopped and slid out of you, his fingers gazed over your chin seeing you trying your best to gulp down the rest of the white cream. “Awe, was it too much sugar?”

Your eyes were watering as you were now contemplating just spitting it out. But you were in a classroom, and you wanted to not make too much of a mess. Steve sensed your panic, kneeling down besides the desk you were still leaning against. He brought your face to his, clicking his tongue. “well come here, Sugar. Let me help.” His dark smirk made your head spin. “Sharing is caring.”

His lips latched onto yours, letting his tongue slip into your half-full mouth. His seed spilled into his mouth, letting himself taste the saltiness of his come. He swallows quickly, making you cry out against his hot, wet muscle. Meanwhile, Bucky hadn't stopped his assault on your aching pussy pumping to fingers deep inside you tipping you over the edge. Your climax was unlike anything you’ve felt before in your life. Your eyes were rolled back and your whole body tensed. You were on fire. “Fuck Fuck Fuck.”

“Hmm.” Bucky chuckles against your cunt. “You got a potty mouth baby.” you had the temptation to bite back at him suddenly, knowing all they had been doing for the past twenty minutes was swear and spill out filth. But the gushing liquid flowing down your legs distracted you, moaning instead, feeling your knees buckle.

“Look at that.” Steve had stepped back to stand behind you, taking in the view of your slumped against. Laying on top of the deck, your legs almost practically dangling limp and white cream mixing with clear liquid pouring down onto the floor below you. Bucky had stood up also, standing with his hands on his hips, looking smug of himself. “Maybe we should take a picture. Document the first time we got our girl off, huh?”

Steve and Bucky were mumbling to one another as if you were just lying on a school table fucked out of your mind in front of them. Suddenly you hear a click of a camera and your mind, as if a miracle, unfogs. Using your shaking arms you prop yourself on your elbows, wiggling your ass slightly while trying to look over your shoulder. “Fuck stay still princess.”

You tried to obey, noticing Bucky’s flash on his phone. You’ve never been in such a dirty position, let alone filmed. You wanted to come just at the sheer thought these two very beefy men were so obsessed with what you looked like they needed to take photos for safekeeping. It made you have a sense of powerlessness. Strangely. “Steve, Bucky. Someone please…touch me.”

You couldn’t explain where this newfound confidence came from, but your words made both males instantly by you. Bucky helped you up, leaning your chest against his while Steve stood behind you, giving feathering kisses along your neck and covered shoulder blade. “We are here tiny. You want us to touch you. Fuck you right here in this classroom.”

“Yes please,” you answered so sweetly, Bucky swore he could have melted then and there. Steve already had his slacks down, quickly following with his boxers. He grasps your hips, lifting your shirt up slightly so he can get a good view of your ass. His large hand almost covered your entire plump cheek, loving the way your body curves roll and fold beautifully. Like fresh bread dough, ready for Steve to squeeze.

“Fuck, you gonna have to take us raw.” Steve motioned, realizing he didn’t have condoms with him and He knew Bucky was definitely not carrying. “You okay with that Sugar?”

“Yes, please, sir.” The plea fell from your tongue before you could register what you had said. The pet name sent Steve’s cock twitching. His fingers dug more into your hips, threatening to draw blood from the sheer tightness of his grip. His tip slid along your folds, picking up some of your slick, Bucky’s eyes were glued to where his best friend was almost connected to you. It was a sight he never wanted to forget.

“Fuck Baby, what did I say about calling us sir or Mr…” Bucky’s voice was deep, deeper than normal. With a grumble hidden beneath. You whimper out a simple ‘sorry’ feeling a weird form of guilt, feeling bad for making your boys upset… your boys. That’s it. That’s what your mind thought of them as. But that’s if they’ll have you more than just today. Your eyes opened, looking straight at Yun. Your brow was scrunched as you reached for him. He stepped closer, his left hand gripping the back of your neck so you were at eye level with him. “If you keep calling us sir. I can’t promise what I might do to you.”

“S...Sir. Please.” You gasp, suddenly feeling Steve sink deep inside your cunt. Bucky growls, pulling his cock out of his slacks, pushing you down so you were bent on an angle, your ass flushed against Steve's pelvis and Bucky’s angry tip pressed firmly to your mouth. Pre-cum smeared on your tongue as you lapped along his shaft before he pushed inside your warm mouth.

"Fuck you feel amazing doll." Bucky threw his head back in a groan. His fingers laced in your messy hair, tightly guiding you along his cock. Steve, on the other hand, had his nails dug into your plump flesh, thrusting at a speed that left no room for oxygen. He didn't let you get used to his size, but the burn made your tummy rumble. He stretched you out perfectly, making your eyes roll back and saliva pool in your mouth, which Inevitably spilled out down Bucky's cock, coating his balls.

"Shit, Sugar. Why didn't we do this sooner? Your pussy is so fucking tight. And warm. Feels like heaven." Steve's rambles cause you to clench around him, making his hips stutter a bit. Bucky’s cock still deep down your throat you mumble around him, making the vibrations cause Bucky to still himself, fearing he might come then and there.

“Come one, baby, why don’t you come for Steve, hey? So we empty out loads in you.” You knew deep down Bucky’s desperate words were cause he was close, and given his thrusts were shallow and no longer timed. You were aware he didn’t have along. So you just moaned in response, wiggling your hips against Steve in a way to tell him to hurry up. Steve’s dark chuckle went straight to your core, making your high draw closer. You no longer felt the shyness from before but a newfound feeling brewing in your gut. One that made you well away that these two very large men were wrapped around your little finger. You let one hand go from Bucky’s thigh, bringing it down so you could rub your clit harshly, quickly finding a rhythm towards your release.

“Fuck I’m coming.” Steve crossed his hands, placing them on opposite hip dips, slamming his cock just right into your soaked cunt, emptying his seed deep inside you. This made you cum, clenching tightly around him, milking him of his cum. Bucky on the other hand, with his eyes watching intensely at how his cock disappeared then reappeared from your mouth, he grabbed your hair into a messy ponytail, stilling his thrusts to come inside your slacked mouth. You tried you best to swallow but like Steve, it was like his white creamy liquid was endless. So when he pulled out of you, he was quick to pull you up by your hair, smashing his lips against your own. His tongue slipped inside, taking his cum into his own mouth and swallowing. You have never known a man to taste himself let alone swallow his own load. God, it made you hornier than those female students fawning over these two super solider like men in front of you now.

“Come on, Punk. Come take a spin.” You could hear Steve’s deep voice chuckling behind you. You pulled away from Bucky seeing Steve swiftly move to stand beside the larger man. He grabbed Yun’s cock, tugging it a bit with a smirk plastered on his face. “You still have one more, why don’t you empty it into our sweet girl here.”

Steve’s lips grazed Bucky's sweaty neck, licking along the other male's jugular before giving it a little bite. These two have definitely played this game before with one another. But whether or not it has been with another person involved is a different story. But you shook off any negative thoughts when you reminded yourself about what Steve had called you. Our girl. God, these men will be the death of you. Bucky didn’t have time to say anything as you quickly stood up, grabbing his shoulders tightly, much to your poor imbalance. His hands, without hesitation, gripped your hips, holding you close against his broad chest. You leaned in and kissed him quickly, desperately, but there was a hint of something more. A stillness, caringness behind his kiss, something that was screaming, more, more, more.

Bucky’s left hand fell from your hip, snaking to grab a handful of your ass cheek, giving it a rough squeeze. His action made you moan lowly into his mouth, his sharp inhale through his nose.

His action made you moan lowly into his mouth, followed by a sharp inhale through his nose. Without breaking the kiss, he walked with you tightly in his grasp before the back of your legs hit the desk softly. You understood instantly what he wanted, removing your hands from his shoulders and then placing them down onto the oak table. You push yourself up with the little strength you have left, letting him shimmy between your spread thighs. he finally pulled away from your lips, so he could look down to where his cock was resting on your soaked tummy, “such a pretty baby. So ready for whatever we want. Are you are good girl darling? Going to be my good girl?”

“Yes, Jamie. I want to be your good girl. For both of you.” You felt tears welt against the crease of your eyelids. Your nails dig into the wood beneath you. He chuckled, feeling a sense of pride from just how easily you submit to him and Steve. How willing you are. He wonders what else they could get up to if they were in more of a private setting…

“That’s it, baby. Now, take a deep breath.” Bucky knew he was much bigger than Steve and even though he had prepped you and Steve as fucked you senseless only a moment prior. He was still going to be a lot to take in. Girth and length. So you obeyed perfectly, taking in a deep, slow breath as you felt him slip inside you, inch by inch. Your mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape, following with a silent scream and brows scrunched. He was definitely the biggest you’ve ever felt before. You tilted your head back, letting Bucky dive straight for your jugular, sucking a harsh purple mark on your neck, that would be very visible later. You were going to have to hide that tomorrow, but for now, you basked in the feeling of his teeth, tongue, or lips, as he thrusted at a slow but intense pace. Your body felt like it was on fire like you were a fuse box crackling electricity through water. 

Everything was so sensitive.

And you needed more. Reaching up you grabbed Bucky's collar of his messy shirt, bringing his body close. His face nuzzled into your neck, snapping his hips at a pounding pace that quickly made you see stars. You were so close, just needed a little push, and then your eyes wander to a very desperate-looking Steve with his fully hard cock again once again, pumping it like his life depended on it. His eyes were focused on the way Bucky's hips jackhammered into you, following the same rhythm with his fist. And that sight alone helps you climax, clenching tightly around Bucky’s cock, milking the older man for everything he had. 

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.” He mumbled against your neck, biting down hard onto your shoulder as he emptied his seed deep inside your womb. Everything suddenly went still, quiet. Even Steve had stopped, coming all over his hand from the entertainment had was gifting before him. Bucky's breath was pooling against your shoulder, while your nose nuzzled into his neck feeling his rapid pulse. There was nothing awkward about what had happened. But comfortable. Like you three were always meant to do this. Like all these games of cat and mouse were supposed to end up with you in their arms.

“So uh, another round back at ours?” Steve’s question just caused you and Bucky both to laugh.

[4unnyr0se]

❥ apple cider | tobio kageyama

warnings: timeskip! university! tobio, f! reader, she/her pronouns, virgin! tobio, cunnilingus, tit-sucking, hickeys, sub! tobio, cowgirl position, praise, needy! tobio, unprotected sex, hinata mentioned

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 6.2k

a/n: okay yeah lowkey i lost the plot a little bit but its tobio soo... also sorry if he's ooc i tried so hard

❥ song: apple cider - beebadoobee

Biology class was a pain in the ass, no matter what your major was. Whether it was an elective course or required for a biology major, it was god-awful. At least, it was god-awful for Tobio. He needed it for a science credit, and that class was the only one that wasn’t open. And it was a 6 PM-9 PM lecture, which was the greater of the two evils. So basically, he got the worst time slot for the worst possible class. And all because he slept in once class registration started for college sophomores. It's totally unfair. 

But it wasn’t the stupidly long and late classes that pissed him all the way off, no. It was his annoying, stuck-up, sickeningly smart classmate who was the textbook definition of a know-it-all. Literal and metaphorical; you even dressed like one. Neck-length black turtlenecks with round nerd-like glasses and ankle-length skirts in tones that complement your skin so well. He hated you. He hated how you were better than him. And you were so smug about it. Your stupid little smirk would grace your features every time the professor praised you for getting another correct answer. Or when your professor praised you for “Breaking the curve yet again, spectacular! You’re going places.” God, that pissed him off—little miss brilliant, perfect you.

So one could imagine the rage he felt in his stomach when your professor made the both of you stay after class, well after the other students left, chattering about how lame the homework was and what parties were happening on Friday. 

“Tobio, I asked you to stay after because your grades are…less than satisfactory,” your professor pushed up her glasses, gesturing to the piles of papers with his name scrawled out in chicken scratch. “I’m worried about your performance. If you continue on the path you’re on now, you’ll probably have to retake the class. That means you’ll fail three credits short and might have to graduate later than the others.”

Tobio shrugged, shoving his hands in his loose jeans pockets. “I can always take a class in the summer, can’t I?”

Your professor shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I don’t work during the summer, and I’m the only professor that teaches this biology level. Besides, I know you have volleyball to attend to when you aren’t in class. It must be stressful, dealing with sports and academia.”

Tobio didn’t know what academia meant, but it sounded like school. “So, what? Are you going to tutor me after class or something?”

“Oh, no. As a professor, I cannot help students past my office hours. That’s why I’ve appointed my best student to tutor you until your grades are satisfactory,” she gestured to yourself. “She’s maintained a high ninety throughout the semester, so she should have no problem tutoring you.”

You waved at Tobio, smiling softly. 

Tobio sighed and rolled his eyes. “No offense, professor, but is there any way that I can get somebody else to tutor me?”

“Do you two not get along well?”

“We just don’t know each other, that’s all. I think Tobio is just shy,” you stood beside him. “I promise I’ll do my best to help you improve your grades, honestly.” you flashed him another soft smile.

He thought the show you were putting on for your professor was impressive. “Fine, whatever.”

“Great!” your professor happily clapped her hands together. “In that case, why not start tutoring him tonight? I’m assigning an online quiz tomorrow that isn’t open note, so I hope you’ll score better than 60% this time, Tobio.”

You covered your chuckle with a false cough. His highest grade was a 60%. Oh, that’s pathetic. Adorably pathetic. “Yeah, we can walk to the library. Unless you have something else that you need from us, professor.”

Your professor shook her head and bid you two off, closing the classroom doors behind you. You and Tobio walked awkwardly to the library, his blue eyes glued to the ground below you.

“So, you play volleyball?” you tried to break the silence. He didn’t respond. “Did you hear me? I asked if you play volleyball.”

“Just shut up and walk. You hate this as much as I do. Stop pretending to like me. Our professor can’t hear you. No need to suck up anymore.” he brushed his black bangs out of his face.

You were taken aback by his words. “Okay, that’s fucking rude. Sorry for wanting to get to know you better, jackass.” you played with the necklace dangling from your neck, your eyes darting to look over at Tobio occasionally. He was tall, taller than you were. Built, too. You heard that he played volleyball in high school and won nationals a couple of times, and he was only a college sophomore. You thought he must work out regularly to keep his shoulders broad. He definitely had abs, too, rippling just under the compression shirt he wore-

“Oi, we’re here. Did your brain leave your head or something?” he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from slamming face-first into the library doors. “Watch where you’re going. Next time, I’ll just let you break your nose.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel so protected,” you sighed, walking to an empty study corner. Tobio took the beanbag, and you took the couch, taking out your flashcards and highlighters. “So, we’re currently on the human anatomy unit. This is one of the more complicated units, so I can’t blame you for struggling. One of the reasons I’m doing so well is that my high school offered human anatomy during my third year. I was good at it.” you praised yourself. 

