#but please be aware of this and if you wish to continue following me on Joker's blog I look forward to more interactions!!))

[scrumptiousstuffs]

as i see, FK doesnt have a lot of fanservice they seem so real and honest about the things they do together i think this is the best thing about them! do you see the same way? or am i just crazy abt them lol

Hello Anon! Welcome to my corner of FK obsession 😂.

To answer your comment - I genuinely do not think our wonderfully, weird co-dependent besties are doing any major fanservice (I mean, they might harped it a little during events/concerts), but their interactions off-screen tells a lot about their relationship.

I can’t put it as eloquently as the talented Sarah @/firstkanaphans (who has ways with words) and it seems she answered some questions/comments already re: FK in the last 24 hrs (so, if you haven’t check it out, please do!). Not surprisingly though, after the wild 24 hrs we have in SomSoms fandom. And who could blame us? - we have Khaotung (plus Joong) looking smoking hot in those suits, followed by FirstKhao sitting on each other lap and now them drunkenly kissing during karaoke?? (Also - this is me bowing to Joong who continues to be our lord and saviour in detailing us FK shenanigans 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️)

But in a nutshell, I agree with what you (and what most of us think) - the boys just genuinely enjoy each other company plus they have found their safe haven. FK themselves admit in an interview their relationship could only be defined as “First-Khaotung” cause even they are aware to some degree the things they do for each other are not most people will do even in a good friendship scenario 😂….I mean, these 2 have GPS activated? on their IPhone so that they are constantly aware of each other location, spoils each other with expensive gifts, sulks if the other don’t show up to any event (First’s graduation ceremony come to mind! - he was so upset and whining to Ciize when Khao pranked him into thinking that he would not make it to the ceremony. I also recalled him playfully sulking and refusing to say Khaotung’s name during a solo event [and instead use variation of “rice” instead] cause Khaotung was asleep and didn’t tune in to his solo event 😂🙂‍↕️ )

Also, I have always thought between these 2 - First is the more expressive and eloquent speaker. You can tell by the way he effortlessly carry out any host duties or events/interviews (while Khaotung usually stares adoringly to his bestie face 🫣 but he is getting better!). Or how about the way First wrote those beautifully penned out what I can only described as love letters to his bestie (during LOLFanfest 2024). Khaotung, on the other hand, he is the epitome of what I will call “action speaks louder than words.” He quietly helped First throughout Safe House season 4 when the latter broke his arm/wrist, and if I recalled, Khaotung helped First ties his shoes during a photoshoot they did together (with the photographer/staff member actually showing a BTS photo of him doing just that) during the same period. It’s not to say Khaotung can’t expressed himself or function without First, but these 2 just sparkle ✨ more brightly when they are together.

And while Sarah rightfully pointed out that during Khaotung’s bday event last year, he kept looking up to see if First is present yet, I will say the same applies with First - during his bday even this year, a Thai fan who went to the event (@/pannjed) said that First checked the door multiple times throughout the event for his bestie’s presence 👇🏽, and you can see his face just lit up when Khao finally showed up

Sorry, I seem to have gone off tangent, but I adore these two boys. I do not know if their relationship is platonic or not, but whatever it is, they are just so so genuine and loving towards each other (and to their fans) that I wish them the very best in life and their career .

I’m going to finish up by putting up 2 of my fav photos of them, cause it sums them up well:

Anyway, our boys may not be as busy or active with events lately, but we are bless to see their beautiful relationship in display! 🧡🤍

25/09/2024

[fantomevoleur-archive]

!! ATTENTION !!

THIS BLOG WILL BE PERMANENTLY ARCHIVED ON JANUARY 2ND, 2023! 

Not many of you may know, but around a month and a half ago I found out this blog was shadowbanned. I could not send or receive Tumblr IM messages, other blogs did not receive any notifications of likes or reblogs from this account, and the blog name would not be found in the search results. I sent in a ticket to Tumblr Support notifying them about the situation, but...let’s face it. We all know how slow their system is when it comes to these procedures. 

So instead of waiting around and letting this blog go to waste (since no one can see when I post things either), I’ve decided to move blogs. 

If you wish to follow this blog, please go follow the new blog  on @fantomevoleur​

I will be slowly transitioning all the information on this blog to the current blog over the next few days. Any and all threads currently active will also be posted and reblogged from the new blog. 

This post will be reblogged over the course of the next few days to make my mutuals and other followers aware of the change. 

Thank you guys so much! Cross your fingers Joker WON’T be thrown into Tumblr jail now! 

[iceunhie]

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[nanaslutt]

Ever thought of dry-humping? As in reader and whoever jjk men of your choice, rutting against each other towards their orgasms

Dry humping with tojiiiiii (might make this a series with diff characters if the demand is there)

contains: fem reader, established relationship, manhandling, making out, dry humping, rough humping, size kink if you squint, dirty talkkk, he cums in his pants :p

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You and Toji were taking things slow. Not because you wanted to but because he wanted you to be something more than his other fuck buddies and girlfriends in the past. He knew from the moment he met you that you would be more than just some good fuck on a Thursday. He promised himself he was going to do it right, follow all the steps, and not rush anything as to make sure this time really worked, he really did like you around after all.

He also knew you didn't have a ton of experience in the dating arena. You had been with one or two people and have done most of the basic sexual acts excluding sex. Toji was well aware he could be a rough 'lover', fucking his partner of the night into oblivion with his massive cock for some quick cash or to relieve his stress. That was another thing, Toji was by no means small, and he was afraid of losing control and hurting you. He wasn't even really sure if waiting was the best method because it seemed as the days passed his need to feel you grew more and more.

He was hyperaware of everything you did, and everything you did seemed to arouse him. Anything from bending over in too-tight shorts and giving him a delicious view of your clothed cunt, to tucking your hair behind his ear seemed to give him a massive boner. Toji spent most nights with his large hand wrapped around his cock as he furiously jerked off to photos or thoughts of his sweet little girlfriend. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought that one day he would fuck you.

The two of you made out quite frequently, never going past heavy petting under each other's clothes and the sloppy kisses you gave one another that could last hours. You respected Toji's wishes to take things slow, but you were always dejected when he would excuse himself to the bathroom after a heavy makeout session for reasons he never revealed, but it was quite obvious.

You wouldn't let him get away with that this time though. Although you understood his reasons why he wasn't taking things further, you had needs too, and you wanted to please your man. The two of you were on the couch, the TV playing some drama show in the background while you sat on his lap, his large hands gripping the sides of your waist, yours in his hair, while you kissed him hungrily.

"Mmm- mm-" Toji pulled back from the kiss, the two of you breathing heavily into the space between you. "Somethin' wrong?" You asked, dropping your lips to his neck as you started to kiss him gently there, sucking his skin into your mouth to leave little hickeys as you waited for his answer. "M' fine Doll." He assured, squeezing your waist as he let his eyes drop shut at the feeling of your soft lips against his neck.

You moaned against his skin, pressing your tits closer against his chest as you trailed your mouth down his neck until you reached his collarbone, nipping the skin softly there. "Ah.. easy baby." He said breathlessly, tipping his head to the side at your manipulation when your hand tilted his face to give you more access to his neck. You continued moaning against his skin as you sucked purple hickeys into his pale neck.

The man underneath you was holding onto your waist so tight, biting his lip between his teeth as he tried to ground himself. When he felt you start to grind your hips down on his bulge, he knew he had to stop you before things escalated. "Okay baby, that's enough, gonna make me look like I got strangled." He huffed out a laugh. You popped your lips off his neck begrudgingly, pouting your lip out at him as the two of you stared at each other, breathing heavily. "Why do you always stop me?" You ask, holding his face in your hands.

"You know why doll." He said, raising his eyebrow at you. "But you're hard toji, and I want it." You pouted, sliding your hand down his cheek until you reached his mouth. You pulled his bottom lip down seductively, watching intently as it bounced back on his face. "Don't do this." He growled, losing his composure at your sensuality, he could feel his cock twitching in his pants.

"I can take care of it, let me just-" He started lifting you off of his lap, you assumed he was going to go to the bathroom like always and rub one out real quick, but you were not having any of that. "Nuh-uh, you're not gonna go jerk off when I'm right here." You said, making him pause his ministrations as he called you out. "You're so demanding." He said through a smile, laughing lightly when you wiggled out of his grip and sat back down on his lap, gripping his waist in your smaller hands tightly to let him know you were not going anywhere.

"Damn right." You said, giving him a too-serious look. "Please Toji, just let me help you.. have you ever taken into consideration that I get just as worked up as you when we do this kinda stuff?" You said, raising your eyebrows at him, talking down to him like he was being scolded. "I'm glad you get wet from my kisses baby, but you're not ready to take my cock yet." He said, gripping your cheeks in his big hand while his other made home on your waist once more.

"Then get me ready for it Toji." You pouted, letting him repeat the same tease on you when he pulled your bottom lip down and let it bounce back against your face. "Want me to show you what fucking me is like? Huh?" He asked, leaning his face closer to yours as he breathed against your mouth. "Please." You reached a hand down between the two of you and placed your hand over the bulge in his cock, not getting very far in your rubbing on it when he quickly snatched your wrist away.

"Don't touch that shit baby." He growled, "won't be able to touch my cock when it's inside you, right?" You weren't sure where he was going with this, but you were just happy to be getting something out of him. You nodded at his words, making him grin and nod back at you. "Yeah, thats right." He drawled. The next thing you knew, you were on your back with Toji's massive frame between your legs, your legs were pressed together and thrown over his left shoulder as he wrapped his arms snugly around them, and against his chest.

"Think you can take it? Huh, baby?" He cooed, looking down at you teasingly, waiting for your answer. "I can take it, know I can take it." You replied, and with that, he pulled his hips back before pressing them snugly against your clothed cunt and ass. Your jaw dropped open when you felt the outline of his hard cock press against you. Your breathing started picking up when he kept pulling back and humping his cock against you.

"You feel that? You feel how hard I am?" Toji asked, pulling your legs against him harder. You nodded, resting your hands on his big thighs that were perched around yours. "You really think you can take all nine inches in your little virgin cunt?" He said, pouting his lip out at you mockingly, humping his dick against you with more vigor, quickening his thrusts as he rubbed his cock right against the entrance of your clothed cunt. You stayed silent, looking up at him with your slack jaw and furrowed eyebrows as he hummed at you.

"You ready for me to fuck my load into your cunt? Fill you up over and over till you can't take anymore inside you?" You knew he had a dirty mouth, but nothing on this scale. His words were sending heat straight to your gut, just the dull rubbing against your cunt combined with his filthy words were working you up at an alarming rate.

He leaned his frame over your body, keeping your legs over his shoulders as your body bent and stretched like you didn't think it could. "You ready to be folded like this for hours, hm?" He moaned, bringing his hips back before thrusting them against you heavily, making moans of pleasure fall from your lips. "Cmere." Toji growled, playing his hands besides your head as he smashed your lips together, moaning into your mouth at the delicious friction that was being created on his cock from just rubbing against you.

"You have me dry-humping you like a fucking teenager." He pulled away to huff against your lips, making you giggle through your moans as you connected your lips once more. The two of you entangled your tongues together in a sloppy kiss, breathing heavily into the other mouths at Toji's rough pace on your cunt. This was arousing you more than you thought it would, his needy thrusts and dirty confessions he whispered against your lips were making you feel hot all over.

"mm- mm- mm-"'s could be heard emanating off the walls each time Toji thrust against you. "L-let me on top." You whined through his kisses; he groaned into your mouth at your words, quickly breaking the kiss as he let your legs fall from his shoulder and manipulated your body so you were sitting on his lap. The two of you wasted no time in setting back into the same rhythm as before, wining and groaning into each other's mouths as he bounced you on his lap while you ground down on his massive bulge.

You pulled away from the kiss, placing your hands on his chest while he sat back comfortably against the couch, looking down at your smaller frame as you got yourself off on his cock. "F-feels' good, want you inside me Tojiii~" You wined, biting your lip and keeping eve contact with him as you mimicked the motions of riding his cock on top of him. He watched with a slack jaw while you worked, looking between where the two of you were connected and your pretty face, which looked so fucked out from just a little dry humping.

"Didn't realize I was dating a fucking cock whore." He groaned, huffing out a laugh before his eyes rolled back in his head when you humped against him in a particularly mouth-watering way. You whined at his words, keeping up your ministrations when you saw the effect it had on him. "F-fuck." Toji grit through his teeth, his eyes fluttering as his orgasm creeped steadily up on him.

"Gonna cum from me dry-humping your dick Toji?" You teased, your voice breaking off with a whine when he started fucking his hips back up into you harder. Toji hadn't dry-humped anyone in a decade, he forgot how good it could feel, and he was starting to figure he might have a thing for this. He nodded at your words, his hips losing their rhythm as he fucked up agaisnt you, groans falling from his lips more frequently as he was worked up to his orgasm.

"Fuck- fuck- gonna cum mama dont stop." He groaned, gripping your waist harder for stability as you humped his clothed dick to his orgasm. His head fell back limply agasint the pillows, his jaw dropping as gasps fell freely from his lips before his orgasm washed over him. "Shiiiii-it- Fuck-" He cursed through his teeth, his mouth flopping open and closed like a fish out of water as he came hard, right into his boxers.

"Yes, Toji give it to me, fill me up~" You moaned, humping him through his high as you stared down at his lap, watching a wet patch spread over his lap as his massive load soaked through his sweats. You could feel his cock pulsing underneath you each time a rope of cum shot out from his dick, making your cunt clench around nothing, wishing he was filling you up instead of his boxers.

His moans stuttered as he came down from his high, he gripped your hips hard in his hands to stop your movements while his body jerked and twitched as he caught his breath. You leaned forward and started placing kisses all over his face and neck, waiting for him to relax. He groaned when he came to, looking down at your smaller frame worshiping his neck before he spoke, "I feel fucking gross." He cursed, cringing at the feeling of how soggy his boxers felt around his cock.

You giggled, pulling away and leaning back so the both of you could stare at the mess he made between the two of you. "Can't believe I just came in my fucking pants." He sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillows once more and letting his eyelids fall shut, unwilling to admit but the feeling of embarrassment started creeping over him.

"Yeahh~ but it felt good right?" You giggled, running your hands down his pecs once more as you continued leaving little kisses all over his face and neck. He groaned at your words, wanting to agree but feeling ashamed at what he just did. "You big baby, if it makes you feel any better I'm flattered." You giggled, making him tilt his head back up to stare at you deadpan.

The air between the two of you was silent while you stared smugly at him, while he kept his expressionless face on. Suddenly Toji was tackling you down against the couch and smothering you, making you burst into a fit of giggles. "Brat." He mumbled, slotting himself between your legs and pulling your thighs over his larger ones before he sat back and admired your ruffled hair and flushed face, adorned with your sweet smile.

"You know what tho?" He said, making you tilt your head, your giggles started to die down as you waited for him to speak, loving the feeling of his large hand rubbing up and down your thighs. "You didn't cum." he started, "we can't have that, can we?." He smiled down at you mischievously, teasing his large fingers into the band of your shorts as he slowly started to drag your shorts and panties alike down your thighs--your giggles immediately ceased.

[samkerrworshipper]

warmed - mapi leon x reader

just r cockwarming mapi.. not much more to it lol

ik i keep promising yall angst… its coming… at some stage

warnings: smut 18+

You’re overstimulated.

To the point where your skin is beginning to itch with the want and need that is pooling up in the pit of your stomach, right where you feel so full and so empty at the same time.

You fucked up, you were well aware of it, it wasn’t like you could make up for it now.

This though, this was so rewarding and unrewarding at the same time, you were stuffed full to the very brim which was perfect, but also so unfulfilling at the same time.

“Keep still or we start over.”

Mapi’s words are a brutal reminder of exactly what position you are in, crammed down against her lap, ass flush to her hips whilst you try your very hardest not to grind or jostle against her.

An hour and thirty minutes.

That’s how long you’ve been sitting in Mapi’s lap like this, no pleasure, no release, no relief.

The two of you had to rewatch your game from yesterday anyways, so Maria had set you the task of staying still whilst she analysed the match against Levante.

You were supposed to be analysing it as well, but it was kind of hard to pay attention when you were filled to the brim with 7 inches of silicone cock.

You wished Maria had given you the easy way out, wished she’d spanked you or edged you or done something else that would make you feel something besides mellowed out pressure.

“Maria.”

Your words are whined out for the room to hear, not that there is anybody else in your company.

“Eyes on the screen, carino.”

Your eyes struggle to obey her command, your pupils stuck to your naked bottom half that’s unmoving.

“I won’t say it again, eyes on the screen unless you want a spanking once we’re done.”

Your eyes snap up, what you want once this is done is for Mapi to fuck you senseless, you aren’t sure if you can handle another minute with her just idly sitting inside you.

“Eight more minutes princesa, you think you can hold up for me until then?”

You groan at her, you want to say no, but the words can’t make it past your lips, Maria seems to understand though.

“Tough luck, make it through the eight minutes or else you won’t cum for the rest of the week. I’m sick of your shit attitude and bratty fucking mouth, you have to learn some way.”

Mapi’s voice is gritty, you know that she wanted nothing more than to come back from dinner, cuddle up on the couch and watch the game replay before the two of you went to bed together.

She wanted soft, sweet, tender.

You wanted mean, rough and hard.

You supposed this was the halfway point, it was Maria’s way of punishing you without giving in to what you wanted.

You’d been obtusely bratty and cheeky.

The two of you had been invited out for dinner with Alexia and Olga, a little quaint double date to a cute boutique Italian restaurant in Barcelona’s core.

It was nice, everything had been going well, until you’d made the decision to start teasing Mapi.

It had started with a hand on her exposed thigh, then your fingers drawing patterns up and down, pushing her skirt out of the way as you paved a path through to her panties.

You were out of your mind thinking Mapi would let it slide, she told you as much when she leant over to your ear telling you not to push her. You’d blatantly ignored her, continuing your attempts at one upping the defender. You got as far as the inside edge of her panties before her hand was grabbing yours and shoving it into your lap with a look of so much annoyance that you knew you were in deep shit.

Now you were here, sitting practically speared on her dick, your juices leakingout all over her thighs and your own.

You watched the clock run down, your eyes aimlessly following the ball as it was passed from side to side on the pitch.

Your legs were aching from the position you were being held in, your thighs being put to use to keep you from moving.

“Maria, please.”

You knew that most likely, your begging was going to be pointless, normally Mapi couldn’t of cared less, but it was worth a shot.

“Say one more word and you’ll see just how much worse this can get for you.”

You close your lips, your eyes staying laser focused on the screen as the clock ticks down on the game.

The last thirty seconds are possibly the worst, your legs start to burn and everything is so much more painful.

As soon as the final whistle blows on the game Mapi is turning you around, so you are now face to face with the Spaniard.

“This is how it’s going to go, we’re going to go to bed, I’m going to fuck you how I like, until I’m satisfied, you won’t cum, you won’t move unless you’re told, all you are here for is to be my little slut for my pleasure, not your own, comprendida?”

You can’t do anything beyond nodding your head.

Mapi picks you up with ease, lifting you up and taking you straight to the bedroom.

Just the feeling of her cock jolting inside of you every few seconds has you moaning, Mapi doesn’t care, all she cares about is getting you to where she wants you.

She manhandles and roughouses you onto the bed, pushing you up against the pillows and spreading your legs open before beginning to move inside of you.

Mapi’s pace is nowhere near fast or rigorous enough to satisfy you, when she said that she was searching for her own pleasure you didn’t realise that she would quite literally use your body as a vessel for her orgasm.

There is no doubt in your mind that Mapi has the little vibe insert tucked into the strap.

Her thrusts into you are shallow, hitting none of the spots that you need her to.

It’s crazily unpleasurable, and yet you don’t find yourself minding too much, especially not when Maria is the picture of perfection, her messy bun bopping up and down, her moans echoing out across the room.

You focus on Mapi, completely syncing out of your own mind, trying to imagine how Mapi is feeling.

You know that your supposed ‘punishment’ would have gotten her worked up, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

She’s chasing a built up desire, deep pure pleasure thrumming through her lower limbs.

Maria isn’t a overly loud lover, but you can tell just by the way her eyebrows are scrunched up and her pupils are blown that she is teetering somewhere on the edge, you aren’t quite sure where she’s at until her legs spasm and her whole body jerks.

Mapi cums hard and fast, her body thrusting into yours until the after effects of her orgasm have managed to rid her body and she pulls out.

You feel emptier than you ever have, most likely a result of being stuffed full for hours on end.

Mapi makes quick work of removing the strap, once she does she lies herself down on the bed next to you, letting you breathe through the big feelings that you are experiencing.

“How are you feeling, princesa?”

Mapi’s hands are on your face, twisting the strays hairs out of your face and gently playing with them between her fingers.

“Good, just need a second.”

Your legs feel heavier than a hundred bricks, numb and weighed down to the point where you genuinely wonder whether they’ll be in use tomorrow.

