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mingiswow · 8 days ago

Text

Yes, sir | Park Seonghwa

Pairing: vampire!teacher!Seonghwa x afab!student!reader

Genre: modern fantasy, enemies (?) to something else, smut (MINORS DNI)

Word Count: 8.8k

Summary: You couldn't stand your professor and his ego, but everything turns upside down when he buys a date with you during a charity event and you discover more about him and his secrets.

Content Warning: age gap, student/teacher dynamics, mentions of blood, mentions of food, feeding from humans, Seonghwa is a little tsundere, pet names (princess, baby girl, darling), dirty talk

Smut warning: porn with plot, tit sucking, oral (reader and Seonghwa recieving), piv, unprotected sex (don't do that kiddos)

⚠️ English is not my first language, so sorry in advance if there’s any mistakes

Everyone was fascinated by him. Everything about him, surrounding him, was entracing, as if there was an aura of magic surrounding him that made everyone's attention lock on him. He walked around campus tall, confident, his face stern except for a few polite bows and half smiles he would give alumni and colleagues. He walked like he owned everything. And you wouldn't doubt if he did. Murmurs and whispers followed him wherever he was, either students whispering about his appearance or other professors about his rather unusual way of teaching.

You, on the other hand, saw him for who he truly was: a self-absorbed little man with a big ego. It infuriated you that he didn't follow the lectures list recommendation, no, he invented things out of his head, telling lies to his alumni that would fall just because of his pretty face. You weren't blind, you could see he was a pretty man, but all his beauty went down the drain by his huge ego.

The finals were coming and you could only rely on studying by your notes made on his classes since you couldn't find any of his information in any history book. How could a history teacher give classes with no books? With no complementary material besides the voices in his head?

The worst part of it all was that you tried to talk to the responsible teacher, to the dean of the faculty, yet no one seemed to care that your General History teacher was a freaking liar and asshole?

And he knew you didn't like him, and he seemed to reciprocate the feeling. Mr Park looked at you like he knew what you were thinking, like he could read your mind, gosh! It irritated you! He always looked at you over his glasses that hung low on the tip of his long nose, his face always unreadable, unbreakable, as if he was the owner of the world.

The clock ticked midday and Mr Park gave the last tick of the pen on the white board, turning to look at his students.

“Don't forget that finals are in three weeks, any questions you might have you can come directly at me” you felt your stomach turn when you sensed his eyes on you, as if he was talking directly to you.

Not even in another universe you'd be in a room alone with this man, let alone to discuss the subject that he seemed to know oh so well and all you have studied your entire life felt like a lie. Who was lying after all?

You quickly averted his gaze and put your things inside your bag, wanting to leave that place as quickly as possible. That man was a threat to your sanity.

You were leaving class when your friend Yooha from Classical Literature came to you, her signature smile on her face.

“Hey, yn, I have an invitation to make to you” she smiled sheepishly, body turning from side to side. You nodded. “So… You know the campus is conducting the annual charity dinner and I'm one of the organizers, right?” she extended the last word, you nodded again. “I was running a research around the campus to see who would be the suitables ladies and gentleman for the date auction, and you were voted by a lot of people” she hit your shoulder with hers in a playful manner. “I was wondering… if you'd…”

“No” you answered shortly, already leaving.

“Oh come on, yn! You're so pretty, I'm pretty sure that a bunch of people will bid for your date” she said following you.

“But I don't wanna go out with a random person that bought a date with me” you put it simply.

“It's nothing serious, yn, it's for charity” Yooha rolled her eyes, you were always so serious, so goody-two-shoes. “Besides, who knows what destiny might bring you? Maybe you find your next love, or a sugar daddy” she laughed.

“I doubt”

“C'mon! It'll be fun! Besides, extra credits” you sighed and stopped walking.

“I'll think about it, okay?” she smiled happily and nodded excitedly, kissing your cheek before leaving.

When you turned to see her leaving you noticed Mr Park a few steps behind you. How long has he been there? You bowed politely, besides wanting to flip your middle finger to him, and he bowed back, a sly smile playing in his lips.

One of the things you hated the most about Mr Park was that he was always so mysterious, so hard to read. He held that stern look in his beautiful face at all times, you barely saw him smile and then from time he would look at you and leave you that little sly smile of his, as if he could read you. As if he could see right through you. Not that you had anything to hide, but sometimes you felt as if he could see through the secrets you didn't have.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this” you looked at yourself in the full length mirror at Yooha’s room where you were getting ready for the charity event at your university.

You had to admit that you looked really good, the dress you were wearing hugged your body in all the right places, your curves being more apparent than ever. The color complemented your complexion oh so perfectly while the low cut neckline left the right amount of your chest apparent. The heels made your bum look perkier and the makeup reinforced your natural beauty. Your friend did a good job at getting you ready.

The girl giggled and twirled looking at herself, admiring her own beauty. She was going to be one of the auctioned girls as well and seemed to be enjoying this a lot. She pulled you to take some pictures with her before posting them on her socials.

“Oh c’mon, yn, like you’re not excited to see how many people are gonna bid for you” she said excitedly. “I bet you’ll receive a lot of bids, a bunch of people dropped your name when I was asking for who they wanted to see, you are really pretty, just a bit closed”

“I’m not closed, just… quiet. I guess” you retorted, defending yourself.

“Yn, my friend, I love you, but you walk around campus like you ate shit” you opened your mouth shocked at her and she just laughed. “Your face is always so grumpy, your stance is so closed, like you have walls around you. You need to open up more” she stated and you simply accepted, it wasn’t as if she was wrong, you indeed were very closed and didn’t want people to approach you. “You talk so much about Mr Park but you’re just like him if not worse”.

You sighed, defeated. Those were some thoughts for your therapy. Yooha was right, you needed to open up more, your therapist had already said the same thing, but it was hard after what happened the last time you did. You got manipulated, played with, hurt, broken. Those were some hard to forget scars. But maybe, just maybe, the event would bring you something good, right?

You were cut off from your daydreams with your friend calling you to finally go to the event. Your heart pumping faster than it should out of anxiety and nervousness.

There was a car already waiting for you two outside her apartment when you left the building, taking you to the campus within minutes.

The building where the event was taking place was buzzing with people, students, professors, employees, and important people from the town that came to honor the event. You and Yooha took the back entrance so you could go straight to the backstage with the other people that were part of the auction.

Since Yooha was part of the organization she left you alone so she could resolve some things and make sure everything and everyone was in place. You sat quietly in a chair at the corner of the backstage, pulling your phone out of your little purse and started to mindlessly scroll through social media. The buzzing of the people talking making you a little anxious and dizzy.

“Mind you if I sit here?” you looked up to find a cute tall boy with a sweet smile and little dimples in his cheeks talking to you. You nodded and he sat in the chair by your side. “I’m Soobin by the way” he handed you his hand so you could shake. You fixed your posture and shook his hand, forcing a smile.

“I’m yn” you answered.

“Aren’t you a History student?” you nodded, shocked that he knew that. “I’ve seen you around the building, I’m a semester behind you” you mouthed an ‘ah’ to him. You were never really good with small talks, especially with strangers. “So… are you here for the auction too?”

“Yes, my friend convinced me to do it for the extra credits” he laughed lightly and he had such a cute laugh.

“Yooha can be really convincing, she convinced me too” you nodded agreeingly. “But I bet you’ll receive a lot of bids, you look really pretty tonight” you felt a hush of heat creep up your cheeks at his compliment. “Not that you’re not pretty the other days, but today you look more, if you know what I mean. And I mean, not that I look at you on campus, I mean, I do, not everyday, just when I see you” he was stuttering and shuffling around with his words, making you genuinely chuckle at his cuteness.

“I got, Soobin, thank you” you said, a smile on your lips. “You also look pretty tonight” you managed to murmur, your voice low with shyness. You saw his cheeks glow a little pink tint and you thought he was cute.

Before you could keep talking Yooha came running warning that the auction was about to start and everyone should be attentive to their names when called so they could go to the stage. You felt a lump forming on your throat and all you wanted was to run away and pretend you’ve never been there. Soobin wasn’t very well himself, always drying his sweaty palms in his pants, which for some reason made you feel at ease. You weren’t the only nervous one there.

One by one people started to be called, some auctions taking longer than others. The girls giggling and gossiping about their auctioneers and how their bid was high. So far the highest bid went to one of the jocks of the lacrosse team, he came backstage feeling himself, taking back taps from his friends, a smug face planted on him.

“Next we have yn yln” you felt your legs go jelly when you started to walk towards the stage. Suddenly the heels too high for you. But you managed to make it to the center stage, the bright light of the spotlight blinding you for a few seconds. “She’s a History student from the sixth period, she likes to listen to music, watch movies and read books” the hostess announced, your palm starting to sweat as you stood in the center of the stage. “Let’s start our bids as always with 50. Who gives 50 to yn?” you saw a student raise their arm. “50 to the gentleman in table 78. 55 anyone?”

“A hundred” everyone looked to the voice where the bid came and even though the spotlight was hiding his face from you, you’d recognize that voice everywhere. It sent chills down your spine.

“A hundred to our lovely Mr Park, anyone else wants to up to that?”

“Hundred and twenty” you heard another student speak.

“Hundred and fifty” Mr Park counterproposed and you almost choked on nothing.

“A hundred and fifty to Mr. Park. Anyone else?” the hostess asked, ready to hit her little hammer.

“Two hundred” a woman, that you recognized as a deputy from your town, intervened, her arm raised.

“Two hundred to Miss Franz. A-”

“Three hundred” the second student proposed and you had to hold yourself not to buckle your knees. You were almost surpassing the jock’s bid. “And sixty” he added.

“Four hundred” the woman added and you looked over at the backstage where Yooha was with a big ‘I told you so’ smile.

“Four hundred and seventy”

“Four hundred and seventy to Mr. Park” you were shocked. Why was he bidding so high on you? That was, at least, weird. He was your teacher after all. “Anyone else? Give you one, Give you two, give you three” she hit her little hammer on the table. “Sold to Mr. Park. Thanks for helping our institution”.

As you left the stage, still shocked with how things have turned, you couldn’t help but feel weirded out, not only feeling like an object, but because out of all people Mr Park bought a date with you. With what would become the highest bid of the night. All you wanted was to go home, take a hot bath and just forget that night happened.

Yooha tried to hype you up and make you stay for the party but you were just too overwhelmed to stay at a place full of drunk people and loud music. So you called a cab and went straight home.

When arriving at your so loved little box you called apartment you finally released all the breath you were holding the entire night, your lunges burning with the feeling of a deep release. You took your heels and dress off, not caring to let them spread over the living room, that was a problem for the future you, and filled the bath with warm water. After a while you entered the soothing water, letting it relax your muscles.

You closed your eyes but all that came to your mind was Mr Park’s face. His oh so beautiful face, with his chiseled jaw and long nose, his dark eyes that seemed to read your mind even in your own thoughts. You tried to shake that man from your head but you just couldn’t, the thought of him bidding so high for you, for a date for you felt so weird, so wrong, so prohibited. What did he want? Maybe he just wanted to help the university and chose you as his bid and he won’t even go on a date with you. It would feel wrong, right? A professor and a student. Sure, You are both consenting adults, but there isn’t a rule, a law that prohibits that?

You felt so confused, so overwhelmed, all you wanted was to relax but your mind seemed to have other plans for you. You groaned angrily, not really sure if at yourself, at Mr Park or the whole situation. All you knew was that you wanted to relax and you weren't able to do that.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

It was already thursday and your week passed by rather quickly and easily, besides everyone whispering about the auction whenever you passed by them, the rest was like the usual. But that day was the day, you finally had your class with Mr Park after the auction and you were more than nervous. You didn’t know with what face you would face the man, just the thought of seeing him made your head dizzy.