“Wow, really? Karasuno didn’t offer that.” Tobio leaned back in the bean bag, resting his arms behind his head. 

“You went to Karasuno? I didn’t know you were from Miyagi.”

“I thought it would be obvious to you since you’re so smart or whatever.” he rolled his eyes, leaning forward. “Let's just get this over with. I have other shit to do besides getting babied by the class know-it-all.” 

You slammed your flashcards down on the table, shooting him a glare. “Look, it’s not my fault you’re bad at biology. But I’ve been appointed as your tutor and won’t give up on you just because you’re mean to me. I’ve been called worse things. So suck it up and let me help you, you asshole.” you tossed your textbook at him. “Read this passage, and then I’ll show you the flashcards. Is that okay with you, or do you need further instruction, moron?”

Damn, he liked when you talked to him like that. He knew you were faking that kindness act just so your professor wouldn’t get upset with you. He was right. Tobio knew you had an attitude under all that nerd attire that made you look so fucking sexy. Wait, did he think you were sexy? No…right? You were his tutor. You were a total loser who dressed like that basketcase from The Breakfast Club. So why did he suddenly have the overwhelming urge to slam his lips against yours when you told him off? He shook his head, trying to erase the sinful thoughts from his mind as he read the passage in the textbook that lectured about menstruation. Ew, gross. Well, he guessed it wasn’t gross. It was natural. Besides, you would probably punch his lights out if he said it was gross. For once in his life, it was better to keep his mouth shut. 

“Have you finished the paragraph?” your words snapped him out of his thoughts—a twinge of pink dusted his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he responded, closing the textbook. “I can’t believe you have to go through that every month.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You get used to it eventually. At least I don’t have endometriosis,” you shuffled your flashcards, taking one out of the deck. “Okay, can you tell me the average amount of days that a person with a uterus gets their period?”

Tobio thought for a moment. “Uh…five?”

You slowly nodded. “Well, it’s closer to a week, but everyone is different, so I guess you’re technically right,” you pulled out another card. “Why do people with uteruses get cramps when menstruating?”

“Um…because the muscles in the vagina contract to…” 

“To what?”

“To get rid of the lining…”

You clapped your hands together. “Very good! Did you already know some of this stuff?”

Tobio nodded. “I have an older sister. She gets really bad cramps, and the whole house turns into chaos whenever she gets her period. Chocolate usually helps…I would always make her chocolate milk.” He smiled to himself.

“Aw, that’s really nice of you. Your older sister is lucky to have a nice little brother, even if he’s a jackass to his biology tutor.” you snickered, putting away the flashcards. “Well, it’s been an hour already. I think we should wrap up. I’m hungry.”

“I’m not a jackass, shut up!” Tobio grew defensive, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “I have to get to practice anyway. Hinata will start spamming my phone any minute if I’m late. He’s so annoying.”

You put your items in your bag. “Hinata? Like, Shoyo Hinata?” you pushed your glasses up to your face. “I know him. We eat lunch together sometimes. He’s hilarious.” you smile, and Tobio felt a jealous wave wash over him. You were the cutest girl he had talked to in a long time. Why did Hinata get to talk to you, too? Was he about to try something? Fucking Hinata. 

“He’s actually really fucking annoying. He makes weird noises when he receives the ball like a toddler.” Tobio smirked, brushing the dust off his jeans. “But if you think he’s funny, you must be right. After all, you’re the smart one.” he teased.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Don’t get pissy with me because you have a shitty grade in biology. So, what if you know how the menstrual cycle works? I bet you’re awful at the reproductive part of human anatomy.” you placed a hand on your hip. “We’ll meet here tomorrow at the same time. You get to learn about the vagina, which should be fun for you since you’re obviously a fucking virgin.” 

“I am not!” Tobio huffed, staring daggers as you walked away. He wasn’t technically lying to you, but it also wasn’t the truth. Sure, he had done things with his mouth and hands, but he never went all the way. And Tobio was almost positive that you would bully him relentlessly if you knew that he was a virgin. And he also knew, way deep in his gut, that he wanted you. For whatever reason, he had to have you. You were so full of yourself and painfully smart, smarter than he would ever be. Tobio needed to fuck you so good that you would not doubt in your mind that he wasn’t a virgin. 

The library was relatively empty, but it was a Saturday afternoon. Students who lived off campus were at their parent's house, and those who lived on campus were probably asleep in their dorms or doing other activities. It was a lovely atmosphere, especially without all the annoying frat guys using the library as a place to make out with girls in the nonfiction section. You and Tobio sat in the usual spot, except you both sat on the couch this time. Even though you didn’t particularly care for him, he was getting better at human anatomy, which you felt proud of.

“So, are you ready to learn about how we reproduce?” you opened your textbook to the bookmarked page. “I know we already learned this in high school, but it’s still an important part of the unit to review, just in case there’s a question on the exam next week that’s a curveball.”

Tobio sighed and took out a highlighter he bought exclusively for your tutoring sessions. “I can’t believe we have to go over this. We’re in college. We know how to fuck.” he blushed, tapping the uncapped highlighter on the thin paper of the textbook.

You cleared your throat. “Just because we know how the process is done doesn’t mean we understand the risks that come along with it. There are sexually transmitted diseases and ectopic pregnancies…there’s a whole list of things that can go wrong during sex. Luckily,” you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “Those things are relatively rare. Well, except for the STD portion. That’s why condoms are important, even when your partner is on the birth control pill.”

Tobio smiled slightly. “You seem to know a lot about this. Is there something I should know?” 

Wow, he was never this smooth when it came to flirting. Usually, he was an awkward mess who stammered over his words and made a fool of himself. 

You rolled your eyes and looked at him. “My high school just thought that being properly educated when it came to sex was important, that’s all. I’m not some sexual deviant if that’s what you were wondering. Would a sexual deviant dress like a librarian?” you gestured to your outfit.

Tobio’s eyes wandered to your tight-fitting sweater that fit snugly around your breasts and waist. The skirt you wore was thigh-length and oh-so-snug, and the stockings you wore underneath made you look like the prettiest librarian he had ever seen. “Do you want me to be honest, or is this one of those questions where I’ll be wrong no matter what I say?”

You closed your textbook. “No, be honest. Let me know what you’re thinking.”

Tobio took a deep breath, refusing to make eye contact. You were pretty, but damn, were you terrifying. “I…I think you look really fucking sexy when you dress like a librarian.” he squeezed his knuckles on his lap, looking down at his feet with a furious blush on his face. 

You chuckled. “So you have a thing for librarians or something?” you moved closer toward the bumbling setter. “That’s not a bad thing, you know. Even though you’re incredibly stupid, you are…kind of cute.” you placed your hand on his trembling thigh.

“Don’t touch me there. It’s sensitive,” he whispered.

“Aw, you really are a virgin,” you softly purred, finding this whole ordeal amusing.

“I told you I’m not,” Tobio continued to lie. “I’ve…I’ve had sex.”

You sighed, pulling your hand away from his thigh. “You know, it’s okay if you are a virgin. I know I tease you about it, but it’s really nothing to be ashamed about.”

Tobio crossed his arms and grumbled. “My teammates say otherwise, especially the upperclassmen.”

You rolled your eyes yet again. “Tobio, they just say those things because of toxic masculine culture. You have to ask yourself if you honestly think you’re ready to lose your virginity if you’re emotionally ready for it.”

Tobio raised an eyebrow. “Why would I have to be emotionally ready? Don’t people fuck because they’re horny?”

“Well, yes, but it’s a very intimate act. You have to be mature enough to be vulnerable with your partner. This is why sex education is so important.”

Tobio racked his brain, thinking of what to say next. “Do you…want to come over tonight? T-to study, obviously. I have to get my grades up, or it’s my ass.”

You smiled, packing up your things. “We can just study in my dorm. I live alone, so it’ll be nice and cozy. Maybe we can do a practice quiz on female anatomy? I’m guessing you already know a lot about male anatomy.” you give him a suggestive smirk.

Tobio frowned. “Did you just say that I jerk off a lot?”

“You’re a nineteen-year-old in college. Of course, you jerk off a lot.”

“Shut up! God, you’re so pretentious.” Tobio shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the couch. 

“At least I’m not failing biology,” you stuck your tongue out playfully. “Come by my dorm building around nine. It’s the one by the dining hall, you can’t miss it. I’ll be waiting to buzz you in.” With that, you left, humming to yourself as if you didn’t give Tobio a million ideas on how to spend his time in your dorm. What if you brushed against his shoulder when going over terms, and his hand just happened to slide around your waist? Oh, it would be absolutely terrible if you got on top of him, caging him under your body as your lips trailed down further and further until they landed on his needy cock. Fuck, Tobio was hard just thinking about it. He grabbed a nearby throw pillow and whistled to himself, waiting for his erection to go down so he could walk to his dorm and prepare for tonight. In reality, nothing would probably happen…right?

It was 9:02 in the evening. The crickets played a tune outside your dorm hall as you sat down on one of the many chairs they had scattered on the lawn that were usually used during the springtime. The moon shone brightly in the sky, and the fireflies danced with the stars. Truely it was a perfect evening.

Except Tobio was fucking late. Sure, it was only two minutes, but what if he forgot? You didn’t have his contact information; emailing him was out of the question because that would be outdated. And so, you waited patiently outside for him to arrive. You couldn’t wait to lecture him.

“Yo,” Tobio waved. His backpack hung over his shoulders, and his cell phone practically dangled from his grey sweatpants. “Sorry, I’m late. My roommate was being an asshole, and we were yelling so much that I lost track of time.”

“You’re two and a half minutes late, dick,” you brushed the dirt off your knees, stretching. “I was considering going back inside and leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Tobio scoffed. “It’s only two and half minutes, damn. You really need to learn how to relax.”

You opened up the dorm building with your keycard. “If I relaxed, I wouldn’t be at the top of my class. Now, would I?”

“Whatever. Can we just get this over with? I hate studying.” he said defensively. It wasn’t technically lying; Tobio didn’t like studying, but he liked studying with you. He would never admit it, but you made the material easier to remember, and you actually cared about him getting decent grades for whatever reason. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, princess. I live on the third floor, and the elevator is broken, so we’re taking the stairs.” you took off your hoodie and wrapped it around your waist, revealing your low-cut tank top. “C’mon. I don’t want to waste more time than we already have.”

“It was barely three minutes…” Tobio muttered under his breath as he followed you up the stairs, trying his best not to trip over the steps as his eyes constantly darted to your exposed cleavage. Fuck, you looked so fucking good. Did you even know what you were doing to him? Probably, you loved teasing him. Maybe if he got enough answers correct, you would let him bury his face in your breasts and suck little hickeys onto them.

“Okay, we’re here,” your dorm room was just at the end of the hall, nice and secluded. You jiggled the key in the doorknob and let him inside, the dorm walls decorated with posters ranging from your favorite TV shows to stupid ones you found while thrifting. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get my laptop to do online flashcards. If you get them right, you get to feed your little monster pet. Isn’t that fun?”

Tobio chuckled. “You have to rely on a game to study? And there I thought you were just books and, uh, other things.”

“Wow, so smooth.”

“Shut the hell up.”

You giggled and sat on your bed, patting the spot next to you. “Make yourself comfortable. This could be a while.”

“As long as it’s less than an hour, I don’t care.” he sat beside you, mindful of the space between. If he was any closer, he might be unable to help himself.

“Oh, honey, did you think you would be in and out of here in a tight thirty minutes? You could not be more wrong,” you mocked him, opening the flashcard application on your computer. “This will take maybe two hours so that you can learn all there is to know about the female body. Unless, of course,” you leaned in closer. “You don’t think you can handle it.”

Fuck, this is where Tobio dies. He’s going to die, and it’s because this sexy fucking nerd won’t give his virgin ass a break. 

“I-I can handle it! I can totally handle it!” Tobio sounded so sure of himself, but the crimson blush decorating his cheeks gave it all way.

“If you say so,” you clicked on a flashcard. “Alright, what is the labia?”

Tobio thought for a moment. “Uh, it’s the folds of skin around the vaginal opening…right?”

You smiled. “Very good! You get to give the little monster a treat now.” You handed him the laptop. “You can click on what food you want to give him. I personally like giving him the rice cakes.”

Tobio chuckled at the tiny digital creature chewing on the snack. “This is kind of cute. I can see why you like studying now.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Studies show that making learning fun actually helps the material stick in your brain for longer periods of time. Who knew?”

You clicked on another flash card once Tobio had finished feeding the virtual monster. “Oh, this is a fun one. How rare is the female orgasm without clitoral stimulation?”

“...why do I have to know this?” Tobio looked flustered.

“Just answer the damn question.” he looked cute when he was embarrassed.

“Uh, common…I think. I don’t know, I’m not a girl.”

You sighed and adjusted your glasses. “Wrong, sorry. It’s actually incredibly rare for a female to orgasm without proper clitoral stimulation. We often time have to fake it to please our current partner.”

He looked down at his socks. “That doesn’t sound very fun. Why do guys cum more easily than girls?”

“Because the sperm fertilizes the egg, and women don’t need to orgasm to produce the egg, obviously.”

“And how was I supposed to know that?”

You rubbed your temple. “Because the textbook is right in front of you, dummy. Anyways,” you looked at Tobio. “Don’t feel bad. We have sex toys and stuff so we can get proper orgasms.”

Tobio scratched the back of his neck. “Has…has anyone ever made you cum?”

You were silent for a moment. “No, not even once. I had a boyfriend who was convinced he knew where the clit was…he always got it wrong.”

“Sorry to hear that,” why did Tobio feel bad? He wasn’t your boyfriend…did he want to be?

“S’not your fault, don’t apologize.” you pat him on the back, the faintest shade of ballerina pink on your cheeks. “Well, we should probably get back to studying now.”

Tobio closed the laptop. “We could study a different way…o-only if you want to.”

“What do you mean? Like, without flashcards?” you were faking your innocence. You knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“Are you seriously going to make me say it?” Tobio forced himself to look at you, drinking in your natural beauty. Holy fuck, you were so gorgeous.

“Yeah, I really am,” you leaned forward, licking your lips. “Go on, tell me how we can study a different way. I’m so eager.”

Tobio groaned to himself at the sight of your pink tongue licking your bottom lip, making you seem even more tempting. “We could, dammit, we could have sex a-and you could show me how to…y’know, make you feel good. O-only if you want to, I would never force you to. It’s not like I’m desperate for sex or anything. Who said that? Not me-” You cut him off by placing a manicured finger on his chapped lips. 