“You want to cum? I think you’ve earned it, you were such a good little girl for me, princesa.”

You do want your own orgasm, you think that your cunt will implode if it doesn’t get to experience some relief, but you need a few minutes to recover from the last hours happenings.

“Just gimme a minute, seeing you like that made me think and feel things I never had.”

Mapi’s smirk was cheeky, cavalier and slightly proud.

“Mm, next time it’ll have to be three hours, hmm? I wonder how crazy that would make you.”

You shake your head at the suggestion immediately, an hour and a half had been pushing it, 3 hours was simply ridiculous.

“How about I promise to never be a brat again?”

Mapi rolls her eyes, her mouth reaching down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“We both know that would be a lie, carino. You’re my bratty girl and I wouldn’t dare have you any other way. Now how about we go get clean in the shower and I let you get off on my thigh, hm? You’ve been good but not good enough to deserve my mouth or fingers, you’ll have to work your way up to that.”

You nod eagerly at Maria, already willing your legs to begin moving so that Mapi can’t take back what she’s just said to you.

When Mapi realises that you need some assistance, she picks you up, gently carrying you towards the bathroom.

[coffee-and-geto]

“I THINK HE DID IT BUT I JUST CAN'T PROVE IT (HE DID IT)”

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”

❦ pairing: professor!toji x f!reader

❦ summary: you are a student of criminal studies at a prestigious university with one goal in mind: get your father out of prison one day. but how will you react when your new professor in the subject, as attractive as he is odious, comes to replace your old teacher who has deserted the post? especially when that new teacher is keeping a secret that will jeopardize your plans. one thing’s for sure, your life will never be the same again...

❦ warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, dead dove: do not eat!!, toxic parental relationship, yakuzas, mention of violence, vulgar language/insults/alcohol/bullying/suicide, use/mention of weapons and drugs, murder, art by @/521jie.

❦ wc: 19,055 (sorry for all this length. next parts will be less long—at least I hope so...)

“No way…” 

“Is it true?”

Whispers of gossip rippled through the crowd of students packed like sardines in the Keio University courtyard under a grayish sky, crying its fine April rain. A back-to-school gathering announced straight away upon the opening of the doors of the prestigious school spared no curiosity.

Not even yours.

It’s was as if the news uttered has echoed like a clap of thunder in your ears.

Amid this gathering, you have a direct view of the main rostrum of the university, which usually serves as a stage for annual events. Mr. Yaga, the principal, stands, the handle of a microphone wrapped in his fingers, patiently waiting for a silence that you think takes an eternity to muzzle all those voices.

“Your attention, please.” Mr. Yaga’s voice resonates throughout the courtyard and cuts off the chattering. “As I just mentioned, Mr. Kiyotaka Ijichi, the professor of criminological theory, has submitted his letter of resignation at the beginning of this semester.”

He lets a silence permeate the consciousness of his students before continuing in a solemn voice, “He didn’t wish to give any justification for this sudden decision, and I doubt that this news will please the master’s students in criminal sciences. We have sent an express request to the Tokyo Academy to find a new professor worthy of teaching in this school. Temporary schedules will be sent by email this weekend pending a new professor for this position. Please be patient. Our staff is well aware of the concern you may feel. But we can assure you that we are doing everything possible to enable you all to excel in your studies.”

It’s done.

The image of your former professor of criminological theory—the man who previously handled your dominant subject—begins to fade from your mind. The subject for which you usually strive has just slipped from your hands like a wet bar of soap. 

No matter Yaga’s words.

The chances of a qualified and worthy professor walking through the doors of Keio University is like ‘looking for a needle in a haystack’.

You stop listening to the rest of the principal’s back-to-school speech and understand that it has ended when the crowd of students disperses under the squeaking of their shoes trotting on the wet grass of the courtyard.

“Don’t you find it strange?”

A mischievous voice whispered in your ear making you jump. You glance in your peripheral vision and the fresh breeze finally blowing on you making you catch a glimpse of blue hair.

“Miwa,” you mumble without turning around.

A discreet chuckle follows. You begin to leave the courtyard without lingering, and Miwa theatrically sighs your name before slipping to your side in your attempt to quicken your pace. You’re one of those people who avoided Miwa Kasumi.

Alias the university gossip girl. The one to whom you can never hide any of your secrets.

Miwa’s gaze follows you as you hurry towards the exit gate. She has a smug smile on her lips. A smile that screams ’you know what I’m talking about’.

“So, your teacher resigned without giving any explanation?” Miwa says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How strange...” A second laugh escapes her lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You quicken your pace, not wanting to further prolong the conversation, already too long for your liking.You don’t respond to Miwa’s remarks—unsure if it’s because you have nothing to say or because you already know the reason for her approach.

Miwa finally sighs in annoyance. “Why are you in such a hurry? Don’t you want to listen to me? Don’t you want to discuss Mr. Ijichi?” she asks.

But you already know what she wants to talk to you about.

The light rain from earlier is now heavier, and drops crash down on the top of your head. You anticipated it, which is why—still immersed in silence—you take out your umbrella from your bag and unfold it over you.

“C’mon... Talk to me a little...” Miwa insists with her teasing tone. She gives you a pout, pretending to be hurt by your indifference.

You sigh and stop walking, standing at the edge of the university gate. “What do you want?” you finally give in. You check the time on your phone, pretending to be in a hurry.

“I’ve got an exciting article lined up for this week.” Miwa locks her blue eyes on you, and for a moment, you feel naked. It’s as if her eyes exist only to probe people’s minds. “And guess who will be in the spotlight?”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “I don’t know,” you mutter uncertainly, your eyes fixed on her with uncertainty.

Miwa raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your lie. “It’ll be a weekend surprise, I advise you to stay active on the blog.” Her icy-sweet tone makes you want to run away, but you remain silent.

She winks at you before slipping away.

If the students of Keio University couldn’t bring themselves to continue living their student lives—with the apprehension of seeing their names displayed in bold on Miwa’s blog every Sunday, revealing the juiciest secrets of their private lives—this year, she subtly gave you a new piece of information about the extent of her new targets.

This year, even the teachers won’t be spared.

°°°°

“I think... Well... Let’s say next Friday? Would that work for you?” The secretary’s voice and the clicks of a computer mouse reach your ears.

You stand in front of your fridge, looking at your calendar fixed with decorative magnets. After a few seconds of thought, you nod before replying, “Yes, that would be perfect,” momentarily forgetting that the secretary at the penitentiary you’re contacting can’t see you.

“Very well. I’ve scheduled your appointment, and we’ll contact you by email to confirm your visit. Your father will be informed, of course.” You can feel the secretary’s pleasant smile in her voice. She seems to be waiting for your confirmation.

To which you quickly respond before ending the call.

Your mind has been distracted since you left the university this morning. The news of Mr. Ijichi’s unexpected (or almost) resignation and Miwa’s announcement about her next article this Sunday had you overthinking. However, setting up the visit with your father in prison, sweeps away some of the weight on your shoulders.

Yet, in the darkness that settles in your apartment as evening begins, you sincerely hope that no other news will distract you so from the goals you’ve set for yourself.

°°°°

One skill that sets you apart is your undeniable sixth sense.

Just two days ago, you feared more or less unpleasant news, but this Sunday, two caught your attention when your phone emitted notification sounds from two different sources—but nonetheless related in some way.

The first comes from a blog you reluctantly follow titled “Keio’s gossip.” Although the author of the articles posted remains anonymous, every student on the Keio University campus knows their true identity, without having the necessary evidence to do anything against him—or rather her.

Miwa Kasumi is indeed the author of the articles that publicly displayed the slightest gossip concerning each student. A majority has already tasted it, and the flavor was far from the sweet mochi sold as dessert culinary specialties in the heart of Tokyo—according to the faces that the ’pointing fingers’ made on Monday after the weekly publication of an article every Sunday afternoon.

With your eyes glued to your phone screen, you discover the article that was posted a few minutes ago on the blog. The light from your phone is the only source illuminating your room as you sit cross-legged on your bed. Your mouth opens slightly, and you resign yourself to reading the article, the title of which tightens your heart:

’Kiyotaka Ijichi: voluntary or forced resignation?’

Your eyes begin to move back and forth from line to line, and a vise grips your chest as you continue to swallow the horrifying words recounted in the article.

“It was true that Professor Ijichi was subjected to certain remarks from his students,” confides a second-year master’s male student in criminal sciences. “Jabs, sometimes even inappropriate remarks. But no one really reacted... We all thought it would stop at some point...”

“Last year, we all thought he would eventually commit suicide,” adds a history female student. “He was the type to just take it and wouldn’t dare respond or discipline his students for fear that their parents would put his position at stake at the university. Spoiled brats with excessive power, you know.”

“Yet, he was a very good teacher. He was very kind, attentive, and always spoke with humility, no matter who was in front of him,” affirms another female student, on the verge of tears. “He really didn’t deserve this...”

“It was after several other testimonies like these...”

“So, we concluded that...”

“...Kiyotaka Ijichi, former professor of criminological theory at Keiô University, therefore decided to resign from his position as a professor, which would also imply that suicide, could have been a very different departure option that he left behind at this prestigious school. The constant harassment of students, mostly from children of parents with high financial means, would thus be the real reason for Mr. Ijichi’s departure.”

“Keiô private university regularly proclaims its impeccable professionalism through numerous awards, the excellent teaching of its professors, and the discipline of its students. Here is a fact that calls all of this into question—particularly regarding the treatment of teachers. Does Keiô University really admit students for their promising futures? Or is it swayed by the big checks provided by parents from the upper bourgeoisie?”

You finish reading the article, and your brain is bombarded with thoughts racing at over a hundred kilometers per hour, but no words can break through the barrier of your lips.

Even after his departure, Mr. Ijichi couldn’t leave in peace.

A sense of injustice runs through your veins, but you can’t do anything about it.

Why did Miwa feel the need to write this article?

Was it really necessary?

You leave the article page, which is starting to receive comments as you watch the numbers increase below the end-of-page bar, and you redirect yourself to your email inbox.

It’s always the weakest who suffer the worst treatment from society. Whether it’s in the family, at work, with friends, or even at school.

You bite your lip and check the second notification in your inbox. As you expected, Keiô University has sent you your schedule for the coming week. You even expect to find empty slots in your schedule. But strangely, your major subject—criminological theory—fills its place on the colorful digital file with different colors according to the subject indicated. You think there’s an error or something. Until you read the name of the professor in charge of your courses.

T. Fushiguro.

You hastily exit the downloaded file on your phone and open the email sent by the university. After a second reading, your eyes widen like saucers.

“Regarding the replacement of the former criminological theory professor, a request has been submitted to the university. The director’s decision has been finalized. The new professor, Mr. Toji Fushiguro, will therefore lead the courses in this branch for master’s students in criminal sciences from the beginning of the semester.”

Two contradictory feelings finally want to burst in your chest.

The first is relief. You can finally resume your goals serenely without having to worry about the delay you might have experienced in the case of a prolonged wait for Mr. Ijichi’s replacement. What other good news can offset the frustration you felt less than two days earlier?

But the second taints this joy that you should feel: doubt. Keiô University is known for its excellent teaching, which includes rare, highly qualified, and renowned professors. It goes without saying that each of them has at least one doctorate mentioned on their CV. So how, over the course of a single weekend, could your former professor of criminological theory have been replaced so quickly? That’s where Miwa’s article strikes you.

“Is the university being swayed by big checks?”

You need a teacher. And not just any teacher. A teacher who would help you get a degree that would help get your father out of prison. So the fact that the university found a new professor so quickly leaves you skeptical, and your sixth sense wandering behind you like a ghost does not bode well.

So you pray that, for once, your sixth sense is wrong.

°°°°

“How’s he called, again?”

You bite your lip, your gaze lost in the rainy landscape of the courtyard outside the window. “Toji Fushiguro.”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales through the window opening next to which she’s leaning against a shelf. She glances at your absent expression with a slight smile on her lips, and then flicks her finished cigarette butt over the window ledge, making sure it’s extinguished by the damp grass outside. She sighs and stands up. “Let’s go. The bell is about to ring.”

You grimace but obey her words, pushing your back off the wall of the university library and following her along the rows of books stacked so high on wooden shelves that ladders are provided for students invested enough in their studies.

It’s already Monday, and you dread your very first class in criminology theory with your new professor Toji Fushiguro. Is it necessary to mention that, for the first time since your entry into the university a few short years ago, you don’t feel well? But in a normal way, like any average student? No, you have a bad feeling. Something’s off. And you can’t put your finger on it, the only thing you found to do is lament to Shoko, your trusted friend.

“Stay strong. You’ll brief me afterward, won’t you?” Shoko encourages you with a friendly elbow nudge to the arm followed by a wink from one of her eyes marked by violet circles.

You respond with a nervous laugh, and she waves before leaving you in front of the library doors as she heads towards the wing dedicated to medical sciences. With a knot in your stomach and a desire to go home and bury yourself under your blanket, you head towards your classroom in the building reserved for law students.

When you arrive at the amphitheater door, a small herd of students begins to gather in front of the swinging doors, clustering together like a school of fish. The most eager are female students who, dressed in their university’s pine green uniforms, make the most noise with their conversations, the subject of which soon pierces your ears.

“Did you see him this morning?”

“Yes! He’s so hot!”

Giggles echo until you notice that the class line-up is oddly divided. The girls are glued to the closed doors and the boys are standing back, lined up along the corridor walls. Most of them pay no attention to the girls’ chatter and pass the time on their screens—laptops and phones alike.

When the bell rings throughout the university, you enter behind your peers and sit at the end of a central table in the amphitheater. Your eyes scan the stage reserved for the professor after the last steps at the bottom of the room, and your eyes finally settle on a singular silhouette.

Your breath catches, and you almost feel your pupils dilate as Professor Fushiguro leans over his desk, with his open laptop in front of his eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, it’s as if you’ve been robbed of the ability to speak, think, and soon, to breathe.

You don’t know which details unsettle you the most—from his tall silhouette and broad musculature adorned by the beautiful navy blue shirt so deep that from further away you would have mistaken it for black; to his hair, the jet-black locks similar to stalagmites that brush his ears and neck, to his sturdy and prominent jawline.

Everything about him is so grand.

And so beautiful...

You catch yourself looking at him for too long, and your thoughts drift too far. Heat floods your face. Fortunately for you, you weren’t the only one staring at him so much—and with interest—which you use as an advantage to mask your embarrassment when you take out your belongings.

Professor Fushiguro has a beauty that you don’t consider fair for just a simple professor.

As the amphitheater falls into a heavy silence, Professor Fushiguro raises his head towards his students, and the class begins as soon as his voice is heard by all ears.

It’s—

Deep, profound, calm, composed, and above all...

...magnetic.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t need to ask for silence for the class to hang onto his every word. Nobody seems to react as he doesn’t mention his previous colleague—Mr. Ijichi—not even once.

With furrowed brows, you rest your elbow on your polished wooden desk space and don’t take your eyes off your professor. Under your mask of attentive student, the screen of your laptop hides your chest, where your heart buried inside beats to the rhythm of cannonballs launched at full speed.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

That’s the sentence you keep repeating as Professor Fushiguro continues his class, unaware that three-quarters of his class have stopped listening to what he’s saying since the first word crossed his thin lips—and prefer to admire his only physiognomy built by God himself.

Fuck.

You knew it.

You knew this replacement couldn’t be normal. The way things concluded with such a quick replacement couldn’t help but hide something.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

You force yourself to tear your eyes away from your teacher and start taking notes on the course introduced on ’The Evolution of Crime and Detection Methods Throughout History’. He provides an appendix with a manual to be obtained by the end of the next two weeks, and you try to type its title into your schedule for the coming days in the Notion app on your phone without being distracted by how well your ears welcome the timbre of his voice.

You swallow and close your eyelids for a few seconds, analyzing each word in an attempt to understand the course he almost entirely reads from his printed sheets held in one of his hands just below his nose.

“...legal reforms have also shaped our understanding and treatment of crime. For example, the abolition of the death penalty in many countries reflects a change in our values and conception of justice. These reforms reflect our evolution as a society and our commitment to principles of justice and humanity.”

You open your eyelids after a minute in hopes of refocusing. Unfortunately for you, your eyes fall directly onto emerald orbs that stare at you for a moment.

With a lower lip curled up in a sign of noticeable annoyance, Professor Fushiguro doesn’t say a word and eventually averts his gaze from you, resuming his magnetic monologue.

You bite the inside of your cheek and hide behind the screen of your laptop, your cheeks probably flushed. Perhaps he thought you were dozing off in his class... You curse yourself internally despite the fact that he made no remarks.

At the end of what seems like an eternity, the bell rings, signaling the end of the class. The entire class stands up simultaneously, and you expect to have to wait for the exit door to be unblocked by the herd of students eager to leave the amphitheater.

But to your great surprise—which ultimately wasn’t so unexpected—a part of the group of girls whose conversation you overheard just before the start of class descends the room’s steps towards Professor Fushiguro.

You purse your lips and leave the class with a nonchalant step, your bag hanging from your shoulder.

You feel how long this semester is going to be...

°°°°

“And how are the classes?” your father asks through the window that separates you from him.

Your index finger traces distracted patterns on the metallic surface of the side of your table where your forearms rest, supporting your slightly hunched shoulders. You are still haunted by the image of your new professor.

“It’s okay. We have a new professor in criminology theory,” you reply, looking up at him.

Your father raises an eyebrow. “For what reason?” he asks suspiciously before wrinkling his nose. You notice he has a three-day beard and that his wrinkles appear more pronounced than usual—or at least, since the last time you visited him.

“Actually, the old one resigned, and the university found a new one.”

This time, your father’s eyebrows furrow. “So fast... Is he any good? I hope they didn’t hire some nobody who—“

“No,” you quickly cut him off, shaking your head, “he’s good.” You refrain from adding ’why don’t you take an interest in me?’ And your heart twinges every time you see your father show more interest in your studies than in yourself. Your avoiding eyes wander over the contours of the window that separates you from him, sitting across from you in a somewhat tense position—shoulders slightly hunched inward, and hands clasped on the table.

He seems to notice it and clears his throat before sitting up straighter on his plastic chair. “You... remember my friend Miguel?” your father starts, changing the subject. He speaks in a more concerned tone. “The one who went to Kenya.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you focus your gaze back on him before blinking. “The one who was with you?” you ask with a bitter taste in your mouth. Miguel was your father’s ex-business associate, who, unlike your father, wasn’t imprisoned when the police arrested him.

“Yes. He wrote me a letter earlier this week,” he replies, “to ask how I’m doing and to let me know that he’s coming back to Japan next week. He said he’s inviting you to dinner with his wife and daughter.”

You process the information at the same pace as your swallowing. Your father slides an envelope—no doubt already opened by the prison administration before him—through the communication slot between you under the window. You take the envelope and read the letter inside.

“Why?” you murmur.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know.”

This simple sentence reminds you of something he’s told you before.

’Miguel hasn’t done anything. Nobody has anything against him. They wrongly accused me. I did it for you. I’m not like the others.’

And by ’the others,’ he referred to other associates who were arrested along with your father a few years ago, for the same reason—embezzlement.

To the tune of a considerable sum of just over a hundred billion yen.

Your father assured you that he wasn’t involved in any of it and that former acquaintances he thought were trustworthy led him to be involved against his will in a whole story that ended behind bars.

You believe him, of course.

Your father—with whom you’ve had a rather difficult relationship since your mother’s death when you were in middle school—seemed to want to rebuild a healthy father-daughter relationship with you. And who were you to refuse? You wanted your father to give you the affection you dream of every night after seeing a father and his daughter eating ice cream in a square, or a father and his daughter shopping at the mall.

Everything you’ve never had.

And when your father opened his arms to you at the end of your high school studies—still undecided about your direction for further studies—your father let you know that studying criminology could be ideal. And with that, maybe you could help him get out of the unjust prison that prevents you from being fully happy.

You love your father.

So it didn’t take long for you to become one of the top students in your university class in criminal science studies. You want to excel, and that in all areas. It makes your father proud. It stretches his lips into a smile that warms your heart. Who calls you ’my angel’ and admits wanting to hug you.

Things he would never have told you before.

“Yes,” you reply, lifting your chin. “I’ll visit him. Don’t worry. I promise.” Your voice softens, and you refrain from letting tears fill your eyes as a faint smile stretches across your father’s lips.

“Thank you.”

°°°°

“Don’t tell me he’s that handsome?” Shoko lets out a giggle that resonates through the speaker of your phone.

“Want to bet that most girls drool over him every night, imagining him in their beds?” You mutter with a hint of aggression aimed at the pot whose sushi rice you ate for lunch has stuck to the bottom. You scrub the leftover rice with your metal sponge in the kitchen sink and let out a sigh.

You glance at the screen of your phone leaning against the tiled ledge, giving you a FaceTime view of Shoko sitting at her desk in her bedroom. She giggles and brings a pen to her mouth to nibble on its end—a tic she has to replace the cigarette usually in that spot. “Just like you, for example?” she teases.