“yn!” you heard someone calling you when you were about to enter class and turned to find Soobin with his cute smile coming towards you.

“Oh, hi, Soobin. How are you?” you asked politely.

“‘M good. And you” you nodded. “I couldn’t talk to you after the auctions saturday, you left so rushed”

“Oh, sorry, I was just… feeling a little overwhelmed I guess” you confessed.

“That’s fine. I can only imagine, it was a huge pressure up there, wasn’t it? But are you better?”

“I am, thank you” you smiled, adjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder.

There was a moment of silence and Soobin rubbed the back of his neck shyly before speaking.

“I was thinking… Maybe we could study together over coffee sometime, only if you want to, of course, no pressure. I was just thinking, we do the same course, you know, it could be good to have a study partner and such-” you laughed lightly at his nervousness, he was so cute.

“I’d love that, Soobin” you cut him off, smiling shyly, him imitating you.

“Then can I get your number? So, you know, we can talk and combine the details” you nodded, lending your hand, so you could type in your number. “Thanks”.

“I have to go now, I have class” you announced and nodded. “Bye” you waved your hand and he copied your gesture again.

You entered class and met Mr Park leaned against his table, arms crossed. His face seemed even more closed than usual, as if he was angry, but again, you couldn’t read him. You walked over to your usual seat and waited for the clock to hit 8am.

When the clock made its tick pointing it was 8 o’clock he walked ever so graciously to the front of the class and started to speak. You made your best effort to take notes and pay attention to whatever he was talking about but the way he was looking at you was burning holes in your face. The professor seemed to stare at you even more that day, his eyes darting at you from time to time as if they searched you, wished you.

And the atmosphere was different, of course it was, with everyone knowing that the man in front of you, giving his lecture like nothing was happening, just bought a fucking date with you, one of his students. There were whispers, murmurs and looks thrown at you during the whole class, especially with how everyone was seeing the way he was eyeing you. You wouldn’t be surprised if rumours of you two started to circulate around college. That could ruin his career. And your life.

Like a whisper, time went by and the clock ticked midday and everyone started to put away their stuff.

“Don't forget, your finals are in less than two weeks, remember to study and if you need help with anything don’t fear to look up for me” everyone started to leave the class. “yn, can you stay a little longer?” the remaining students all looked at you, the whispering back at full speed.

You put your stuff back in your backpack and went to the front of the classroom so you could talk to him. You never noticed how he towered over you, but you’ve never been this close to him.

There was a moment of silence, while he looked at you as if he analysed the product he bought. You suddenly felt very aware of yourself.

“We need to discuss the matter at hand” he started, his arms crossing again. “As you know, I bought your date at the auction” you nodded, a heat crawling up your neck and cheeks. “Are you comfortable going on said date with me?” the question caught you off guard, you blinked a few times before answering.

“I-I mean, you bought it, if you want to, I guess it’s your right” you stuttered like an idiot over the words and the man thought that was very endearing of you.

“I’d like to take you on a date then, if you’re okay with it” you nodded slowly, almost as if you didn’t do it the whole thing wouldn’t come true. “Good, so I’ll pick you up tomorrow at your house at 7 o’clock. Don’t need to wear anything fancy” he was so demanding, so sure of his words, as if he knew what he wanted from way before. “You need my phone to text me your address” he extended his hand for you.

“What?”

“Your phone, so I can put my number on it” you hesitantly gave your phone to him and he typed the number on it, saving it. “Remember to text me your address or share your location” you nodded again. “You’re dismissed now. See you tomorrow, yn”.

“Yes, sir” you bowed politely and left the room as quickly as you could.

You leaned on the wall behind after you left the classroom, the air suddenly coming back to your lungs, a deep breath leaving them. You closed your eyes trying to stop your racing heart. That was the longest interaction you had with Mr Park and it was to combine on a date. A date that he bought. And he was willing to go. Your professor. Mr Park. The man that walked like he was the owner of the world.

But truth be told, he was a handsome man, you couldn’t deny it. Or deny the fact that everytime he looked at you with his dark eyes you felt like he was staring into your soul, reading every thought of yours, some of those thoughts including him in a not-so-nice way.

You managed to ease your heartbeat and leave the wall, deciding that all you needed in that moment was a cold coffee. You headed to the cafe, hoping that there would be a few people there since it was lunch time.

“yn!” you heard someone call you excitedly when you entered the cafe, turning to find Soobin waving at you with his big smile. “Hi, again” he said when you arrived at his table, smiling at him too.

“Hi, again” you chuckled.

“Why don’t you join me? I was just reading some notes” you nodded.

“Just gonna grab something to drink and eat” he nodded and you went to the counter.

You waited for your turn so you could order, ordering a simple espresso and a plain croissant, and returning back to Soobin’s table. You left your purse on the ground and sat in front of him, taking a sip of your coffee, the bitter taste finally invading your senses and making you relax.

“So, what are you studying?” you asked, taking a bite from your croissant and looking at his notes that were spread in front of him.

“Ocidental History I” he showed you his book. “I suck at it” you both laughed at the way he spoke.

“I did this class two semesters ago, I think I still remember most of it, if you want help” his eyes sparkled and widened.

“Are you serious?” you nodded, mouth full of the last bite of your food. “That would be so helpful, yn” he looked at his notes, the tip of his ears suddenly getting red. “And I get to spend more time with you” it was your turn to feel your ears burn, smiling shyly at him.

Soobin was a very nice guy, and you weren’t blind not to admit he was gorgeous, one of the prettiest guys around the faculty, if not the campus. You thought he was flirting with you but you didn’t want to make hasty conclusions, after all, no boy - or girl - has ever flirted with you before.

Having someone like him flirting with you made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, a good sensation that you haven’t felt since you were a teenager probably. The idea of flirting and courting one another made you nervous, yet you were excited for the chase.

After finishing your food and taking another sip of your coffee you changed seats, sitting by his side so you could explain the things better to him. You spent a good few hours studying with him, giving your tips to memorize the subject, joking, laughing and flirting. You really enjoyed his company.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of eyes watched you two with more than curiosity, it was a fire that he couldn’t hold when it came to you. He couldn’t stand that he wasn’t the one making you laugh and put your hair behind your hair flirtatiously. That he wasn’t the one so close to you to the point he could hear your blood running through your veins. The one that made your scent change with pheromones. You weren’t his. At least not yet.

You and Soobin left the cafe when the sun was almost setting. His company was so enjoyable that you even saw the time pass.

“Thank you again for today, yn” he said at the door of the building, the sky illuminating his face with orange and pink hues.

“It’s fine. It was really fun, you’re a great study partner” you both smiled and fell silent. The winter wind blowing on your face, only the low whistle of it being heard. “I’ll be going then, bye, Soobin” you waved and he waved back.

You turned your back to him and started to walk your everyday path. You expected him to offer to walk you home, getting a little disappointed when you walked alone to the bus stop. The bus didn’t take long to arrive, which you were glad because you were tired and all you needed was a warm shower and go straight under your blankets.

And as such you did, warming yourself under the thick blankets after a well-deserved warm shower. You started to mentally review your day, smiling like a teenager when you remembered your afternoon with Soobin and how cute, nice, sweet and smart he was. And then you remembered him and your whole body shivered. For a moment you almost forgot your interaction with your professor, but then the memory of his eyes looking down at you came like a wave. You tried to shake those thoughts aways, but the more you tried the more he seemed to pierce into your mind. The conversation you had was innocent yet you felt that the undertone he used wasn’t, as if he was hiding something from you, his true intentions.

And with the dark eyes of the man in your mind you fell asleep.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The day at university passed quickly to your dismay, you wanted the day to last forever so you didn’t have to go to your date with Mr Park. You haven’t seen him through the corridors all day, which was odd, but you preferred that way, you didn’t know how you would react at seeing his face.

Going home by five, you had time to get ready, even though you were skeptical about the whole date ordeal, you still didn’t want to look terrible. You remembered he said nothing fancy, so you just decided on a pair of black dress pants, a pink shirt, a pair of boots that had small squared heels and on top of that your trench coat, since it was freezing cold outside. You put on light makeup and let your hair down.

It was seven on point when the man stopped his car in front of your building, sending you a message to warn you he had arrived. You felt your heart and stomach flip, anxiousness taking over your entire body. You didn’t know what to expect of this date, of him, to say you were anxious and understatement.

“Good night, yn” he greeted you when you entered, he had to hold himself not to compliment your beauty, not wanting to scare you first thing of the night.

“Good night, Mr Park” his name sounded weird being said in a setting like this.

“Tonight you can call me Seonghwa, we’ll be just the two of us”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where are we going?” you asked, trying to interact and maintain a conversation during the ride.

“My house” you almost choked on your own saliva. He came to get you to go back to his house? And you’d be alone with him in his house? You fidget nervous on your seat, the idea of being alone with him making you more anxious than you already were. “Don’t worry, I’ll just cook for us, I don’t like crowded places” you nodded slowly and turned to look at the road outside the window.

Seonghwa bit his internal cheek, he wanted to make a good impression on you, he didn’t want you to look at him with the student's eyes, he never wanted, ever since he laid his eyes for the first time on you. He could sense you were nervous but there was nothing he could think at the moment to make you feel more at ease, after all, the whole setting was weird, comical even. He turned the radio on, a random song humming lowly as he hoped it would make you feel more relaxed.

You watched as the city passed by you bit by bit as he drove you two to the fanciest part of town and you wondered if he could afford to live there with just being a professor or he was already rich and being a history teacher was a side hustle. He stopped the car in front of a tw0-story house, the front looking more welcoming and warm than the others around the neighborhood.

Seonghwa came to open your door, but you had already opened yourself, and guided you inside. The house inside was nothing like what you would expect from him, it was colorful, warm, full of life, as if a happy family lived there. The walls had adjacent ones with vivid colors and wallpapers, the furniture seemed alive, the wood bright, shiny and very well cleaned. Maybe your professor could surprise you after all.

“Why don't we go to the kitchen? I’m cooking for us” you nodded and followed him, going to a small but comfortable kitchen. “I hope you like lasagna, it’s what I’m making”

“I love lasagna” you smiled for the first time of the night and the man smiled back. It was the first time you thought you saw him smile so big. “You didn’t have to have the work tho, we could’ve ordered something” you said.

“Are you dismissing my kindness and effort” you felt your cheeks heat up.

“That’s not what I meant! I mean-” he laughed and he had such a cute little laugh, you never imagined, catching you by surprise.

“I’m messing with you, yn. Besides, I wanted an excuse to use some of the things I never use in the kitchen”.

“Why you don’t use them?” you asked, feeling more at ease at his presence.

“I barely eat at home, so I almost don’t cook for myself” you nodded. “Want some wine?” you nodded again, maybe some alcohol would help ease the anxiety inside you.

He grabbed two cups and put them in front of you, going back to grab two bottles and giving them for you to choose. You chose the one on his left, the bottle seemed fancier and it was your only opportunity to drink something fancy in your life.

“Good choice” he said and served the cups, raising his one. “Cheers, for tonight” you raised your glass too before bringing to your lips and taking a sip of it.

There was a moment of silence between you and you decided to kill your curiosity.

“Why?”

“Hm?” he cocked his head and if he wasn’t your teacher, you’d thought that gesture and him cute.

“Why did you buy my date? Out of all people, why me?” he chuckled, his eyes locked on the drink in his hands before lifting his dark gaze at you, his expression unreadable yet soft, welcoming, calming.

“Do you want the proper answer, the honest truth or the even more honest truth?”