“If you want to fuck, then let’s just fuck. I’ll teach you along the way, alright Tobio?” you placed your laptop on the dresser beside you, climbing into his trembling lap. Your soft hands cupped his flushed face, the scent of your vanilla hand cream filling his nostrils with a pleasant aroma. “Do you want me to fuck you, Tobio?”

“God, yes,” 

With his approval, you gently pressed your lips against his. He quickly melted into the kiss, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist so your chest was flush against his. His lips moved slowly against yours as if he was terrified to do something that would upset you. You giggled into the kiss, shifting in Tobio’s lap to get more comfortable.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands squeezing your hips with feather-light force as your tongue bore into his mouth, dancing with his own before pulling away. Your arms secured themselves around his neck, fingers tugging on the loose strands of midnight black hair. “Did you like kissing me, Tobio?” you purred, your petal-like lips trailing kisses down his thick neck.

“Y-yeah, I really fucking liked that,” God, his whimpers would be the death of you.

“Do you know what a hickey is, Tobio?”

“Not really…” he felt ashamed of how little he knew.

You frowned at his downtrodden tone, rubbing his cheekbone with your thumb. “Hey, don’t say it like that. It’s okay if you don’t know what a hickey is. I’m your tutor, don’t you want to learn?” he nodded.

“So why don’t you let me show you then, hm? I’ll be gentle, I promise.” you kissed up and down his neck until you found a spot that made Tobio gasp. “Is this where it feels good?”

His sweatpants strained. “Yeah..really good,”

Your teeth nipped at the skin. “This might hurt, so tell me if it’s too much. Can you be a good boy and do as you’re told?”

Another whine escaped his puffy lips. “Yeah, I’ll be good for you.”

Your lips descended onto the previously marked spot, taking his skin between your teeth and sucking ever so slightly. His once light grip on your hips strengthened as you bit down on the sensitive flesh, sucking the tiniest purple bruise that would surely blossom into a beautiful hickey. You pulled away, catching your breath and brushing your hair out of your field of vision. “How did that feel, pretty boy?”

Tobio’s cock was painfully hard in his boxers. The grey sweatpants were not doing him any favors in terms of concealing his throbbing erection. “Shit, that felt so fucking good,” his hands traveled down to the bottom of your shorts, fidgeting with the cotton fabric. “Can I have another one, please?”

You pecked his nose. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

His head craned to the side to give you better access as you bit at the other side of his neck, suckling on the same place opposite the first hickey. Whimper after shallow whimper fled his lips, his calloused hands from years of volleyball sliding under your shorts to toy with the fat of your ass.

You gasped at the sensation, pulling away prematurely. “Somebody’s certainly handsy tonight.”

“S’not my fault,” Tobio looked away. “Just wanted to feel more of you, that’s all. Not my fault that you’re pretty.”

“You’re cute,” you pecked his lips, your glasses pushing up against the bridge of your nose. “Tobio, do you wanna continue being a good boy for me?”

“So fucking badly, please. I’ll do whatever you want. Just make me feel good.” Holy fuck, he was sure he had never been more embarrassed in his whole life. He would never say something like that. The power you held over him was unmatched.

You rolled yourself off his lap, propping yourself on the bed by your elbows. Teasingly, your hands reached under your shirt and pulled it off, your bra following after. The cold and arousing air of your dorm room grazed your tits, your nipples perking up at the temperature change. “Why don’t you take that shirt off too, hm? Don’t be shy now.”

Tobio didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ripped his shirt from his body. You didn’t even get a chance to admire his toned form before his lips were on yours again, his muscular body caging yours as his rough hands left trails of molten lava on your breasts. 

“Fuck, Tobio,” you moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his slender waist. “D’ya like what you see, pretty boy?”

He didn’t answer. His lips wrapped around your nipple, eagerly sucking at the sensitive mound while his other hand toyed with the supple flesh. You let out a content sigh as his mouth alternated between breasts, not leaving one abandoned for a moment. 

“Fucking love these tits,” his voice rumbled against your cleavage, covering your scorching body with sloppy open-mouth kisses. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your hand danced between his messy hair. “Good boy. You’re being so good, Tobio.”

His hips rutted against yours, his clothed erection desperate for any kind of friction. “Wanna make you feel good,” he groaned as he tore his mouth away from your breast. “Please, teach me how to make you feel good.” he didn’t even care how desperate and pathetic he sounded. All he knew was that he needed you. 

“Take my shorts and panties off,” you lifted your hips off the mattress. Tobio didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled your soft shorts off and tossed them on the ground beneath you, your panties soon dangling over your ankle. “That’s it. You’re such a good student, Tobio.”

Fuck, your body was to fucking die for. Your glistening heat was so incredibly tempting. He wondered what you would taste like…if you would permit him to taste you.

“Do you know what oral sex is?”

“Y-yeah, of course I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You nodded in satisfaction. “Now, do you want me to show you how to make a girl cum on your tongue?” 

His nod was a bit too quick.

You chuckled. “Alright then,” your delicate hand spread over your pussy, circling your clit. “This is the clitoris. When you apply enough pressure to the clitoris, that’s when your partner will probably orgasm. Fingers sometimes do the trick,” you looked deep into his gunmetal eyes. “But the best thing to do is to suck on it with your mouth. Can you be a good boy and do that for me, Tobio?”

“Mhm, I-I can do that. I’ll make you feel so fucking good, I promise.” he lifted your hips so they rested on his thighs for support. The hot breath from his tongue sent electric shocks throughout your body, complimented only by his whimpers as he flattered his tongue against your soaking heat. 

“Fuck,” you sighed, tossing your head back against your plush pillows as Tobio slowly dragged his tongue up and down, occasionally stopping to suck on your clit. Your hands flew to his unkempt hair as he grew greedy, quicking his pace. The calloused tips of his fingers squeezed the supple skin of your thighs as his nose brushed against your most sensitive bud, lapping at your sobbing cunt like a man starved.

“T-Tobio, fuck!” you cried out, arching your back further into the mattress as his pace quickened like a man on a mission. His tongue and lips worked against your core in a fierce heat, not being able to think of anything else except pushing you over the edge, just like you asked him to. Your thighs clenched around his head as his thumb found your clit, swirling electric circles. “I’m so fucking close, don’t stop!” his name fell like a mantra from your lips as he continued his brutal pace, groaning as you tasted too incredibly sweet on his tongue.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his mouth covered in your slick. “Am I doing a good job? Do you feel good?”

You shoved his head back down. “Yes, just keep going. I’m so fucking close, Tobio, please.”

The sound of you begging was all he needed to drive you over the edge. He buried himself in your heat, his thumb being replaced by his middle and ring finger as he drew rough circles against your clit, his tongue darting up and down like a madman. With one final cry of ecstasy, you came crashing down as your orgasm sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout your molten figure. His tongue worked you through your orgasm, lapping up every last bit of your release.

You pulled him up by his hair, your face flushed with the deepest shade of pink he had ever seen. “Fuck…that was so fucking good. You’re such a good boy. Do you want your reward now?” Before he could answer, you flipped over so he was under you, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His sweatpants were discarded, and boxers hung on his ankle. 

“What are you doing?” Tobio whined as your thumb teased his throbbing cock, gathering precum on it as you tasted him. “Fuck, it feels so fucking good.”

You hovered above his length, aligning it with your entrance. “Shh, just think about how good I’m about to make you feel, okay?” you lowered yourself down onto his cock, hissing as your greedy pussy swallowed his length.

“What about, oh fuck, what about condoms?” Tobio whimpered, his hands finding your hips as you sat on his pelvis, the walls of your cunt squeezing around his cock. 

“Well, you’re a virgin, and I’m on the pill. It’s safe to assume that you’re clean.” you groaned as you lifted yourself, the head of his throbbing cock sitting snug in your walls before you slammed yourself back down. 

“Holy shit,” Tobio rasped, squeezing his eyes shut as you began to slowly bounce on his cock. “Y-you’re so fucking tight, oh my fucking god.”

You leaned down to kiss him, whispering sweet nothings against his lips as you raised and lowered your hips, creating a steady pace that filled you up so nicely. “Yeah, you like me fucking you?”

His grip on your hips tightened as you set a relentless pace, your dorm room filling with the echoes of skin smacking against skin as his cock disappeared in and out of your cunt. “Shit, I’m not gonna last if y’keep that up. Fuck!” he shouted as his cock brushed against your cervix. The sight of your bruised breasts bouncing in his face only drove him further to the edge of euphoria, taking your nipple in his mouth as you continued to ride him.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you harder, Tobio? So fucking greedy.” you were met with a wanton cry as you slammed down even harder, his cock twitching inside of you. Your pace grew sloppy as he continued to suck on your breast, his calloused hands roaming up and down your backside, desperate for purchase. 

“M’not greedy!” Tobio whined, practically sobbing into your harsh kiss as your walls clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth. “Gonna fucking cum, fuck! Can I cum inside? Can I please cum inside your pussy?” his pride has long since been thrown out the window, his release the only thing in his head. Tobio didn’t even wait for you to respond before his climax crested, shooting white hot ropes of cum into your pussy, his hips bucking up into yours as he rode out his incredible high. 

The warmth in your core enveloped you as your bouncing ceased, letting him recover from the aftershocks of euphoria. His mouth was agape, and his gorgeous blue eyes could barely be kept open.

“You’re so cute,” your hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his nose as you got off of his ruined cock. His body was scooped into your arms, fingers drawing random shapes and patterns on his chest as he recovered. “Did that feel good, pretty boy?”

Tobio could only grumble in response. “So good, so fucking good. Love that pussy,” he whispered, curling up deeper into your arms as you tended to him.

“Do you need anything? A glass of water, a snack?”

“I’m not five years old…” he sighed, peeking up from your arms. “Can we just cuddle or something? I don’t wanna leave just now.”

You raised a brow. “No one said you had to leave right away. Where that stereotype came from, I will never know.” 

Tobio shrugged. “I dunno either. It’s stupid, anyway. You’re so warm.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the same guy who was being such a hard-ass a couple of days ago?” you chuckled, fluffing his hair.

“No! Shut up,” he frowned at you, pecking your cheek. “Let’s watch a movie so I don’t have to keep looking at your stupid, pretty face.”

“Hey, Tobio,” you whispered in his ear. “If you get a good grade on that quiz next week, I can show you what my mouth can do.”

[themore12]

The First-years sleepover!

Now that the Onboro dorm had been renovated and cleaned and everything, Ace decided to take advantage of that and have a sleepover there with the other 1st years!

Word count: 1092 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yo, Prefect!"

You sighed as you heard the ever-so-familiar voice behind you.

You turned to the nearest person beside you who so happened to be Dorm leader Vil Schoenheit, and tried to hide from the troublemakers behind you.

With a hint of exhaustion, you asked for a small favor from the worldwide model. "Hide me Vil...please I just want a moment of peace."

With a raised brow and an amused smile on his lips, he glanced at the one-brain cell trio, who were arguing as they made their way towards you. "I'm afraid they are already making their way here Prefect."

You can only sigh as you catch sight of the familiar red and blue-haired duo in the corner of your eye.

(more under the cut)

-------------------------------------------

You already knew Ace would suggest troublesome with how he smiled at you.

"Prefect, we should sleep over at your dorm." (Ace) (events after book 7)

"Don't we do that every now and then already?" (Deuce)

With an annoyed smile, he continued, "Now that it's been renovated and all!" (Ace)

Before you could even begin to say anything, Grim said what you had in mind.

"Why would me and my henchman want you two in our dorm, each time you guys stay there our dorm gets wrecked!" (Grim)

"It only happened a few times!" (Ace)

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place?!" (Yuu)

In the end, you could only watch helplessly as they barged into the Onboro dorm with snacks at hand, a Happy Epel, and a Jack.

You sighed, "You didn't drag Epel and Jack here without their dorm leaders not knowing, right?" With that, the red and blue-haired troublemakers stopped in their tracks.

"..."

You can only sigh yet again, as words can't seem to convey the migraines that are starting to form in your head.

------------------------

"I'm sorry Yuu..."

"It isn't your fault Deuce, I know Ace is the mastermind behind all of this."

"Hey! I'm right here!"

------------------------

Without noticing it, the sun has begun to slowly disappear from the horizon and the moon from earlier seemingly becomes brighter as time passes by.

"Ace, Deuce, Grim, stop trying to kill each other."

"Epel and Jack can you help me set the table up?"

After a look at your annoyed expression, the three troublemakers raised their arms in defeat and (with a bit of guilt -Deuce) silently walked towards the dining table and sat quietly as they waited for the food.

Knowing that they might cause more trouble if they tried to help.

------------------------

"Jack, could you please pass the salt?"

"THAT'S MINE!"

"I SAW IT FIRST!"

"Here Yuu."

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"Thanks."

-----------------------

After deciding who washes the dishes with Rock paper scissors, after an intense match between Epel and Ace, the loser (Ace) begrudgingly lurched to the kitchen.

Feeling bad, you decided to stay in the kitchen while he watched the dishes.

You might feel bad, but you're not that kind to take do his task for him.

The others, seeing you stay in the kitchen to provide moral support to their dishwasher, decided to join your little pity party.

"Since when have you guys been this nice..." (Ace)

"If Yuu wasn't here we wouldn't have stayed here." (Deuce)

*Nods along* (Grim, Epel, and Jack)

----------------------

Grim the ever-competitive raccoon suggested playing something in the Wonder Link, sponsored by Idia.

"I bet I could score higher than you guys in Star Rouge!"

"Oh you're on, you talking raccoon!" (Ace)

"I'm not a raccoon!" (Grim)

Grim lost 2 times in a row.

"Fngha, Henchman! Win for me!"

You won those 2 losses back.

"Stop acting as if you won." (Jack)

"We count as one student, so I can say I won!" (Grim)

"That's not how that works..." (Epel)

"I can't hear losers!" (Grim)

"...YA WANNA GO, YOU EGG-SUCKIN' RACCOON?!" (Epel)

----------------------

"From what I heard you have 10 steps to do before you sleep in Pomifiore?"

"Yeah..." With a seemingly heavy heart, he sighed after he answered. "Don't get me started in our morning routine..."

----------------------

As you were gossiping with the others, until sudden loud knocks and a familiarly loud voice yelled out. "Human!" Catching the other's attention with his ever-so-loud voice.

"Isn't that Sebek?"

"HUMAN!"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's Sebek."

With a sigh, you decided to drag your tired body to the front door. "yow, what do you need Sebek?"

----------------------

Long story short, he was tricked by Lilia to be part of the pajama party.

----------------------

"Ace you cheating!-" (Epel)

"BAHAHHAHAHHAHA" (Ace)

----------------------

"What is Wonder Link?" (Sebek)

"I honestly don't know too, man." (Yuu)

"I think it's something you can play games in?" (Jack)

---

(Literally in front of them)

"It's like our parents watching us, trying to understand what we're doing." (Ace)

(Glances behind them) "Yeah lol." (Epel)

----------------------

"Epel, calm down!" (Deuce)

"GRAHHHHH!" (Epel)

----------------------

After everyone joined Epel with his skincare routine(bonding), everybody seemed to have lost all their adrenaline from gaming earlier.