Your cheeks warm up. “Excuse me? You know that’s not true.”

“Nuh-uh…”

You purse your lips as your heartbeats accelerate at Shoko’s words and her sarcastic tone. No, you didn’t have wet dreams about Professor Fushiguro. But that doesn’t stop most female students from gossiping about the entirety of Professor Fushiguro’s physique—aka Hercules’ twin body. And from what you’ve already heard during the first week of classes, they don’t mince their words.

But you can’t say you were indifferent to him. The rest of the week flew by so quickly that you find yourself on a Wednesday afternoon discussing your life on FaceTime with Shoko. She has to study for her medical exams, and you didn’t have time to see her during the first weekend due to the workload your friend endured.

You toss the metal sponge into a corner of your sink and grab a classic, foamy sponge to scrub the surface of your pot, now smooth and immaculate.

“Oh, by the way. Are you free this weekend?” Shoko asks, looking up from her books.

You rinse your pot, turning on the faucet, and sniffle mournfully. “Nope. A friend of my father invited me to dinner with his wife and daughter. I spoke to him on the phone this morning.”

“Damn. We need to meet up so you can show me this professor too. I feel like everyone has seen him except me.”

“Even Satoru,” you chuckle as you dry your hands. “Have you heard him curse about him? He has a beautiful rival, I must say.” You continue to smile at the memory of your friend with albinos hair and cerulean eyes who was shocked to see his popularity among the female gender decline in less than a week. You shake your head, still shaking with laughter. “The look on his face…”

Shoko giggles in turn. “I guess you’ll also be studying on Sunday?” Her smile fades, and she rests her cheek against her palm a bit bored.

“Unfortunately.”

She snorts after seeing your apologetic smile.

“But don’t worry. I’ll find time for us to meet. And also to show you—”

“Yes, the man of your dreams,” Shoko cuts in with a laugh, “literally!” 

You gasp at her words. "Shoko!”

°°°°

“And on this one, we were visiting Paris. We were so young…” You lean in slightly to observe the photo that Miguel, your father’s friend, is showing you.

“Oh, he never told me he traveled so much. I remember him mentioning taking my mother to Spain once, but he never talked about his trips with you.” You smile politely, sweeping away the twinge in your heart that makes you want to wince.

Miguel adjusts his beret and tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you reply, rocking back and forth on your feet, “but I suppose he didn’t think about it. He was often tired when he came home from work when I was younger.” You force your smile even more at Miguel’s surprised reaction, which stretches the features of his smooth, dark skin.

Unlike your father, Miguel is clean-shaven, and you have no doubt that his well-groomed appearance—from his navy blue suit and charming tie with silver stripes—speaks of the comfortable life he enjoys and shares with his family. This simple fact rekindles the cuts in your heart that you’ve tried to mend over the years. But is it enough?

“And otherwise, is he doing well? Will he soon have served his sentence?”

“No, he still has a few years left,” you reply with a hint of intentional bitterness that wipes the smile off your face. “When I think that he was wrongly accused while he’s innocent…” Your fists clench, and you notice Miguel freezing. You furrow your brow, curiosity piqued by his behavior.

“Yes,” he says with a embarrassed throat clearing and a nod. “Yes, of course. The justice system is really too manipulable. I didn’t know he told you he was... innocent.”

You note Miguel’s tone. He doesn’t seem certain of what he’s saying, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that he didn’t have a sentence to serve unlike your father, of whose innocence you’re convinced.

“Yes, he is,” you repeat firmly. Your gaze wanders around Miguel’s main living-room, which is decorated very chicly, in beige and black tones—warmed by the soft light of the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the fireplace in the background. It’s the epitome of a luxurious and cozy home. Yet again, something you don’t have.

You swallow back the bile rising in your throat, and as Miguel is about to continue the conversation, his wife, dressed in a stunning red velvet evening gown, enters the living room, a smile on her lips and a large plastic spoon in her hand. “Are you staying for dinner, dear?”

You’re taken aback for a moment and glance at the time on your phone then at the bay window in the living room, which offers a view of the already darkening sky. “I have to pick up a package from a nearby store before it closes... So, I’m not sure. Do you mind if I go and come back? I’ll be quick.” You offer her the same polite and forced smile you gave Miguel a few minutes ago.

“No, not at all. You’re welcome, my dear.”

And you purse your lips at the nickname but don’t let anything show. Miguel’s wife walks you to the front door, and before you have a chance to turn the handle, you hear small footsteps behind you. You turn around and see Miguel’s nine-year-old daughter, holding her Barbie doll close. Her brown pigtails sway slightly with each step, and she offers you a shy look.

“You’re leaving? Already? I haven’t shown you all my dolls yet…” she murmurs in a small voice. Her mother giggles, and you do the same. You take a few steps toward the little girl and bend your knees to her height.

“No, sweetie. I’m just going to get something outside, and I’ll be right back for dinner. We’ll even have time to play, if you want.”

“Yippee!” she exclaims, throwing herself into your arms and threatening to knock you over.

You burst into a genuine, light laugh. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Miguel’s daughter pulls away from you, a huge smile on her face, and her mother opens the door for you, apparently pleased to see her daughter showing affection for you.

Without lingering, you quickly leave the Oduol’s huge luxurious house and head to the tobacco shop a few hundred meters away. You ordered the manual that Professor Fushiguro requested for the coming weeks, and your order needs to be picked up from a store where the package was deposited. The air outside is icy and sharp for an April evening. It has been raining every day, and strangely enough, the sky has decided to hold back its tears this evening—just like you.

Arriving at the store, you ask to pick up your package, and once you have it under your arm, you almost immediately regret it. The warmth of the shop contrasts too much with the icy cold of this evening. In the deserted streets, not even a cat dares to show its nose. The neighborhood where Miguel lives is usually quiet because it’s reserved for the wealthiest. You clearly don’t live as luxuriously, and that’s somewhat reassuring. It’s as if anything and nothing can happen here.

As you turn the corner of the street where Miguel lives, bursts of orange light catch your attention. You barely have to look up before your package slips from your hands and collides with the pavement.

Miguel’s pavilion, as beautiful and luxurious as you saw it earlier, is on fire.

Despite this, silence reigns in the street. It’s as if no one sees what you see—huge flames licking at walls now darkened by the heat, and beams giving way and crashing onto the gradually shrinking lawn, also consumed by the fire. You want to scream and call for help—anything. But a silhouette emerging from the front door of the house seals your lips shut. You would have hoped it was Miguel, but you don’t live in paradise.

It’s indeed a masculine figure with an imposing muscular build, tall stature, and a black compression shirt, walking towards a motorcycle casually parked near Miguel’s fence. A large sports bag hangs from his hand by the handle. He effortlessly loads it onto the back of his bike despite its obvious weight. You’re afraid the man will notice you—though he hasn’t yet—but the paralysis freezing your limbs prevents you from making any move. While there’s no outward sign of activity, your heart rebels. It thumps so loudly in your chest that you almost fear the man might hear it from where he stands.

He straddles his bike and puts on his helmet before you have a chance to identify his face. The evening’s darkness obscures any chance of recognizing the arsonist. Once his motorcycle helmet is securely fastened, the man starts his bike and glances back one last time.

Familiar emerald eyes fall upon you.

And as the man turns away without a hint of reaction, he lifts his foot from the ground and rides off into the night’s silence.

A silence that persists even as you rush to the front of Miguel’s house and scream with all the strength of your lungs for help, calling out the names of his wife and daughter. But only the crackling of flames burning your hopes for their survival answers you.

°°°°

You can’t breathe.

The air escapes you.

Emerald irises glare at you from the corner of your room where you’re paralyzed by sleep. Thin lips stretch into a smile that haunts you like a cursed spirit. You blink, and the silhouette is now leaning over you on your bed, hands clasping around your neck with a powerful grip.

It suffocates you.

And its irises stare at you impassively.

Choking you in a deadly silence.

DING DONG.

DING DONG.

DING DONG...

You wake with a start. Your forearm rests on the polished wooden table of the university library, a small patch of saliva staining the fabric of your white shirt from your sleep. Still bleary-eyed, you look around and notice the ghostly silence of the library. You retrieve your phone from your pocket, and the displayed time tells you three things.

The first is that the bell that just rang was the second warning for the start of classes.

The second is that you’re late.

And the third—the worst—is that you have class with your current nightmare: Professor Fushiguro.

You hastily grab your bag and dash through the corridors towards the law studies building. Of course, your classroom had to be the farthest one, and of course, you’re running late. Your lack of sleep, caused by the multiple nightmares you’ve been having lately, only serves to increase your stress, which is clearly not what you need.

What you witnessed last weekend.

Breathless, you gently push open the swinging doors of the amphitheater, praying with all your heart that the class is still chatting as they settle in.

But as if your poor heart wasn’t exhausted enough, as soon as you step through the swinging doors, a familiar and magnetic voice interrupts, and a heavy silence greets you, with all the students’ heads turning towards you. Heat climbs up your neck, and you dread a fainting spell.

“You’re late.” Professor Fushiguro’s icy voice is as cutting as the iceberg that split the Titanic and resonates throughout the lecture hall. You struggle to swallow, nearly choking.

Mumbling apologies, you lower your gaze, not wanting to meet eyes that has haunted you recently. After sighing, Professor Fushiguro completely ignores you, and you take a seat on the nearest chair, still red with embarrassment as he resumes his lecture. Two male students whisper to each other, their voices audible enough for you to hear as you take out your trembling laptop.

“What’s up with him today?”

“I don’t know. He seems to be in a murderous mood today, according to the other classes.”

You clear your throat softly. Your hands shake so much that you can’t type a word on your keyboard without making multiple spelling mistakes. Your already empty stomach twists, and you suppress the nausea lingering in your chest.

“The time is up. You will submit your essays on my desk,” Professor Fushiguro orders in his deep voice.

Your pen continues to scratch your paper with its blue ink as you lift your head abruptly, panic flooding your face. “No, no, no…” you murmur, looking over your sheets, knowing that the work is insufficient.

Professor Fushiguro had given an in-class essay assignment on the recent topics introduced on criminality. Unable to write a single word during the first forty-five minutes, the limited time left had triggered a realization that made you forget about Professor Fushiguro and recall that your grades affect the relationship you’re trying to build with your father. The mere image of his disappointed face is enough to bring back the nausea you felt earlier.

Most students rise almost immediately and descend the lecture hall steps to submit their work. Yours, which must contain half of what the others have provided, will not secure an average grade. You are already certain of it. While you are usually one of the top students in your class, this year is off to a rough start, especially given your delicate situation with Professor Fushiguro.

Resigned, you abandon your pen and pack your belongings into your bag. You’ll start your first grade of the year with an F – and, more importantly, with a professor/student relationship whose outcome you don’t even know. Is Professor Fushiguro plotting something against you?

As you drop your papers on his desk surrounded by girls who you often see gossiping about his beauty—which you no longer appreciate— you intentionally meet his gaze. Your breath catches.

Behind his statue-like mask, Professor Fushiguro’s emerald irises pin you in place. With a hatred you sense is more intense than the incident involving Miguel that led to his death and that of his wife and daughter.

Turning your head away, you spin on your heels and climb the amphitheater steps. But you distinctly hear Professor Fushiguro dismiss the group of admirers sharply. “Leave the room if you have no questions about the class.”

Regardless of his lack of comment.

You will do the same—hoping he won’t touch anything directly related to your life.

And you push aside yet another bad feeling that you hope is wrong.

°°°°

But you are wrong, even years later, to doubt your sixth sense.

With shaking hands, you hold your corrected essay paper returned by Professor Fushiguro. Covered in red pen marks, a large F – circled in the corner of your sheet is the only thing that catches your attention despite the background chatter of the class. In a situation like this, you would have gone to see your professor and asked for clarification on what you did wrong and to understand what went awry. But you can’t.

A sigh escapes the barrier of your lips as you shove your paper into your bag, trying to forget how it’s not even the mediocre quality of your work that cost you this grade, but rather that every paragraph you wrote had been aggressively attacked with crimson ink. This means that Professor Fushiguro probably didn’t grade you so poorly out of some revenge.

At least, that’s what you hope.

Until the next classes resume, and each of your assignments submitted to Professor Fushiguro ends with an F – or F + (the latter when he seems to be in a good mood). You can’t count how many times you’ve run your hand over your face to sweep away the frustration that overtakes you—especially when you see other students getting results you should have. Assignments for which you put in maximum effort. Yet, nothing seems to change.

“It’s true that no other article has been posted since…”

“Do you think she has another scoop?” a frustrated voice says from behind a bookshelf.

“According to some students in her class, she no longer shows up for lectures.”

“Weird…”

“Good riddance, I say! It’s been paradise since we stopped reading anything on her damn blog!” curses a student, storming away from the aisle followed by his friends.

You lift your face from where it’s buried in the crook of your folded arm on the table. Only the faint sound of Shoko’s keyboard tapping reaches your ears. You exchange a glance with her to see if she caught what you just overheard.

Shoko takes a small breath that she releases in a small sigh. Stretching, she yawns before pulling out a bottle of your favorite drink. “Here. Keep sleeping instead of listening to such crappy gossip about Miwa. At this rate, you’ll end up just like me.”

You offer her a tired smile and take the bottle, eagerly gulping down its contents. You eat much less at home, sleep less, and spend most of your time dozing with your arms crossed on one of the tables in the university library, soothed by a sense of security reinforced by the fact that you’re not alone and the sound of the rain beating against the windows is one of the most relaxing sounds to fall asleep to.

You’re constantly on the alert at home. You startle at the slightest noise and constantly feel like danger is lurking overhead. You have no one to confide in.

You haven’t revealed anything to Shoko either.

Omitting from the police and your friend that you know the identity of the murderer of the Oduol family, you lied by saying that fear and shock caused memory issues. A policewoman took note of your statement after escorting you to the police station following the fire you urgently reported. You bluntly responded that you saw a vague figure leaving the house but don’t know more. The policewoman, sympathetic, brought you back safely home and kindly offered for you to provide any details regarding the ongoing investigation in the coming days. She then left and you haven’t contacted her since.

You’re exhausted.

Tired of studying for courses where you end up with a poor grade every time, of having insomnia that prevents you from sleeping with the constant fear of being killed in your own home.

And the worst part is your grades.

You dismissed the excuse of the mediocre quality of your first assignment. But as for those that followed, you almost gave your soul. You don’t understand the mistakes you make in each assignment. And you don’t dare to talk to the source either.

You’re too afraid.

Especially of opening your mouth during his classes.

But the next one might be even harder—because the next session will focus on a themed debate.

°°°°

“The nature of redemption for criminals.”

The debate opens for your next few hours, and you’re trapped in the amphitheater room that’s become your nightmare. For the first time, you see Professor Fushiguro questioning students and engaging in conversation with them on a topic you never thought he would address. He responds with the perfect image of a teacher. And it unsettles you.

For a criminal, he’s surprisingly good at it.

Snide remarks keep blooming in your head with each student’s intervention that receives a response from your professor. You’re so frustrated that your clenched teeth start to hurt your jaw. But you say nothing. You know you mustn’t open your mouth. But still, you burn with the desire to participate. To respond with your arguments, to shut Professor Fushiguro up, and to spit out all the hatred and frustration you have against him. But nothing can break your forged silence.

Nothing except—

“...even the most ruthless criminals may have the opportunity to redeem themselves and find redemption, provided they sincerely express remorse and commit to changing their behavior. Malcom X, Shaka Senghor, or even Piper Kerman are excellent examples of individuals who have committed reprehensible acts but have managed to reintegrate into society after serving their sentence and showing real change,” asserts Professor Fushiguro, standing with his lower back leaning against the edge of his desk and facing the class.

His calm and composed voice makes you want to scream what you’re holding back from replying.

Redemption my ass!

Your eyes burn into Professor Fushiguro’s figure, and when his gaze lingers on you, you notice the small smirk forming on his lips.

A smug and discreet smile but one that openly mocks you—because you can’t say anything about it.

And that’s the last straw.

You rise from your seat in front of the entire amphitheater, chin held high. “I disagree,” you say in a loud, clear voice that resonates in everyone’s ears.

Professor Fushiguro loses his smug smirk and turns it into a mask of ice. He raises his eyebrows—probably surprised that you’re speaking up. “You disagree?” he repeats your words slowly and doesn’t blink once. For the first time since the beginning of the year, you have his full attention publicly.

“Yes,” you affirm with conviction. You maintain a steady voice that threatens to tremble under the rapid beats of your heart.

Your last name rolls off Professor Fushiguro’s tongue like venom. “Well, then, enlighten us with your objection,” he says sarcastically and provocatively but in the silence of the room, you dare not cross any line.

Not yet.

You take a tiny breath of courage. “I have doubts regarding the possibility for some criminals to truly find redemption, especially when they have committed particularly heinous or repeated acts,” you retort. “Don’t you think that raises some neglect towards the personal responsibility of criminals? I believe it’s necessary to also consider the interests of the victims in the rehabilitation process.”

Throughout, the class as well as Professor Fushiguro haven’t taken their eyes off your bold mouth. Your teacher’s neutral face doesn’t change, but you sense a hint of irritation in his voice when he speaks up.

“I understand your concerns, but we cannot afford to condemn individuals outright without giving them a chance to redeem themselves. Even those who have committed unforgivable acts deserve a chance at redemption, for that’s how we, as a society, progress towards a better future.”

You hold back a sarcastic laugh.

You don’t care about the consequences now. You release all the frustration you’ve been holding back, crossing your arms over your chest to reply, “Allow me to doubt the nature of redemption for those involved in clandestine criminal activities. Some individuals may claim to seek redemption while continuing to commit reprehensible acts in secret,” you emphasize, raising your eyebrows and curling your lips. “Perhaps it would be useful to question the sincerity of their repentance.”

It’s as if the breath of the entire class is held.

Professor Fushiguro remains silent, but you feel him freeze at your words.

“On what examples are you basing this, exactly?” he asks in a sickly sweet tone before pursing his lips.

His response makes you let out a scoff.

Seeing Professor Fushiguro’s game, you cross the forged line. He’s testing you to see if you’ll dare to speak up. And that’s exactly what you do.

“Is this a joke? Well, let’s see…” You pretend to think, and release all your frustration accumulated over so many days. “What about hitmen?”

Never have you shown such insolence to a teacher. You realize you’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble when right at that moment, the bell rings to signal the end of classes and Professor Fushiguro utters words that sign your death sentence.

“You’ll come see me.”

As the entire class rushes to pack up their belongings, you ignore the whispers behind you and stuff your laptop into your bag with slow, feverish movements. Your heart is pumping rapidly, and your tongue, burning just a minute ago, now feels numb.

You descend the emptying amphitheater stairs and wait for the double doors to let the last student pass before approaching Professor Fushiguro’s desk. He hasn’t moved from his position, partly leaning against the edge of the desk. You leave a safe distance between the two of you, ready to sprint if he tries anything against you. But will he dare to do it within the university premises?

“You displayed a certain insolence during the debate,” he begins in a low voice. His eyes scrutinize yours, but this time, you don’t look away.

“It was a glimpse of my frustration,” you reply with coldness.

“Oh? Your frustration?” He tilts his head to the side, a sarcastically surprised expression on his face.

“I suppose you know the cause.” You leave a silence for a response he doesn’t give you. So, you continue, “Stop giving me unjust bad grades. I know you’re doing it with the intention of ruining my academic record.” Your voice is as low as Professor Fushiguro’s, who sneers at you.

“I could easily inform on you to the police, you know. I haven’t said anything until now, but they assured me they’re keeping an eye on my voice,” your courage loosens your tongue but raises the heavy, fast beats of your heart in your ears. Blood pounds in your ears.

Toji purses his lips but doesn’t falter in the face of your threats. “And I could sue you for defamation. You have no proof, my lovely.” A smug smile stretches his thin lips, and you notice the hint of a scar drawing in their corner. He leans slightly forward so that his low voice can only reach your ears. “By nosing around into things that don’t concern you, maybe the absence of your colleague Kasumi, which worries the principal so much, will eventually affect you too." He grins as he sees your eyes widen in horror.

“...Are you involved in that?” you whisper in a hoarse voice, to which he responds with a shrug.

You’ve put yourself in a situation that may be worse than it already is, but you value your life. You take a step towards him and speak with less confidence. “Fine. I’ll keep quiet. But change my grades in return. Or at least, give me a better grade next—”

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “You’re not in a position to negotiate. And what makes you think I trust you?” His smile turns into outright mockery. “Your word means nothing to me.”

The noise of students’ conversations waiting behind the amphitheater doors grabs your attention. You don’t have time to argue any longer.

As you prepare to respond one last time, your face contorted by Professor Fushiguro’s blunt refusal, he interrupts you by raising his index finger to impose silence. “A word of advice. Don’t risk playing with the devil when you don’t know what hell looks like. Don’t venture into a game where you’re not ready to risk your neck.”