“There are two honest truths?” it was your turn to cock your head at him.

“They are basically the same, but one is… deeper, darker than the other”.

“What’s the proper answer?” you asked, curious.

“I wanted to help the university, you were just a coincidence”

“There’s no such thing as coincidence” you took a big gulp of your wine, drinking it all, you felt that you needed more alcohol in your system.

“I also don’t believe in coincidences” Seonghwa took a sip of his own cup, his eyes never leaving yours.

“And what’s the honest truth?” you asked, even though you didn’t know if you were prepared for the answer. The man took a step closer to you.

“I admire you for a long time, yn, ever since I laid my eyes on you for the first time I knew I needed to have you even for a simple dinner, even if for a night only” you gulped at his confession, not really expecting any of that. He took another two steps closer to you, but you didn’t move. “And when I heard you were taking part in the auction I knew it was my chance, but I also knew it was going to be hard, since I’m not the only one who has eyes and sees how… gorgeous you are” he seemed to hesitate at finding the right word to use to you.

“A-and what’s the even more honest truth?” you asked, not really sure if it was curiosity or the alcohol already speaking in your system. He chuckled and dropped his cup on the counter near where you stood.

“I think you already noticed how my teaching method is a little… unorthodox” you nodded. What the hell his classes had to do with now? “You see, I don’t use history books because I hate them because they are all wrong” you looked at him puzzled. What was he talking about? “And the reason why I hate them is because I’ve lived history myself, I saw those things happen” you looked at him before leaving a laugh. But he didn’t laugh with you, he remained serious.

“Are you drunk already, Mr Park?” you asked, looking at his face as if you searched for something.

“I don’t get drunk with human alcohol” he was definitely drunk. “You see, you are not the only beings to populate this earth, you know?” he came dangerously close to you and opened his mouth, a pair of fangs growing in front of you from his teeth.

“I think I’m drunk” you said, hand on your head. “I just saw fangs on your teeth”

“These?” he showed you them again and you blinked. “I know it all seems crazy, but vampires exist, and I’m one of them. In fact, you know more vampires than you think”

“Wait, what the fuck? What’s going on? Is this some type of prank?”

“I’d never prank you like this, yn” his voice was soft, velvety, deep. “I’m telling you the truth”.

“And what does this have to do with me?” you asked, your voice a tone higher than your usual, you were getting nervous again.

“You see, us vampires can smell human scent from meter away, and some of you have distinct smells, and you, my dear, is one of these”

“And what does that mean?” you asked, already entering in his craziness.

“It means your blood has a sweeter taste and it can be addicting” he stated as if he was telling you that 2+2=4. “I’ve been taking care of you for the past year, some other vampires have tried to get to you in more… unhealthy ways, so I have been keeping them away”

“I’m going crazy, I think that’s it” you held your head between your hands, shaking it. Your mind was racing. “And what do you want from me? My blood?”

“Yes. And no” he was so close to you that you could smell his musky cologne, he smelled so good, intoxicating even, his dark eyes looking at you like a predator. “I do want your blood, but I want you to be my donor”

“Donor?”

“You’d give me your blood whenever I wanted, in exchange I’d care for you, money, expanses, whatever else you need” you blinked at him, partially dumbfounded at his proposal and partially at the way he looked at you, making you weak. Since when did he have that power over you?

“You want to be my sugar daddy?” he laughed humorously.

“If that’s how you wanna call it. All I’m asking is for a bit of your blood when I’m hungry”. You contemplated his offer. It was a very good offer, you were a broke student after all, and all he wanted was your blood right? “You can take your time to think”

“I’ll do” you said, not even believing in your own words. A smile creeped up his face. “I’ll be your donor”

“I’m sure you won’t regret” his hand came to your face, caressing the skin of your cheek, you felt a little flick of a shock where he touched. “I’ll take good care of you, yn. You are precious to me”

“We gonna start tonight?” you asked curious, anxious, not only with his answer but to know the feeling of a bite. He chuckled at your eagerness.

“If that’s your wish. I’m always hungry for you” the way he spoke seemed more than just blood but you let it slide, not wanting to think too much, even though he literally confessed to you minutes prior. You nodded. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable for you then”.

Seonghwa took you to his room, and, again, it was not what you expected of his room, especially of a vampire’s room. He guided you to sit on his bed. You pulled the collar of your shirt and exposed your neck to him, earning a laugh from him.

“I’ll feed from your arm, your neck is for marking only”

“Marking?” you asked curiously.

“We vampires tend to mark our lovers in the neck, a mark of true and everlasting love. Once marked, you and the vampire share a never ending bond by blood”

“That’s beautiful” he nodded.

You gave your arm to him and took a deep breath. He gently grabbed your arm as if made of glass and started to caress the skin, feeling the softness, the warmth of it, before bringing to his lips. He laid gentle kisses and licks over the skin before dragging the tip of his fangs on it. The sharpness of them pulling a gasp from you. He shushed you, telling you that you were going to be fine, his voice deep, velvety, soft, wrapping you in something you couldn’t pinpoint.

Then the sting came. He punctured his fangs into your skin, breaking the layers until he found your vein, your blood flowing out as he sucked it all, low hums and satisfied growls leaving his throat.

Your head was dizzy, the pain was deliciously turning into pleasure and spreading through your body. It started slow, it came in waves, your body heat rising, your cheeks flushing, your tummy knotting, your legs automatically closing themselves, searching for something, anything. The heat in your body almost unbearable. You threw your head back and a moan left your lips as Seonghwa sucked your life elixir out of you. Everything too much.

His name started to leave your lips as whispers, the volume increasing second by second, until you were borderline moaning his name. Your free hand going in between your legs, holding your mound as you squeezed them together. You wanted him. You needed him.

He stopped sucking your blood, licking the little bites, the saliva now entering even more to your wounds.

“S-seonghwa…” you whispered-moaned. “What’s happening?” he smirked seeing your state, he has never seen someone react to him like that.

“I forgot to mention that our saliva can be aphrodisiac to some” he looked over where your hands were in the middle of your legs.

“Do something, help me” you managed to speak out, suddenly there seemed to be no air in your lungs or in the room for you to inhale.

“What do you want me to do?” you grabbed him by his shirt, fists closed tight against his perfectly white dress shirt. “I won’t do anything unless you tell me to, baby” you moaned at the nickname.

“Do something, fuck me, finger me, eat me, whatever you want, just make this ache go away” you blurted.

“That’ll be my pleasure”.

He was quick on putting you laid on the bed, his mouth on yours in seconds. You tried to rush it, but he was slow, gentle, taking his time to enjoy being able to finally kiss you. You moaned into the kiss, your legs wrapping into his torso. Seonghwa invaded your mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss. Your tongues fought for space between your mouths in an addictive dance. You were already addicted to him.

His hand that wasn’t stabilizing his body was all over yours, squeezing the plush skin of your legs wrapped around him, on your waist, on your breasts on top of your shirt, on your face, he just couldn’t decide where to land them, he wanted to scan your body with the tip of his fingers.

You started to grind onto him, searching for some friction, some release, and he left a chuckle between the kiss before breaking it. He pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra. His eyes scanned you and you felt your whole body burn. The way he looked at you with so much devotion, so much endearment, making the ache between your legs even worse.

“So fucking beautiful and all for me” he hissed before taking your bra off and admiring your naked chest. Your nipples hard with the sudden breeze of cold air. “Only I get to see all of this, right?” you nodded rapidly. “Do you think I don’t see you flirting with that boy from fifth semester?” he squeezed both of your breasts at the same time, earning a low groan from you. “But you are mine, aren’t you? Only mine” he pinched your nipples and you moaned at the pain, nodding your head. “Use your words, baby, I want to hear it”

“I’m yours, only yours- fuck! Please” you didn’t even know what you were pleading for, the stimulation in your nipples making your cunt squeeze into nothing.

“Such a good obedient girl” he landed a little slap on your left tit, making you jolt out of bed. “Fuck you’re so sensitive because of my saliva, so responsive, If I knew that how you’d respond I would have feed from you earlier” he teased.

“Please, sir, do something” Seonghwa felt his dick get even harder than before when you called him sir, the usually educated word now with such a different meaning.

“What did you call me?”

“S-sir?” you stuttered, scared that you did something wrong. But your worries went away when Seonghwa grabbed you by your hair and kissed you hard and hungry.

“Fuck yes, I’m your sir, and you’re my good girl aren’t you?” you nodded, eyes already hooded with pleasure. “Words”.

“Yes, sir”.

He didn’t even answer you, he simply assaulted your mouth once again, kissing you hungrily, teeth clashing, such a hard contrast with the first kiss. His tongue always asserting dominance over you, and you let him, tonight all you wanted was to be fucked dumb, all you needed was to be fucked until you couldn’t remember your name.

He stopped kissing you and moved to unbuckle your pants, pulling them down in one swift motion along with your panties. You were now completely bare in front of him, in front of your professor, who happened to be a vampire that sucked blood out of you, but you couldn’t care less. Seonghwa pulled you to the edge of the bed so he could be on his knees and worship you, worship your pussy like it deserved. He opened your legs and started peppering kisses along your thighs, biting in some spots so he could leave marks for you to remember who you belonged to. His fangs ever so gently grazing your skin once in a while, making goosebumps appear.

And then he gave a long lick, tongue flat, collecting your juices and spreading them along your vulva. He hummed at your taste on his tongue, sweet and addicting, he swore he could be there forever. The man started to suck your clit, to lick it, to draw circles with the tip of his tongue, your moans becoming screams as your high was coming closer. He added his fingers to the mix, two of his long fingers entering you with ease as he sucked your clit.

“Fuck, sir, I’m gonna-” your voice was hoarse from your moans, your hips trying to buckle from the bed but Seonghwa held you in place.

“Cum for me, princess, cum all over my face” his voice was deeper, more velvety than usual, more sensual.

He kept fucking you with his fingers, curling them perfectly inside of you, his mouth doing wonders around your clit and his fangs poked ever so slightly the skin around. It was a matter of seconds before you came undone on his face. He kept his assault, helping you riding your high all while sucking your juices dry. If your blood was sweet, your pussy was candy to him.

You started to writhe under him as you started to feel overstimulated, your clit puff and red from your orgasm as he kept sucking you throughout your orgasm. He finally stopped his ministrations, his eyes even darker than before, his chin glistening with your juices.

Seonghwa didn’t waste his time and started to undress himself, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never leaving yours as you watched him as he was unwrapping a present for you. The heat between your legs came back with full force when he finally stood completely naked in front of you, his dick hard, long, thick, pulsing. You licked your lips at the sight and he chuckled.

“Like what you see, darling?” you nodded, now on your knees on the bed, hands expectantly on top of your legs. You couldn’t look more adorable and endearing to him. “Want a taste?” you felt your cheeks heat even more than already were as you nodded.

He slowly walked to you, stopping in front of your face and caressed your head. He grabbed your hands that were still resting on top of your legs and put on top of his hard member.

“Go on, please me” his words were taunting, teasing, a challenge that you took willingly.

You grabbed his member in your hands, feeling the weight of it on them before starting rubbing up and down. But it wasn’t enough, nor for you or him. So you put just the tip in your mouth, sucking it gently and slowly, a hiss coming from the man above you. You licked a long stripe from the base to the tip before putting it back into your mouth, sucking more little by little, hollowing your cheeks every time you sucked him. You used your hands to help with the parts you couldn’t reach, squeezing ever so slightly the base of his cock. The man couldn’t control the moans and groans that left his mouth as you did wonders with your mouth on him, but he wouldn’t cum on your mouth, at least not now.