With the moon high up in the sky, almost all the first years seemed to have tired themselves out, since some of them had even passed out in the living room with their bodies littering the floor. Seemingly not caring how they are literally on the floor.

"Jack, can you help me carry them to their beds?" You asked as you pointed to the two passed-out idiots on the floor as you hoisted Grim up, making him grumble a little but after readjusting himself in your arms he continued to sleep like a log.

Jack nodded as he tried to keep his eyes open, seemingly a bit sleepy after all the trouble his friends made him go through.

"If you're tired, just let them lay on the couches." You said as you chuckled at him shaking his head and following you to their rooms.

"Thank you, Jack."

You covered Grim's ears as you shouted for the other two who were barely awake at this point. "Epel! Sebek!"

You hear a very weak "Yeah?" from Epel as he lies on the couch with no energy left in his body,

"Come on, you guys have rooms."

"Coming..."

------------------------------

After what felt like an eternity (for them) all of them have finally gone to their respective rooms in the Onboro dorm.

"Thank you, Prefect..." You hear Epel mumble before he crashes onto his bed.

"Goodnight Prefect..." You hear Ace mumble as he subtly tries to drag you down onto his bed with him.

"Thanks, Prefect" You hear Deuce weakly mumble as he buries his head onto the pillow.

"Thank you and goodnight, Prefect." Jack said before he nodded and closed his door.

"I appreciate you for letting me in...Prefect." Sebek said although you could barely make out what he said at the end before he closed the door on you.

================================================

"I can't believe I hang out with these losers."

"But at least they're your losers!"

You glanced at the mirror in your room as you set Grim down who grumbled and reached out for you.

"You're right, they're the best losers I never asked for."

"Goodnight Mickey."

================================================

The dorm leaders honest reaction to the sleepover:

Authors note: Its been weeks when will i ever post this?

AUTHORS NOTE 2: not proofread at all.

AUTHORS NOTE 3: ITS A BIT RUSHED BECAUSE ITS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG NOW LMAO, ITS MY COMEBACK I THINK.

Authors note 4: reblogs and comments are appreciated ehe

[kikiyoomis]

when you first met suna, the first thing you thought was that “yea he definitely smokes, drinks and fucks around.” and every time you saw him that impression only cemented itself.

your university program had this famed student run party. it was the only highlight of the new school year. people got so incredibly wasted, lost their virginity, got high as fuck… it was a party that encaptured the student body.

you were excited to go to the party, it was a chance to dress up, look sexy and maybe flirt with a couple of guys way out of your league using liquid courage. and besides you had your trustworthy friends with you, so at least you have someone watching your back… at least when they’re sober.

entering the party, the loud music pounded into your ears. people were dancing, drinking, playing games. you scanned the room looking for any familiar faces to go and talk to.

unsurprisingly, you saw suna standing around the patio with a couple of his friends and some girls. he had a red solo cup in hand while his friends smoked. the girls were all giggling and the boys’ body language seemed to give off a flirty intention.

a girl touches suna’s arm and he turns to face her, her hand slipping back to herself. he smiles and laughs and you think to yourself that if he does that more often he could easily be the most popular person on campus. he has the looks and the body it would easily attract a vast majority of people. and it already has for the most part.

‘but it’s none of my business’ you think before heading off towards your friends for a round of shots to start off the night.

drink after drink, dancing with your friends, talking with people you know you’ll never see again, it was really a fun night. so fun in fact, that you’ve ran away from your friends to hide in a dark corner kissing a man you don’t have a single clue about. no seriously. one moment you were dancing, and then the next moment you were no longer on the dance floor with your friends and instead with this man. not that you really care that much consider you’re having the best moment you’ve ever had in your entire life.

he was such a damn good kisser. after every breath you pull him back because you didn’t have enough. tongues fighting for dominance and lips bruising themselves purple with the intensity of the kiss.

“god, fuck, you’re really not gonna let me go huh,” he teases and you leave a hickey on his neck. he places a hand around your ass and leans back, bringing you down with him.

“mmm shut up and kiss me some more” you say locking your lips with his again. it was addicting and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“hey suna where are you?!” a voice calls out suddenly, startling the both of you. the two of you sat in silence, waiting for the guy to pass. you can hear him walking around the little corner you were in, making your heart beat in anxiousness. it would be so embarrassing if someone spots you two…

only when another friend tells him to forget about suna and to just go to the second party that the first guy leaves.

“i thought they’d never leave. that friend has some sense to just leave suna. he’s probably getting high somewhere…” you mumble, a little grumpy at the interruption. the guy you’re with laughs and pulls you closer to the point you’re straddling his lap.

“why? don’t want to share me?” the comment almost cures your drunken mind. despite literally locking lips with him for who knows how long you finally take a look at his face.

suna smiles smugly at you, amused at the fact that the person he’s been kissing simply never bothered to see who it was.

you sat there stunned, at a loss for words. suna leans forward and places a couple of kissing on your exposed nape, travelling upwards until he reaches the corner of your mouth.

“i’ve never been a stoner or done any drugs but i think what you’ve done to me is getting me higher than any drugs could” he teases.

“… you’ve never done drugs?” you say surprised as you mindlessly wrap your arms around his shoulders. though there wasn’t any proof that he did do them, it was just an assumption considering the crowd he involves himself with.

“the worst i do is drink since i am a professional athlete and need to care about diets and shit like that. but im such a lightweight that two drinks is all it takes to have me drunk.”

the reality was so far off of your impression of him. but then again it makes sense.

“do you do this often then? considering what we’re doing now?” you ask, purposefully leaning closer to him to the point you can feel each others breath.

“jealous are we?” he teases, pulling your hips closer to his.

“do you want the whole truth or should i just lie to get this over with so we can book a hotel room and have some fun” he asks, his hand reaching under your shirt, his finger lifting the underwire of your bra ever so slightly.

“if i ask for the whole truth is the hotel room offer still gonna be up?” you ask.

“of course, i’ll make you feel so good that even if you got blackout drunk your body will still remember everything when your mind doesn’t”

it wasn’t that you’ve never liked him, but you’ve also never hated him. he was someone you thought you would never be entangled with so you were indifferent. both of your lives were so different that there wasn’t going to be any reason the two of you would even speak. maybe it was the alcohol in your system but there’s something attracting you to him. something that makes you want to know him more and a little something that would make you sad to see him go.

“i want to know” you tell him.

“i don’t do these things with other people” he says.

“huh? but your frien-“

“my friends do, but i didn’t want to seem like the type of guy to flirt around and seem like an unfaithful partner around my crush. though i seem to have failed according to you”

you raise an eyebrow at suna who seemed to accuse you of ruining his character.

“did your crush reject you? considering you’re even willing to go to a hotel room with me” you act boldly, kissing his cheek while your hand caresses his body lower and lower. suna catches on quickly and grabs your naughty hand and presses to his mouth.

“i don’t think so but i don’t think they’re rejecting me since they’re so excited to go to the hotel room that they can’t keep their hands off of me”

[tales-from-elysivm]

★。／ falling in love with you ＼。★

ask: this was a request! but I can't find the ask on my old blog, but I do know that it was a quirkless!assistant!reader with midoriya, todoroki, bakugo, shinso, monoma, and kendo. I did cut off monoma and kendo since I feel like I don't know enough about their characters, if that's ok!

pairing: midoriya x gn! reader, todoroki x gn! reader, bakugo x gn! reader, shinso x gn! reader (separate)

fandom: boku no hero academia

word count: 3,722

tw: none, wholesome fluff with some swearing on bakugo's section

notes: this had taken a really long time on my original blog, so im happy to finally be able to share it, if you're from my OG blog, and you were waiting, im sorry it took so long! and since I can't get back into my old blog anymore (I lost the password), please resubmit your asks at anytime and ill try to get to them asap!

! be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed !

~the meeting~

You’re first introduced to Class 1A/1B as a stand-in for a sparring partner in hand-to-hand combat. It was better - in Aizawa’s opinion - for you to brush up on your skills while also putting his students in a more hands-on approach to learning. You stand before the class, ready. 

You challenge whoever is confident with their skills so far to come forward and fight you. Over your shoulder, Aizawa stands huddled in his sleeping bag. He isn’t too worried, he trusts your abilities to handle his class, and besides, you needed to grow to tolerate them quickly.

None of the students wanted to fight you at first.

There was at least one of their close friends that teased them because they had noticed you staring at them out of all the other blue-clad students. So, of course, to avoid further embarrassment, they step forward to be the first example.

The rules are simple. No quirks. Just simple hand-to-hand. The first to pin the opponent for at least half a minute is the winner of the exercise.

I. midoriya 

~ after the meet ~

Izuku really didn’t want to fight you

He didn’t know your strengths, your weaknesses, your quirk, your skill set, how powerful it was versus what it looked like, etc. (cue the nerdy rambling). He had no notes on you!

Izuku had seen you in class every once in a while when he wasn’t busy. You sat by the teacher’s desk grading papers and sometimes assisting Aizawa by running errands or taking over while he took a nap on the floor. But based on your stature and appearance and the fact you were wearing a school uniform, you seemed to be a student as well.

That leads to plenty of interesting theories about you!

“I think they’re a villain!” Kaminari said light-heartedly. It sounded like a rather malicious thing to suggest, Izuku thought, despite his wider grin. “In like… a rehab program or something.”

“Why would they send a villain to a school for a rehab program though?” Iida pulls his drink from his mouth. “It’d be much more likely they be put on community service or in more safe environments.”

Izuku looks across at you.

You’re sitting away from the teachers at the moment, trading notes with a girl in class 2C, laughing as you both scribble away and discuss some class that he can’t quite hear. You wave her off before moving down the table to another group who are slurping ramen over a table full of messy textbooks and broken pens. Izuku knew these kids to cause enough trouble for everyone, but they push aside their bowls and utensils and kick off their bags so they can let you sit with them. 

Hm.

Have you always looked so pretty from this far away?

~ falling in love with you ~

My boy falls hard and fast… save him…

Izuku always pays attention during a class, but he always tries to pay a little more attention when it’s you that’s teaching <3

After assisting Aizawa for a few weeks into the term, Momo asked who you were. In all the “excitement” of having to shephard a class of hormonal superheroes around, you had forgotten to introduce yourself!

He pulls out his hero notebook and begins taking detailed notes on you

[Y/N L/N], your power stats and small doodles of you in the bottom corner. Some more detailed, some awfully sketchy, but he never feels he got it quite right

Aizawa pats your head and dismisses you from your teaching duty for the day

For the rest of the class you resign yourself to your desk and join the students in learning the next emergency protocol

He thinks you might be looking away when he glances at you

Are you looking at him too?

You’ve ruined him, he’d swear on it. He can’t help it, just by looking at you. The swell of your hips when he can see you walking in front or behind him, the way your eyes light up if he even gains the confidence to talk about his hero notebooks with you, the little shocks he gets when your knees touch on the floor of his dorm room. Or maybe he finds you distracting in some way? Your voice drags him from each lecture, even if it’s not aimed at him. Your smile lures him in. He’s sure you have to have a quirk somehow, hidden there that you haven’t told him about yet.

Do you find him as distracting as he finds you?

Among his many nervous habits, a new one is born. What is it? Well, drawing you in his notebook. 

It’s during one of these very creepy-sounding moments that he remembers he never actually asked you what your quirk was. Nor had he seen it in action before

Other people had wondered about it before, but no one had an answer

So he asks you

You laugh.

It’s almost shocked, but partly sad. You tell him, quite simply, that you’re quirkless. And that Aizawa gave you the position in 1A because you were willing to become a teaching assistant on the side. Though you suspect it’s favouritism, he wants you to have a good education, UA is a nice place, he’ll be close by in case any shit goes down. 

If anything Izuku falls even more in love with you. Hearing you ramble with him about your favourite heroes, how you want to be your own hero even if you can’t do the same things as they can, and you’re still here talking to him.

You’re one of the first people he tells about All Might passing on his quirk to him. He’s worried you might be envious of it, or hate him for lying his way into UA, but you beam at him and assure him he’ll be the best Number One Hero you’ve ever seen.

Yeah, he’s definitely fallen a bit harder, if the sweaty palms and nervous heart skip is enough to go off of.

~ fighting for your attention ~

Now imagine this poor, sweet, innocent broccoli-head of a boy finally falling in love with you! He’s smitten with you

But now he’s watching you interact with his classmates interact with you a little more closely

He doesn’t mind of course, he knows everyone loves your personality and just the feeling you give off. It makes them feel warm and safe and you being quirkless limits any sense of a threat to those who are more sceptical

What he doesn’t like is that he knows some of them fancy you

Some of them love you

He begins studying harder, training harder, works out more so he can make sure he can hear your sweet praises and warming smiles

Any “good job!” and “i’m so proud!” you can offer him is cherished. He cherishes you

So he gathers his courage to try harder just for you, so you can think of him as your number one hero!

Now the only question is; do you cherish him?

K. bakugo

~ after the meet ~

An unbridled opportunity to inflict pain on an (admittedly) attractive stranger?

Fuck yeah

Quirk or no quirk, he was going to absolutely destroy you. He was sure of it!

Shitty hair said you looked oddly familiar, but who cares?

Katsuki had seen you around in the dormitory building, of course, he never paid you much attention. You were wearing a uniform, so he guessed you were a student. He thought you were boring. 

Pretty, but boring. 

Not that he was looking, shut up–

Maybe if he kicks your ass a bit he’ll stop getting so distracted

Or…:

Are you fucking kidding?

You kicked his ass! Barely breaking a sweat! 

One minute he’s preparing to just kick you in the gut and land a right hook to your face, but then he steps into the field where white lines have been drawn and you smile at him. You wish him good luck and bow before getting into a fighting stance. 

He draws a blank after that. Sure, he lands the first kick, but gets your thigh instead so you skid across the pitch. Then you effortlessly sidestep his next swing and he just wants to blast your face off in embarrassment.

Then, most painful of all, you punch him right in the gut and kick him until he’s down. 

He’s butt-hurt, as expected and refuses to even look at you.

Shitty hair slaps his shoulder and laughs as he joins the rest of the class. You brush dust off your uniform and prepare to fight Mina next. 

“That was something huh?” Kaminari jests, snickering. “I should’ve gotten that on camera.”

Katsuki decides just then that he’s going to make your life hell for what you’ve done.