°°°°

“In a delicate yet profitable context, I’ve organized, with the help of the principal, a collaboration with the police to put you through a real investigation exercise. The main subject of the investigation revolves around the worrying disappearance of a student from this university. As you’ve probably heard from leaked rumors, Miwa Kasumi’s disappearance was reported a few days ago by her family to the police station. We’ll take advantage of the investigation’s opening to help the police find Miwa with your assistance and to use this situation to your advantage by putting you in the field. Professor Fushiguro will supervise this exercise with me.”

The words of your criminal justice professor—Professor Higuruma—come back to you as a distant voice seems to call you.

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

A snap of fingers brings you back to reality.

You raise your head to your father, who watches you with concern from behind the glass that separates you from him. “Yes, yes. Sorry.” You rub your eyes, burning with tiredness and reddened with burst blood vessels.

You’re back in prison for another visit to your father, who has been informed of Miguel’s death. You told him everything in detail—naturally omitting the perpetrator of the fatal fire. After over an hour of questioning you, your father changed the subject to discuss your studies.

As usually.

“And the classes?” he says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Usually, at this point in the semester, you give me updates on your grades.”

You swallow hard. “Uh... Well, the workload is a bit heavier and—”

“You got bad grades?” your father interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

His conclusion catches you off guard.

“No... Well, my grades aren’t as excellent as they used to be but—”

“Answer my question.”

You blink. “I... Yes.” You take a deep breath. “But wait, Dad, I can explain—”

“And do you think this is how I’m going to get out of this rathole? I thought you wanted us to reconnect,” your father retorts, shooting you a sharp, annoyed, and disappointed look. He crosses his arms over his chest before standing up. “Don’t visit me again until your grades improve.”

“No, wait! Dad!” You exclaim, standing up abruptly and pressing your hands against the glass that separates you as your father’s back leaves the inmate visitation room. “DAD! DAD!”

Your voice breaks under the punches you give to the glass to hold him back—in vain.

°°°°

Toji enters a sushi restaurant and glances around to analyze each customer, looking for a particular person. His eyes settle on a man tattooed up to his neck, and he joins him at his table, taking a seat across from him.

The man looks up at Toji, his face lighting up as he recognizes him. “Ah! Here’s my guest. Please, order whatever you want.”

Toji nods in greeting. "Oyabun."

An elderly waitress approaches their table and smiles kindly at them. “Have you already ordered, gentlemen?”

The oyabun nods and turns to Toji. “Place his order. I’ve already eaten. You’ll put it on this account.” He takes a business card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to the old lady.

“Takoyakis,” Toji orders without a glance at her.

The lady takes note of the dish and leaves. Toji leans his elbows on the table and leans just enough to inform him, “I handed the bag to a kaikei. You didn’t tell me it contained so much money. I remind you that you still haven’t paid me.”

The oyabun puts on a serious expression and takes out a joint from his jacket. Toji lets his eyes wander vaguely over the pockets and wonders what else he could pull out.

“Do you remember the issue concerning the clan? Well, this money you recovered from Oduol belongs to me and is partly what I’m reclaiming.” He takes on a paternal tone and lights a lighter to scorch his spliff. “The rest of the sum still eludes me. I can’t pay you yet. But you know I’m not a scammer, Toji. I’ve always paid you, haven’t I?” The smell of cannabis reaches Toji’s nostrils, and he wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“And you can’t pay me with the money I recovered?” Toji asks, almost... urgently. “I’m sure the bag already has enough to cover all my other unpaid missions.”

The oyabun shakes his head and inhales the smoke from his spliff. “This money is mine,” he replies before exhaling, “and that means you should be paid with the money that’s rightfully yours. You still don’t realize the astronomical sum one of those bastards owes me.”

“So I have to keep playing the good teacher? Where are you sending poor Shiu to look for work, seriously? I’m already struggling to pay my rent, you know? I want to get back to my real full-time job,” Toji retorts bitterly.

The waitress approaches their table and sets the plate of takoyakis in front of Toji, wishing him bon appétit before slipping away. He loosens his chopsticks and crosses them to pick up a sauced ball between them.

“I know, I know. Listen, Toji. I already have some issues to sort out, but you have my word that as soon as I’m done, you’ll be paid in one go. It’s this problem that’s preventing me from paying you. I need you, and you’re already helping me a lot. Oduol had a part of the money that belongs to me, and I recovered it. Thanks to you,” the oyabun smiles wide—revealing gold canines. “You’re my best man. You’re the only one I truly rely on. You’re under my protection as long as you stay with me.”

"I need nothing but my dough," Toji answers back with less pronounced bitterness but still irritate, and the oyabun knows his words have managed to appease him somewhat. Toji swallows his takoyaki balls one by one and casually adjusts the loosely unbuttoned collar of his black shirt.

The oyabun leans back in his chair and pours himself a glass of sake. His fingers adorned with silver rings grasp the glass, and he drinks its contents in one go. “While you’re waiting for your next target, you can take it easy.”

°°°°

Toji’s calloused hand tidies his course papers on his desk as the students in his class hurry to leave the lecture hall in the usual cacophony. He hears giggles behind him and sighs in annoyance before rolling his eyes.

Those pissy girls in uniform again.

The lecture hall grows quieter, and a quick glance over his shoulder informs him that you are still packing up your belongings. The group of girls approaches him, and he turns halfway, exasperated.

“Professor Fushiguro,” one of them begins before cackling like a hen, followed by her peers, “we wanted to ask you—”

“No, I haven’t changed my cologne. No, I’m not a former national boxing champion, and no, my shirt isn’t from a luxury brand, but from a thrift store. Now, go away,” he cuts them off sharply.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again, hoping not to have to fend them off any longer.

Since his first day here, Toji has been the constant subject of discussion among both professors and students alike. And he knows it perfectly well. But he didn’t expect to have a fan club of ‘pissy girls in pine green uniform’—as he calls them—during his very first class.

The girls stop giggling and freeze. They look at each other and give up. The group wishes him a good day and finally leaves the lecture hall, leaving Toji in peace. But Toji knows he’s not alone. You are already descending the stairs with measured steps.

He sits at his desk, waiting—and even praying—that the bell rings earlier than expected so that you don’t have to talk to him. But Toji has never been lucky. If that day were to come, it would be because God has shown him mercy.

“Professor,” you murmur cautiously once you’re at his desk.

Toji ignores you, feigning to focus on his laptop. He knows he has nothing to do on it, but he prefers to keep his eyes absentmindedly on the screen rather than having to talk to you.

“Can you explain to me what my mistakes were in this assignment?” you continue with a fragile sweetness that almost prompts Toji to lift his gaze from his PowerPoint to check if you’re crying or not. “I don’t understand my errors despite your corrections…” You hand him your paper marked in red ink.

Toji doesn’t respond and pretends to turn a deaf ear while correcting elements of his slideshow. His peripheral vision notes that you have approached him, reducing the distance to about one inch.

You are crossing a boundary that is forbidden to you.

“Please,” you insist with a hint of impatience.

Toji is about to continue ignoring you when he freezes in place as you place a hand on his forearm resting on the polished mahogany desk and gently squeeze it with your fingers. The contact of your hand sends an unusual shiver down his spine, and the warmth emanating from your palm on his skin is as scorching as the fires of hell awaiting him in exchange for his sins. He regrets rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing forearms defined with muscles and a few raised veins running across the surface of his pale, almost translucent skin.

Turning his neck slightly to look at you, Toji squints and murmurs in a threatening tone, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Your eyes meet his, and he almost feels the dilation in his pupils as he realizes the mirroring effect of yours.

You were on the verge of tears.

“Please…” you murmur as your eyes speak for you in a unspoken plea. “I swear I won’t say anything. It’s my grades that matter to me. I have secrets to keep too, and I don’t want to get involved in yours.” But seeing that he offers no response and merely stares at you without any further reaction, you continue, “Professor, please—”

“Enough!” he snaps in a half-annoyed, half-angry whisper. With a sudden movement, he pulls his arm away from the weak grasp of your hand. “Go away.”

“But—”

Once again, you’re unable to continue your pleas because of the bell ringing for the next classes, along with the voices of the next class with Professor Fushiguro behind the doors.

Swallowing back your tears, you turn on your heels and crumple your umpteenth paper, marked with an additional F –, adding to the frustrated sob that escapes your mouth as you leave the lecture hall in long strides.

All under Toji’s eyes, who, for the first time, has a heart still pounding from a confrontation he would have preferred to avoid.

°°°°

The rain pounding against the windows of the lecture hall is so loud that it drowns out the voices of the police officers. A policewoman, annoyed at having to raise her voice, borrows a lapel microphone from Professor Higuruma and stands in the center of the small platform reserved for the professors.

“Testing. Can you hear me? Perfect,” she says with a smile. “So, as we’re trying to tell you, this amphitheater has been reserved specifically for us, the police, as speakers.” She gestures toward Professors Fushiguro and Higuruma, who stand in a corner of the platform with their hands in their pockets. “Thanks to your professors,” she continues, “we can now officially open the investigation into the disappearance of student Miwa Kasumi, reported missing by her parents a few days ago. Your professors have deemed the situation, while concerning, suitable to put you in a real investigative situation. No report has been filed yet. Kasumi’s parents have provided us with some information about the last time they saw her.”

She clasps her hands behind her back to replace her smile with a serious and professional demeanor. “So I’m counting on you to help us write this report. You’ll give us all your information, and vice versa. We’ll sort it all out, and we’ll print it out for you. Over the next few days, you’ll be tasked with gathering information by visiting the last places Kasumi went before disappearing and gathering testimonies. Your invaluable help, combined with our own research, will constitute key elements. As soon as we feel we have enough and your professors have enough to grade you, the investigation will no longer concern you and will be entirely our responsibility. If you have no questions, I think we can begin.”

The policewoman joins one of her coworker sitting at the desk assigned to a professor and starts typing on her laptop.

Sitting at the back of the room, you stare at Professor Fushiguro. He stands nonchalantly leaning against a wall next to Higuruma. You notice that he has his lips pinched and his eyes alternate between the police officers. A thin, sinister smile curls your lips.

Of course, a hitman isn’tt comfortable in front of those who could send him to prison on the spot.

You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands and yawn.

The police’s questions begin.

Your insomnia from the previous night has left you in a murderous mood. Your reddened and burning eyes from crying all night don’t help you keep your eyes completely open under the aggressive lights of the amphitheater.

But you don’t take your eyes off Professor Fushiguro for a moment. You’re not going to let a fool like him ruin your life for grades. If you have to resort to extreme measures, you will. And that’s what you’ve been trying to do since your last desperate altercation with him. You gave up your dignity at that moment. This time, you’re already looking for something—a threat, anything—to make him change his mind. The police right now must be making him very uncomfortable—because a word from you, and he could end up in handcuffs. But you can’t.

At least not yet.

As the session nears its end, a police officer sends the report to each student’s university email and also sends it to be printed at the university library. So as you come to pick up your copy at the bottom of the amphitheater, you pass by Professor Fushiguro without a glance. As you turn on your heels, your eyes rise to meet his. He doesn’t break eye contact, but you know he can’t have failed to notice your bloodshot eyes and your silence in front of the familiar policewoman—the one who escorted you home after the fire at the Oduols’.

Despite her inquiries about your memories, you claimed that you don’t really remember who the man was.

°°°°

At the end of the week, your research has finally paid off. And there’s no way this time that Professor Fushiguro will give you yet another F –. You’re prepared to go to great lengths to force him to stop his blackmail.

Your knuckles rap three times on the door of Professor Fushiguro’s office. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears, and you enter the room. You immediately close the door behind you and observe the surroundings. Contrary to what you might have imagined, the space is decorated in a traditional academic aesthetic—large bookshelves filled with books of all sizes adorn the walls, floral wallpaper, or even a Persian rug with complex blood-red patterns sleeping at the feet of a burgundy sofa.

You clearly doubt that the aesthetic taste of the office comes from him.

“I’ve come to bring you my report,” you say after clearing your throat.

Professor Fushiguro, seated at his ebony wood desk, pays no attention to you and keeps his eyes glued to his computer. The only response is the clacking of the keyboard keys.

You take a few steps and reach the desk. You carefully place your report down and sit in one of the armchairs facing your teacher.

With your heart pounding, you take a small breath and waste no time. “Professor? Can we get back to what I was trying to tell you last week?”

Professor Fushiguro continues to royally ignore you, and you close your eyelids for a second.

This can’t go on any longer.

“Stop ignoring me.” You suddenly stand up and close Professor Fushiguro’s computer with the tips of your fingers. He barely has time to remove his fingers from the keyboard and looks up at you.

His eyes narrow like those of a cobra, and he’s about to respond—undoubtedly about your insolence—but you raise your hand in the same way he has done with you before to impose silence and hiss a “no!”

The professor’s thin lips part in surprise at your boldness. He doesn’t say a word and waits for what your audacity has in store for him. For the first time, you leave him speechless.

“Now, you’re going to listen to me until the end.” You lean dangerously toward him across the desk and place a hand on its surface. A determined gleam shines in your eyes, and your tongue loosens immediately. “You seemed particularly nervous during the first intervention with the police, or am I mistaken? You were very tense despite your facade of a relaxed man. And you saw me. I didn’t say anything.” You grit your teeth and hold back the urge to strike him in the face with his silence. Your throat is already painfully tight. You really hope he’ll listen to you until the end.

“I know you were bluffing about Miwa because you would never have dared anything directly with the police. Nothing will happen to me. So if you decide to do nothing about my grades thinking you can relax, you’re sorely mistaken. You underestimate me far too much. If I won’t speak about your crime, I’m ready to create one against myself. I’ve been kind enough so far,” you declare in a strained voice. The accumulation of silence over these weeks is too much today. 

You’re exhausted. You take a breath that has shortened.

But after all the reactions you could have hoped for from Professor Fushiguro, the one he offers you catches you off guard. At first, a slow smile stretches across his lips, then a chuckle escapes him, and finally, he bursts out laughing. The heat rising to your cheeks spreads all over your face, and the blood pounds in your ears.

“Let me laugh a little more. Who’s talking about bluffing here, again? Do you think I’m going to swallow that?” He leans his elbows on the desk with both arms to rest his chin on the back of his intertwined hands and looks at you with his emerald irises. “I don’t believe you, pretty girl. You’re capable of nothing. And I’ve already told you. Your word means nothing to me,” he murmurs with a mocking smile that curls his lips.

“Oh really?” you murmur under your breath. “That’s what I thought. You know you’re the subject of almost every conversation in this university, Professor Fushiguro. Wouldn’t it be detrimental to your already dubious reputation if a professor like you—who looks more like a model working for Calvin Klein than anything else—gets involved in an unpleasant affair with a student? You underestimate the cunning of women. Knowing that three-quarters of the female students have already had wet dreams about you. And believe me, it’s certainly not the stress of student life that stains their underwear every night. Nothing is indifferent to anyone in this university.”

The image of your father walking away from the inmate visitation room comes to mind. Your eyes sting, but you try to hold on and not break down in front of him.

Caught up in the momentum of emotion, you lean so close to him across the desk that the distance between your two heads is only about eleven inches. “I stand by what I said. I won’t let my academic record rot for a man like you. I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them. Even if it means committing immorality.”

With these final words, you can’t hold back a tear escaping from one of your eyes and letting it roll down your cheek.

You don’t give him time to respond and turn on your heel to leave the office, wiping away the other tears that finally streak your cheeks.

°°°°

“And another loss, my friend.”

Shiu Kong chuckles beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. He shuffles the blackjack cards and picks them up one by one. He glances at Toji’s indifferent expression. “What? Is that all it does to you?”

Toji shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey. “Nothing new. I never have any luck.” The liquid burns his throat for a moment, but the sounds of the casino machines distract him, and his thoughts keep drifting to your face he encountered the previous day.

Shiu takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. With a nod of his head, he offers one to Toji, who declines with a shake of his head. “It’s a shame you lose at games that could earn you a little cash—of course—but which can quickly accumulate thanks to many rounds. Must be better than your teacher job, right?”

“I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them.”

Toji leans back in his chair, sighs, and runs a hand over his tired face, trying to rid himself of your voice in his head. He hasn’t forgotten the sound of your sobbing or your sniffles every time you left after trying to change your grades.

Toji has never felt the slightest guilt.

And he doesn’t want it to start now.

Especially when it involves you.

“Yeah. It really is a shitty job.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but he has the right to refuse visitors.” The voice of the penitentiary secretary sounds slightly irritated.

“But—”

“I’m sorry to insist, but even if you come in person, it won’t matter. He’ll probably remain in his cell,” she interrupts hastily.

You purse your lips and sit on your bed in the dim light of your room. “I see... Thank you,” you murmur softly, your voice breaking.

“Have a nice day, miss.”

The line disconnects, and you let your back sink into the mattress.

Your father requested to refuse your visit if you try to contact him in any way. Your throat knots horribly, and it feels like the knot is laced with thorns.

It’s all his fault.

Professor Fushiguro is your tormentor.

You hate him so much.

He ruins your life in every way—without you being able to do anything about it.

All you ask for is your father’s love, as you dream of every time.

Were you asking for too much?

Or perhaps you simply don’t deserve it.

°°°°

C +.

“C +.”

You blink several times.

No...

You must be dreaming.

From your seat at the back, you watch Professor Fushiguro finish distributing the corrected reports made by the students in the class. When he returns to his desk, the rest of the students quickly pack up their things, following suit. With Professor Higuruma present, the rest of the class will continue in a different amphitheater to update the police, who will collect all the information provided by each student.

But you still can’t believe that Professor Fushiguro, the man who has been threatening you and making your life difficult from the start, is starting to give you better grades. A “C +” isn’t the best grade you’ve ever had, but in theoretical criminology, it’s worth celebrating.

A bubble of hope swells in your chest.

Throughout the continued class, you’ve been trying to catch Professor Fushiguro’s gaze, but to no avail. Without even knowing why you’re doing it.

“Very well. Excellent, I would even say,” the same policewoman declares during the first intervention. Her voice projected through the microphone is clear and captures everyone’s attention. “Thank you, dear students. According to the overall assessments and reports from your professors, Miwa was seen in some very undesirable places just before her disappearance. Other information has been taken into account, and I ask those who know of such... prohibited areas, not to disclose their locations. Please. This part of the investigation is for the police only. We plan to involve you in real investigation work with the agreement of your professors, but for now, do not attempt anything dangerous to find your missing classmate.”

The entire class exchanges sarcastic looks.

It’s true, after all. Miwa ins’t the favorite student of most students at Keio University. She has always posted articles against any student who has a secret that could draw attention to her blog.

“But I want to emphasize that if you obtain any further necessary information before our next meeting, you are welcome to share it. Your help is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your hard work.”

Applause erupts from the group of police officers alongside Professors Higuruma and Fushiguro. The class joins in, and whistles echo through the room.

Your eyes continue to search for Professor Fushiguro’s, but not once has his head turned in your direction. A pang of disappointment pricks at you without understanding why. If he has finally decided to listen to you and stop his threats, you should be happy about it. Not that you’re not pleased, but you want him to pay attention to you.

And in a good way.

°°°°

The coffin lids finally close, plunging the Oduol family into the sleep that death offers them.

You can’t help but bite your lower lip.

The committee attending the funeral is much smaller than you thought. The morgue is filled with just over half a dozen people—including you. The majority consists of a few men in suits, one of whom, presumably their leader, is tattooed all the way up to his neck.

Without exception, they all prayed.

You’ve wondered many times who they are. Especially when, in your somber attire, a glance from you is enough to meet the gaze of the tattooed man. His indifferent eyes glanced at your silhouette, perhaps wondering who you are, but you didn’t speak to each other—because the men didn’t linger at the morgue either.

If you sideline that, on the way back to your apartment, you constantly wonder why Professor Fushiguro had to kill Miguel. And the image of the huge gym bag he carried with him twists your stomach into a bad omen.

It contained money, you have no doubt.

And then, Miguel was wealthy.

He was also your father’s friend.

But unlike him, Miguel didn’t end up in prison for embezzlement. You begin to wonder if Miguel’s wealth came from the infamous sum for which your father is behind bars. Is the money being pursued by other people?

If this deduction is true, Miguel had been a target while free, while your father has not been for years.

If Professor Fushiguro decided to target Miguel, it must also be related to why your father is imprisoned. But one last deduction lights up your brain, and suddenly nausea grips you.

Is Professor Fushiguro also after your father?

°°°°

Your fist knocks three times on Professor Fushiguro’s office door.

A muffled “come in” allows you to enter the room with a steady step. For some reason or another, you are no longer afraid to speak with your teacher—despite the fact that you haven’t said a word to him since the first time you came to talk to him in his office like today.

You’re not afraid anymore.

And only when it concerns your father.

You carefully close the door before sitting down on one of the armchairs opposite him as he doesn’t deign to look at you. Professor Fushiguro is buried in a small stack of students’ papers to correct mercilessly as he did for you.