He pulled you up by your hair, the stinging hurting deliciously against your scalp. He pulled you in for a kiss, your tastes mixing in your mouths as your tongues danced together. He pushed you back to the bed, your back laying on the soft mattress, the kiss never breaking up until you needed air.

He positioned himself in between your legs and stroked his own penis before prodding just the tip in you hole, an annoyed whine leaving your lips as you tried to move your hips for him to penetrate you properly, earning an humorous chuckle from Seonghwa.

“What is it, baby? Want my dick?” you nodded, hooking your legs and feet on his but he was stronger than you, not moving an inch. “Then beg” you whined.

“Please, sir, give it to me, I need you to fuck me right now, please, I need you” your voice was high and whiny but you tried your best to sound as desperate as you were feeling.

“I don't know if this convinced me” he said, a smirk on his face.

“Please, sir, I'm begging you, I need you to fuck me, to use me, to- fuck!” he cut you mid sentence, his member entering you fully and easily with how wet and dripping you were out of desperation.

He was relentless, not giving you time to get used to his size or girth, spreading you open deliciously, the pain mixing with the pleasure, all too much for your pleasure clouded head. Your mouth was hung open, only babbles and moans leaving it, drool starting to drip from the corners of it.

“Oh baby girl is already gone is it? Are you drooling already baby? Is sir fucking you this good?” you managed to nod, your arms spread on top of the mattress, back arched. He grabbed you by your hair, pulling you close to his face. “Use your words, princess. Say it, I wanna hear it”

You tried to speak but it was all too much, the way he was fucking you, his hips pistoning in a delicious rythm, never haulting, his dick spreading you open and rearanging your insides, his grip on your hair, his hot breath on your face. You were overwhelmed. Nothing came out of your mouth besides babbles and moans and whines. You were a mess underneath him, and you were loving every second of it.

“Oh poor baby can't speak” he laughed, releasing his grip in your hair, making you fall back in the bed. “Only I can fuck you this good, right? Only I can make you a mess, right?” you nodded. “You're mine, yn, only mine now”

“Y-yours” you managed to stutter, voice hoarse.

Both of you felt your pussy walls starting to clench violently around him and, with a high and loud moan, you came, back arching from the bed, fingers gripping the bed sheets like a vice. But Seonghwa didn't stopped, no, it only fuelled him to fuck you more and harder, his stamina shocking you.

The man grabbed both of your legs and brought to his chest, the new angle making you jolt out of overstimulation, the sensitivity in your pussy making everything seemed much more. He kept his relentless assault on your pussy, his hips never halting, his pace fast, strong, deep. You weren't even there anymore, your head clouded and fuzzy. Blank.

“Shit you take me so well, princess” he moaned as he increased his pace, his thrusts now shallower. “I might get addicted to your pussy” you only moaned, body limp on the bed, you were completely given to him and the pleasure he was giving to you. “I'm close” he announced.

He let go of the hold on your legs, opening them again so he could play with your clit and you could cum again. With him. Both your moans grew louder, filling the room. You came for the third time, your juices making a wet sound as he kept fucking you through your high again. When you were on the edge of overstimulation he pulled out and started to stroke himself, coming all over your legs and stomach.

Seonghwa left the room and went to the bathroom, coming back with a damp cloth to clean you up. He carefully grazed the piece of cloth over your body, not only cleaning his cum and yours but also a bit of your sweat, discarding it by the side after.

He laid on the bed and pulled you to cuddle him, which you gladly accepted, body still limp and mind hazy. There was a moment of comfortable silence as your breath came back to the normal state and the smell of sex dissipated from the air.

“Sorry if I was too rough on you” he broke the silence first, his hands caressing your hair gently.

“You were perfect” you admitted with a giggle. “Maybe I won't walk properly tomorrow but that's a detail” you both laughed. There was another moment of silence before you broke it. “So… everytime you feed from me I'll get horny?” he laughed again and kissed the top of your head.

“Probably. Like I said, for some people vampire's saliva can be aphrodisiac, and you, my dear, are one of these people”

“Well, if you fuck me like that everytime you feed from me I won't complain”.

“Well, if you let me fuck you like that everytime I feed from you, I think we have a deal” you turned your head up to look at him. “But from now on, you are only mine, got it?” you nodded.

“Yes, sir”.

Masterlist | Resquests

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quin-ns · 1 year ago

Text

Always Forever (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 8.2K

Summary: coriolanus finally lets himself acknowledge that he can’t stand to see you with anyone but him

Tags: (18+), cw: dubcon, cw: noncon, pseudo!incest (not related, reader raised with the snows), dark!coriolanus, pre-mentor era, jealousy/obsession/possessiveness, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, fear of getting caught, lots of drama for my lovely readers

A/N: second coryo fic and it’s somehow longer than the last one lol. only one part. pls read the tags and proceed with caution 🫶

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

“Look at you, you look so pretty!” Tigris beamed, adjusting the straps of your dress. “Doesn’t she, Coryo?”

In his peripheral, Coriolanus could see his cousin had turned to look at him expectantly, but his eyes were already on you. They always had been, and always would be.

“Yes, she does,” he replied without thought.

You faced him with a smile, and Coriolanus couldn’t help the pride that swarmed him just looking at you.

It was because of him that you were in his life, and until the day he died Coriolanus knew it would remain the best decision he ever made.

As children during the war, when he and Tigris would scavenge the streets, Coriolanus stumbled across you. Not much younger than him, huddled behind a pillar, all alone. You had a half a loaf of bread. It wasn’t fresh, but he still didn’t understand where you got it. You tore it in half and shared it with him.

He returned to Tigris with you in tow, his small hand clutching your even smaller one, and his cousin took pity.

She also took the brunt of the consequence for bringing home another mouth to feed, but sacrifices had to be made, didn’t they?

It was worth it. You were worth it to him—to both of them, really.

As you got older, Grandma’am eventually took a liking to you, although Coriolanus wondered if it was because she could see how much he cared for you.

It didn’t matter. Not really. You were part of the family now, even if you did not share the Snow name.

“Thank you, Tigris,” you said sweetly, pulling the older girl into a hug.

It was a big day for both you and Coriolanus. The academy was hosting an event for students to mingle with administration and alumni of the university.

Coriolanus had put on his best outfit—he already knew it was the same one he was going to wear when the Plinth Prize winner was announced in only a few weeks. He was sure it was going to be him.

Tigris had fashioned your dress by hand. Coriolanus was past questioning how she paid for her fine fabrics, but he had an inclination it was the same way they could suddenly afford food some days.

The long dress reminded Coriolanus of freshly fallen snow, the white holding a sense of purity and wealth that his family once had. It had a sense of elegance that you only furthered with donning it, but it lacked an extravagance that would force you to stand out.

It was perfect.

You parted from Tigris to approach Coriolanus. You had a light smile on your face as your hands ran down his black vest, adjusting it.

“We almost match,” you commented, referring to the white shirt beneath said vest. “If only I had something black.”

“Well, I’d let you borrow this, but then we’d be in the same position, only switched,” he teased lightly, drawing a small chuckle from you.

Coriolanus liked when you looked up at him, same as he liked hearing your laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll survive without.” Your hands fell to your sides. “Besides, it definitely looks more handsome on you.”

Hearing those words from you meant more than you’d ever know, and more than he’d let himself acknowledge.

You were so good to him, he couldn’t imagine spending the evening with anyone else.

When he walked into the ballroom of the academy with you on his arm, Coriolanus got a rush of power. Especially when heads turned. Looking at him, looking at you, just looking.

He wondered what the minds behind all those gazing eyes were thinking.

He hoped it was a balanced amount of envy and respect.

“We should find Sejanus, let him know we’re here,” you said, not thinking much of the sentence as you looked around the room, taking in the people and the decor.

Coriolanus thought everything of it, a sourness settling over him. Sejanus was his friend, but Coriolanus wished they hadn’t gotten as close as they did. It was because of his friendship with Sejanus that you met him, and began to develop… feelings for him.

God, Coriolanus hated to even think about it.

When you told him you had begun dating Sejanus, Coriolanus nearly had a heart attack. Then he felt violent. Not towards you. Never towards you.

It wasn’t just because he felt protective of you, or because Sejanus was district, or because Coriolanus knew you were far, far too good for his friend… it was everything. All of that and everything in between.

Before you could find him, Sejanus found you.

He was in a fine black suit, finer than anything Coriolanus owned, and a bright smile appeared on his face at the sight of you.

That was one thing they still had in common. Reverence for you.

“Had to come find my girl before everyone thinks she ditched me,” Sejanus joked, pulling a laugh from you. “Where have you guys been?”

“Making sure we look our best,” you replied, shooting Coriolanus a wink.

If Sejanus wasn’t reaching for you, Coriolanus might’ve smiled.

“Well, you did a wonderful job.”

Coriolanus let you slip away from his side, reluctantly giving you away to Sejanus.

The unfortunate thing was Sejanus was truly a decent person. Not perfect, but decent. Better than most, even if he was beneath you all. You cared nothing for status, and seemed to really like him. He treated you right from what Coriolanus had seen, making disapproval not exactly warranted.

Although, Coriolanus was always going to be incredibly protective of you. He doubted there was a world where he would be pleased with any relationship you found. Your interest in other people was becoming tiresome, truthfully. Did you really even need friends? Or lovers? You had Coriolanus, and he was sure that was enough.

His jaw clenched when you pressed a light kiss to Sejanus’s cheek. It would be much simpler if he was a terrible person. Coriolanus would have an excuse outside of his own selfishness to separate you—which he did not have now.

“Can I ask for this dance?” Sejanus wondered, shooting you a smile. At least he had the awareness to still look anxious.

But you… you grinned. You were too good.

“Well you just asked, so I guess you can,” you started sarcastically, but let him off the hook quickly. “And of course I’ll say yes.”

Sejanus looked relieved, taking your hand in his. You turned to look at Coriolanus, a small bit of guilt in your expression. You clearly hadn’t been planning on leaving his side so soon. You masked it with the same teasing tone you’d used before.

“I won’t be long, don’t get too bored without me, Coryo.”

Coriolanus only smiled for your sake. It fell the moment Senjanus led you away to a small group of other students dancing together.

From the sidelines, Coriolanus watched as Sejanus led you in a slow dance. He tried to avoid his eyes landing on his friend. He didn’t want to view the two of you in the same light as the other couples embracing one another.

Coriolanus tried to remember the first moment he realized how beautiful you were. It was so long ago, it wasn’t something he was even aware he thought so often.

The sun rose in the morning, roses had thorns, and you were beautiful.

It was simple as that.

After a dance and a half, Coriolanus couldn’t take it anymore.

His feet carried him to the dance floor, mind absent as he tried to justify his jealousy as protectiveness. Yes, that’s all he was. Protective. Like an older brother… like what he was supposed to be. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to be.

You and Sejanus were swaying and talking, but as he snuck up on the two of you, Coriolanus couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling in surprise at his presence.

“Coryo!”

“Can I cut in?” Coriolanus requested. His hand itched to rest on your shoulder, but he withheld. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and he briefly wondered if Sejanus sensed that or not.

“All yours,” Sejanus agreed, spinning you by the hand. You turned in a circle, then a half, facing Coriolanus. “I’m going to go find my father, he’s here tonight,” he informed.

“I’ll come find the two of you in a few minutes,” you told Sejanus, who nodded then headed off. Before he did, he looked to Coriolanus and said, “Take good care of her.”

“I always do,” Coriolanus responded easily, because it was the truth. He didn’t need Sejanus telling him that. He’d been there for you long before either of you even knew his friend existed. He looked down to you, taking your hand in his while the other fell to your waist. You looked amused. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yes, Coryo,” you replied with a smile. “Better than anyone.”