~ falling in love with you ~

He’s not falling in love with you, shut up-

Ok so he’s a grouchy boy anyway right so of course he’s not going to admit it as quick as the others 

In fact he makes it a goal in life to annoy you enough until you hate his guts, then he might feel better about wanting to grind your face into the pavement 

He kicks your chair out when you go to sit so you slam into the floor, shut the door to the classroom in your face, shoves you in hallways at every chance he gets, and even becomes so petty he begins stealing your favourite snacks and drinks out of the fridge and cupboards 

Smug bastard even devours them in front of you just so you know that it was him 

He hates them but that doesn’t stop him! 

And - as much as he doesn’t want to admit it - he kinda hates the small flicker of disappointment that flutters behind your eyes before you offer to go on a snack-run for everyone on your way 

Dammit!

He makes it sound like your idea that he stalks alongside you to the grocery store.

“You’d probably get lost if someone wasn’t around to hold your hand,” he’d mock you. If you inquire if he’d hold your hand around the store, he’ll definitely leave you behind. Don’t tempt him. And if you laugh he’ll walk back to the dorms and leave your ass to wonder where he went, searching through aisles for him. He knows you would.

Begrudgingly, he knows somewhere in him won’t let him abandon you there. What part? No idea but he hates it. 

Which is why he is now escorting you on the seventh snack-run of the month. You push the trolley around because even with all your begging he won’t do it. Shopping list in hand you throw in bags of snacks and surprise treats for your classmates.   

You have everything stacked up now. Popcorn for movie nights, and each person’s specific sweets, but instead of heading towards the cashiers, you’re turning towards the scoop-and-weigh section. 

“Oi, dumbass!” Bakugo doesn’t follow after you at first, and he doesn’t care that people are turning to stare at him. “Cash register is that way!”

“I know that.” You smile and disappear behind the aisle. He really has no choice but to drag his feet to follow. When he comes around the side you’re scooping a bag full of honey-roasted almonds - ones he knows you hate but his mouth waters at. 

“What are you getting those for?” He curses how soft his voice is now, but he can’t help but wonder why you’re buying them now.

“They’re your favourite, right?” You respond.

“Yeah?” How did you even know that?

You must be reading his mind with some hidden quirk or something, because you quickly explain that you had questioned Kirishima about the hidden stash in the cupboards one time and he had told you almost immediately. So, why not grab some more when you noticed that his stash was getting low?

Without letting him answer you walk past him to the checkouts. He watches after you, mouth dry. He can’t even think of an insult for you right now.

Fuck!

~ fighting for your attention ~

He still won’t admit it to himself so don’t expect a massive, dramatic confession from him (…yet)

No, he’s willing to fight anyone and everyone who wants your affections from the sidelines 

Someone looks at you a little too long? (Punch them)

Someone touches your shoulder during a PE class? (Make their life hell)

Deku asks for your help on an essay and you respond with an all-sweet smile that just rubs him the wrong way? (Kill him - but not actually)

Jealousy is a dangerous game for Katsuki 

(He’s not jealous don’t even ask—)

He’s willing to completely flip the tables so that maybe you’d notice that something’s different: he doesn’t kick your chair out anymore, or eat your snacks, or try to fight you in the hallways 

Instead he does all of that for pretty much everyone else—with exceptions for Kirishima of course 

Anything so he can deny that he’s gone the slightest bit soft for you when you both sit in the common room and eat your respective snacks, talking about some annoying classmate that had pissed him off for the fourth time that day 

And god dammit, won’t you just notice that he appreciates you? 

S. todoroki

~ after the meet ~

Now, my first question is, is it vague curiosity or a drive to urge his strength forward that makes Shoto fight you?

It’s the strength training, he reasons

He doesn’t need it of course, he’s capable enough, but that doesn’t stop him from arguing with himself that that could be the only reason

And no, it’s definitely not because he can see you giving him a curious look over the heads of his classmates, and certainly, not because Kaminari gives him a knowing grin because even he can see you staring at him

So he puts himself forward as a volunteer

For the training… sure

Even after you lose to Todoroki he’s courteous about it. You both bow out of respect and he rejoins the line. After that he doesn’t expect to see you very much after that, perhaps never again. He thinks, despite the theories, you might be a student-teacher from a different academy.

But no, the next week you show up to their regular classes. And not long after that, you’re both working on group and pair projects together.

Like today, it’s theory. Emergency Evacuation in a Disaster. You pick some form of ‘emergency’ and then plot out an essay with detailed instructions for evacuation for the project. Simple. You pick a disaster and begin the essay.

You ask him questions in between, just general small talk, asking how his day is and the like. But he appreciates it. He knows that you know who he is and yet you just ask him normal questions. (Let’s say this is before his arc to make friends.)

You praise him for his strength in your battle and it makes his heart pound. Is he sick? What does this mean? 

What do you mean when you say you like his company? How does he get you to stop? He doesn’t like not being in control of how his heart is beating.

~ falling in love with you ~

I don’t think that originally it would be obvious to you that he fancies you

He’d be courteous at first, hold the door for you, compliment things about you, pull out your chair or save you a seat at lunch, it’s simple little things

You don’t notice of course, you just think he’s being nice

But to literally everyone else, it’s so obvious to them that he’s already completely smitten with you. He barely talks to anyone else… and yeah he doesn’t talk much with you either but he tolerates your company more than others

And he’s a gentleman so why would he outright say anything?

(That’s the reason and not that he’s afraid to, yeah totally-)

So instead he sits and listens to your conversations 

It’s not your fault he’s having a bad day, but at the moment he’s giving the cold shoulder to everyone in 1-A. 

That doesn’t stop you from dragging your chair up to his small desk during your break and eating there with him. He doesn’t tell you to leave, because he doesn’t think he can. He just watches you pull out utensils and begin to eat. He hasn’t even bothered with his own food, he can feel a pit swallowing his stomach, like he couldn’t cram anything in there if he wanted to.

“Bad day?” you ask, like you couldn’t already tell. “Don’t wanna talk about it?”

He nods at you. He can’t lie. And he sure as hell can’t ignore you.

“I understand,” you give a thoughtful hum, eating a bite of your food. “My day was pretty crappy too. It gets like that sometimes, you just gotta keep going. You can’t stop living just because your head’s a bit heavy.”

He didn’t ask for your advice, and maybe before that would’ve bothered him that you didn’t stop talking, but now he can’t find it in him to be frustrated. His annoyance deflates at your presence. You radiate this homely comfort he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Shoto goes through the effort of pulling out his food, just so you might feel better about it.

He forces out the words;

“And your day? Tell me about it… please.”

~ fighting for your attention ~

Now shoto is less likely to actually try and confront others about their shared affections

In fact in normally takes him a good while to officially realise that he loves you

But pretty soon he just begins to seek you out more

As he grows more social, earns new friends and becomes accustomed to everyone, you work with him closely to help him learn social cues and overcome his trauma

He comes to like touching you, whether it be a hand on his head, touching knees in the dorms, a simple hug, or you leaning on him until you fall asleep on him during the winter. He feels comfortable with you

But with this realisation comes one more;

He wonders if he could handle going back to living without you

H. shinso

~ after the meet ~

Now, shinso’s quirk is pretty hard to implement in a fight, which is why he mainly prefers hand-to-hand

Overall, he feels tired, if not a little bored, by the spar with you

He hadn’t noticed you at all before this lesson in 1C, but his teacher had said that you were helping by moving down from 1A

Why, he couldnt figure out

But nonetheless, he finds you watching him while waiting to spar you in your first physical education class together, so he volunteers

And he quickly gets disqualified– 

He swears he doesn’t mean to, but almost as soon as he begins the fight, you overwhelm him.

What you lack in a visible quirk, you make up for in speed, kicking and jabbing and ducking away before he can get a hit in. It’s when he finds you hovering over his shoulder, about to throw a punch to his face, that he panics and asks for your name.

A bit confused, slowing down a little bit, you give it to him, and almost as quickly, you’re under his control. The teacher immediately barks at him to release his control, and he obliges, but he’s still disqualified and you’re given an instant win. When you stumble, regaining your own self-control, you look up at him in bemusement. 

But you don’t look scared at all, instead you smile at him.

“Brainwashing? That’s a pretty cool quirk, huh?”

You confuse him, and he’s not sure if he likes it yet. 

~ falling in love with you ~

After you move down to 1C to work on your General Hero courses, you begin to grow closer with Shinso 

You don’t think that his quirk is any different to the others at UA, which he is somewhat confused by

‘Some of these guys can set people on fire! Brainwashing doesn’t sound too different to the others you see here’, was your only explanation whenever he asked about it

Overtime, you become one of his only friends in 1C, he tolerates you

He spends most of his time with you, studying, eating, talking, he helps you write papers on general hero practices, telling you about his history with children being scared of his ‘villain quirk’

All things considered, he trusts you, and i dont think he could say that for many other people at UA

You both sit cross-legged on the floor of his dorm room. He very rarely decorates it, but you begged him to let you set up the fairy lights and little cat decals that were meant for his wall. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

So that’s what you’ve been doing, arranging kitties on the wall over his desk. Cute little art pieces that resemble grey and calico cats. 

Meanwhile, he’s studying on his floor, laying back and occasionally sneaking glances at you to see if you’re tangled in the lights. Soon enough you have them strung up nicely in the corners of his dorm-room, sending soft gold light over his purple hair. He doesn’t move until you lay on the floor beside him, looking up at the ceiling.

“What do you think?” you ask, leaning up on your elbows to admire your handiwork.

He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at you, taking in the view of your side-profile. 

“They look nice.”

Shinso isn’t talking about the lights.

~ fighting for your attention ~

Listen, usually Shinso absolutely hates using his quirk for anything out of villain fights, because if he does he feels like he reinforces the idea that he might be a villain too

But, when it comes to you?

He’s relatively tame at first, he doesnt get too jealous or overprotective as someone else might (cough, bakugo, cough), but it doesnt mean that he doesnt need reassurance sometimes

If it gets to the point that another one of your suitors is making you uncomfortable, then by all means, hes asking them what theyre doing and forcing them to walk away

And afterwards, having that little moment of supposed villainy feels worth it

Just keep smiling at him

im sorry this took so long!

I hope you guys enjoyed

[suashii]

୨♡୧ LONELY EYES, LONELY BOY — gojo x reader. sfw. eventual fluff.

gojo satoru is the loneliness boy you’ve met.

if you told anyone you thought that, they’d laugh in your face and ask if you were talking about the same person. the guy that’s invited to and attends every party on campus? the one who throws himself into all the sports and clubs he can possibly manage? you can admit that he’s a social butterfly but, despite the many faces that surround him and the constant smile playing at his lips, there’s an emptiness behind gojo’s cerulean irises.

it’s strange, you think, that you’ve picked up on this isolated variant of his. everyone knows of gojo but not many people truly know him and you’re no exception. although, the sneaking glances you steal when he thinks no one is watching are telling. you don’t miss the way his bright blues stare off into space while he absentmindedly taps his pencil against his desk as the professor lectures. the way he slips away from the thick of the crowd to step outside onto the patio and take a silent moment for himself isn’t lost on you. you wonder if he’s aware of how transparent he can be if someone cares to look hard enough.

even though you can only call him an acquaintance or classmate at best, those fleeting glimpses of loneliness and solitude you happen to catch lingering in his eyes blanket you with an air of melancholy.

how can someone so prominent, so well-liked, also be so alone?

you ask yourself that question a lot, especially during those moments when the gojo everyone knows and loves disappears and is traded in for the one disguised to hide his woes. he’s here now, at the university-sanctioned event held to honor and acknowledge the outstanding students on campus.

he wears a bright smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, as he greets and converses with the many professors and advisors that approach him to share their congratulations on his academic achievements. not once do you see anyone aside from the faculty at his side.

when there’s finally a break in the flow of bodies around him, gojo takes the opportunity to wipe his palms on his thighs before leisurely making his way to the door. all too soon, the white fluff of his hair is no longer visible. you quickly excuse yourself and scurry off to follow behind him.

you’re nervous that he decided to call it a night when you finally push past the heavy, metal door but the concrete steps leading down to the parking lot aren’t unoccupied. he’s situated on the far right side of the stairs, hands folded together and head tilted up toward the star-littered sky. his eyes look bluer, brighter, in the dimness of the night—but they’re blank, vacant.

he’s physically present but you have no idea where his mind is. and maybe it isn’t your place to figure that out, but you want to know. that’s why you’re feet are carrying you down the steps before you consider the fact that he might have come out here because he wanted to get away from everyone—including you. but the scuffing of your shoes drifting through the air and the movement beside him doesn’t even alert him of your arrival which is enough to convince you that he shouldn’t be alone right now.

you quietly clear your throat. “hi.”

at your voice, gojo turns to you with his signature smile. it’s jarring how promptly and effortlessly the switch between the two happens. it’s clearly practiced which sends a pang to your heart—he’s been doing this for a while.

“well, hello.” he returns your greeting naturally, running a hand through his windswept hair. it’s the only indication that you caught him off guard. if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that was all there was to it. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“oh, i was just getting some fresh air.” you nod as if it’ll make your lie more believable. you’ve never been one to pride yourself on your patience, though, and you’re almost sure your curiosity is going to kill you if you don’t just spit it out. so you do, jerking your head in the direction of the parking lot before asking, “still waiting on your parents?”

“hm?” he hums, the grin he wears slipping for a split second before it’s back in place, as though the lapse never happened. gojo shakes his head. “no, they’re away on business. they send their congratulations, though.” he smiles as he says it, but there’s a concealed bitterness lingering in his voice like he wanted them here but expected they wouldn’t be coming.

you hate the thought of this being normal for him but you have no right to speak on his family life. there’s one thing you think you can do for him in this moment. you nudge his shoulder with yours, lips curling up into a playful smile. “you can have mine for the night. they have more than enough parental proudness to go around.”

he chuckles softly. it’s much different than the boisterous laugh you’re used to hearing bounce off the walls of whatever room you’re in. it’s a gentle noise that makes your heart flutter in your chest and the smile tugging at your lips widen.

“thanks,” and you can tell by his tone that the rest of his sentence won’t be what you want to hear, “but i’m fine on my own.”

you shouldn’t have to be, you almost blurt out before biting your tongue. you ask yourself why this sad reality of gojo’s frustrates you so much and it doesn’t take you more than a couple of seconds to put your finger on it. it’s because no one else is. the people who should be—his family, the ones who consider themselves his friends—they don’t care. maybe that’s why you do.

you turn your body so you’re facing him—really facing him. you want him, need him, to know that someone sees past the shield he puts up to hide his silent struggle. he needs to know that you care. it’s a long shot, but you know you’ll regret it if you don’t try. “are you doing anything after this?”

“no,” he draws out the vowel, entertained by your question. he has no idea where you’re going with this but he certainly intends on finding out. with an elbow propped on his thigh, gojo rests his chin in the palm of his hand, putting his dimpled smile on perfect display for you. thick white lashes brush the tops of his cheeks as he blinks in curiosity. “why?”