“Hello, Professor.”

Silence.

Undeterred in the slightest, you continue, “I would like some explanations about the report you corrected. I don’t understand my grade.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and his pen scratches a sentence on the paper he’s working on. You take the opportunity to take out your own report handed in a few days ago in class. You remain perfectly silent, waiting for an answer that you’ll force out of him if necessary.

Several minutes pass, and you wonder for a moment if he will open his mouth at any point.

Your request seems to have been heard when he sighs in annoyance and sets aside one assignment to move on to another before glancing at you and your report. “Can’t you read?” he says sarcastically. He shifts his attention back to another assignment to correct.

“So you’re still giving me bad grades on purpose?” you ask, furrowing your brows, a feeling of revolt swelling in your chest and encouraging your tongue to say what you’ve been holding back. “I thought you had changed your mind about—”

“Can you stop chattering like a magpie for two minutes?” he cuts in, looking up at you with a stern expression. “How do you expect me to do anything if you never shut up?”

Silence.

“...So,” you blink, “do you agree?”

“One more word, and I change my mind.” He adjusts his dark tie over his black shirt, and your gaze follows the movements of his hand holding the pen.

A few minutes later, Professor Fushiguro pushes his papers aside and sighs. You wait for him to focus his attention on you, and when he does, his deep voice snaps like a whip in your ears, “What’s wrong this time?”. He’s annoyed. And he doesn’t hide it.

You show him the red marks streaking your paper with careful words you endeavored to put on. “I didn’t understand why I got this grade. I took it seriously. I think you’re grading me too harshly.” You tilt your head slightly to the side and squint. “And I don’t understand your correction.”

“So you can’t read.” He leans his elbow on the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, then straightens up.

“I said I didn’t understand,” you insist. You purse your lips.

Professor Fushiguro seems to relent, because for the next ten minutes, he turns the paper towards him to re-explain the notes framing the margins of the pages.

When he finishes his oral correction, a question gnaws at you, and you scrunch your nose.

“I have a question.” You pause. “Are you grading me this way because you’re being harder on me or because you’re really grading me?” Your expression of indifference hides an analysis of your teacher’s facial expressions.

“I thought I made myself clear. I’m not threatening you anymore. But that doesn’t stop me from grading you as you should be.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Your old teacher was unbelievably mediocre. No wonder you’re surprised by such poor results when reality hits you.” He raises his eyebrows as if what he just said was such a mundane fact that you seem stupid for not understanding it earlier.

You purse your lips in an indignant pout. “Says the professor who bought his degree,” you reply almost venomously.

Professor Fushiguro raises an amused eyebrow. “So you think I faked my degree?” A smirk curls his lips.

“Coming from someone…” you murmur, searching for your words, “...like you, it’s obvious.”

“Sometimes, what seems most obvious to us is very far from reality.”

“So are we making peace?” you ask, resting your hands on your thighs, a hint of suspicion.

Under his gulp, Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillates. “I suppose so. But that doesn’t mean other threats can’t come your way, and for real this time.” His tone, sickly sweet, sends a shiver down your spine.

“I see. So, I’m not exactly your bosom buddy?” you say sarcastically. You cross your legs and fidget with your fingers. “So, my grade is deserved?” The corners of your lips twitch in a murmur of frosty disappointment.

An imperceptible nod from the professor is his response. “Since I’m not a ‘real teacher,’ as you put it, I might as well do my job properly to avoid arousing suspicion. If you have no further questions, the door is open.” His hand vaguely gestures to the door behind you with a sign. But you notice that he looks up insolently.

He looks like a teenager.

He pulls his laptop towards him, but you speak up again, your heart pounding. “No, I still have questions.” He rolls his eyes and pushes your report back towards you, probably hoping to silence your questions.

“I attended the funeral of the man you—” He gives you wide eyes and suddenly turns his face towards the closed door of his office. You lower your gaze to your intertwined fingers and freeze. “Anyway. I know it’s the last thing you want to talk about but…” You lean forward slightly. “Do your targets have any connection with Miguel?”

Professor Fushiguro purses his thin lips and glares at you. “No,” he murmurs reluctantly. He squints suspiciously and speaks in a voice so low that you have to lean in even more to hear him and not miss a word of his response. “I work under orders, period. I have no connection or relation with anyone. And you should stop sticking your nose into business that doesn't concern you. Or there will be consequences.”

The vise gripping your chest loosens, and you sigh with relief.

“Oh, one last thing.” You take your corrected paper and put it back in your bag. “Do you have, um, any textbooks to recommend to improve my grades? I won’t ask you anything else after this,” you add hastily, seeing his expression about to give you a flat no.

He sighs again and thumbs over his shoulder to the library behind him. “First shelf from the top on the right.”

You quickly get up and start looking at the books with dark bindings. Some vases with green plants adorn the wooden shelves, and you stand on tiptoe to try to grab two books that you can only touch the bindings with the tips of your fingers.

“I can’t reach them,” you say without turning around, breathless from the effort.

You reach higher, while the size of Professor Fushiguro looms behind you. He mutters to himself, and when your nails finally grip a leather-bound book, you pull on it and lose your balance. Your hand clutching the book sweeps the vase nearby, and in the momentum, you expect it to fall on you.

But it doesn’t.

A powerful hand pulls your forearm, and your nose hits something flat and hard. A second later, a crashing sound is emitted at your feet.

Your eyes, closed in fear, open, and you immediately look behind you.

The potted plant decorating the bookshelf has just shattered right where you were seconds ago. Your breath catches, and your heart races against another heart. The scent of masculine cologne fills your nostrils, and a single movement of your head puts you face to face with Professor Fushiguro.

Who just saved you from a trip to the hospital.

His strong arms encircle your waist in a firm and secure hold against him. Silence weighs in the room as your eyes get lost in the emerald ones of Professor Fushiguro—whose dilated pupils, alert from his movements, probe you. You swallow imperceptibly, and his warm breath brushes your face.

It’s as if time has stopped.

But the bursting of a storm outside breaks the moment, and you let go of the book you’re holding with the tips of your fingers.

Immediately, and in a synchronized movement, you both pull away from each other and avert your gaze. With flushed cheeks, you lean down to pick up one of the books, and as soon as you straighten your torso, two other books hit your chest.

Professor Fushiguro holds out the books to you and doesn’t wait any longer to lean towards the broken vase where soil has scattered on the floor. Neither of you speaks a word, and the sounds of rain beating against the window replace the silence of a few seconds ago.

You clear your throat and approach the pieces of pottery vase to pick them up, your cheeks crimson. But the same hand that just saved you pushes you away with a sharp gesture.

You raise your eyes to Professor Fushiguro who gazes back at you with...

…uncertainty? Embarrassment? You’re not sure. His eyes are too clouded.

“Leave it. You have your books,” his voice mutters before he turns around to pick up the pottery shards. You don’t see his face because by the time you perceive the expression he wears, he’s already turned his back to you.

Not wanting to push further under his tone indicating you should leave quickly, you nod anyway despite the fact that he can’t see it.

With your books and bag over your shoulder, you stride quickly towards the exit of the office, almost having legs like jelly. The areas of your body that came into contact with him burn, and you open the door before stepping halfway through and freezing.

You glance over your shoulder. Professor Fushiguro turns around at the same moment. Seized by some unknown impulse, you regain the use of your voice to whisper three words, “Professor Fushiguro... thank you.” Before swiftly disappearing without giving him a chance to react.

And your tone indicates that you’re not just thanking him for the books.

°°°°

Back in his apartment that evening, Toji slumps onto his couch, exhausted. He rubs his eyes with one hand and turns on the TV, a habit of his to avoid overthinking when sleep calls but his mind won’t rest. Unfortunately for him tonight, his heavy eyelids flutter open every time he tries to drift off. So he eventually gives up on dozing off, sleep eluding him. A shadow catches his attention in the dim light cast by the TV in his otherwise darkened living room.

He recognizes your silhouette.

He’s speechless by your sweet, angelic smile. Your shining eyes caress him with their gaze, and your lips are delicately parted. Paralyzed, Toji swallows hard but doesn’t move an inch, his eyes almost bulging in shock at seeing you here—while you, you lean towards him with a slowness that he thinks might be an eternity.

“Professor Fushiguro... thank you.”

His heart skips a beat.

His lips feel dry as if sewn shut, while you draw back and glance at the TV broadcasting the day’s news. You shift your focus back to Toji and grace him with the most angelic smile for the second time.

Angelic.

That’s the only word that registers in his brain, unable to think.

But he knows he’s never seen that smile on your lips in reality.

It’s the first thing he thinks about as he blinks his tired eyes, which soon squint as the harsh light from his living room TV makes him realize that it’s all just a dream.

°°°°

“Where did you get this?”

You swallow thick.

The policewoman’s question echoes in your head.

You purse your lips and reply in a barely audible whisper, audible only to her. “In a bar…” you lie. The sharp, piercing gaze of the policewoman silences your voice, and suddenly, you feel intimidated.

“Really? And when? In such a short amount of time?” She bombards you with questions while raising her thin eyebrows. She briskly takes the report folder from your hands and begins to flip through it without really reading your findings.

Your heart pounds in your chest like crazy, and your body temperature rises a notch. Lying has always made you anxious. And lying about where you actually went—a casino—will be no exception for you today. You sneak a discreet glance towards Professor Fushiguro, who approaches his desk in the lecture hall, the very place where you are confronted by the policewoman.

Your eyes lock onto his with insistence as the suspicious policewoman continues to grumble while flipping through your report. “Did you do your research all by yourself?” the policewoman insists, squinting her eyes.

You nod and turn your attention back to her. “Professor Fushiguro is aware,” you add a bit too quickly, blood pounding in your ears. “He has read my report and is aware of the situation.” You turn to him. “Isn’t that right, Professor?” This is your moment to send a distress signal to the only person who might save you at this moment.

The policewoman clicks her tongue against her palate and looks at the concerned Professor Fushiguro with annoyance, tacitly asking him to confirm your words.

Please, please, please...

Professor Fushiguro brings his hand to his chin and rubs his jaw. Now standing next to you facing the policewoman, his imposing physique towers over both you and the policewoman. During the split second of your silent eye contact exchange, you pray that he will cover for you and support your lie.

You dread that your heart will stop beating when he slightly parts his lips and declares in his deep, grave voice, “Yes, she came to see me.”

“You see?” you immediately insist with a forced smile. The heat on your face must be apparent now, but you choose to be in denial when neither of the two interlocutors makes any remarks. “I found a witness in a bar who told me they saw Miwa there. Professor Fushiguro tried to call her using the contact information she provided, but she didn’t answer.”

You cough, and your foot brushes against his.

Professor Fushiguro lifts his head a little and sighs, playing along with your game. “I had already decided to call her back as soon as possible, but I see that Miss has been a little more impatient than expected.” He tucks his lower lip and gives you a sidelong glance. His expression is icy and nonchalant—almost grumpy—as usual. “I understand your suspicion when we see that a student is the only one submitting a report, knowing that no other student has done so. And that the information she seems to... provide has escaped the police.”

You feel your armpits becoming slightly damp with sweat under your white shirt. You clear your throat. “Yes. I apologize for not being clearer from the start.”

The policewoman hums and sets your report aside on the table, visibly irritated. “It will be reviewed as soon as possible.”

You sigh as your steps lead you to your seat in the lecture hall and thank God that the noise of the students has helped to conceal your discussion. Perched on your chair, you lock eyes with Professor Fushiguro for the umpteenth time. And a gleam in his emerald eyes reminds you of the clear message he has already indirectly conveyed to you.

Clear explanations will be necessary.

°°°°

“Wait. I know—”

“What the hell is this now?” Professor Fushiguro cuts off sharply, carefully closing the door to his office. He returns to his seat and drops heavily into it. Rubbing his eyelids with one hand, he lets out a sigh.

Taking advantage of his momentary silence, you continue, “Listen to me, at least. I didn’t go to a bar. I lied.” You nervously fidget with your fingers on your thighs. “Actually, I went to... a casino.”

Professor Fushiguro’s eyes widen, and he tilts his chin up to your face, wrinkled with your confession. “Excuse me? And the police warnings?” He exhales irritably through his nostrils, and you could swear you see smoke coming out like a bull.

“Listen, you just have to call the woman and tell her to simply overlook the fact that I met her in a casino rather than a bar.” You force a smile, hands now sweaty. “She’ll agree, I’m sure. I’ve already saved her contact details on my phone. We just need to do it before—”

“And why didn’t you do that at the time? You knew you weren’t allowed to go there for the investigation.” Professor Fushiguro’s jaw tightens, and this time he tugs at his indigo tie—a perfect match for his black shirt, you can’t help but think—to loosen it a bit. “I can’t believe I defended you…” He sighs, dismayed.

You notice his under-eye circles are a bit more pronounced than usual but refrain from commenting.

You bite your lower lip and dare to speak up nonetheless. “She gave me informations because she also owns a bar. And... she has quite a few contacts who—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts off abruptly. “I don’t even have the energy to reprimand you properly.” Leaning on his desk, he clasps his hands to address you. “Stop pursuing the investigation outside of class. You’ve done enough.” It’s an order, you notice.

Determined, with your eyes narrowed in frustration that is starting to hit you like a shockwave, you assert, “To make progress, ongoing work is not enough.” You straighten your back a little to show him your determination. “I’ll find Miwa.”

Professor Fushiguro’s incredulous face is presented to you. But he doesn’t seek to ask you why you are so attached to a student with a reputation more than unfavorable.

Perhaps it’s the strange, subtle attachment you have to her? Just because she never pointed fingers or denounced your situation with your father, which could have shattered the reputation of your school record? For that alone, you thank her by searching for her.

“And... it’s also kind of you to have covered for me.” Your voice softens. “I promise you that if the woman listens to us, there will be no more problems.” Your lips twist into a slight, embarrassed smile against your will. “So, thank you.”

Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillate as he swallows. His lips part for a moment then close again, and he hums in response before averting his gaze.

Your smile widens, and all the nervousness you felt evaporates. You gain a bit of confidence, and when he rolls his eyes, you can’t help but let out, in a whisper, “I don’t see why you’re being grumpy when everything is under control.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a real troublemaker, you know? A trouble magnet, I would even say.” He stands up, a sign that the conversation between the two of you is over.

But you remain seated.

The unpleasant remark pinches your heart, but you don’t lose your smile. “Perhaps... you’re precisely the one who’s supposed to protect me and save me from these problems—even in your role as a teacher.” You lower your gaze to his large, calloused hands. “Despite your hands stained with the blood of your sins,” you hold back a broad smile and add, looking up at him, “and your grumpy bear behavior.”

Hands in his pockets, he takes a step towards you—one that would require two for you—and his stature looms over you despite his stooped spine to meet your eyes squarely. “Unfortunately for you, a sinner cannot afford to protect the wings of an angel. He might dirty them.” He pauses to tilt his head slightly to the side. “Or worse, burn them in trying to help.”

His words hit your heart and make it skip a beat.

Palpitations seize you, but you brush them off with a blink of an eye. Your eyes get lost in the emerald of Professor Fushiguro’s eyes. The parting of your lips is the only thing that allows air into your lungs. You also ignore the strand of hair that has escaped from your hair and refrain from blowing it away.

It serves no purpose.

Especially when it’s him who tucks it back behind your ear without a word.

°°°°

Under the usual hubbub of the lecture hall, where students discuss yet another assignment given by Professor Fushiguro, your fingers shake under the featherweight of your corrected paper. But instead of dreading to see the grade marked on it, your breath catches as you discover it.

You can’t believe it.

Or maybe you don’t want to believe it.

It’s unreal.

“A +.”

You lift your gaze from your corrected paper, which bears barely traces of ink from your professor’s pen. Your heart leaps in your chest as you meet his eyes.

Professor Fushiguro has his hands buried in his pockets, as always, and he looks at you with a neutral expression—perhaps omitting the obvious glint in his eyes. You try to guess his expression, and a faint smirk gives you the answer before he looks away.

°°°°

At the end of class, when the amphitheater is empty, you decide to descend the steps to speak with your professor, your heart strangely drumming in your ears.

“What did I do to deserve such a nice grade?” you start with the beginnings of a smile. You adjust the strap of your bag and absentmindedly play with the dangling end of the compression strap.

Professor Fushiguro responds without stopping to organize his lecture notes. “My hand slipped,” he replies sarcastically.

You curl your lips into a smile. “We can say it slipped at the right moment on the right paper.” A gentle warmth rises to your cheeks.

He doesn’t respond and closes his laptop.

“Also, were you able to contact the woman from the casino?” you ask in a low voice.

He hum in response, and as he doesn’t seem willing to continue the conversation, you purse your lips together into a tight pout.

“Has your opinion of me changed, at least? Do you no longer see me as a danger?” you insist in a whisper.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t speak right away. He carefully packs his belongings into his own bag, avoiding looking at you with care. When he finishes, he finally lifts his eyes to yours, and his tone towards you is so peculiar that it catches you off guard. “Your mere existence is a danger. You sow trouble wherever you go.” Yet, his tone is neither dry nor hurtful.

But unbeknownst to you, in Toji’s eyes, you are simply the embodiment of danger.

“I shouldn’t be so lenient with you. Especially when you are the only person who knows a truth that risks my life.”

You furrow your brows. Your tongue burns, a sign that you’re dying to ask him what he’s implying. Professor Fushiguro is a part-time hitman, and that’s no secret to both of you. So why is he saying such... mysterious things?

“I will restore justice,” you assert with conviction. “I will find Miwa.”

As you exit the room with determined and confident steps, your brain still simmers about your professor and his strange remark.

But one thing is sure in your mind amidst all your doubts.

You will get your father out of prison. And you will prove his innocence.

That he was unjustly imprisoned.

°°°°

“Lost again,” Shiu scoffs, a smirk on his face and a cigarette dangling between his teeth.

Toji grunts before scowling. He exhales in annoyance and rubs his eyes, burning with tiredness and bloodshot. Sounds of disappointment from the pachinko machine he faces taunt him before displaying his mediocre score on the screen. Once again, Toji has lost at a game where he hoped to earn some extra money alongside his poorly paid teaching job.

“Anyway, I’ve got a new mission from the oyabun,” Shiu announces.

Toji suddenly perks up, awakened by the mention of his true job, which was enough for him before the problems his boss faced. “Spill it out.”

“Oh? Awake now?” Shiu chuckles. He raises an eyebrow before continuing, “And let me tell you, buddy, this ain’t just any target.” He takes out a lighter from his suit jacket pocket and lights the cigarette between his teeth. “According to oyabun, it’s a former associate who used to work for him before deserting the clan. And that son of a bitch stole some of the money he had. It represents a significant portion of what belongs to the clan. Get it?”

Toji stares into space, though his ear is still attentive to Shiu’s explanations. His muscular arms hang halfway between and against his negligently spread thighs on the chair he’s sitting on. Veins bulge along his forearms, exposed by his black t-shirt—he can thank his long gym sessions for the gift.

“But the man isn’t alone,” Shiu adds. “He has an associate from the same hole, but oyabun doesn’t want you dealing with him. He asked me you to focus on the associate currently at large. The rest of the kyodai will fill you in on the other details.”

Toji nods and is about to respond when a security guard with eyes concealed behind black sunglasses approaches them. “If you’ve lost and don’t have any more money, free up the seat,” he orders coldly, feigning a certain authority by crossing his arms, which only serves to annoy Toji.

The latter stands up. And even a blind person could sense how tall Toji is. He towers over the guard by two heads, who, despite his broad, stocky shoulders, pales in comparison to Toji’s stature.

“Hmm?” Toji’s face is filled with nonchalance and scowls, having lost his game, and especially with a cold anger that constantly boils within him but never explodes. His almond-shaped eyes narrow, and he tucks his hands into his pockets.

The guard’s lips part slightly, and he swallows, unable to utter a word—mesmerized by the figure of the man in front of him.

Toji shrugs and walks past Shiu, who’s been waiting for him. “Let’s go,” he says.

°°°°

Camouflaged in dark clothing and a hood of the same color, Toji sits at a small, discreet round table in the corner of a seedy bar. His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the back of a man seated on a stool at the counter. His new target.

His gun is fully loaded and strategically placed at his waist so that a single movement would allow him to eliminate the target as quickly as he would leave this place where the various scents of mixed alcohols sting his nostrils. There aren’t as many people as Toji had expected—which suits him just fine. His target sips from a sake glass and reads one of the newspapers provided for patrons.

A single shot, and a new sum will be added to the one awaiting him.

Toji prepares to reach for his weapon when the bar’s doorbell tinkles softly.

And there, Toji realizes he’s truly cursed from birth.

With your usual gait, you take a seat on a stool three spaces away from his initial target.

God fucking damn it.

You grip a small notepad and pen between your fingers and place an order. From where he’s seated, Toji can barely hear your voice. Fragments reach him, and he just wants to set fire to this bar as he did to the man’s house weeks earlier.

Of course, you haven’t seen Toji.