The slow waltz felt so natural, your movements in tune with his without thought. You two were always like that, always in sync.

“What were you and Sejanus talking about?” Coriolanus wondered, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Nothing important,” you dismissed with a shrug. “Sweet nothings.”

Coriolanus didn’t miss the shy smile appearing on your face. He couldn’t control the frown trying to take over his.

A more thoughtful look crossed your face, your smile faltering.

“Are you happy for me, Coryo?”

Coriolanus blinked.

“I… want to be,” he confessed, eyes scanning your face. It was the truth for the most part. He did want you to be happy, just not with Sejanus.

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. Coriolanus wished he could open your head and investigate every corner of your brain. He wanted to know every thought you had.

“Sejanus is your friend, I would’ve thought…” you swallowed and looked away. “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Coriolanus pressed, tilting his head, trying to make you meet his gaze.

When you did, he saw the disappointment in your eyes.

You stepped back from him, parting completely.

“I need to find Sejanus. I’ll put in a good word for you about the Plinth Prize with his father.”

Then, you departed, not leaving room for Coriolanus to argue for you to stay.

He would’ve, and you knew that.

The moment you disappeared from his view, Coriolanus went looking. You had moved quickly. He found you across the room, sitting down at a table with Sejanus and Mr. Plinth.

He didn’t approach, he couldn’t make himself look bad in front of Mr. Plinth.

So he watched you talk, and drink, and laugh, and drink some more…

“I can’t believe she’s doing this,” Arachne whispered, suddenly appearing at his side. Coriolanus looked down at her. She was clearly talking about you. He could see the way she flicked her heavily decorated eyes in your direction. “Associating with him was one thing, but… well”—Arachne let out a vicious laugh—“do you think their children will call her “Ma” too?”

Coriolanus felt ill at the thought. Leave it to Arachne to provoke him, to conjure up nightmares he hadn’t even thought of yet himself.

“She’ll come to her senses,” Coriolanus muttered, gritting his teeth.

Arachne rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope so,” she mused, continuing on her way, blood red dress dragging behind her with each step.

Coriolanus looked back to you. He was overwhelmed with nausea as Sejanus grabbed your hand atop the table. Damn Arachne for placing that thought in his head.

He watched as you lifted another glass to your lips, smiling along as Sejanus talked to his father. What was that, your third? Sejanus had yet to say anything to you. He was fine with allowing you to get intoxicated?

Drinking alcohol wasn’t exactly a crime, but Sejanus didn’t know you well enough to know you were inexperienced. The last thing Coriolanus wanted was you making a fool of yourself.

Darker thoughts crept in. Maybe Sejanus was allowing you to inebriate yourself on purpose. The thought of him climbing on top to you made Coriolanus’s blood boil. His fingers twitched to form a fist, and his jaw clenched even tighter.

In that moment, Coriolanus decided he wouldn’t let Arachne’s mockery come true.

He had to help you. You needed his protection, even when you didn’t know it. You needed him. You always would. Coriolanus could remind you, then perhaps you'd see you didn’t even need Sejanus at all.

When you left the table—Coriolanus wasn’t sure why—he saw his opportunity. He approached you quickly, finding no problem in catching your arm and leading you away from the party. Away from all the people, where it could just be the two of you.

Out a door, down a long, empty corridor until the two of you ended up outside in the school’s garden. It was isolated from the party, you’d be safer here.

“Coryo? What—“

“Are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, cutting you off. He released you to stand across from you, leaving you to lean back against the stone wall behind you. “I saw how much you were drinking.”

You looked up at him, confused, but not frightened. If anyone else had handled you the way he did, you surely would’ve been. But you trusted him. You always had.

“Did I drink a lot?” you asked, a slight pout on your lips. “I didn’t notice.”

“Oh.” So, you were okay. That was good, wasn’t it? “I thought maybe you needed rescuing,” he admitted, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or not.

You chuckled a little and the sound washed over Coriolanus, bringing him a sense of relief from all his previous tension.

“My hero,” you said lightly, smiling up at him. You were always smiling at him, but Coriolanus no longer wondered if he was worthy of it all. “You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

Coriolanus stepped closer. His hand rose, his fingertips trailing the outline of your face. Someone so pretty, so sweet, had to be careful in a cruel world like this.

“What would you do without me?” he proposed, not expecting an answer.

You didn’t need one, because you never would have to find out.

He’d follow you to the end of the Earth, just as he knew you’d follow him. You needed each other. You didn’t need Tigris or Grandma’am and especially not Sejanus, but without Coriolanus, who would you even be? Coriolanus couldn’t imagine his world without you in it. Not even if he tried.

Staring at you now, Coriolanus heard the voice in the back of his mind begin to whisper. The one that urged his protectiveness, knowing it was fueled by possession. The one he would use all his power to silence.

Something new had overcome him, watching you galavant around with Sejanus. Well, not new, but clear. Coriolanus finally had clarity. That’s what it was. That was how he finally acknowledged what had so long been lingering in his peripheral, just on the edge of his mind, waiting for the right moment.

Was this the right moment?

He made no effort to banish his most repressed thoughts. For once, he let them win.

Coriolanus leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. Gentle, testing the waters. You did not react right away. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily a good sign, but that didn’t stop him from using it as an excuse to deepen the kiss.

His other hand found your face, holding you against him as he nipped at your lip, begging you to invite him in.

Your reaction was delayed, and Coriolanus thought maybe, just maybe, you had been thinking the same thing he had all along. That the faint taste of alcohol on your lips meant you were feeling more open to exploring this with him, and that all you needed was a nudge in the right direction.

But no, you were turning your head, making his lips part from yours.

Coriolanus faltered, but you still did not speak. Your breaths were clipped—flustered and confused. He could understand that. His own heart was racing, although adrenaline and need were to blame for that.

“Coryo…” you whispered so softly he nearly didn’t hear it. “What are you doing?”

Leave it to you to not get angry with him. Or even upset. At this point he questioned if you were even capable of feeling anger at him.

Coriolanus stepped closer, making you have to tilt your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think I can share you,” he confessed under his breath, but with conviction. “I know I can’t and you… you don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

You swallowed, eyes looking down. “Sejanus—“

“Doesn’t know you like I do,” Coriolanus finished, one hand still holding your cheek, tilting your head, making you meet his eye again. “Seeing you with him… he’s not good enough for you.”

“I thought you were above judging him for being district.” You sounded so disappointed in him.

“I don’t care that he’s district, he’s not good enough because no one will ever be,” Coriolanus corrected, imploring you to understand.

With a light sigh, his eyes fell shut. Gently, he leaned to press his forehead to yours. He blindly reached for your hands, and found them in each of his with no problem.

“I would not be happy seeing you with anyone else,” Coriolanus confessed, voice low. “Not anyone but me.”

You inhaled slightly. Was it that big of a shock?

He gave you no chance to voice it because Coriolanus was capturing your lips again, passion erupting in his veins.

His mind was clouded with thoughts that fought for center attention, his built up desires controlling him as his hands and lips cascaded down your body. Your neck, your chest, your stomach—

“Coryo, what are you doing?” you questioned when he began to move lower.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he cooed, dismissing your concern.

Coriolanus finally fell to his knees in front of you. He’d never take such a humiliating position for anyone else. But with you, it didn’t feel humiliating. It was exhilarating, knowing he was on his knees worshiping you, but he still held all the power. It was nearly perfect.

You gasped a little when he gripped your right leg and maneuvered it over his shoulder. More of your weight rested back against the wall, unable to stand straight on just one leg.

He looked upward, watching your face the entire time as he pushed your dress up around your hips, revealing your underwear to him.

Coriolanus was so close and you had yet to move.

Words couldn’t find their way to his lips. It was all too overwhelming in the best way. His heart slamming against his rib cage was a welcome feeling, and so was the pressure on his knees.

You bucked away before his mouth could reach your core. Coriolanus didn’t think much of it. He had a lot of other images rushing through his brain. Ones he wanted to become reality.

He scooted forward and tried again, this time making contact with the layer of fabric separating him from your most intimate spot.

Coriolanus heard a choked noise from you as he ran his tongue across the front of your underwear.

Right away, he wanted more.

His hands found the material acting as a barrier and he gripped it then pulled, tearing it from you one leg at a time, exposing you to him.

Before it could fall to the ground, he caught the shredded material and stuffed it into his pocket.

He felt a bit guilty, knowing how little you all had when it came to clothing, but he wanted to do this the right way. Coriolanus wanted nothing blocking him from showing you how good he could make you feel.

As much as his eyes were tempted to linger, impatience got the best of him.

He made contact again, licking a stripe across your bare cunt. Once he got a taste, Coriolanus couldn’t hold back.

His mouth latched onto you, tongue sliding between your folds, drawing a stifled moan from you. You reached for his head, trying to knock him away, but Coriolanus persisted. His will easily overtook yours. You weren’t going to take this away from him, not when he could make you want it just as bad.

He held onto the leg over his shoulder, gripping your flesh, surely leaving bruises in his wake. He held the skirt of your dress up with the other hand. With his mouth, he devoured you. Lapping at your core like a man starved, even more so when wetness began to form.

This wasn’t something Coriolanus had done, but he knew you better than anyone. He was sure he could figure out your body. He’d dreamt about it long enough, making you fall apart for him in such an intimate way.

He soon found that to be the truth when in only a matter of minutes your body was tensing. He continued to drag his tongue across you, giving every bit of you his full attention. He liked the way your thighs quivered when his tongue brushed your clit, it gave him an excuse to hold you tighter.

Your whole body flinched suddenly, but he shoved your hips back, pinning you to the wall as he brought you to the edge

His own pants felt constricted as his senses were overwhelmed by you. Your taste, your scent, the sound of your choked down moans, your hands smacking the wall (unsure what else to do), the feel of you against his tongue and how your leg strained over his shoulder, and the sight of you when he looked up through his lashes… god, you were magnificent.

You whimpered from above, teeth digging into your bottom lip, as he finally made you come undone.

Coriolanus held you still, relishing in the way you finally jolted into his touch instead of away.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were the stuff of dreams in the most literal sense.

Your head tilted back against the wall, your ragged breaths causing your chest to rise and fall in an unsteady pattern. Your leg, still draped over his shoulder, was tense, even as he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

A wide grin spread across Coriolanus’s face when you shivered. He couldn’t help himself. He nearly chuckled at your state, but then your hand moved to rake through his wavy locks. The sound caught in his throat as you tugged him away, finally looking down at him. The all consuming pleasure had faded into something more composed.

Coriolanus could tell how much of an effort you were making, and as your eyes struggled to focus, he briefly wondered how strong your drinks were.

“I’d like to go home now,” you said slowly, conscious not to let your voice falter.

You allowed him to help get both to your feet on the ground, but you did not touch him for the rest of the night, even when he tried to reach for you.

He was still hard behind the confines of his pants, imagining the slickness between your thighs that was the result of his actions. As you walked back through the ballroom, it took everything he had to not push you back against a nearby wall. People be damned, he wanted you more than anything.

He would press his chest to your back—no, he’d make you face him. Coriolanus wanted access to your lips so he could kiss you as much as he liked, even swallow down your moans when he lifted your dress around your stomach and—

A shiver of excitement coursed through Coriolanus’s body. What would your darling Sejanus think if he knew what just transpired? If he knew it was only for your dignity that Coriolanus wasn’t fucking you against the wall hard enough that you forgot where you even were?

You silently bid the party a farewell, forgetting to say goodbye to Sejanus (Coriolanus made no attempts to remind you). You continued to ignore him, hardly speaking and not even looking his way. Not as you walked from the school to the apartment. Stumbling up the stairs, you only spoke to claim you were fine as you gripped the handrail for dear life. Then you went back to silence as you traveled from the front door to your bedroom and locked the door.