“i was just thinking,” you trail off before finding your voice again, “that you deserve to have someone to celebrate with. and i know of a café that serves really good desserts nearby.”

the corners of his lips twitch before they slowly fall, not because he’s unhappy, but because he’s surprised. he wasn’t sure what you planned on asking him but he didn’t think it would be an invitation, especially not one to honor his accomplishments. no one else in his life bothered to even attend this event with him and he can’t imagine they would have offered to take him out after if they had shown up. but you, someone he’s spoken to so little that he can count the number of times on one hand, just did.

it shouldn’t, but his palpable shock makes you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a smile. you were almost positive he was going to turn you down but his reaction has given you hope that he might accept your suggestion. you give in and let the smile pull your lips up as you place a hand on his knee and give it a gentle squeeze.

“so… how about it?” you ask.

maybe you can be the one to make this lonely boy a little less lonely.

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟐: 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤/𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢 ♡

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Your two professors were more than happy to show you some tips and tricks to help you study.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 1.36k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Colleg Au. Suggestive. 

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Professor!Yungi x Student!Reader 

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Swearing. Pet names. Hints of sex. Teasing. Dirty talk. Some man handling. Mingi and Yunho are HUGE.

Thank you, @mixling-blog, @yugy-oh, and @senpai-of-doom, for requesting Mingi and Yunho for this day. ♡♡♡

Note: I actually forgot to finish this day, and I'm so sorry. So I'll be making a part 2 once kinktober is done cause I had this whole idea but i just lost track of all the fics and this one got put on the bottom of my list by accident ahhhh.

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

There was a secret code in college, an unspoken rule if you will. Never, ever, by any means, fall in love, or sleep with your professors. And yes, they might be handsome, and they might be only seven or so in age difference. But never, EVER, be romantically or sexually involved.  And this rule stuck by most students and more professors. There were young girls who always fawned over the brooding, tall, and mysterious drinks of water known as their music or mathematics teachers. And boys that would whisper among themselves who was the hottest, Ms. Kim, the science teacher, or Mrs. Park, the criminology professor.

But you? You swore the minute you only got barely accepted to the college―since you were late for the cut―that you would not look at your teachers in such an inappropriate and unprofessional way. Besides, you were one day going to be joining them as a professor once you pass your training exam. You always wanted to teach visual arts and Theater and this college has allowed you not only to study such majors and degrees but also train so that one day you’ll be able to teach them yourself to others.

You worked hard, studied instead of sleeping. Sleeping instead of hanging out with friends. Your life revolved around your work, and yet when you met the stand-in, since your normal teacher was away for a couple of weeks. It was like your brain no longer understood how to function. And the worst part…

Theres two of them.

Both are strong, tall, and deviously handsome. One had a voice so deep you could feel the vibrations of his vocals every time he spoke, and the other had eyes as piercing as the sun and a smile that could kill. To say they were your ideal type would be an understatement. And what was the icing on the cake? They are huge. Beefy broad shoulders, thick biceps and thighs, heavy chests. They were like super soldiers, and oh, how that made you swoon. Wanting nothing more than for them to pick you up and throw you around as if you weighed nothing. If you were to stand in between them, you surely would be caged in the best way possible.

You met them during the first term, six months ago. And every day since was a little unspoken game of cat and mouse. You didn’t flirt at first, still wanting to be professional but as your late hours at the library grew or the time spent sitting in an empty classroom for some quiet as your dorm was too loud to considerate became more common. Mr Park and Mr Jung came to your aid to help you with your studies, of course. First, they would sit at the front of the classroom while you were at a row of desks. They would explain about being a teacher, cheat sheets of sorts, and tips for when to do your first training shift. Helping you understand the ins and outs of navigating college students. And then it slowly moved to one of them sitting next to you, Mr Song, you could smell his cologne, the musk of his natural scent. His arm would brush yours, occasionally making you see how his large biceps were. And they were definitely the same if not larger than your thighs. Your body felt so small next to him.

And then Mr Jung sat on the other side of you. The feeling of being caged was coming to reality, and it was burning a fire inside of you. You tried to brush away these feelings. They are your professors, after all and one day, co-workers, not some school crush to dot over. But they were so smooth-talking, charming, with flirtatious smiles, and your mind couldn’t help but wonder since they are so naturally big, were they big else where…

“You get all that peach?” Mr Jung’s voice snapped you out of your lewd thoughts, redness suddenly pooling on your cheeks. You see that’s why Mr Jung had given you such a nickname, Peach, was because of the shade of pink your cheeks would be whenever he made eye contact with you. Deep down you knew your professor shouldn’t be nicknaming his student but then again you didn’t take the classes they taught, and the longer you thought about it, the more okay it was to flirt back. After all, you were all adults.

“You seem a bit distracted today?” Mr Song grumbled behind you, making a shiver dance down your back. My god, if that man sounded like that on a regular, you wondered what his bedroom voice sounded like, or even better, his morning voice. “Is something bothering you?” he asked, placing his large hand on your shoulder, stopping you from turning to the side to see him. No, instead, he slowly rubbed his fingers deep into your tense muscle, making you feel relief surge through you. You almost forgot to answer the question, too focused on the older man's hands doing wonders on your shoulders.

“I-I uhmm…” You were lost, suddenly feeling Mr Jung’s hand grip the top part of your thigh, rubbing circles on your exposed flesh where the hem of your shorts are. “It’s just. M-mr Jung…”

“Don’t worry, Peach, and I said already. Call me Yunho. We are going to be co-workers soon. You should address me and Mingi as such.” He included his friend and co-worker at the end, letting you know what you’ve been told for the thousandth time, call them by their first names. “You seem tense, darling. What could ever be the cause of so much tension in this pretty body of yours.”

Your eyes snapped open now, looking at Mr Jung―uh you mean Yunho―in his intense stare. Did he just call you darling? Now, your face was definitely redder than a tomato at this point. “Y-Yunho…”

Yunho groaned, biting his lip while rolling his eyes slightly. he had to pull back for a second before returning his hand to your thigh. “God, my name sounds so good when you say it.”

You looked away for a moment, feeling your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. The next thing you knew, a pair of large beefy arms pulled you by your waist until your ass was placed onto a board, hard, lap. “Say my name Doll Face. I wanna hear what my name sounds like coming off your pretty lips.” All barriers were gone and lines were being crossed. But none of you cared anyone. The flirtation became too much, more so for the men it seems and with Mingi’s lips finding the sweet spot behind your ear you couldn’t help but moan;

“Mingi…”

“Fuck, that’s it. Such a good girl.” The hold Min had on you got tighter, and his huge biceps caged your back against his heavy chest. Your mind was spinning at the sheer thought that all Mingi and Yunho had to do was squeeze you tight enough that you’d break. They are so much bigger than you, stronger than you. They could throw you around and do as they pleased to you and all you could―would―do is lay back and take it.

“We knew you’d be such a good girl for us peach. Just look at you, head empty already when we have barely touched you.” Yunho chuckled, squeezing your thigh, letting his long fingers slip towards where you needed them most. “you want us to touch you, darling? Teach you some real lessons?” He emphasized the word ‘real’, all knowing that He and Mingi were going to teach you anything but a real lesson in this moment.

“Please…” you retched out for Yunho, gripping his perfectly iron button-up, pulling him towards you. “Please show me…” He drew his lips to yours quickly as Mingi’s bit down onto your shoulder while his hands loosely move to open your legs, letting Yunho cup your entire wet cunt with his huge hand. You were most definitely in for a night of your life.

-♥︎

[joelscurls]

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone. 

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull. 

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling. 

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone. 

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school. 

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house,  re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck. 

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont,  with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it. 

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are. 

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor. 

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school. 

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it. 

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.” 

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front,  scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation. 

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project. 

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time. 

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall.  Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear. 

“Professor!” 

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower. 

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer,  strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.  

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name. 

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing. 

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon. 

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.” 

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?” 

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down. 

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes. 

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight. 

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them. 

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting. 

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.” 

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs. 

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer. 

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well. 

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced. 

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting. 

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...” 

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now. 

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking. 

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that. 

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules. 

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone. 

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs. 

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids. 

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder. 

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky. 

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches. 

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour. 

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle. 

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.” 

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone. 

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks. 

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say: 

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.” 

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?” 

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even. 

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation. 

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you. 

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.” 

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole. 

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side. 

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks. 

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door. 

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught. 

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.” 

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now. 

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re  both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.” 

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him. 

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames. 

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want. 

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind. 

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.  

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it. 

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh. 

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble. 

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?” 

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet. 

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin. 

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble. 

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips. 

After a beat, he looks up at you. 

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat. 

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave. 

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are. 

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.” 

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough. 

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.” 

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders. 

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles. 

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask. 

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze. 

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his. 

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too. 

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly. 

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it? 

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair. 

You tap on the screen, waking it up. 

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you. 

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.” 

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you. 

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips. 

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same. 

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out. 

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away. 

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again. 

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you. 

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible. 

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter. 

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him. 

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late. 

“You buyin’?,” he jokes. 

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.” 

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move? 

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone  else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’. 

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it. 

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in. 

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough. 

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh. 

Joel raises an eyebrow at her. 

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored. 

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot. 

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers. 

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.” 

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator. 

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive. 

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind. 

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet. 

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time. 

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.” 

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island. 

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes. 

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.” 

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours. 

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you. 

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer. 

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous. 

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer. 

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second. 

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant,  “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently. 

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel. 

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island. 

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now. 

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling. 

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing. 

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead. 

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice. 

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it. 

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans. 

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat. 

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus. 

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much.  “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop. 

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue. 

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.  

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch. 

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body. 

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied. 

But Joel isn’t just any man. 

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him. 

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move. 

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again. 

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there. 

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.” 

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours. 

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back.  A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words. 

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him. 

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.” 

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven. 

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy,  cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend. 

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound. 

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively  to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids. 

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard. 

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels. 

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours. 

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. 

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer. 

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional. 

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it. 

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds. 

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. 

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t. 

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.” 

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease. 

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!” 

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes. 

“What?” 

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again. 

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself. 

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.” 

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.” 

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.” 

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes. 

You’ve never been so excited for the future. 

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

[bunni-v1]

Aommgg

Could I request the nrc staff + grim finding out you‘re a girl (plantonic)?

Or do they all know straight from the start?

TW: None

Info: Crowley, Grim, Sam, Cruel, Trien x Reader (Platonic)

🍓Hello lovely! I didn't want to make a whole long post about this, but I do want to talk about it. I'm so glad you asked! So the staff is... made aware of the situation, obviously. But, I think I'll go a little into depth on how each member deals with this information.

Crowley knows because... well... he sees you out of the ceremonial robes before anyone else does. He handles it as well as he does every other issue he comes across. "Just cover it up!" Famously said by Crowley. He's not unkind though, he does ensure that you get the help you need and he makes sure you keep what you need hidden, well, hidden. But... he won't do more than the bare minimum unless his hand is forced. Like... with Scarabia, he pretty much threatened the whole dorm with expulsion if they so much as uttered a word to anyone but amongst themselves. He is, unsurprisingly, not a father figure to you. He's more like... you're weird quirky uncle that you like, but only in small doses.

Grim, our little guy, finds out at the same time as Crowley... and he's a little harder to convince to keep his mouth shut to start. He doesn't like you, okay, you stole his position at NRC (like he had a chance at all). With a few well-placed cans of tuna from both you and Crowley, he keeps his little rat mouth shut. However, when you're actually granted studentship as NRC? His tune changes. It changes because Crowley holds his position as a student over his head, but it changes. Not a SINGLE person will ever hear you're a woman from Grim. He can't lose this position, not after so much work to get where he's gotten to. Besides, he grows to really love you! You're family to him, and no one out family. Seriously, he's so protective of it, once Ace and Deuce figure it out they're too scared to talk because of Grim's looming presence.

Sam is the first member of Staff to find out, other than Crowley. How? Crowley's sudden interest in pads, tampons, birth control, and all the fun stuff that comes with being a woman. Sam usually would just shrug his shoulders and excuse Crowley's quirky behavior, but then you come in looking like a lost deer and he gets it. He is genuinely so nice to you though! If you ever feel unsafe on campus, you talk to Sam and he'll handle it for you, okay? Sure, he jacks up the prices on your feminine products, but it's considerably less than his normal prices. Hell, if you're short, he'll "suddenly" remember he's got a discount on those items. He's like a cool older brother, honestly. He lets you hang out in the back of the shop and do homework when you ask, and he gives you snacks at a discount when you're there!

Crewel doesn't really treat you any differently than anyone else. Admittedly though, he's fond of you, even if you're a troublemaker. When you come into his class on your first day in a uniform six times too big for you, he feels pity for you. You didn't ask to be here, and now you have to wear that atrocious old uniform? You poor little pup. He's not exactly easy on you, but he's more understanding of your mistakes. Eventually, after you get to know him better, he offers to get you a nicer uniform and also privately tutor you. This is his excuse for keeping you busy so that you don't have as many chances to get found out, and it's also because you are horrifically failing his class and it looks bad on him.

Trien treats you the most differently out of everyone on staff. The SECOND he found out you were a girl and were being forced to hide that fact for Crowley's sake? Oh my god, grandpa was PISSED. Crowley got an EARFUL after that meeting. This man makes it his mission to make your stay as comfortable as he possibly can make it because sevens know Crowley won't be doing SHIT. After he meets you? Oh my god, you remind him of his own girls when they were little. He absolutely adores you, and everyone can tell. It's so odd to the other students because he clearly favors you, and when they ask you about it you've got no clue. He is your dad here at NRC, as out of character as that might be. You are a young woman lost in a world that is not kind to you going through so much more than you need to. He doesn't want to add more to your plate. You can come to him for anything and he will provide as best as he can.

Vargas (I'm sorry for forgetting about him lol) is a lot like Crewel in the fact that he doesn't treat you too differently from his other students. You're still made to push yourself to your upper limits for gym, still expected to keep up with your peers, and still expected to meet his general expectations. However, if it's way too much for you to do, out of fear of Crowley and Trien breathing down his neck, he'll lessen your load. Otherwise, he doesn't really have much chance to be around you outside of class. He finds you amusing and knows you've got a good head on your shoulders, but that's about it from him.