From his ‘hideout’, you may not even notice him at all.

And, thrown off by the situation—for the first time on a mission—he doesn’t know what to do. Should he kill his target as planned, despite your disturbing presence? What if he accidentally harms you due to another unforeseen circumstance? Toji swallows thick. He could, but something within him prevents it.

Especially when he hears snippets of your voice conversing with the bartender. And Toji just wants to smack you for disobeying him.

“...gone missing for a few weeks now…” Your voice reaches his ears in snippets. “It’s worrying, and…”

The bartender, eyebrows furrowed, shakes his head. He continues to wipe pristine glasses. Toji grits his teeth when a group of men—mostly tattooed and wearing piercings—takes seats on the stools beside you. Even from his vantage point, Toji sees you flinch. But you don’t falter. You continue your questioning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices two men from the group engaging you in conversation. For a moment, he restrains himself from getting up and breaking their bones. Toji suppresses his impulses. His eyes never leave your form. From your nervous tic of biting your lip to your foot tapping gently on the stool’s lower bar.

But you’re not the only one who notices, especially as you alternate between your interrogation with the bartender—who’s starting to grow suspicious—and the multiple evil glances thrown your way by other patrons.

Why did you have to be here on the same night as his mission?

But your inquiry goes largely unnoticed when a distinct voice from one of the tattooed men is heard all the way to Toji’s table, even drawing some attention from his target, who slightly turns his head toward you. “You sent by the cops?”

You freeze in your chair.

A bead of sweat rolls down Toji’s neck.

You quickly shake your head, your lips mouthing a stuttered no. The pressure on you intensifies when Toji discreetly listens and hears the bartender slamming a clean glass onto the counter, angrily cutting you off, “I don’t want to be associated with anything or anyone. Especially not with the cops.”

Toji’s heart races, and he abruptly stands from his table to slip away to the restroom when he notices the glinting blade of a knife slowly emerging from the pocket of one of the men sitting at the counter. Toji discards his stifling hood and adjusts a few details to avoid being noticed as ‘the hooded man in the corner of the bar’.

He rushes out of the dingy men’s restroom and adopts a casual stride as he heads toward you. The men along the counter turn toward him as you’re almost in a panic.

Toji positions himself just behind you, towering over the entire group surrounding you—including the bartender. From his peripheral vision, Toji’s heart stills as he sees the blade of the knife from one of the men slide back into his pocket.

He still places his hands on your waist, exerting a slight pressure on the flesh. The warmth of your body sends waves to Toji’s cold hands. He leans dangerously to the side of your neck and peeks a small kiss there, causing you to slightly startle and turn around.

Toji offers you a reassuring smile despite the turmoil in his mind at this very moment. His alert eyes try to capture your attention, and you seem to understand.

“How long have you been waiting for me, angel?” Toji asks softly.

You look up at him—your pupils dilating in surprise at his unexpected presence—and you blink twice. Your lips part, and you weakly blow out, “A while already.”

“Forgive me. Can we go now?” Toji gently squeezes your waist, a clear sign of refusal for a no.

You nod in the silence of the bar, and Toji takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He leads you to the exit where no one dares to utter a word. His mere stature was enough to deter the group of men who are—without a doubt—members of enemy yakuza clans that Toji’s oyabun explicitly forbade him from contacting.

Too bad for the mission.

°°°°

The cool night air whips against your face. You try to pull your sweaty hand away from Toji’s much larger one, but his firm grip keeps your fingers intertwined in silence, and you refrain from throwing a tantrum like the children in supermarkets.

He leads you to the back of the grassy courtyard of the bar. A single beech tree planted near a wooden fence prevents you from slipping and falling when suddenly, Toji’s muscular arm sends your back colliding with the trunk. The pain from the impact brings tears to your eyes.

With anger etched on his features, Toji opens his mouth to say something. But the bell on the bar’s door chimes the very next second, letting out the group of men from earlier along with some new faces. The group is much larger than before.

From your position, you can’t see them, but nothing escapes your notice, and you understand. Toji senses that attention is directed towards the two of you, and under an impulse that escapes him, he leans towards you and presses his lips against yours.

Caught off guard, you freeze and widen your eyes. You run a hand over his chest to push him away. You can’t comprehend what’s really happening and push against his chest, but it’s futile.

In the end, you find yourself awkwardly returning his kiss to cut it short. Toji’s lips are cold but so soft against yours. They steal your breath away, and you almost get lost in them.

Until a male voice laughs and declares cheerfully, “Are the whores out here too?”

Coarse laughter erupts from the group of men. Your blood boils in your veins, and you prepare to push Toji away for good and defend your dignity. But Toji runs his hands along your sides and slips them under your shirt to access your bare skin, drawing slow and pleasurable circles with his thumbs on your stomach. He deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but let out a small moan that cuts short your desire to revolt. Toji’s tongue brushes against your lips to request access to yours, and your palm pressed against his chest gives you a glimpse of his racing heartbeat.

You part your lips, and your tongue meets his in a warm, wet kiss. You lose your breath, and the sound of the footsteps of the group of men fades into the silence of the night. Toji freezes his lips and gently pulls away from you. His lips are glossy from the shared kiss, but no smile lights up his features. A dark gleam animates his irises.

Your chest simply rises and falls with the rhythm of a breath you seek to regain. A warmth rises in your neck to the roots of your hair. Toji’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes you, and his hands withdraw from under your shirt.

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”

❦ a/n: so there we go! i hope you all enjoyed this first part ;) english isn’t my first language, so be gentle. @gojonanami this incredible girl who one day restored my taste for writing and kindly let me know to feel free to tag her if I post my fic. thank you Sab!

[vettelsvee]

I DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR WINNING | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

rbr sebastian vettel x schumacher!reader | part 2 here

summary: y/n thinks she's sick from f1 traveling stress, but what if that's not the reason of her sickness?

word count: 992

warnings: hints of having sex. mentions of wishing to die (because reader is sick af). use of y/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

It was barely five in the morning, and the sun was beginning to rise on the horizon of the city of Berlin. Sebastian and you, without having been able to rest after the German Grand Prix that had taken place just hours ago, were at the airport of the German capital, ready to head to Hungary, where the next Formula 1 competition would be held.

You were aware that following the lifestyle of a high-level racing driver was not easy. However, you didn't think that getting eight hours of sleep or having free time would become privileges that you would have, in part, during the holiday period. Despite the excitement that filled you every time you embarked on a new destination, you had been feeling unwell for several days, and no matter how hard you tried to remedy it, all you did was worsen it.

Seb, who knew you well enough to know that something was wrong, tried not to make a big deal out of it. He knew that you tended to get sick frequently, although the fact that you was quieter than usual and didn't have as much energy as usual started to worry the blonde who, at the moment of takeoff, observed carefully as your face grew paler, while you gripped the armrest of the seat tightly.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Sebastian asked with concern.

You tried to breathe deeply to calm the wave of nausea you were feeling right now.

"Yes," you simply replied, faking a smile. "I just feel a little uncomfortable with takeoff, you know airplanes and I are not friends. Stop worrying, love. You'll see it'll pass soon."

Despite your multiple reassurances, Seb couldn't convince himself. Your eyes reflected how you felt, and he had no doubt that you were hiding something from him to avoid worrying him.To try to relax you, he leaned towards you to leave a kiss on your cheek.

"Sweetheart, I know you've told me you're okay, but if you start feeling worse, let me know, okay?"

You nodded, silently thanking the German for his concern.

Although he tried not to make a big deal out of it, the truth was that as the flight progressed towards its destination, you felt worse, even reaching the point where nausea turned into frequent trips to the bathroom to vomit, and constant dizziness into a desire to faint and not wake up for a few days.

"Seb, I swear… I can't deal with this anymore."

After suddenly getting up from your seat, hurrying to the bathroom trying not to cause too much commotion among the other passengers, you quickly locked yourself in the small cubicle, bending over the toilet to empty everything you didn't know you had inside yourself. Sebastian watched with concern as you fled, trying not to lose his composure under the curious gaze of those present, including a few Red Bull engineers.

“Y/N!”, Seb called out as quietly as he could, anxious because you weren’t responding. “Are you okay? Please, open the door.”

You didn't answer him, which only heightened Vettel's anxiety. He fixed his gaze on the bathroom door, waiting for you to come out and give him some explanation of what was happening.

After what felt like an eternity, you emerged from the bathroom with a completely pale face and a tired look. Sebastian simply pulled her close to his chest and held her tightly in an embrace.

"Love, what's wrong?" he said anxiously. "I need to know what's going on. Things can't continue like this if you're going to keep accompanying me. I'm sure it's getting to you: everything is overwhelming you and..."

Suddenly, you began to cry from the helplessness you were feeling, causing Sebastian to hold you even tighter, stroking your back to help you relax as much as possible.

"I can't take it anymore, Seb. I feel awful. I want to die right now."

"We should seek help," he said, wiping your tears away. "We'll see what we can do now to keep you as relaxed as possible for the remainder of the flight, okay? And when we land, we'll go to an emergency room to see what's wrong with you."

Sebastian then called one of the flight attendants in their area and explained the distressing situation, emphasizing that he wouldn't want anyone to find out to avoid conflicts with both the media and his team. The flight attendant simply nodded and informed them to return to their seats, immediately assisting the world champion's partner.

"Mrs. Vettel, here's some water and an aspirin," the woman kindly offered you. "Additionally, I've informed the crew about your wife's situation," she said, now looking at the blonde, "and they confirmed that if she gets worse, there's no problem in making an emergency landing at the nearest airport."

"I'm not Sebastian's wife..."

"Thank you very much," the driver interrupted, thanking the flight attendant for her assistance.

The German began to laugh at your reaction as soon as the woman left.

"You should have seen your face, Y/N. You can't deny that you didn't mind being referred to as my wife," Seb said, stroking your hair and opening the water bottle for you to take a sip.

The flight continued, and although the nausea had been brought under control, the discomfort persisted. The couple was aware that there was only, thankfully, about half an hour of travel left.

"Darling," Sebastian whispered sweetly. "Close your eyes and focus on your breathing: inhale through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. I'm here, hold my hand."

You followed your partner's instructions, allowing yourself to be guided by his voice, which was truly comforting in those moments, in each inhalation and exhalation. Gradually, you began to feel calmer, and you would even swear that you hadn't felt this way in several days.

Finally, the plane reached its destination. You felt greatly relieved that the flight, which had caused you so much distress, had come to an end as it had left her physically and mentally exhausted.

As soon as your feet touched Hungarian soil, Sebastian made sure that you felt as comfortable as possible before heading to the hotel. Despite the rush Britta, Sebastian's PR, took a moment in some small seats to rest and, as much as possible, recover from the turbulent journey they had just endured.

Although he knew he might hurt your feelings, Sebastian decided to broach the subject with a mischievous smile:

"Love, don't you think we've had enough intense Sunday nights celebrating my victories? Because I think it's led to something good."

At first, you were a bit confused, but a few seconds later you let out a shy and sweet laugh. The driver wasn't lying: sex had become your ritual to bid farewell to the weekend and, above all, as a celebration of Seb's victories that season. Now that you remembered, there were quite a few occasions where you didn’t use protection, so you thought that the possibility was even more up in the air now.

"It could be, Seb," you said with a knowing smile. "If I am, we could have a pretty big problem..."

"Please, love, don't say that," Vettel drew closer to you, taking your hand and gently tracing small circles on it with his fingers. "If you're pregnant, I'm sure you'll be an amazing mother. Besides, I know we haven't talked about this, but I've always wanted to be a father and I can't imagine anyone better than you to fulfill this dream."

Tears began to form in your eyes, and you hurried to wipe them away to prevent your boyfriend from noticing.

"So, what do you say? Should we tell Britta that we need to go to the pharmacy and buy a test? That way we can find out, and if it's a no, we can keep trying," you clarified eagerly. "What do you think about tonight?"

Feeling excited, after you explained the situation to the woman who had become another member of the family, and who, obviously, had been thrilled at the possible news, headed to the nearest pharmacy to avoid arousing suspicions among the journalists and paparazzi, who were lurking around with the intention of getting the latest scoop on the man of the moment.

Alone together and holding the small bag containing the test, you began to feel nervous as they approached their room. Upon entering the suite, you both sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to calm themselves before checking whether you would become parents.

"Okay," you said, taking a deep breath, "I'm ready."

After that, you opened the box containing the test and went to the bathroom, where you followed the instructions carefully. Once finished, you placed it on the surface of the sink and returned to where Seb was, waiting for the indicated time to pass to see the result.

You approached your boyfriend, who gently stroked your back once again to comfort you. He knew you were nervous and scared. He felt the same way.

"Whatever the result is, I'm grateful to have a woman like you in my life. I'll be by your side no matter what, ok?" Sebastian reassured you.

Tears filled the your eyes again, and as you looked at your watch and saw that the waiting time was over, you ran as fast as you could to the bathroom, followed by an anxious Sebastian.

Quickly, you took the test in your hands and saw the result:

"It's positive!" you shouted, your voice trembling. "I'm pregnant, Sebastian!"

A wave of emotions engulfed you both, not knowing what to do except to embrace tightly as you felt a mixture of astonishment and joy, as well as uncertainties about what could happen from that moment on.

"Well, it turns out that in the end I'm not just good at pointing with my index finger when I win," Sebastian teased you mischievously.

"I find it surreal that you're making dirty jokes after finding out we're going to have a child."

"I guess," the driver continued playfully, "we'll have to tell this little one that his dad is a two-time, for now, Formula 1 world champion, and that his mother is a champion in other aspects."

You laughed at your boyfriend's quips, finding them unbelievable.

"Come on, Seb, don't act modest now saying you didn't have merit. You know perfectly well that I motivated you quite a bit during those baby-making sessions."

"Of course, I'm not saying otherwise," the German continued jokingly. "I'm sure the baby will become the royalty of Formula 1. Who wouldn't want to have Vettel and Schumacher genes?"

Both of you burst into laughter, filling the room, giving way your thoughts on how you would tell your families, the media, your respective coworkers... Especially, you spent a few minutes sharing your expectations about what your life would be like from that day on.

"Miss Schumacher and future Mrs. Vettel, let me tell you that now that we know we're expecting a little miracle, I propose we celebrate it in a more... intimate way."

"You can't even give me a day's break, can you? I don't know about you, but I'm convinced my father wouldn't find it amusing to hear his daughter screaming to ask her boyfriend for more," you said, knowing your father would be in the adjacent rooms.

"I know," Seb simply said, "but I’ve won in life, and I don't apologize for winning."

[lure-of-writing]

His little sister

Summary: Azriel point of view of the things you do as Rhysands little sister (This should be read only after reading all in a days work and knock before you enter otherwise it probably won't make any sense as you need the know what happened in the other two for this to make sense )

word count: 2.5 k

Note: Hello! For a while I was stumped on how to continue the little sister series so boom! I present to you Azriel's pov. I would love to hear what you guys think about having things from this perspective also! please don't be shy and let me know!

The playful touches and not so subtle glances across the room paired with the seductive bit of your lip as it lifts into a forbidden smile is not lost upon the spymaster of the night court. In fact everything you did never went unnoticed by him. As Rhysands little sister he was more or less forbidden from having any relationship with you that was purely platonic or sibling-like. Much to the high lord's irritation, once you learned of the rules set in place for the general and the shadow singer, you had made it your own personal mission to see just how much you could get away with. Just how far could you bend the rules before your older brother snapped? 

Azriel was well aware of the game you played in hopes of causing your brother a small amount of distress. Unfortunately for him, he respected his high lord and his wishes to much to counter your advances with some of his own but that doesn’t mean he can’t help you accomplish your lifes works of making your brother rub his temples with a long sigh and a shot of whiskey or which ever bottle of alcohol appeared before him first. 

It had been just a few short weeks after your fifteenth birthday when you had learned about the guidelines Rhys had set for the two other males in your family. Being told what to do never sat well with you, neither did being told who you can and can’t do things with. At first your reaction was to find your brother and argue with him until he couldn’t think straight but when you were on the way to his office you bumped into your favorite member of the bat boys.  Azriel was leaning  against the wall of Rhysands office waiting for his meeting with Helion when you were stuck with a brilliant idea. “Az?” his hazel eyes shifted from the dark oak doors to where you stood in the middle of the hall. “Yes?”  as soon as the word had left his mouth he knew you were up to something. It was the way your eyes lit up in excitement and you shuffled over to him with hurried steps. Huddled close to his body you beaconed him to lean down so you could whisper in his ears. Wordlessly he follows your commands. “Would you like to help me make Rhys question why he was blessed with being my brother?” 

The sly smile and trouble that brewed in your eyes was enough to get him to say yes. Not like he could ever say no to you in the first place but that wasn’t important. From that moment on he would allow you to flirt with him and crawl into his lap with no rejection. This drove Rhysand up a wall. He said that they could not try to flirt with you but you never said anything about it being the other way around and you had taken full advantage of that each and every single time the opportunity presented itself. 

Family dinners amongst the inner circle were never an uncommon thing but since everything that transpired over the last fifty something years had the family dinners becoming a more common tradition. After dinner talks and catching up had been moved to the living room. Silently Azriel sat by himself, listening to his family talk. Perfectly content with listening rather than speaking. While Cassian went on this third rant about why he was certain that he could fight Bryaxis, if and big if here, they weren’t so scary looking, when you had gotten up from where you were sat next to Mor on the floor. He watched as you left the room and not even a second later his shadows informed him that you were getting another wine. 

His attention shifted from his brother onto you when you had reentered the room with a glass full of wine and strutted over to him and made yourself comfortable in his lap. Az would never admit it but the feeling of your arm draped over his shoulder and playing with his hair was one of his favorite feelings in the world. As your body leaned into his, the temperate difference between the two of you became very apparent to the shadowsinger. Without thinking he placed his much warmer hand on your freezing and goosebump covered leg to help warm you back up. The slit in your dress had done nothing to help keep you warm. 

Without saying anything he watched as his brother marched his way over to where you had chosen to sit, also known as Azriels lap. He watched as Rhys reached his hand out in hopes of pulling you off of closest friend and he watched as Rhysands face morphed into one of confusion to anger as Azriels wings furled around you to keep your brother from grabbing you from him. If there was one thing that the shadowsinger knew with one hundred percent certainty, it was that you could handle yourself. The context didn’t matter, you could always handle yourself. So while you and your brother went back and front he mindlessly began to rub comforting circles where his hand had found purchase on your leg. And once Rhysand had made his way back to his mate, he had leaned down and pressed his lips against your hairline. “You are a menace” giggling you smile up at him before shrugging and taking a sip of your forgotten wine. 

Visiting the court of nightmares was never something that brought Azriel much joy. More often than not he was watching for any threats against his high lord's life, now he had to worry about his high lady also. It wasn’t as if Azriel wasn’t capable of handling such a task but when you had revealed that you would also be in attendance, it brought Azriel another level of stress. He knew that you could handle the court politics and the volleyball of words sent back and forth with hidden messages. Hell you had even been trained by all three males and Morrgian. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself but there has always been a part of Azriel that couldn’t rest when he knew you could be in danger at any moment. 

Now the notoriously quiet male, while known for not saying much, always had something to say when it came to you. There was no comment too small that you made that didn’t get an answer from Az in return.  As you finally made your way down the staircase to your awaiting family Azriel had just about a thousand thoughts and compliments he could give you at any moment. While your brother had a meltdown in the background all Azriel could focus on was you and as you made your way down the last few steps he reached his hand out helping you the rest of the way down. Shamelessly he looked you up and down not caring that your brother just might beat his ass for looking at you in such an outfit. Once his eyes reached your, you sent him a wink and beaming smile. Az could tell that you had wanted to ask him what he thought of your clothing choices but decided that dealing with your brother would be the best idea  before he dragged you back up the stairs himself and forced you to change. 

While at the place of nightmares the shadows that sung to Azriel hung close to his body, only leaving to secretly watch over you and make sure you were ok. For most of the night all was well, at least as well as things can get in the court of nightmares. That was until his shadow came back to inform their master of the predicament that had presented itself to you. He watched from afar as you pushed your way out of the crowd and towards himself. Pushing off of the pillar he was once perched against he made his way towards you. Az’s blood began to boil when he watched the random fae male wrap his arms around your waist and pulled your body into his. In two long strides he was in front of the strange male and yourself, demanding he release his grip on you or he would do it for him. There wasn’t a part of Azriel that enjoyed the violence he brings upon those he was tasked with gathering information from but holding truth teller to the male's neck did in fact bring him joy. 