Coriolanus only found out about the door because he’d tried to follow you in, but the door knob did not budge. You never used your lock.

Even if you weren’t ready to finish what had been started, it was still incredibly cold. Were you really upset enough to deprive him of your presence until the morning?

“What’s going on with you?” Coriolanus asked through the layer of wood. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue as it traced his bottom lip, waiting for your response. “Can we talk? Can you open the door?”

He gripped the knob tighter and tried again. It wasn’t going to suddenly unlock, but something urged him to prove it.

There was a faint thud as his forehead fell to the door, much as it had to yours not too long ago.

“Can I at least say goodnight to you?”

Again, no response.

He swallowed. Cleared his throat.

Again.

“Please?”

If they could afford to fix it, Coriolanus would break the door down.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside your door before begrudgingly going to his own room.

He laid in his bed and fished the underwear from his pocket. Your scent still lingered on them, and it was enough to fuel his imagination as he unbuttoned his pants and pretended his own hand on his cock was yours.

Even after finishing, Coriolanus had a nearly sleepless night. His mind was plagued with memories of his lips on yours, your dress bunched around your hips, him on his knees with his mouth on your cunt. He’d never forget the sounds you made.

When the sun rose, he returned to your door, only to find it still locked. He didn’t even knock, just simply grabbed the door knob and twisted.

You always woke up early for school, putting yourself together in a way that could reflect wealth that you did not truly have. Coriolanus was sure you did it for his sake, knowing how much appearances mattered to him.

You were good to him like that.

If only you’d let him in now.

The laugh that escaped him lacked humor. It was a bitter, frustrated sound.

His hands rested on his hips, his own fingertips pressing in. It was that or gripping the door knob and if he touched that thing again and found it locked…

“This isn’t funny anymore, Y/N,” Coriolanus called through the door. “If there’s a problem we can talk about it. Just stop acting like a child.”

“What, did she steal your blazer again?” Tigris wondered, appearing out of nowhere. Despite her voice being soft with sleep, Coriolanus was still startled.

“No, just a minor disagreement,” Coriolanus replied, quick on his feet as always. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure we’ll talk it out.”

He emphasized the word ‘talk’, hoping you’d hear him through the door. If you did, he wouldn’t know. Tigris, on the other hand, just nodded and headed for the kitchen.

The smile he gave his cousin on her way was forced. She couldn’t tell that his teeth were clenched together, which was for the best.

A thought dawned on him. You could just be testing him.

Coriolanus knocked on the door and waited, like he’d just solved your puzzle.

What was that thing about insanity—trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

“You’re going to have to come out of your room at some point,” he reminded, trying his best to make it not sound like a warning.

Coriolanus wasn’t used to being frustrated with you. You were usually his relief from people who made him feel this way. He didn’t understand why everything changed all of the sudden.

You’d enjoyed yourself while he got what he wanted. Why was that so bad?

You had always been an enigma, but Coriolanus felt as if he’d come to understand you—that he was the only one who did or would.

Sejanus would never know you the way he did, that was for certain.

From in your room, Coriolanus heard movement. Your dresser opening, maybe. It didn’t matter. You were awake. And ignoring him.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake.” The neediness in his voice was embarrassing. No one else could make him resort to this. “I can hear you. Are you coming out?”

“What is going on?” Grandma’am questioned, standing at the end of the hall. “You aren’t dressed for school. We can’t have you being late.”

Coriolanus looked down at himself. He’d gone to sleep in the outfit he’d worn the night before, and still wore it now.

Arguments died in his throat. You and Coriolanus walked to the academy together. You’d have to come out and talk to him. Grandma’am would drive you crazy if you missed a day of classes.

In record time, Coriolanus was in his uniform.

He might’ve been quick, but apparently you were quicker. As he opened the door to his room, he heard the front door shut.

“Whatever you did, Coryo, apologize,” Tigris advised when he chased the sound of your exit.

Coriolanus just looked at her. Why on Earth would he do that? He’d done nothing wrong.

Down the stairs and out of the building, Coriolanus finally—finally—got a glimpse of you. A flash of red as you turned the corner, setting off down the sidewalk.

It took nothing for him to catch up to you.

“How are you feeling?” he wondered first, recalling your drunken state. “I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” you challenged, eyes forward.

It was good to hear your voice, but Coriolanus furrowed his brows at your tone. You had no reason to be this rude.

“Of course I was, Y/N. How can you even ask me that?” His hand dropped to your shoulder, only for you to shrug it away. “What is wrong with you?”

You looked at him, finally, but the emotion in your gaze… there was something wrong with it. Something distant, lacking the affection those beautiful eyes of yours usually held for him.

Coriolanus swallowed.

“Are you really going to be like this? Is it because of Sejanus? You don’t have to be with him anymore.”

You turned your head forward.

“Leave me alone, I’d like to walk in silence.”

Since when had you become so spiteful? Coriolanus didn’t like it. It evoked something similar in him. He leaned down, getting near your ear.

“You liked it, I know you did,” he hissed out. Coriolanus hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh, but you were being completely unfair to him right now. “You can’t lie to me.”

Despite the way you shuddered, your jaw remained clenched. You not talking to him was more infuriating than if you had screamed in his face. At least that way he could tell what you were thinking. But no, you wouldn’t allow him to be privy to your inner thoughts, no matter how much effort he put into prying them from you.

It wasn’t a conversation for the public, even Coriolanus knew that, so when you got to the academy a few steps ahead of him, he bit his tongue.

“What did you do to piss off your sister?” Clemensia asked him in a whisper in class. “You’re usually attached at the hip walking in.”

The way she called you his sister felt wrong in a way that it hadn’t before. Even if he never thought it fit when people would say that or assume it, something had shifted.

And was it that obvious? Coriolanus hadn’t even brought it up. He’d simply been a few steps behind you into the classroom. You’d gone to your desk without a word. Was that strange to everyone else too? It was validating, in a way, to know your behavior was, in fact, targeted and odd, but it also made him wonder what the two of you appeared to be from an outside perspective.

“It’s nothing,” Coriolanus lied to her under his breath, keeping his eyes on his paper.

“So you didn’t get into a fight?”

Coriolanus’s brows curved down. He glanced her way.

“A fight?”

“Arachne and Festus saw you pull her away from Sejanus and disappear somewhere last night.”

It was mostly the truth, but she said it so nonchalantly. She couldn’t know what happened after you disappeared. Coriolanus hadn’t seen a single person lay their eyes on either of you in that private moment.

“I get it,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with someone from the districts either. She’s not thinking about how she’ll be perceived, or you. Don’t let her drag you down.”

Coriolanus just listened, the night flashing through his mind. No one could’ve known, there was no way.

He quickly corrected the hypocrisy in his own mind. He hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just private. No one else deserved to see you in that state—no one but him.

“We’re fine,” Coriolanus told her. “And her and Sejanus aren’t together anymore.”

Clemensia smirked to herself. “Good.”

Word spread quickly, and with the way you avoided Sejanus—a byproduct of you avoiding Coriolanus—everyone believed it. The final nail was the way you failed to appear at lunch. It got under Sejanus’s skin, causing him to question the state of your relationship without you to answer any said questions.

Truthfully, Coriolanus hadn’t seen anything as amusing in a long while, but your absence weighed on him, too.

The walk home alone was dreadful without you. Even in the morning when you had ignored him, it was better than you being completely gone.

When he got home, your door was shut. How quickly had you left your classes, how fast had you walked, all to avoid him?

This was growing old very, very quickly.

Grandma’am was on the roof with her roses, and Tigris seemed to be missing from the apartment. It was only because of that that Coriolanus devised a way to get into your room.

Why he didn’t think of picking the lock before, Coriolanus supposed it was because he thought you’d give in quicker and let him get the better of you. You were usually weak to him, allowing him to get his way without a problem. You had before.

“Last chance,” Coriolanus called through the locked door. He almost thought that would be enough. He wanted you to open it of your own will. “You can’t avoid me forever, just let me in.”

No such luck.

You looked surprised when he forced the door open, as if you really believed he would just take the loss. You were supposed to know him better than that.

You’d been sitting on your bed in pajamas, evidently already done with the day. Your legs were criss-crossed with a textbook in your lap. You looked up at him, a questioning expression taking over your features.

“What are you doing, Coryo?” you asked, voice low, eyes not quite meeting his directly.

“You weren’t opening the door.” Coriolanus squared his shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You shook your head, something between a sigh and a laugh escaping you in a puff of air. Coriolanus did not like the accusatory undertone.

“Did you think maybe I left it locked on purpose?” Were you mocking him? “That I wasn’t lying this morning and I really don’t want to speak to you?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Coriolanus insisted, closing your door behind him. He moved towards your bed, watching your body language the entire time as he finally sat on the edge beside you. “You thought I would just let you ignore me?”

You swallowed, closing the book in your lap. “I guess not,” you admitted, setting the textbook aside. “I am well aware of your ego.”

A frown crested Coriolanus’s lip. “Is that what this is—you want to hurt me?”

You tilted your head, catching his gaze, much like he’d made you do the night before. It was the first time in nearly a day since you’d looked him dead in the eye.

“What do you want, Coryo?”

“I want you”

“You want me to what? Not be with Sejanus? Is that it? Is that why you did what you did?”

“You say that like it was something awful. I was there too.” Coriolanus felt a familiar heat rush through him at the memory. “I know what I saw.”

“You humiliated me.”

“In front of who? No one saw us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is? Because you know Sejanus is weak?” Coriolanus searched your eyes and leaned in closer. He was feeling antagonistic. “I mean, how could he touch you, knowing I got there first?”

Coriolanus caught your hand as you raised it, presumably to strike him.

“Is that what we’ve resorted to?”

He squeezed your wrist, enough to cause pain. You winced and tried to move away, but Coriolanus wasn’t going to let you get away.

“I could ask you the same,” you sneered, sounding like an entirely different person.

“What has happened to you?” Coriolanus questioned. He took a breath. “Do you want me to be sorry for what I’ve said? Fine, then, I apologize. But I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. You should not be with him.”

“I’m supposed to believe someone driven by jealousy?” you inquired back, blinking back tears. Why were you being so dramatic? “How can I trust anything you have to say to me now?”

Coriolanus was taken aback by the question. Did you really not trust him anymore? Even with the tight hold on your wrist, he could feel you slipping from his grasp. If you were to leave him, he’d never forgive the universe for its twisted irony. Coriolanus put so much time and care into you because he wanted you. His family didn’t, at least not at first, but even so, you’d have nothing if it wasn’t for him. Is that what you wanted to leave him with now? Nothing? Nothing but the memory of when you were his?

No, that wouldn’t do.

It just wouldn’t.

“You can trust me, I promise,” Coriolanus insisted, pleading, even. “I love you, I always have—you can’t have expected me to sit back and do nothing while you…”

You looked more betrayed, if that was even possible. He was trying to make it better but explaining was only making it worse. Coriolanus had never met a person where the more he talked, the more he tried to persuade them, they believed him less. In that way again you were an anomaly.

If Coriolanus couldn’t tell you, he could show you. He had to make you understand—he could salvage this and get what he wanted in the end. If he was anything, it was persistent. It had worked before, excluding the aftermath.

Coriolanus moved, keeping his hold on your wrist as he shoved you down, pulling himself up and then on top of you in a fluid motion.

You squirmed, questioning, “What are you doing?”

Coriolanus caught your other hand and brought it to join your other wrist he already had a hold of in one hand. He straddled your waist, keeping your body pinned.