[abyssruler]

cupid’s chokehold

pairing/s: cyno, diluc, scaramouche x gn!reader

summary: it’s simple, really. one moment you’re laughing, the light of the sun brightening your features, and the next his heart is beating out of his chest, face warm and breaths short, an almost pleasant twist to his gut when you lean close. you look at him with fondness dancing in your eyes, and he realizes, oh, he might just be in love. or — the moment they find out they love you.

note: this is really just an excuse to write diluc being whipped, also this was supposed to include childe heizou and xiao but i lost motivation so here ya go!

CYNO

He finds it hard to believe that you’d be so incapable of writing a simple essay. You once admitted to him how you only got accepted into the Akademiya through sheer luck, but he didn’t believe it then. The Akademiya is known for its strict rules and thorough examination of every student it takes on.

But seeing you struggling not to plagiarize an essay is truly pushing his patience. He’s not one to snap or bark out harsh words to those undeserving of it — and he can think of no one more undeserving of his wrath than you — but it is frustrating to watch you stumble even at the easiest of assignments.

“I think I’ve got it! Oh, I made a little mistake on the spelling there, but this is the one that’ll blow my professors away! Cyno, can you proofread this for me?”

He’ll tell you later that he didn’t mean it, and you’ll accept it without hesitation with an accepting smile — but right now, the searing sun made worse by the humid weather makes a short fuse even for the most patient of saints.

“If you can’t do something so simple, then I see no point in partaking in this fruitless endeavor. The Akademiya is harsh and has no room for error, you would be better off leaving than continue struggling futilely.”

He didn’t mean to come off so harsh, as if he’s belittling all your hard work and effort and telling you that you don’t belong in the Akademiya. But the damage has been done, and your hopeful look turns into shock at his outburst, retreating into yourself and quickly retracting the paper you’d been in the middle of handing out to him. Your face closes off, clutching your essay close to your chest and darting your eyes anywhere but his general direction.

“Sorry,” you say, awkward and fumbling, resolutely not meeting his eyes, “For being annoying, among other things.” Then, you rise to your feet abruptly. He can see the way your fingers are clenched tightly at your paper, tight enough to wrinkle the edges such that he knows you’ll regret later for ruining yet another paper. “I won’t bother you again.”

Your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, almost sounding choked off. You turn and give him a brief glimpse of your face, and he realizes that you’re on the verge of tears.

He catches your arm just before you can take a step forward. “Wait.”

You freeze, muscles tensing beneath his touch. He instantly releases you after he feels how uncomfortable it must have made you. The silence between you is so tangible he can almost see it permeating the air, cloying and thick and utterly unwelcome.

He parts his mouth a few times, going through every possible scenario where he says the wrong thing that pushes you to the edge and makes you hate him forever. The mere thought is enough to steal him of his breath. No, he can’t have that, can’t bear the thought of a world where you aren’t there greeting him brightly in the morning and being so shameless as you fall into step beside him despite his rank and engage him in idle chitchat. He doesn’t think he’s ever told you before, but he looks forward to that part of his day the most.

After what seems like eons of standing in silence, he finally speaks. But what comes out of his mouth isn’t the apology he rehearsed in his head.

“Why did the bike fall over?”

You turn to him with an almost incredulous look, eyes wide with unshed tears that he berates himself for. Then, hesitantly, you ask, “…Why?”

The response comes naturally to him, years of reading through his notes and making them himself has all but ingrained such information in his mind.

“Because it was two tired,” he delivers this with a straight face, tone flat and completely at odds with the nature of his joke.

You stare at him for a moment, lips parted in surprise at the sudden joke. He sees your grip on your paper loosen, shoulders relaxing, mouth twisting into something he can’t quite discern, and then—

“Pft.” It starts out small, quiet as you bring a hand to cover your mouth, before it dissolves into a full blown laugh, the kind that has your shoulders shaking and eyes closed, head tilted back and the sound of your laughter filling his ears. He’s never considered that laughs could produce such pleasant sounds, so it comes as a surprise when yours makes something in him want to lean forward to hear more. Or perhaps it’s just you.

The light from the sun bounces off your skin, making your expression all the more radiant.

And Cyno? Cyno doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a mesmerizing sight before.

You’ve never laughed at his jokes, or rather, he’s never seen fit to tell you any of them, seeing as you’ve always been so at ease around him that telling a joke was never necessary. He’ll have to rectify that, he thinks, watching the way your mouth curves up in a smile, eyes dancing with mirth as you finally meet his eyes.

And he’s suddenly struck by the thought of how much he likes seeing you like this — hair mussed from the wind, exhilaration lining your lips, breaths short from laughing too hard, and gazing at him in delight.

And maybe he’s overthinking things too much, maybe the pounding of his heart and the sudden intake of breath is a result of something else, but he wants to believe it’s because of you.

Later, he’ll come up with a proper apology, something a little less joking and a little more serious. But right now, you’re looking at him like he’s the only person in the world, and that’s all that matters.

DILUC

The sun is particularly hot today, bordering on sweltering, but still, you insist on accompanying him in this menial task of picking grapes.

Diluc has always preferred solitude since he came of age, doing things alone and being lost in his thoughts have become things that he finds strangely pleasant, almost calming. But you’ve never been one to settle in silence, always needing to voice your thoughts and fill the room with chatter about all sorts of topics. It’s something he should dislike, all things considered due to his preference for quietness, but you, he finds, have always been an exception to what he considers the norm.

He wonders why.

“And just then, a hilichurl comes out of nowhere and starts throwing rocks at me — rocks! They have crossbows and shields and those battering things, but that one chose to use rocks to attack me! It’s like he thought I wasn’t even worth the effort!”

He idly plucks a group of ripe grapes from a vine, listening to you retell your encounter with a hilichurl that led to you discovering its camp that held a precious chest, only to open it and find nothing but cabbages. You bemoan how it was a total waste of effort, all that fighting just for a few pieces of vegetables you don’t even like.

A small, amused smile flits its way into his lips. It doesn’t escape your notice.

“So you think my suffering is funny, huh?” You narrow your eyes at him.

He turns away and briefly considers the merits of admitting to smiling, not at your plight, but at the various inflections in your tone as you regaled him with your story and the little laughs you let out when you got to a funny part and the way you looked at him with a smile so wide it crinkled the corners of your eyes, reflecting the light from the sun in its near-blinding intensity.

When he turns back to face you, he’s met with fingers on his lips and something small and round being pushed into his mouth. His teeth bites down into it, tender and sweet. A grape, he realizes, meeting mischievous eyes set upon a face that’s full of promises for future teasings and pranks.

The pads of your fingers are soft against his lips. His eyes wander against his will, landing on your lips twisted into a smirk, and his mind conjures an impossibly dangerous thought. Perhaps your lips would feel softer against his.

And then heat is creeping up his skin, searing red across his neck that reaches his cheeks and stops at the tips of his ears.

It’s nothing ostentatious. Not like the stories told in books where they meet each other’s eyes across the room and falter as their hearts beat as one, where they meet in the carnage of a battlefield, offering each other’s hands and knowing without a doubt that they will only ever have their backs for each other until the day they die. It’s not even one where he holds your hand and feels the way his heart leaps at the contact as he realizes what it might mean.

But this is still as meaningful, still as beautiful, suspended in time and carved in stone upon his memories until the winds of time erode it away.

A gentle breeze blows past you, and he catches the barest hint of a scent that consumes his mind and fills it with thoughts of nothing but you and your fingers lingering on his lips and how he’s never wanted to kiss a person more than he does now.

And oh, oh.

It’s a fanciful thought, but he imagines if his life were to become a book, then it should be one with an ending that intertwines with yours.

He considers that, for such a book, it would begin like this — the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Diluc Ragnvindr is in love.

SCARAMOUCHE

If Scaramouche were the kind to think thoughts that would have him put below the pedestal he’s placed himself at, he’d think there must be something wrong with him.

“Did you really think you could have defeated those monsters all on your own? You’re lucky I was nearby, otherwise you’d be nothing but a bloody splatter on the ground.” His words are as harsh as ever, carrying that biting tone that’s labeled him unapproachable and unlikeable to most anyone — that is, most anyone who isn’t you.

He doesn’t understand you, the reasoning behind your actions and words and generally everything about you that makes you so infuriating. It grates at him, not knowing something, especially when that something pertains to you. Though why that would even matter is beyond him.

You smile at him, a sheepish little thing, utterly unrepentant and unaware of the possible consequences your actions could have brought. Not that he cares if anything happens to you. He’d just rather not deal with the trouble of handling your papers should you die under his service.

(That was, admittedly, a very weak argument that he’ll chastise himself for later. A Harbinger would have more pressing work to do than handle every paperwork about a dead subordinate. Not that the fact about him handling your papers upon your death was untrue, only that it’s only your paper among his countless other subordinates who’ve died that he’ll bother doing.)

Your mask fell off somewhere in the middle of that rather pathetic fight. It’s a breach of protocol to not be wearing your mask while on duty, but Scaramouche chooses to ignore that particular rule. He’s a Harbinger, he’s the one who decides the rules. Having to order you to go fetch your mask to put it back on would be a waste of time and effort. Much more efficient to simply speak this way, he reasons. It’s most definitely not because he wants to see your eyes and the myriad of emotions that pass through them. And even if it is, it’s only a way for him to better read your expressions and discern whether you’re lying or not. He can’t have anyone betraying him the Fatui.

“I apologize, my lord. It seems I’m still unaccustomed to my new uniform.” Your voice carries a sort of lilt to it that makes it more tolerable than most people he’s ever spoken to. It’s not a compliment, lest his mind go against him and begin creating false narratives, it’s an observation rooted in fact. The sky is blue, the stars are false, and your voice isn’t unpleasant to listen to.

He does frown at your explanation. “Unaccustomed? It’s hardly that different from your previous uniform.” He would know, of course, he spent hours watching you in it. Not that he was watching you simply for the sake of watching, no, never, he was merely criticizing your choice of color scheme and the scuff marks and dried blood that never quite went away no matter how many times you washed it. You’ve complained to him enough times about it in a way that no subordinate should to their lord, but he was in a good mood then, so he let it slide… among countless other things he let slide.

You pull at the collar of your uniform. “It’s a bit constricting. I think they may have gotten my measurements wrong—”

He scoffs, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “And you didn’t think to tell me? What use would I have for a recruit who can’t even move properly because of a tight uniform?”

“Well, you did tell me not to bother you anymore with my inane concerns, so I figured you wouldn’t want to hear about this…my lord.” The last part is added almost as an afterthought. He decides to let it slide.

He does recall something along those lines, sometime when he was in a foul mood and had no patience for your presence and the contradictions it brought in his behavior. He remembers being lost and dumbfounded the next day when you turned to leave after giving your report instead of lounging on his office’s couch and telling him about your day and the gossip you recently heard. He hadn’t actually meant for you to stop talking to him, but he was too proud to say so to you, which resulted in a week of silence on both parties. It was completely unbearable, but Scaramouche would sooner cut his own head off than admit it.

“Fine. You’re allowed to speak such drivel to me again, since you clearly can’t function without any sort of assistance from me.” It’s easy to twist the situation as if you’re the one who’s been dying to talk to him normally again instead of the other way around.

You laugh beneath your breath, something bordering on a giggle — a giggle, of all things. The last time someone had the audacity to giggle in his presence was…was a long time ago. Something he won’t dwell in.

“If you insist, my lord,” you say, an almost teasing twinkle in your eyes, and Scaramouche has never been more grateful exasperated that you aren’t wearing a mask. Who do you think you are to show such an emotion like happiness in front of him?

He’ll let it slide though. Just this once.

“Let’s return to the camp. I don’t want to be seen any longer with you looking the state you are now.” He deliberately ignores the fact that people will only see the two of you together once you’re back and not at this lone clearing. You turn to place your mask back on and he lets you. Wouldn’t do much good to have others see your face and plot whatever nefarious schemes their minds will cook up, like talking to you or, gods forbid, flirting with you—

And then he stops, completely frozen in place and unable to hide that shock that bleeds through his carefully crafted mask. He’s lucky you’re standing behind him, otherwise he’d have to kill you for seeing him in such a state. Not that he believes he’ll be able to go through with it, but the thought is needed though not necessarily appreciated.

He turns to you after he’s gotten ahold of his expression, eyes scanning your features and, with an almost sickening lurch in his stomach, finds that you’re not exactly unpleasant to look at.

Your hand reaches out for his arm with worry, and he nearly reels his hand back at the sheer audacity you have for assuming he is someone who needs worrying for but—but.

He rather likes the feeling of your fingers brushing against his skin.

So he lets you close your hand around his arm and look at him with through a mask he knows harbors a concerned look behind it. He nearly laughs at the notion of someone being concerned for him, but alas, you’re such an anomaly that even he can’t bring himself to mock even the worst trait you possess.

You are truly the most vexing person he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Perhaps if you keep touching him like this, he’ll let that one slide too.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a  rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a  particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

11: SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

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Priya wants to have a pissing contest and you almost lose more than your best friend.

Word count 2.9k

Warnings: Priya and the Vrellnexians, canon level violence

Who knew that it only took one text message to ruin your day? You’d woken up that morning feeling a little lighter than the past week. Your departure from the compound had weighed heavily on your conscience, and every night as you closed your eyes in bed, you wondered if you had done the right thing by leaving. But this morning you felt different. It was the first day you would start at Coulson Academy. It was still a while before the start of the new school year, but May had decided that you might be more comfortable as a TA before leading your own classes. It would give you time to get to know the students and find your feet before being asked to swim in the deep end.

Spending the morning analyzing artifacts with Dr Benson was thrilling and gave you a warm nostalgic feeling which was rudely interrupted by your ringing phone. "Sorry," you muttered as Benson looked at you with a frown. He hated modern technology and their incessant distraction. 

"Just read it." He rolled his eyes.

You picked up your phone and unlocked it, eyebrows shooting up. The source of your correspondence was unexpected.

Priya << Hey, can we meet please? I want to talk to you.

>>>> When were you thinking?

Priya << I finish my shift at 1pm. I can come to the compound.

>>>> I’m at Coulson Academy today.

Priya << Fine, I’ll come there. Send me the address.

Her curtness and commanding tone made you roll your eyes, sending back the address of a coffee stand in a nearby park. You felt uncomfortable inviting her to your new haven.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"What?" you jump, surprised by Dr Benson’s attention.

"Relationship issues?"

"I don’t… I’m not in a relationship."

"That’s exactly how my husband used to look at me every time I pissed him off."

Your face softened when Benson mentioned his husband. You knew he had lost him a few years ago and blamed himself for his death. 

"My friend’s girlfriend wants to have a chat, apparently."

"Hmm… still sounds like trouble in paradise to me," he responded thoughtfully.

"Not my paradise," you shrugged.

"No," he smiled knowingly, saying nothing further.