Upon your release he guided you back to where he was previously standing to make sure you were ok and that the random male didn’t inflict any harm to you. After his thorough evaluation of your body met his standards he returned his gaze to meet your and suddenly your cold hand was pressed against his warm cheek and the burn of the two temperatures had never felt so nice before. Once again your hand had found its resting place in his hair and your lips on his and Azriel swore hes never felt something as soft as your lips on his.  As soon as your lips had met his, Az knew he was in for a whole world of pain when Rhysand got his hands on him but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Az recently pulled away when he felt the anger of his high lord coming at him with the purpose of making him bow to the power radiating off of Rhysand. “We should probably get out of here before he kills you.” looking down he saw the mischief twinkling in your eyes and he positive nobody can pull off that look quite like you can. The wink you sent over your shoulder as you grab his hand pulls him out of the trance you had put him in. Willingly Azriel followed your lead out of the ball room while you bumped into his arm periodically. “Honestly he just might kill us both.” he felt you mumble into his shoulder as you hid your face and laughter in his body. Chuckling he couldn’t help but agree before winnowing you back to the house of wind. 

After Rhyand had actually considered beating the shadowsinger to a pulp your usual antics had dwindled in frequency which saddened Azriel more than he was willing to admit. During training you kept clear of him in case your brother didn’t approve of you even looking in his general direction and it had been almost two weeks since he had last talked to you for more then five minutes and honestly it was starting to drive him crazy. After a family dinner consisting of you, Nesta, Cassiand and himself he finally approached you. “You're going to the Summer court tomorrow right?” As the resident know-it-all he already knew your answer but he waited nonetheless “Yes?” Azriel watches as you place your book in your lap to give him your full attention and he swears he could bask in it forever. “I’m not doing anything for the next week, would you like me to go with you?”  The beaming smile you sent him was confirmation enough. 

That's how he found himself in your room the next morning helping you get ready. You had asked his opinion on basically every piece of your outfit and Azriel had never been so happy to assist someone put together their clothes for the day. After you had pulled all the needed pieces of clothing from your closest you held up the corset you picked for him to see. “I’ll need your help putting this on.” And that's how once again Azriel feared Rhys would consider pummeling him once more. 

Not once during Rhysands withering glare did Azriel stop pulling the strings of your corset until they were tight enough and only then did he gently pull the strings into a bow before removing his hands from your body. After finishing his assigned task Az thought it was best to leave the siblings to deal with each other and he would wait for you on the rooftop to begin your journey to the summer court. Only after he could assume was a long lecture from your older brother on being safe did the two of you join him on the roof. “I swear if a single hair on her head is out of place I will kill you.”  As much as Azriel wanted to laugh at the worn out sound of his friend he simply nodded his head before acknowledging what he said. 

The week in the summer court with you felt more like two days. Any time with you never felt like enough. On the way back Rhysand had talked to him and you that he wanted a debrief before you did anything upon your return. Gently he set you back on the ground once he had landed in front of the river house and he already missed the feeling of your body on his. He really wished and in that moment that he never agreed to those rules Rhysand had set for him and Cassian all those hundred of years ago. 

The silence that engulfed the room would make anyone who didn’t know the two males squirm from how uncomfortable it was, but these two males had dealt with much more stressful problems and had sat in more silence than the average people did. Azriel knew that lately your antic had been pushing the line but he had never stopped you nor had he ever thought too. Mainly because he didn’t want you too but also in fear that if he asked you to stop you would never come to him again. “Truly Rhys there is nothing going on between me and your sister. You and I both know she only does this to get under your skin and she does that very well. As long as it bothers you then she will keep doing it. You know this.” 

After a long and much needed talk Azriel made his way to the stand outside of the river house collecting a much needed breath of fresh air while he came to terms with his conversation with his oldest friend. A few moments pass before you come waltzing out of the house as if you had accomplished some great mission. “Maybe next time he’ll knock” Azriel knew exactly what you were talking about and couldn’t help but laugh at what you said. He didn’t need to ask you what you did as the one shadow that always kept you company told him all about what you had just done to your brother and his poor unsuspecting mate. Without another word Azriel scooped you into his arm while pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Gods he wished this wouldn’t be the last time he felt your skin against his lips.

Rhysand had asked him to put a stop to your behavior towards him. Not that you made the shadowsinger uncomfortable, gods no, you could never do that. It was just you were your brother's pride and joy and he refused to let the males he considered his brothers to be the reason your heart broke. Rhysand would never be able to forgive or look at Azriel the same and he knew that. Azriel just wished the golden string tying the two of you together didn’t have to be hidden from everyone including you.

Taglist: @kemillyfreitas @gorlillaglue25 @willowpains

[lovegasmic]

KNIGHT DILUC + FEM! MAID READER

mdni. secret relationship, making out in a storage closet, unprotected sx.

“be quiet and follow me” is what your lover has said, a large hand cupping your elbow before gently but firmly tugging you into the nearest storage room, the grip the man held on your skin only showed how badly Diluc tried to hold himself back. his broad shoulders seemed tense, walking with quick harsh steps yet you could only watch how dashing your boyfriend was, the dark uniform accentuated his large frame and bright red hair, arms bulging under the expensive fabric once he pinned you against the nearest wall.

you waste no time in wrapping your arms around his neck, claiming his lips in a needy desperate clash of tongues where the only sound in the small room was the one of your mouths and heavy breathing, finally allowing you to do what you wished the most since the moment you saw his admirers fawning over your boyfriend. much different from the strong grip you hold on Diluc’s slightly longer hair, his hands seem to be everywhere, tilting your chin up to properly swallow the desperate whimpers coming out of your lips, tracing the contour of your body until they reach your thighs, bunching the fabric of your skirts up enough for his hand to cup the bare flesh of your legs.

“’luc, please” you slur out his name, earning a possessive growl from the man at the touch of his fingertips against your wetness.

“you’re not wearing panties” Diluc rasps, swallowing thickly for a second as his chest heaves from pent up frustration.

“if you didn’t come for me, I would have gone to see you at the training grounds” you breathe. a string of curses muttered under his breath before Diluc is quick to pin you up against the wall, making your legs wrap around his waist.

“remember to be quiet” he huffs, a metallic sound echoing from where Diluc placed his sword against the wall, undoing a couple of buttons off the fancy jacket, decorated by several medals and awards, followed by the white shirt and soon his pants were pushed down enough for his hard cock to spring free, “or else i’ll have to keep your mouth busy”

“how do you plan on doing that?” you smirk, teasingly, playing with the collar of his shirt, meeting his gaze the moment his eyes rise up, dark with lust and a hint of mischief. Diluc doesn’t need words, choosing instead to slide a single finger across the silky fabric of his tie, a silent warning of a pleasurable punishment you knew well.

“behave” is the last thing he mutters, followed by a groan when the tips of his fingers find the wetness of your cunt, slick clinging to his digits where he barely touched you.

“Diluc, don’t tease” you pout, spreading the tender folds of your pussy for your lover’s eyes, who in return gulps loudly, entranced by the cute way your needy hole seemed to flutter around nothing, his fingers are quick on your clit, pressing and rubbing for your body to shake and whimper while your slickness grew.

“do you want me to fuck you?” he asks in a hoarse voice, dipping a single finger inside the warmth of your pussy before curling and rubbing against your walls, a smirk or satisfaction plastered on his handsome features at the desperate nod of your head, quickly replacing his finger with the engorged tip of his cock. he pushed slowly but steadily, finding your g-spot with mastered expertise and repeatedly slamming against it, with deep thrusts filling your pussy. “so beautiful, you’re so beautiful” Diluc groans, pushing your hips up and forcefully spreading your thighs wider, growling when your cunt seemed to suck him deeper, clinging to his cock at the new angle, plunging and fucking your insides as you cried out.

“oh, god!” you half scream, quickly quieted by Diluc’s thumb sliding across your tongue as his hips mercilessly continue to assault your pussy, not able to resist the shudder running through his body, and pace increasing inhumanly faster.

“you’re close” he speaks, matter of fact, well aware of the slight shake of your body, “cum” he breathes out, burying himself to the hilt to push you over the edge, loving how you drool around his thumb and convulse around his cock; the feeling of your warm pussy clinging and pulsing around his length is enough for Diluc to groan and cum deep inside of you, tiny thrusts given into your oversensitive walls as to fuck his seed deeper inside. leaving a last kiss on your puffy lips Diluc whispers, “you’ll finish your duties like a good girl and find me tonight in the stables, understood?” and he’s gone, uniform as pristine as ever, sword carefully held in its place except for the lack of the silky tie currently tucked in your uniform pocket.

[successfulgoddess333]

PLEASE READ!

Hey y’all so I’ve been thinking

Lately

If I should post again for y’all but the truth is

You don’t need me

You don’t need any one but yourself

So stop scrolling on tumblr on Reddit on quora on instagram on TikTok whatever the hell you use

You’re not going to make it

If you keep sitting here being lazy and depressed

Okay we get it

Your life sucks

You discovered the void state you discovered manifesting

And yet you’re still continuing to live in a nightmare instead of living in a dream

I’m not coming back I’ve tried to but I realize you don’t US

You don’t

You don’t need tumblr

Stop asking questions stop obsessing

Just lay tf down and meditate

It’s all it takes

Why are you planning???

Why are you stressing??

No DMs

No questions

No Gc’s

No comments asking

“How can I-“

No

Respectfully

Be quiet and realize who tf is in charge here

I’m not here to baby you I’m not here to sugar coat

Sugar coat for what??? Babes I ain’t sugar coating nothing but my damn donuts

Y’all gotta get out of this loop

You’re procrastinating

You’re being lazy

You are

You’re lazy

It’s ok admit it

You fucking like it here don’t you??

You loveeee having a shitty ass life

Because if you didn’t

YOU WOULD GET YOUR ASS OFF THAT BED COUCH ETC AND GO GET YOUR DREAM LIFE

I can’t be nice to people who know they’re power and aren’t using it

It’s like a billionaire being ridiculously cheap

“Oh I don’t want that that’s too much”

“Sir it’s $3”

And you’re a billionaire”

You’re gonna keep scrolling keep wishing you’d look like an ig model

News flash

Helloooo

You can look BETTER than Kylie fucking Jenner

Ok

She got surgery

You got POWER

Even SHE has this power

EVERYONE DOES!

Only a few are aware and that’s why you’re chosen

You’ve beat the fucking system of life

Seriously the insecurity

In this community

And idc if anyone thinks I’m being rude

This is what you need

You need to be yelled at

You need tough love

You need rudeness

I’m doing this outta love

Don’t like it don’t follow

But if you made it this far

Get up and get it

And stop complaining about a life you can change in one second

You can literally get in the void right now

And I hate when ppl say they got “kicked out”

Bitch who kicked out the mf void state? THATS YOU!!!!

You didn’t get kicked out

You just realized where you were and probably got scared or confused and accidentally shifted your awareness back here

Even when you get in the void

It won’t do anything

Unless YOU SAY YOU HAVE YOUR DESIRES

Because you can just stay there

And come out with the same life

The change happens when you

YOU

Say you’re affirmations

Don’t you get it

The void listens to you

If you say something you get it immediately

And who tf said you needed the void to manifest

Bby girl there’s a bagillion methods of manifestation

The void state works yes indeed

But it’s because of you

But don’t getting shocked when you get your desires you knew you were getting it

You can be excited yes

And don’t act like you need a method

Or a special subliminal

Those videos work if you allow them too

Quit giving power to a 10 minute video

These are TOOLS

Guides

They help you like a teacher

Don’t you graduate high school not only because you learned but you applied what you learned

Ok so learn from

These blogs these guides

But stop putting trust in subs

No hate to subliminals

Use them if you want

I use them

But don’t give them power

They are guides

And please

Use this as tough love reminder

I love my followers but please get yo ass up and go get it

[fuckmymunson]

Warm. — Eddie Munson.

☆ CW: 18+. Smut. Clothed sex. Grinding. Eddie is too sweet.

☆ a/n: Guess who's back in the house.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sliding his hands up and down your hips, Eddie’s rings feel frigid against your warm skin. Your body is like a raging inferno he can’t ever get enough of; it doesn’t matter the season, his hands are always cold and he is more than happy to warm them up by caressing your curves. “Pretty girl,” He huffs against your neck, grinding against you, making you feel every twitch of his cock from underneath his checkered boxers. “My pretty girl.”

His gruff voice brings those butterflies back to your lower tummy and you feel your inside do that thing. He notices too, nothing goes unnoticed by him. His lips trace your jaw, mirroring the desire that has been building up through the week. You are aware of how miserable he is without your touch, how much he yearns to be buried deep in you, to feel every throb and wave of slick— you know how obsessed he is with you.

“There you go, make yourself feel good” Eddie continues guiding you, creating that delicious friction against your clothed cunt. A part of you hates how much his words affect you— but the other part is melted, turned into a mindless puddle that only seeks more pleasure.

It’s nasty, it’s primal and it’s also intimate; a combination of three passions that make you shudder every time your clit rubs against his boxers. The thin layer of your respective underwear does little to mask how eager you are, and even if you wish for nothing more than to feel his fingers crooking inside you— or even better, his cock— there is something so erotic in just getting off by a chaste grinding.

“Does it feel good?” He continues teasing you, sometimes you wish he could shut up for at least five minutes. 

“It does,” You breathe out, gasping when his cold hand brushes over your erect nipple. In classic Eddie fashion, he has to see your tits, admire every little jiggle, and kiss every mole. His thumb and index fingers pinch your bud gently, putting your resilience to the test, but being honest when it comes to him, it is close to none. “Please— can I go faster?” It’s a simple request laced with that whiny tone that makes his inside stir with adoration.

He nods, his bangs moving along. “Go ahead, let me see you come.”

Eddie is gentle when he wants to be and you are grateful he is feeling benevolent today, otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to endure the edging— not after such an exhausting week. He speeds up as well, lifting his hips to meet your little rocks and groan under his breath, a low sound that reverberates from a deep part of his chest. His pulse quickens at the sight of your undoing, so close and so far. 

“My girl,” He pinches your nipple harder causing you to arch your back. “Mine.”

“Yours,” You agree, nodding fervently. 

It’s borderline embarrassing how quickly you reach that peak with simple “clothed sex”, but with someone like him it’s not a surprise… in the slightest. You hear him groan louder, his hips bucking as his orgasm follows yours, staining his boxers with his cum, the two wet spots increasing the friction. 

Finally, his hands are warm.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 9

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It’s a blur. Lust-addled, desire-driven, madness-inducing. You can’t stop yourself from clawing, nipping, licking, and rutting. You’re mindless with the need to stop that plucking. Yet each time you scratch it, the itch gets worse. Until you’re delirious, until there is only a dazed dim all around you. 

You come to slowly. It’s not an awakening. You don’t think you’ve slept. You’re just finally still. 

You smell of sweat and feel grimy. You remember the scald of a shower but little good that did you. You shiver as a coldness seeps into your skin. You touch the icy weight across your stomach and follow the arm up to its owner. Him. Loki. Villain and... 

Your husband? 

You try to push him away. He grumbles and opens his eyes. You nearly scream at the red orbs. He blinks and they clear to green irises and dark pupils. You frown and sputter. 

“What the heck?” 

“Mmm,” he grumbles, “are you not done with me, pet?” 

“No, no more,” you continue to push on his arm. “Please, off.” 

“What is the hurry?” 

“What time is it?” You ignore his protest and glance around. 

“Our time. Husband and wife--” 

“Ah, let’s just hold on that,” your teeth chatter. “Why are you so... cold?” 

“Hm, perhaps us gods run a bit cooler,” he smirks. “How shall you have me then, darling?” He rolls onto his back and stretches, displaying his naked form shamelessly. “Would you like to be astride or shall I take the reins?” 

“Please,” you hold your hand up to block out his nakedness. “I need to--” You sit up and your head pulses, “think.” 

You turn your legs over the edge of the bed with all your effort. You bend over your lap and hold your head as you try to gather your senses. You groan and push yourself up. You stand but only for a second before you’re hurtling forward. 

You don’t hit the floor as Loki catches you and just as swiftly scoops you into his arms, “now, precious wife, don’t be so careless. You will hurt yourself. You must rest. Especially after three nights of consummation--” 

“Three-- Three nights!?” You cry out. “You’re lying.” 

“I am a trickster but in this I am honest. As I have vowed to be in our marriage--” 

“Where’s my phone?” You wriggle but don’t have the strength to break free. 

He rolls his eyes and carries you around. You’re nothing in his arms. That feeling makes jars you even more. He’s upended your whole life. You almost forgot about the damn green curtains. 

“Put me down,” you demand as he carries you into the front room. 

“Darling--” 

“Down,” he demands. 

“As you wish.” 

He sets you on your feet and lets you go. You lean and stagger. Oh god. Your insides hurt. You feel so hollow like you could fold in on yourself. You babble and grab onto his arm. 

“Christ, what did you do?” 

“Oof, keep your mortal gods’ names off my person,” he derides, “I did as a good husband does.” 

You frown and squeeze him, leaning even though you can barely stand to touch him. 

“Can you put some clothes on?” You hiss. 

“Speak for yourself.” 

You look down and squeak. Shoot. He sighs and flicks his hand. In an instant, you’re draped in green silk and sleek satin robes swathes around his lithe figure.  

“Happy, dear wife?” He taunts. 

“Not really,” you grit as you walk forward, keeping hold of him as your legs wobble. 

“Please, darling, sit,” he guides you to the chair. “As I said, you will need to recover. You mortals are rather adorably weak.” 

He sits you down and turns with a cluck. He strides across the room and scoops up your phone, “ah, here it is. I did have to silence it. Rather pesky devices.” 

He hands it over and you take it. You croak at the date below the time. He’s really not lying. Three days. Of fucking? With him?! 

“Oh gosh,” you slump over as you bend your arm on the chair and lean on it. 

“Gosh indeed,” he snickers. 

“Stop,” you beg. 

“Stop? As worn out as you may be, darling, I must commend you. It was... delicious. I do enjoy it rather much.” He comes to perch on the other side of the chair and pets your shoulder. “Most unexpected, I must add. To say, when I first laid eyes upon you, I didn’t think you had it in you though I could see myself in you.” 

Without thinking, you hit his knee. You sit up and scowl, “do you have to be so gross?” 

“Gross? Where I’m from, sex is not so shameful. It is a past time. We enjoy it, a lot. Myself especially. And if I must stay on this cursed planet, I may as well have some delight.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Hm, from all the research I’ve done of your people, I was led to believe you would be ecstatic to be married.” 

“Ehhhh, never really was a goal of mine personally. Too much... work. And weddings are a lot.” 

“Oh, I agree. My last wedding was awful,” he agrees. 

“You’re last--” 

“Annulled, mind you. She slept with someone else...” his lip curls. “It is an acceptable reason to void if your bride lays with your brother, you see?” 

You look up at him, “Thor?” 

“Mm, yes,” he flicks his eyes up. “Eons ago. Suppose it should be forgotten.” 

“Wow, I’m... sorry.” 

“Sorry? It wasn’t you. How peculiar. You midgardians apologise for things beyond your realm.” 

“Well, I’m sorry it happened. Isn’t very nice to be cheated on,” you say. “And even if it was a long time ago, it still happened.” 

“You sound wise in these matters,” he says. 

You shrug, “not really.” 

You try to stand again and he stops you with a gentle pat, “darling, whatever you need, I will fetch it. I insist that you let your body rest.” 

You huff and fall back. You don’t have much choice. Just like every other step of your acquaintance, you are helpless. 

“Nothing, I’m just... thinking.” 

“I can make tea. Without extra sweetener this time,” he offers. You consider him warily. He shows his palms. “I’ll make it in front of you, should you wish. I do prefer a living wife over a dead one though and another dose...” 

“Another dose what?” You exclaim. 

“Well, I don’t really know how much a Midgardian can handle of that specific leaf--” 

“Just go,” you shoo him with your finger and close your eyes. “I can’t handle any more.” 

[illusioninfnty]

day 18 ; orgasm control

↠ rhaenyra targaryen x reader

fandom: house of the dragon word count: 1.1k warnings: nsfw 18+, fem!reader, sub!reader, power imbalance, fingering, cunnilingus

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“You summoned me, my queen?”

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, was a woman who you greatly admired. She was the first queen of Westeros and had earned that title deservingly, in your humble opinion. It was an honor to even be as close to her as you were every day. In your eyes, she was the closest thing to a God you could ever imagine.

As her handmaiden, it was your duty to serve her for whatever purpose. And you would do so, gladly.

Rhaenyra turns when she hears your voice, and a ghost of a smile passes across her face.

You could feel your heart quicken. It was rare for the queen to smile, often burdened by her duty to the realm. You were honored that she would spare one for you.

“Come, dear.” Rhaenyra motions you over, gesturing towards her bed. You eagerly comply and shut the grand doors behind you, aware of the queen’s preference for privacy in her quarters.

As you approach her, your confusion heightens. You were unsure of what she was to require you to do. She was dressed as elegantly as ever, no hair out of place and fabric wrinkled. Her room was immaculate, you made sure of that this morning, so there was no possible way she wished for you to clean it.

As you take your time glancing around your surroundings you can feel her gaze follow you, as if anticipating what you will say.

“H-how can I serve you, my queen?” You stammer, feeling embarrassed under the intensity of Rhaenyra’s gaze. You avoid her eyes as you feel your cheeks heat up.