“You won’t listen to me,” he pointed out. Something inside him urged him to lean down. “But I can still prove it to you, that it’s me you should be with. No one else.”

Then he crashed his lips onto yours. It was more forceful than it had been the previous night, ensuring you couldn’t turn away again. His tongue was already in your mouth before you thought to turn your head.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t kiss him back, Coriolanus was in bliss. Your lips were soft, molding perfectly to his. You moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was a protest, but it made his body heat up all the same. Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of you. Last night left him wanting more, not less.

More than that, he was determined. When he finally detached his lips from yours, the both of you panting, Coriolanus set forth on a track that wouldn’t allow him to turn around.

Even if he tried to take it back, everything would already be changed.

So he didn’t even bother hesitating. Coriolanus was determined, even, at yanking your clothes from your body.

Your words were jumbled by the time they reached his ears. His own heart racing with excitement drowned out any requests you had for him.

The word “stop” left his vocabulary until you yelled it too loud for his liking.

Your whole body shook when he clapped his hand over your mouth. Your top was completely gone, your chest heaving as you breathed through your nose. While Coriolanus could’ve easily been distracted by your state, he trained his eyes on your wide ones.

The word helpless crossed his mind, and he had to take a moment to control himself.

“Grandma’am is upstairs,” Coriolanus finally warned, voice low. “Don’t disturb her.”

You blinked. Coriolanus was almost surprised by the way you settled down, but it told him you understood the implications of alerting her.

Your position beneath Coriolanus had to be better than starving and cold on the street, didn’t it?

You didn’t have Sejanus anymore. If you thought you did, Coriolanus would make sure to remedy that with his friend before you got to him first.

As Coriolanus lifted his hand from your mouth, he silently implored he was the only one who could save you from being branded a liar.

Just as Coriolanus had always admired, you were a quick learner. As heartbroken as you looked, you didn’t raise your voice again.

“This isn’t how you make me want to be with you,” you pleaded. Coriolanus wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take it as a challenge.

“We’ll see,” he mused in response.

He got you bare, and then himself.

You averted your eyes from his body, which offended him more than he thought it would.

“You can look,” Coriolanus said, voice heavy.

Something about his voice must’ve gotten to you, because your eyes flicked between his legs. You swallowed and looked back away.

A prideful smirk overtook Coriolanus’s face.

He moved then, still keeping hold on your wrists in one hand, dragging them down over your belly, and placed himself between your legs.

With one hand still holding your wrists, Coriolanus shoved his other hand in between your legs, two prodding fingers finding your entrance before making their way in. Eagerness won out over his patience. He could take things slow later.

You tensed around him, fighting the intrusion, but he wasn’t going to let you win. Even if you weren’t squirming against him, you were resistant. Coriolanus slowly worked at breaking your resolve, massaging his fingers inside your walls, thumb on your clit.

He could see shame wash over your features when a wetness began to form, coating his fingers and allowing him to work you open for him.

“See, you can lie to me, but your body can’t,” Coriolanus asserted, voice thick with arousal.

That triggered something in you, and perhaps Coriolanus reacted too harshly.

It felt like it all happened in a flash. One moment you were on your back, beneath him, clenching around his fingers, and the next he had to manhandle you onto your chest and knees to fend off your attack and keep you still. He regained his hold on your hands quickly, pinning them behind your back while you panted from the short lived exertion.

Coriolanus leaned down to press his lips to your ear.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to fight me,” he growled.

Your shoulders shifted as you found further discomfort in your new position, but you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your voice—just like before.

Coriolanus wanted to watch your face as you submitted to him and his love for you, but if this was the only way he could have you for now, so be it.

He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the twitch of your body as he pressed the tip in.

Despite all the effort to get you where you were now, Coriolanus slid his cock into you with ease. Your body welcomed him, even if you didn’t.

He couldn’t help himself, his hips bucked forward, shoving himself into you deep. You whimpered into the pillow and Coriolanus’s mind went blank for a moment, basking in the feel of your warm cunt around him. It was better than he imagined.

His cock twitched inside of you, eager to fill you, but he had to make this last. Just like before, Coriolanus wanted to make you feel good. So good you had no choice but to want him.

Coriolanus drew his hips back after a few moments of just resting inside you. When only the tip remained, he thrust forward. Your body rocked against the mattress.

He did it again, this time slower. Forcing you to feel the drag of his thick cock inside of you. Coriolanus liked the way your body quivered as you succumbed to the pleasure he could give you.

You felt like heaven, all wet and warm and squeezing around him in a way that made him want to never leave you.

To show he trusted you, Coriolanus let your hands go. They immediately fell to grip the pillow beneath your head. You didn’t go to fight him and that counted for something. He had an ulterior motive, though, because now he could hold your hips with both hands.

He leaned down, pressing kisses to your back. He ran his hands along your skin, drinking the entirety of you in as he moved inside of you.

His movements were a bit slow, calculated, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. Coriolanus imagined you rocking your hips back, your moans filling the room, eager for more. That would have to be saved for another time when you were more willing.

You body tensed and shivered, and Coriolanus knew you were getting close. You still had yet to speak.

It was petty, the sudden sharp thrust of his hips to shove his cock deep and hard into you.

A gasp—he drew a gasp from you.

He allowed his weight to fully fall on top of you, finally. Your skin was so warm on his chest, it was as if your body was trying to burn him off of you. Maybe it was all in his head. But it didn’t really matter. It was far too late for that.

“It’s okay to want it,” Coriolanus muttered into your ear.

He felt your body reacting and you were moments away from what he’d been pushing you towards. His thrusts grew shallow, not letting too much of himself leave you as you finally came undone.

You buried your face into the pillow, muffling your cry as you finally came around his cock. It was then that he got what he wanted, even if it was only brief. Your body spasmed and pushed back, trying to feel every inch of him stretching you out, clenching down to hold him there.

Coriolanus followed you soon after, cock throbbing in your walls, spilling inside of you and painting them white. He held your hips so tight he was sure he’d leave bruises as he held himself still, letting the both of you experience the sensation in full.

After however long—Coriolanus didn’t count the minutes—he withdrew from your body. He was a gentleman, so he helped you to lay down before your body collapsed on its own.

He laid down beside you, pulling your blanket over the top of both of your bodies with the intention to bring you comfort.

You were wordless, rolling onto your side, facing away from him.

Coriolanus turned with you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pulling you back to him. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head before resting his lips near your ear.

“Do you really think not talking to me is the best idea?” he whispered, less frustrated than before.

You shook in his arms, but your voice was steady as you asked, “What do you expect me to say to you?”

Coriolanus didn’t have to think all that long.

“That you love me.”

You were silent for a moment, Coriolanus thought he was going to have to repeat himself.

“I did love you,” you uttered, voice threatening to break. “But it wasn’t enough for you.”

Coriolanus could’ve been angry, but he knew he’d win you back. He had all the time in the world, knowing you wouldn’t dare continue your relationship with Sejanus. How could you? You were already spoken for.

You were Coriolanus’s, you always had been. He realized it before you, but he knew you’d come to learn the truth. You’d accept it eventually, and everything would fall into place exactly as he wanted.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #yandere coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #quin-ns writing

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valkyriexo · 7 months ago

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Friday Night Lights | Lee Know

ᑉ³pairing; Jock Lee Know x Nerd Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff, Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI ,dirty talk, swearing, oral m reciving,

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner Louie <3 (sorry it took so long :((( )

You’re used to staying in your lane.

In college, that means your nights are spent at the library, working on assignments, attending study groups, or listening to the whispers of people about crushes, weekend plans, and sometimes, the star athletes on campus. You don't usually pay much attention to that last one—until the whispers turn to Lee Minho. Lee Minho is… different. Confident, popular, and utterly untouchable. He’s the star of the football team, the guy people can’t stop talking about, but also somehow your friend.

Well, sort of.

You met through Jisung, your mutual friend, who has a way of pulling people together. You’ve spoken a few times—mostly polite hellos and small talk whenever Jisung ropes you into attending his hangouts—but every time you do, you find yourself tripping over your words.

You tell yourself it’s nothing—he’s just another guy, after all. But the way your heart races every time his attention flickers to you says otherwise.

“You’re coming to Minho’s game this Friday, right?” Jisung’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You blink, caught off guard, and turn to face him. “What?”

Jisung leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he always does, completely unfazed. “The game. This Friday. You’re coming, right?” He grins, as if your attendance is already a done deal.

“I don’t know...” you trail off, trying to avoid his expectant gaze. Crowds aren’t really your thing, and the idea of sitting through a packed football game is enough to make your stomach churn.

“Oh, come on,” he groans, dropping the chair back onto all four legs with a loud thud. “You’ve been holed up in this library all week. You need a break.”

You frown, shuffling your notebook to pretend like you’re busy. “I don’t really do... games.”

“You don’t have to ‘do games.’ You just have to show up. Cheer a little, look cute, and maybe—just maybe—have fun.” His tone is light, but the sly look he shoots you suggests he’s up to something.

Your suspicion grows. “Why do you care if I go?”

“Because it’s the homecoming game,” he says. “You know, one of the biggest games of the year? Minho’s going to kill me if you don’t show up.”

When you don’t respond, he rolls his eyes. “You know, Minho? Our mutual friend? The guy you can barely form a sentence around?”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupts with a smile, leaning forward on his elbows. “And I think he’d appreciate the support. He’s been working really hard this season, and besides...”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why would he care if I’m there? I’ve never even been to one of his games.”

“That’s exactly why he’d care!” Jisung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Do you know how many times he’s asked me why you never go? He thinks you hate football or something.”

“I don’t hate football,” you say defensively, though the thought of navigating the chaotic energy of a packed stadium doesn’t exactly fill you with joy. “I’ve just... never really had a reason to go.”

Jisung smirks, leaning forward on his elbows. “Well, now you do.The entire campus is going to be there—students, alumni, even the marching band’s pulling out all the stops. It’s a whole thing. You have to come.”

You hesitate, nibbling on your bottom lip. It’s not like you don’t want to support Minho—he’s always been kind to you in his own aloof, confident way. But showing up at a game, where everyone’s eyes will be on him—and by extension, anyone he cares about—feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know, Ji. Crowds aren’t really my thing.”

“Crowds aren’t the thing,” he says, cutting you off with a sly grin. “Minho is."

Your stomach flips at the thought. You’ve never seen him play before, never witnessed the version of Minho everyone talks about when they say his name with awe. The star athlete, the leader on the field.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble, quickly shuffling your papers as an excuse to avoid Jisung’s knowing look.

“Uh-huh,” he says, sitting back with an exaggerated shrug. “Just don’t be surprised when I text you the details anyway. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

So, somehow, you find yourself in the bleachers that Friday night, bundled in your warmest jacket, pretending you’re not scanning the field for one particular player. It doesn’t take long for you to find him. Even among his teammates, Minho stands out, laughing with them, helmet under one arm as he warms up. It’s a little surreal, watching him from here; he’s all focus and intensity, so different from the relaxed, teasing guy you usually see at Jisung’s hangouts. You can’t help feeling your heart race a little faster.

As the game starts, you find yourself getting drawn in, caught up in the energy around you. The team is good, and Minho, even better. It’s not hard to see why he’s the star. Every play he’s part of feels....different. He’s practically flying across the field, tackling opponents, calling shots, making everything look effortless. You can’t keep your eyes off him.

And then it happens.

It’s fast—too fast, really—and at first, you’re not sure what’s wrong.

One second, Minho is sprinting down the field, his face set with determination as he cuts through defenders like they’re nothing. The next, there’s a collision, hard and brutal. The sound of it echoes in the stadium, a collective gasp rising from the crowd.