*

You sat on a bench opposite the academy, waiting for Priya to arrive. Uncommon Ground was the name of the coffee stand, it usually made you chuckle, but today you felt too apprehensive and jittery. The large latte you’d ordered wasn’t doing anything for your nerves. There was something in the air that made your skin crawl, it was charged with anticipation and your nerves were on edge. But you chalked it all up to your anxiety about the topic of conversation that Priya was going to raise.

She arrived in a whirlwind of style and class. There was a reason she had been promoted at such a young age, she oozed confidence and charisma. And to top it all off, she was stunning. You could see why Bucky was attracted to her, she was elegance personified. Normally you didn't criticize yourself too harshly but your defenses were low and you found yourself feeling dowdy and drab in comparison.

Why would Bucky be with you when he had someone who looked like that? You thought mournfully.

"Hey, Priya," you greeted her with a forced smile.

"Hey, Cricket, thanks for meeting me," Priya replied, taking a seat beside you with her own cup of coffee.

"No problem, what’s up?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

Priya took a deep breath before speaking. "I wanted to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind for a while now."

Your heart sank. You knew what was coming. "Go ahead, Priya."

"I know this might be difficult to hear, but I’ve noticed that you have feelings for Bucky," Priya said, her voice gentle but firm.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment and a hint of anger. "I-I don’t know what you’re talking about," you stammered, avoiding Priya’s gaze.

"Come on, Cricket, I’m not blind. I can see the way you look at him, the way you light up when he’s around. And I can tell that he means more to you than just a friend," Priya said, her eyes searching yours.

You swallowed hard, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Look, Priya, I'm not trying to come between the two of you. You're right, I do love him, but nothing is going on between Bucky and I. But he is still my best friend. And what you did on his birthday, that was…" You couldn't find the words to express how hurtful it had been.

Priya sighed, she knew what she had done. "I appreciate your honesty, Cricket. But I need you to understand that Bucky’s my boyfriend. I love him, and I want to make things work between us."

Her response made you grit your teeth and bite your tongue. She was marking her territory and you hated it. "You don't need to make this a pissing contest, you've already won. You know that, right?" Your voice was flat and emotionless.

"What do you mean?"

"Bucky doesn't want to talk to me anymore. And I moved out of the compound. So he's all yours."

"I didn't want it to be like this, you know."

You scoffed.

"Why didn’t you tell him how you feel?" Priya’s question was unexpected. "I mean, you didn't suddenly develop your feelings overnight."

You were about to open your mouth to attempt an answer, when a loud thump caught your attention. Your head spun around to see a giant cockroach destroying the park. The sound you had heard was that of a tree crashing to the ground. You recognized the creature as a Vrellnexian, a ferocious species native to the planet Kitson. They had been bred for war and you’d seen them during your trip to the future in the Lighthouse. They were vicious and ruthless and hungry for blood. But what was this creature doing here and now?

Grabbing your phone, you found Steve on the list and pushed down the speaker. "STEVE! Alien attack! Vrellnexian! Need back up! Red Oaks Mill. Back up would be-" Your eyes went wide as the Vrellnexian turned its attention to you. "Shit," you muttered, your finger slipping off the mic and you pushed Priya out of the line of fire. The beast had decided to throw a trashcan in your direction.

"Take cover," you hissed in her ear, helping her up to her feet and pushing her in the direction of the coffee stand. You stood and turned to face the vicious alien, taking a few steps forwards to get its attention away from a group of terrified teens. "Hey, cockroach!"

It turned to you with a growl, raising its pincers menacingly. Taking a deep breath, you braced your nerves and took a few steps forward. The Vrellnexian was fast, faster than you remembered, attacking with speed and agility. It missed by mere millimeters as you dropped under him and rolled to a defensive position, eyes immediately back on the alien, which had twisted around towards you. You looked up at its face, trying to decipher its features, but there was an unmistakable sneer which made your fists clench with rage. You sprung up with a spinning kick that was aimed at its chest but it was able to grab your leg and used your momentum to fling you across the grassy open. 

You scrambled to your feet, desperately, launching an attack without waiting to recover. You pushed yourself into its middle, propelling yourself forwards and knocking it off balance. The Vrellnexian stumbled back and you pressed your advantage, launching yourself onto its shoulders and locking your legs around its neck in a triangular chokehold. Both of you crashed to the floor where you grabbed the dangerous pincers and wrestled with it.

A shout from someone nearby caught the creature’s ear for a brief second, and you put all your strength into your powers and pushed the alien off you. Flipping yourself off the floor, you put your concentration into forming a blade with your abilities, long and sharp, you forced it through the Vrellnexian’s chest as it recovered and charged towards you. It stumbled backwards as your weapon impaled its chest. Slowly, but surely, the beast twitched and weakened, sinking to the floor. You sank to your knees, gasping for breath, trying to recover your strength.

"Jamie!" Priya’s voice called out from behind you.

You turned in her direction and followed her gaze over to the parking lot where Bucky and Steve had jumped off their bikes.

"Better late than never," you mumbled, suddenly feeling anxious about coming face to face with Bucky, his presence was unexpected.

Priya rushed to your side, emboldened by the floored Vrellnaxian. "Jamie! Over here!" she called, falling to notice the way the fallen beast’s eyes opened.

You gasped as it reared up, pincers poised to strike. Without thinking, you grabbed Priya’s arms, pulling her away and shielding her body from the attack with your own. It was instinctive, you didn’t have time to ponder your actions, you just moved, moved right into the path of the sharp curved claw which ripped into your side. 

A scream didn’t even have time to leave your mouth before you’re on the floor, moaning and gasping for breath. Your vision felt blurred and a searing pain shot through your whole body. And as you stared up at the clear blue sky, you felt grateful for the people in your life, the experiences you'd had and relationships you'd forged. As you lay on the floor contemplating what you considered your inevitable death, time seemed to slow down. Your only real regret was the way things had ended with Bucky, and oh how you longed to see his face one more time. You would tell him how you felt. The moment your best friend came into your mind, his face appeared above you.

"Cricket! Cricket! Can you hear me?" Bucky's voice echoed in you ears 

A tiny smile crept across your face and you opened your mouth, but there was no sound. In fact, the sky didn't look as blue as it did a few moments ago. You were pretty sure that no storm had been predicted, but there was a gray cloud creeping in on you from all sides.

*

Bucky and Steve raced over to you, both of them screaming your name. Bucky all but ignoring Priya’s whimpering attempts to grab his attention. He fell to his knees and scooped you up into his arms, calling your name urgently. 

"Cricket! Look at me. It's Bucky, I'm here." He held you close to his chest, shaking you gently to get you to focus on him.

Your eyes were open but you were far away from him. He couldn't lose you, not now, not like this. Not when everything between you was left unsaid. Not when the last thing he had said to you had been so cold and dismissive.

"Cricket, please." He was begging, pleading for you to stay with him.

Steve was on his phone, calling for medical help. He had his phone in one hand and his other was clutching yours. He hated how cold and limp it felt. You were losing blood dangerously fast.

"James," Priya whispered from the side.

Bucky turned to her, finally acknowledging her presence. "Help her! Please! You're a doctor, help her. I need her. I need you to help her."

He looked at Priya with pure, unadulterated desperation, blue eyes beseeching. Priya looked back, her mind processing the events that had just unfolded before her. But fear seemed to have paralyzed her, her eyes flicking back and forth between Bucky and the conquered Vrellnexian.

"It's dead." He cried, referring to the alien. "Please don't let Cricket die. She saved your life. You can't let her die." Bucky tugged your listless body away from the dead alien. He grimaced as his actions left a smear of blood on the grass. "Please?"

Hesitantly, Priya knelt down beside you. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and focus. There was nothing out of the ordinary, she told herself. It was just another day in the OR and you were just another patient. She stilled her racing mind and examined your wound, fingers probing the inside of your torso for the source of bleeding.

Bucky hadn't let go of you at all since the time he had arrived, holding you tightly to his chest, whispering words of encouragement in your ear. He had no idea if you could hear or understand him, but he was going to do everything he could to care for and comfort you until you were better. In his mind, there was no other alternative. He refused to believe that you would leave him all alone in the world.

"Cricket, I got your gift. It was so beautiful. Please wake up, I need to say thank you. Please, Doll."

If Priya heard his words, she didn't react, focusing on her only task: to save your life.

*

The paramedics had to pry you out of Bucky’s arms to take you to the nearest trauma center. Steve had steered him into the ambulance. He and Priya got into the car Natasha had arrived in, following to the hospital. The paramedics wheeled you into the ER looking incredibly irate, and it was obvious to Steve that his friend had been very obstructive during the journey.

Nat hovered by you closely as the surgeons assessed your injuries, stabilizing your vitals and prepping you for the OR. She sent a ream of messages to Steve's phone by way of updating him and Bucky.

"Bucky, let's get you cleaned up. There's a restroom right there. At least wash your hands." Steve pointed to a door a few feet from where they were sitting. 

Bucky scowled at this oldest friend before proceeding to wipe his blood stained hands on his jeans.

"James?" Bucky looked over at Priya. "Why don't we wash up a little. I'm sure that Cricket doesn't want to see you covered in blood when she wakes up." She took his hand and led him to the restroom, helping him get cleaned up.

Bucky watched as his girlfriend scrubbed your blood from her own hands, then his. She took a paper towel, ran it under the tap and wiped his face gently. He watched her tenderness, guilt burning inside him and feeling trapped. How had managed to get himself in a situation where he was going to hurt someone he cared about, regardless of the choice he made?

"You love her, don't you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Cricket."

Bucky blushed, not knowing how to answer.

"You know what I don't understand?" Priya went on, without waiting for a response. "Why you've been going out with me all this time?"

He swallowed hard, lost for words as to explain what he had been feeling. "I do like you."

"But you love her."

"I thought… I didn't think she…" Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. How could he explain his actions? 

"Did you even try telling her how you felt?"

Bucky's face betrayed his embarrassment, making Priya scoff. 

"No, of course not. I've been fighting a losing battle for the last six months."

"What?"

"You only started dating me because you didn’t think she liked you back."

Priya’s words hit Bucky like a ton of bricks. He had been so caught up in his own feelings of insecurity and fear of rejection that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might feel the same way about him.

"I messed up, Priya," Bucky finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I hurt her, and I hurt you. I don’t know how to fix this."

Priya reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You can start by being honest with her, Bucky. Tell her how you feel. She deserves to know the truth."

"Why’re you helping me?"

"Because I did something I’m not proud of."

"My birthday gift?" Bucky asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, I overhead Cricket telling Steve what she got for you and… I’m sorry."

He clenched his fists, hearing her admission. But what right did he have to be angry? He had been the one to put Priya in that position, to feel that she had to compete for his affections. He had no one to blame but himself. "But why?" he asked.

"That day I found you guys were sleeping together-"

"We didn’t have-

"I know! But that intimacy you guys have… that’s what I felt like I needed to fight for," Priya admitted. "She saved my life today." 

"Thank you for helping her."

"I took an oath," Priya shrugged.

The previously happy couple stood awkwardly in the public restroom, trying to figure out what to say to each other.

"I guess we should go back out," Bucky pointed at the door with this thumb. "Just in case."

"I think that… it should be you."

"Me?"

"You should be the one who’s there when she wakes up."

"What… what does that mean for… for us?"

"That’s up to you, James. Do you love her?"

"Yes." Bucky answered firmly, he had never been more sure of anything else in his life.

"Then I think you have your answer." Priya sighed. "Goodbye, James."

Priya pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a dumbfounded Bucky alone leaning against the basin to process what had just happened. His sadness and regret was replaced by hope and the thought of you. He gasped, he needed to go back out and find out what was happening to you.

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

[sunrenity]

umbrella ✶ yjw

ㅤ୨ৎㅤ the school's student council president shares his umbrella with you.

yang jungwonㅤ✶ㅤfemale reader  .  g  fluff, classmates to lovers (kind of?), high school au, stuco pres! jungwon  .  wc  650 (0.6k)  .  bookshelf

THE RAIN POURED DOWN in heavy sheets, each droplet creating a mesmerizing dance as it collided with the ground. the school's courtyard was transformed into a glistening, silver expanse, with puddles forming in every depression. seeking refuge from the downpour, you stood beneath the protective awning, hoping that the storm would soon relent.

however, the sky showed no sign of clearing, and a sense of resignation washed over you as you realized that you would have to embark on the journey home alone and thoroughly drenched.

lost in your contemplation of this unenviable fate, a sudden voice pierced through the rhythmic drumming of the rain. "hey, need some help?"

you turned to see yang jungwon, the student council president, standing beside you. his black hair was slightly tousled, a few droplets of rain clinging to his forehead, and his eyes sparkled with a warmth that contrasted with the dreary weather. in his hand, he held a large, navy blue umbrella.

your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. despite being classmates, you rarely had the chance to talk to him outside of class. the fact that he was now offering you help made your cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

"i—" you started, a little flustered, "i was just waiting for the rain to settle down or at least drizzle, but it doesn't seem like it's going to happen anytime soon."

jungwon's smile widened, and he took a step closer, extending the umbrella toward you. "it's really coming down, isn't it? why don't we share this? i can walk you home."

you glanced at the umbrella, then back at him, your heart racing. "are you sure? i mean, won't you get wet?"

"i'll be fine," he assured you, his voice gentle and reassuring. "besides, it's better than you walking home in this downpour."

there was a moment of hesitation before you nodded, grateful for his kindness. "thank you, jungwon. that would be great."

he stepped under the awning, opening the umbrella fully. as you both stepped out into the rain, he made sure to hold the umbrella over you, careful to keep you as dry as possible. the two of you walked closely, the space beneath the umbrella forcing a certain intimacy that made your heart flutter. you could feel the warmth of his presence beside you, a stark contrast to the cool rain that surrounded you.

as you walked, your hands brushed against each other occasionally, sending electric tingles up your arm each time. you both talked about small things — homework, the latest school events — but each word carried a weight of unspoken feelings, of the crush you both harbored but were too shy to admit.

the journey home felt too short, and as you approached your house, the rain showed no sign of letting up. you turned to jungwon, finding it hard to mask the disappointment in your eyes. "thank you so much for walking me home. i don't know what i would've done without you."

jungwon looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "anytime," he replied. there was a brief pause, and then, almost as if on impulse, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek.

your eyes widened in surprise, a blush spreading across your cheeks. "jungwon..."

his own face was slightly flushed as he pulled back, the smile still on his face but now with a hint of nervousness. "i'll see you at school tomorrow," he said softly, giving you one last look before turning to leave.

as you watched him disappear into the rain, your heart swelled with a warmth that rivaled the summer sun. you touched the spot on your cheek where his lips had been, a shy smile spreading across your face. it seemed that the storm had brought more than just rain; it had brought the promise of something new and wonderful.

© sunrenity , don't plagiarize, steal or repost my work on any platform !

network, @enchive