Unexpectedly, Rhaenyra laughs. The sound startles you and you lift your head. She looks more beautiful than usual when she laughs, her eyes lighting up and her cheeks rounding with joy.

Rhaenyra walks over to where you stand and holds a hand out on your shoulder. The contact sends a jolt down your spine.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Rhaenyra starts, “I just need your assistance in something I’m trying.” She glances up, as if trying to find the right words. “Something…new.”

Eager to please the queen, you quickly agree to whatever it is she has for you. “Great,” she responds, eyes crinkling. “Now get on the floor.”

You drop instantly in front of Rhaenyra, hands poised on your lap. You finger the frayed ends of your dress in anticipation.

She sits at the edge of her bed and you follow her, adjusting yourself to rest on your knees.

“Please, my queen.” Your cheeks feel warm and you’re panting frantically, wanting to have a taste of the queen’s cunt. “Please let me serve you.”

Rhaenyra smirks. “Go ahead.”

You push the bottom of her dress up slowly. Your body heats up as more and more of the queen is revealed to you, all the way to her cunt.

You eat her out furiously, licking any crevice that your tongue reaches. You grab onto Rhaenyra’s thighs as you eagerly suck on her clit. She places her hand on top of your head, guiding your movements for you.

She moans quietly, under her breath, and you can’t help but relish in the sensation of you, a mere handmaiden, bringing such pleasure to the queen.

The thought of it causes your own core to throb harder. As you continue to eat out Rhaenyra, you slowly grind your wet pussy against the floor. The cool tile making contact causes you to gasp into Rhaenyra, moaning from the pleasure. You move yourself against the floor faster and faster, mimicking the speed with your tongue.

Rhaenyra’s hand suddenly tightens in your hair, ripping you away from her. You look up expectantly, only to be met with her sneer.

“Did I say you could pleasure yourself?”

Your eyes widen at the realization that you disobeyed her. “No, my queen!” I was only just—”

“Excuses?” she raises an eyebrow as she cuts you off. “And here I thought you were most loyal. Do I need to call someone else in to help me?”

Your eyes widen and tears begin to form against your will. “My queen, please, no!” You throw yourself down to her feet and cry out in apology. “I promise, I won’t do anything without your permission again. I can serve you better than anyone else.”

There’s a pause in the air. “Please, my queen. I beg of you.” You hold your breath in anticipation and fear.

Finally, Rhaenyra responds.

“Well, get on with it then.”

You waste no time in focusing on her cunt, using both your fingers and tongue now.

You can feel her core clench furiously, and you speed up so she can reach her peak. Rhaenyra lets out a clipped moan as she finally cums, her release spreading all across your face as you continue to devour her.

“Enough of that.” Rhaenyra beckons you away, and you obey immediately. Her face—although flushed—is much more composed then your own, which is covered in the queen’s juices. “I have something else I want to try with you now.”

Rhaenyra shifts, coming upward from her position on the bed and pushing you down onto a bench. She stands above you and begins

“Oh, my queen, what are you—!” 

The queen’s slender fingers move inside you expertly, prodding areas you would’ve never realized would give you such euphoria.

You can’t help but moan at the way she curls her fingers in your cunt while rubbing your clit. Your hands reach out blindly to grip onto the fabric of the bench as throw your head back in pleasure.

“Oh!” you gasp. “I’m—I’m going to—” Rhaenyra suddenly halts in her movements. All of the pleasure building up leaves immediately and you let out a broken sob. “My queen! Why did you stop?”

Rhaenyra tuts, her icy gaze staring you down in disappointment. “You dare question your queen?” Although her tone is lighter, the question still causes you to pause.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You feel Rhaenyra’s cool hand cusp your cheek.

“You’ll only come when I tell you to.”

You gulp and take a deep breath. “Whatever you command, my queen.”

She continues with her assault again, fingering you and stopping just before your peak. She does it again and again, too many times to count. After the first few times, you couldn’t contain your sobs, your cheeks are tear stained, the pleasure and frustration building up over and over.

Until Rhaenyra finally stops.

You jolt from the loss of her touch and she pats your cheek. “Go clean yourself up. You did well.”

You obey, preparing some cloths to pat yourself down with before smoothing your dress and finally taking your leave.

Rhaenyra calls your name before you take your exit.

You straighten your posture and turn back towards her. “Yes?”

She sends a smile your way, and you fail to keep your heartbeat steady. “I’ll be calling for you again soon.”

You nod in understanding and bite your cheek to conceal your own.

“I’ll be greatly looking forward to it, my queen.”

[delicatebarness]

The Barnes-Rogers Family Adventures | Peter's Birthday

Summary: The family throws a party for Peter's birthday.

Warnings: This post and series are safe for work (SFW) regressions. Nothing explicit. However, please be aware that the rest of my blog is NOT. NSFW accounts are welcome to read and reblog, but please keep all comments SFW out of consideration for other littles.

Word Count: 823

Series Masterlist

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @uhmellamoanna - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @sapphirebarnes | Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

The excitement in the air was palpable, especially as Peter’s birthday dawned bright and early. Bucky and Steve had been planning a special party for the mischievous one of their littles for weeks. Adorned with balloons, streamers, and a giant banner that read, “Happy Birthday, Peter!” the backyard was perfect for the event. 

Steve was busy putting the finishing touches on a homemade cake decorated with Star Wars characters, while Bucky set up party games on the patio. Trying to sneak a taste of the icing, you were stuck to Steve’s side. 

“Hey, no more icing, baby,” Steve gently scolded, catching your wrist mid-swipe. “We need to save some for the cake.” 

Giggling, your face was covered in blue and red frosting. “Okay, Papa.” 

Already bursting with excitement, Peter bounded into the kitchen. “Is it party time, yet?” he asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. 

“Almost, buddy,” Bucky said, ruffling Peter’s hair as he entered to kitchen. “Want to come help me set up the last few things outside?” 

Nodding, Peter eagerly followed Bucky out to the backyard. A bounce house had been inflated and he had set up a table with snacks, drinks, and party favors. 

~

The backyard was soon filled with laughter and chatter of friends and family. Peter’s friends from the daycare and the Avengers compound came out with their respected caregivers. Mr Stark even brought over a drone that hovered around and took photos, and videos of the event. 

The littles played in the bounce house and ran around the yard for hours. Steve decided it was time to bring out the cake, and everyone gathered around to sing “Happy Birthday.” Peter’s little face lit up as he made a wish, blowing out the candles. 

“What did you wish for, Bubba?” You asked, your small voice mumbled over your pacifier. 

Peter grinned. “I can’t tell you, tiny! It won’t come true!” 

The cake was devoured in moments and it came time for presents. Eagerly tearing into brightly wrapped packages, Peter beamed at the Lego sets, Star Wars toys, and finger paintings from you. 

His face glowed with happiness as he exclaimed, “Thank you, everyone!”

~

As the sun started to set, the party began to wind down. Steve and Bucky started to clear up around the backyard. Gathering wrapped paper, discarded plates, and paper cups as you and Peter sat on the grass. You played together with Peter’s new toys and trinkets, enjoying the last moments of his day. 

It wasn’t long before you were tugging on Peter’s sleeve. “Sleepy,” you said, your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. 

Peter looked around, his eyes searching for Steve and Bucky. “Do you want me to take you to Papa and Daddy?” he asked. 

You nodded, stifling a yawn.

He stood from his spot on the grass, taking your hand and leading you over to the patio. “Papa, Daddy, she’s sleepy,” he announced. 

Scooping you up, Bucky cradled you gently. “Let’s get you to bed, princess,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead. “It’s been a long day.” 

Steve walked over and ruffled Peter’s hair. “How about… once Daddy has Tiny all settled in bed, the three of us watch a movie?” 

Peter’s eyes brightened with excitement as he nodded, running into the house and heading straight for the living room. 

~

Your head rested against Bucky’s shoulder as he climbed the stairs to your bedroom. As he helped you into your pajamas, you looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “Did Bubba have a good birthday, Daddy?” 

Bucky smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “He had a wonderful day, Baby.” 

You murmured something inaudible as you nestled into your bed with your favorite wolf plush toy. Bucky tucked you in, turning on your night light and white noise machine.

“Sweet dreams, Baby,” he whispered as he pressed another kiss against your forehead. With a content sigh, you already began drifting off to sleep as he quietly left your room and closed the door. 

Meanwhile, Peter was sitting on the couch in the living room, flicking through the movies on Disney. Steve smiled as sat down for what felt like the first time all day, and opened his arms for Peter to climb into his lap. 

“Can we watch Star Wars?” Peter asked, his eyes sparkled at the hope. 

“Anything for the birthday boy,” Steve replied, gently taking the remote from Peter to locate the movie.

Bucky joined them shortly after, settling in beside Steve, draping an arm around him. He reassured Steve that you were settled and asleep before placing a kiss on top of Peter’s head. 

~

About halfway through the movie, Peter's eyelids drooped. The caregivers exchanged a knowing look as they listened to his soft snores. Steve gently shifted Peter so he was resting more comfortably against his chest. 

“We did good today,” Bucky said softly. 

Steve nodded, a wide smile spread across his lips. “Yeah, we did.”

---

Series Masterlist

[wileys-russo]

yes possessive tooney! maybe you’ve been hanging out with Mary and Millie a lot recently and no one knows you are together and she’s jealous so she kisses you hard to show them you’re hers (even though they already suspected you were dating her bc you both had matching hickeys a few weeks ago)

req based on this tiktok: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNBeoh5Y/ headlock II e.toone

"baby do you want to get a chinese?" you heard your girlfriend call out from downstairs, loud voice carrying her ever alluring mancunian accent up to your room.

"i'm going out el i told you this morning!" you called back, huffing in annoyance as you messed up your eyeliner again, forced to wipe it off. "what do you mean? goin out where? with who?" the girl was by your side in record time with a frown.

"for sushi with mary and mils." you groaned as you once more messed your eyeliner up, turning to your girlfriend with a pout. "why wasn't i invited?" the brunette scowled, grabbing your eyeliner and pushing your legs apart as she moved to stand between them.

"you told me you and less had plans!" you defended, closing your eyes as your girlfriend gently grabbed your face, helping you to fix the wonky lines. "yeah she's coming over to watch a movie and eat junk, like we always do! i assumed you were included in that plan." ella huffed, stepping away from you.

"well i assumed you were actually going to do something when you say you have plans. not potato it out on the sofa and sit in silence for several hours!" you teased making her roll your eyes.

"and was it not you who said it's good if we do stuff together and separately so no one finds it suspicious?" you reminded, moving back into the bedroom as she followed, only alessia aware the two of you were not just roommates and were actually dating.

you'd tried to keep it from her but with how much time the blonde spent at your flat and how well she knew the two of you it was inevitable she eventually figured out there was something else going on.

"you always hang out with them! stay in with us. please?" ella pouted, sitting down on the bed and giving you the best puppy dog eyes she could manage. "mmm no." you ducked down and smiled, pecking her lips a few times before grabbing your bag off the bed and hearing her groan.

"baby!" she huffed after you, footsteps thumping down the stairs. "i'm serious you're always with them two. i miss ya!" she tried again as you only shook your head in amusement. "maybe i like their company more." you teased causing her pout to change into a frown.

"i see you every single day baby, at training, at home, at games, at-" you started to list things off on your fingers, ella rolling her eyes and grabbing for you. you grunted as she pushed you harshly into the wall behind you, pressing her lips to yours in one last desperate attempt to convince you to stay in with her.

"not gonna work. but you can continue that once i get home!" you gently pushed her away with a suggestive smile, reaching for your keys. "no. if you have to go then i'm driving ya and picking ya up." ella ordered firmly, smacking your hand away and grabbing your keys first.

deciding against arguing with the incredibly stubborn girl you allowed her to do as she wished, directing her to the restaurant and being barraged with text messages from the girls you were meeting, well that you were now late on meeting.

"bye el, i'll call you once i'm done or i'll get maz to drop me home." you sent her a smile and pecked her cheek, well aware of your team mates and friends watching on from a few metres away, millie clapping her hands impatiently for you to hurry up as you popped open your door.

however before you could step out of the car an arm snaked around your neck and you tensed up in surprise as ellas hand firmly grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a bruising kiss.

within seconds her tongue was down your throat and you were trying to pull away hearing the whistles and jeers from your friends behind you. "not yet, kiss me." ella mumbled against your lips, her grip on your jaw tightening and holding you firmly almost in a headlock as you gave in and kissed her back.

tapping her leg once air became an issue she finally let you go for a moment, hand still on your jaw as she pecked your lips a few times ad released you, your lips tingling and slightly swollen as you tried to clear the hazy fog in your mind.

"so i guess we're telling people now?" you breathed out, glancing sideways at your girlfriend who only grinned happily. "just lettin everyone know you're a taken woman baby." ella smiled as you sighed, unable to be mad at her as you rolled your eyes and allowed her to steal one last kiss before you left her behind.

"oi oi nice of you to finally join us mrs toone!"

[princess-yuna]

My Dearest: Part 3

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,835

Summary: What a lovely afternoon for a promenade. There is something unusual brewing in the midst.

Content: No use of y/n, reader’s last name is Bennett for fic purposes but feel free to imagine another surname that’s suitable for you, pining, friends turned lovers and a lot of fluff. Reader has a younger sister and an older brother.

A/N: Thank you for sticking with me through another part! I would love to hear feedback from you.

Previous | Next

In addition, gentle reader, there have been sightings of Lord William Brixton returning to the Ton. It was a scandal when he had left Miss Bennett with no proposal during her debut. There have been whispers of him returning to take her hand once more. Are these rumors or the truth of his presence during this season? We will not know until-

The newest edition of Lady Whistledown was plucked out of your hands by your mother. She scowled because she did not want you and your sister to read the words of the rumor-littered paper. You only read it for entertainment, but it intrigued you to read more when you were mentioned. Lord Brixton's return had certainly been a topic of conversation for the Mamas who had wished to pawn their daughters off to the Lord. Yet you knew that each of them had been turned down due to his interest in you.

It was flattering, to say the least, knowing that he had eyes on you. Soon you thought of Colin, your fingers toyed with the dainty jewel hanging from the necklace he had gifted you. A special gift he purchased because he thought of you. Lord Brixton hadn't bestowed you a personal gift such as that but he simply declared that he wished to court you. You told him you would give it thought, and he had respectfully accepted that you needed time after his abrupt departure that started whispers.

Now with his return, you were deemed desirable to your dismay. You did not want the attention when your sister was the one eager to be married while you were fine being unmarried. If only you could be a wallflower much like Penelope Featherington had been. Was, rather. Lady Whistledown had written down information that you were not aware of a certain Bridgerton helping her to find a husband. He was a good friend to her, so you saw nothing wrong with him aiding. However, there were whispers.

Now you walked alongside your mother as your sister was a few paces ahead with one of her many suitors. At the corner of your eye you saw a familiar figure walk your way with a smile that belonged to no other than Colin Bridgerton. When he had approached you and your mother, he nodded his head in greeting. You and your mother acknowledged him with small curtsies in return.

"Lady Bennett, Miss Bennett," Colin greeted, "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes, quite lovely," you replied, a soft smile gracing your lips.

Colin smiled at you before he glanced at your mother, asking her permission to whisk you away momentarily. She waved you both off with her hand before she continued on to chaperone your sister. A simple chuckle rumbled in Colin's chest as he glanced back at you. He offered his arm to you, and you reached out to hold it as he guided you on the path. Your own maid followed paces behind you to keep you chaperoned.

"It pleases me that you are wearing my gift," he commented.

You smiled warmly at him. "I have taken quite a liking to it," you responded. He turned his head to look at you, and you felt his hand pat your hand that rested on his arm. That smile of his made him swoon.

You suddenly grow nervous, your cheeks warmed as you become aware of how close he is to you. Your heart raced in your chest because you knew that Colin wanted more, but he was not voicing that he did. However, you did try to push past that when you had something to ask of him.

"I did not know you were aiding Penelope to find a husband," you then said.

He was taken by surprise, and a nervous chuckle left him. "Ah, so you read about it then," he said as he looked ahead. "That was true. Since I cannot keep anything from you, I have spoken to her before seeking you out. She has put my help on pause to prevent further gossip."

The smile only grew on your face as you pulled him to stop walking so you could look at him. "That is truly admirable, Colin. I do not see that as a negative thing at all for helping Penelope. It shows your brilliant character," you stated.

His gaze lingered on you, and yours on him. You could see the tiniest hint of pink on his cheeks as you complimented him, which made you giggle in return before you gently tugged him along to continue your walk.

He then cleared his throat. "And what of you and Lord Brixton? Has he really returned to seek your hand?" The question made you gently grip his arm a little tighter and it was his turn to pause your walk to look at you. "What is wrong?" His face was now riddled with concern as he looked you over, seeing that distant look on your face.

A soft sigh left you as you looked elsewhere, now avoiding his gaze. "He wishes to court me again, Colin," you admitted to him. You looked at him now and you saw the look of conflict on his face, his gaze not meeting yours. The look made you desperately want to ease his worries. "I told him I would think of it and he granted me as much time as I needed," you told him.

Colin's eyes met yours, and a small look of relief showed on his features. "Ah, I see," he responded, and a small smile went to his lips, "That makes me glad that he is giving you time."

You wanted to reach out to him, but it would have been inappropriate. You wanted to tell him to convey his feelings. Then you remembered what your mother told you, and that was a woman must not beg. The words he wrote on paper were strong indications that he had feelings for you, but he never spoke them out loud. Was he too afraid to admit his feelings out loud to you? He did not realize how much turmoil he put you through, but you hid it with a mask that showed that you were fine when you weren't. All he had to do was ask and you would give him what he wanted.

"Shall we?" He asked, gesturing to the path once more. You give him a timid smile and a nod before you are off again. The conversation was more about his travels because he hadn't told you everything through his letters. As fascinating as his stories were, your heart grew heavy with want when you wished he wasn't talking to you as a friend.

You left the promenade with unanswered questions that afternoon. The longing you had for Colin burned through your body, and he consumed your every thought. Even now as you stood by the refreshment table at the Cowell House, you were too distracted by your thoughts until your name was being called. You glanced at Penelope as she joined you, and you both shared sheepish smiles.

"I did not think you were one for hiding," she said softly.

A soft laugh left your lips and you shook your head. "Is it that obvious? I believe my head is entirely in the clouds this evening," you responded. She was curious, but you revealed nothing to her. Your private matters were your own, and you did not wish for gossip to ignite from possible eavesdroppers. Lady Whistledown had eyes and ears at every event, and you simply did not want to be written about again.

Your conversation with Penelope was light and short until your eyes met Colin's from across the room. He looked at you in the same way you looked at him. It was like time had stopped. Your breathing was heavy and you had to excuse yourself from Penelope in a rush as you broke eye contact. You dared not to look at him again as you walked somewhere else in the room, your eyes were to the floor as you attempted to make an escape.

You've barely made it five steps until you collide with someone. Hands were on your shoulders to steady you so you wouldn't lose balance, a startled expression on your face as you looked up to meet Lord Brixton's concerned gaze. He retracted his hands from your shoulders and placed them to his sides as you curtsied to him with your gaze to the ground. Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment due to not seeing him in the first place.

"My apologies, Lord Brixton," you said quickly.

The sound of his laugh filled your ears and your look turned to confusion as you looked up at him. "Your apology is not needed, Miss Bennett. I was hoping to see you today actually," he stated as he placed his hands behind his back.

"Oh?" You asked curiously, but you were far from interested when you were more concerned about leaving the room. "Whatever for?" Your gaze went past the lord and your eyes were met with Colin's again. You broke eye contact and looked back at the man in front of you, a warm smile on your lips.

His brow rose in question at your response, but you kept your composure. "I wanted to see you again. I know I left your estate giving you time to think things over, and I will still allow that time, but I find myself thinking of you often," he expressed.

If you did not have feelings for a certain Bridgerton, you would have been completely enamored by his words like you have been in the past season. However, you felt nothing but a tinge of guilt as he spoke kind words and you couldn't reciprocate them. You had to fake a smile to continue playing a façade. Your mother would want you to be with someone like Lord Brixton, but he was not what your heart yearned for.

"That is quite flattering, Lord Brixton," you said. Suddenly you felt more aware of your surroundings when you felt eyes on you. "Unfortunately, I am feeling unwell, and I wish to go home," you told him.

"Oh, that's too bad. Shall I escort you out?" He did not look pleased, but he was not going to push. You knew him to be too much of a gentleman to push something unwanted on you.

"No, it is fine, I can manage on my own," you replied and gave a weak smile, "I will see you again, Lord Brixton. Have a good evening." You gave him a curtsy before you walked off. You tried not to walk too fast as you kept moving through the crowd while avoiding certain glances. Just like that, you were gone from the Cowell House.

What you didn't see was that Colin Bridgerton was watching your escape, and there was a triumphant look on his face when he looked back to Lord Brixton looking puzzled.