Your breath catches as you see him go down, gripping his ankle. For a moment, everything else disappears—the noise of the crowd, the whistle from the referee, even Jisung’s voice shouting something beside you. All you can see is Minho on the ground, pain written across his face.

Your heart pounds as players gather around him, the medics rushing onto the field. He tries to get up, but it’s clear he can’t put any weight on his leg. The sight twists something deep in your chest, and before you realize what you’re doing, you’re halfway to your feet.

“Hey,” Jisung says, grabbing your arm and pulling you back down. “He’ll be okay. It’s probably just a sprain or something.”

But Jisung’s words do little to calm the panic bubbling inside you. From this distance, you can’t hear what the medics are saying, but the way Minho shakes his head and slams his fist into the ground tells you it’s bad.

The game pauses as they help him off the field, his arm slung around a teammate’s shoulder, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. Your stomach churns, and for the rest of the game, no matter how loud the crowd gets or how exciting the plays are, you can’t focus. Your eyes keep drifting to the sideline, where Minho sits with his head down, his ankle wrapped in ice.

And all you can think about is how you wish you could do something to help him.

The rest of the game feels like a blur. The energy in the stadium surges back eventually, but not for you. Your eyes keep flicking toward the sideline, where Minho sits with his injured leg propped up, his arms crossed and a stormy expression on his face. Even from a distance, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s forcing himself to stay composed despite the obvious frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Jisung nudges you with his elbow, breaking your trance. “Relax. Minho’s tough. He’ll be fine.”

You nod stiffly, not trusting your voice enough to reply. Jisung’s probably right—Minho is strong, the kind of guy who shrugs off pain like it’s nothing. But something about the way he looked when they carried him off the field makes your chest feel heavy.

When the game finally ends, with your school securing a narrow victory, the crowd erupts in cheers. Students flood the field to celebrate, but you can’t seem to share their enthusiasm. Instead, you find yourself lingering near the bleachers, watching as the team huddles together, Minho still sitting apart, his helmet resting forgotten at his feet.

“Come on,” Jisung says, tugging on your sleeve. “Let’s go check on him.”

Your heart skips. “What? No. He’s probably surrounded by people—he doesn’t need me there.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his friend too. Besides, if you don’t come, I’ll just tell him you were too shy to say hi, and then he’ll feel bad.”

You glare at him, but the teasing glint in his eyes leaves you with no room to argue. Before you know it, you’re weaving through the lingering crowd, your pulse quickening with every step closer to the team’s bench.

When you reach him, Minho is leaning back against the bench, his jaw clenched and his eyes distant. His ankle is now heavily wrapped, a crutch resting beside him.

“Minho!” Jisung calls, grinning as if nothing’s out of the ordinary. “You okay, man? That hit looked brutal.”

Minho glances up, his expression softening slightly when he sees Jisung—and then landing on you. His gaze lingers for a moment, and you suddenly forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been better,” he mutters, managing a wry smile. “But I’ll live.”

“You scared the crap out of them,” Jisung says, jerking his thumb in your direction. “They were about to jump the fence and carry you off the field themself.”

“Jisung!” you hiss, smacking his arm, but Minho chuckles, the sound low and warm despite the situation.

“You were worried about me?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at you.

Your cheeks burn, and you scramble for a response that doesn’t make you sound ridiculous. “I mean... you went down pretty hard. Anyone would’ve been worried.”

His smile widens, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “Well, thanks for caring.”

The simplicity of his words, paired with the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, sends your heart into overdrive. You want to say more, to ask if he’s really okay, but the weight of his gaze and the teasing grin tugging at his lips leaves you tongue-tied.

“Anyway,” Jisung cuts in, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, “you should let them take care of you. They're great at worrying—practically a professional.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Minho chuckles again.

“Noted,” he says, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

And just like that, you realize you might be in deeper than you ever thought.

Over the next two weeks, Minho’s injury changes things. He’s benched for practices, forced to watch from the sidelines while his teammates run drills and scrimmage. The ever-present crutches are a constant reminder of his temporary setback, though he still somehow makes them look effortlessly cool.

The trouble starts when Jisung complains one afternoon, flopping dramatically into the seat next to you in the library.

“I can’t keep babysitting Minho,” he groans. “We don’t even have the same classes, and Coach keeps glaring at me every time I’m late because I’m helping him to practice. You should do it.”

You frown. “Me? Why me?”

Jisung grins slyly, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “You’re the only other person he talks to as much as me. Besides, you’re better at dealing with his diva moments.”

“Diva moments?” you ask, incredulous.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Despite your protests, Jisung isn’t one to take no for an answer, and by the next morning, Minho’s waiting for you outside your lecture hall, leaning on his crutches with an easy grin.

“Hey,” he says casually, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

You blink at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Jisung said you’d help me get to practice,” he replies, his grin widening when he sees the look on your face. “Don’t worry. I’m not that high-maintenance.”

You sigh, already feeling like you’re in over your head. “Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Helping Minho quickly becomes a routine. Every afternoon, you meet him after his last class to walk—well, technically hobble—to the field. At first, it’s awkward, mostly because Minho seems determined to act like his injury isn’t a big deal, even when he’s obviously struggling. But over time, the walks become... easier.

Minho, for all his bravado, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He asks you questions about your classes, your favorite things, even what made you decide to go to the homecoming game. His teasing is still there, but it’s lighter, less guarded, and you find yourself opening up to him in ways you didn’t expect.

One afternoon, as you’re walking back from practice, Minho turns to you suddenly.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

He gestures to his crutches, his expression unusually serious. “Helping me. I know it’s a hassle.”

You stop walking, frowning at him. “It’s not a hassle, Minho. I don’t mind.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. Then, he smiles—soft and genuine, the kind that makes your heart skip.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

You’re about to keep walking when he doesn’t move, shifting his weight awkwardly on his crutches. His expression tightens like he’s debating something with himself, and before you can ask, he speaks again.

“You know... I'm not kidding,” he says, his voice lower now.

“Kidding about what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“About this being a hassle,” he replies, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “But not for the reasons you think.”

You tilt your head, frowning. “Minho, that doesn’t even make sense.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound more nervous than amused. “What I mean is... it’s a hassle because I’m trying really hard not to screw this up.”

Your heart skips. “Screw what up?”

“This,” he says, his dark eyes locking on yours. “Us. Whatever this is. Because, honestly? I like you.”

The words hit you like a wave, and you’re left standing there, staring at him as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“You… like me?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho nods, shifting his grip on his crutches as if they’re the only thing grounding him. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been trying not to make it obvious, but these past couple of weeks? Spending time with you, talking to you... it’s just made it harder to ignore.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. “Minho, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. “I just needed you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I... I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care about you like this.”

The raw honesty in his voice takes you by surprise, and before you can second-guess yourself, the words tumble out.

“I do feel the same,” you admit, your cheeks burning as you look at him. “I just didn’t think you would.”

Minho blinks, clearly startled, before his lips curve into a slow, disbelieving smile. “You mean that?”

You nod, unable to stop the small smile creeping onto your face. “Yeah, I do.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression soft and full of something you can’t quite name. Then, he exhales a laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he says, his grin widening. “I was starting to think Jisung would kill me if I didn’t say something.”

You laugh, the tension between you melting away. “He probably would.”

Minho straightens up, his confidence sliding back into place. “So, does this mean I can keep making you carry my stuff to practice? You know, since you like me and all.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting this. “Don’t push your luck, Minho.”

The days blend together, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize you’ve started looking forward to your time with him. The walks, the conversations, the way he glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all so much more than you ever thought it could be.

But today feels different.

When you show up to meet Minho after practice, the field is empty. His crutches aren’t propped up by the bench where he usually waits, and there’s no sign of his teammates. You glance around, your chest tightening with a mix of confusion and unease.

“Minho?” you call out, but the only answer is the faint hum of fluorescent lights from the building nearby.

Frowning, you decide to check inside. The locker room is usually bustling after practice, but as you step in, it’s eerily quiet. The air smells faintly of sweat and detergent, and the echo of your footsteps makes the space feel even emptier.

You turn a corner, and that’s when you see him.

Minho is sitting on one of the benches, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him. His head is bowed, his hair falling into his face as he stares at the ground. There’s a tension in his posture, his shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Minho?” you say softly, stepping closer.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you see the subtle way his shoulders relax at the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he mutters, his tone lacking its usual spark.

You sit down beside him, your knee brushing against his. “What’s going on? I thought we were meeting outside.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I just... needed a minute.”

You wait, giving him the space to speak. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are shadowed with something you don’t see often—uncertainty.

“I hate this,” he admits quietly, gesturing to the crutches beside him. “Sitting out, watching everyone else practice, knowing I can’t do anything. It’s... frustrating.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. “Minho, it’s okay to feel that way,” you say gently. “But this is temporary. You’ll be back out there before you know it.”

He scoffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What if I’m not? What if I come back and I’m not as good? Or worse, what if I get hurt again?”

“Then you deal with it,” you say firmly, surprising even yourself. “Because you’re Minho. You don’t let anything stop you. And besides...” You hesitate, your voice softening. “You’re more than just football. At least, to me you are.”

He blinks, his eyes searching yours. “You really mean that?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “Of course I do. You’re amazing, Minho, even when you’re not on the field.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as they curl around yours.

Minho’s thumb traces over your knuckles in gentle circles, and he looks down at your intertwined hands with a soft, almost shy smile.

There’s something unspoken hanging in the air between you, a feeling that’s been growing with every passing day, but now, in the quiet of the locker room, it’s impossible to ignore.

You feel it too—the shift, the tension, the undeniable pull drawing you closer. His gaze lifts from your hands to your face, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the locker room, the soft sound of his breath mingling with yours.

“You know,” Minho starts, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

Your heart beats faster, your pulse quickening. “Do what?” you whisper, even though you already know.

Minho doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in slowly, his face inching closer to yours, his lips barely brushing against the air between you. His hand moves to your cheek, his fingers warm and gentle against your skin.

And then, without another word, his lips are on yours.

It’s tentative at first, soft and uncertain, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You tilt your head, your free hand reaching up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. When you kiss him back, it’s like everything clicks into place—like this was always meant to happen.

The kiss deepens, slow and explorative, as if you’re both savoring the moment. His lips are soft, warm, and he smells like freshly cut grass and the faintest trace of cologne. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your other hand finding its way to his waist, holding him against you.

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in the feeling of something new and exciting, something neither of you ever expected. And when you finally pull away, breathless and slightly dazed, Minho rests his forehead against yours, his smile lazy but full of warmth.

“I think,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I could get used to this.”

You smile, feeling a quiet thrill at the thought. “Then I guess we’ll have to make it happen.”

Minho's grin softens, his hand still warm against your cheek, and he leans in once more.

This time, the kiss is different—deeper, more certain. There’s no hesitation, no wondering if this is okay. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. His lips move against yours, gentle yet deliberate, as if he’s making up for all the times he’d held back.

You respond, feeling braver now, your fingers finding their way to his collar, tugging him just a bit closer. The locker room is completely forgotten; it’s just you and Minho, the world melting away around you.

You wanted him, of this you were sure.

"Darling, why don't you let me help you forget about it all?" You purred, as your hands made their way down his chest stopping at his waist. You pulled him towards you and kissed him harder, your need for him overpowering any doubt that was left in your mind.

You knelt between his legs, the anticipation building between you. You place both of your hands on his legs and slowly began to push them apart, allowing yourself to slide in between.

"Y/n…" he said, placing his hand on top of yours, almost as if to stop you. His fingers lingered, trembling slightly. "A-Are you sure? " he said "I don't want to pressure you"

"Shh... let me," you replied softly, as you began to unbuckle his belt, your eyes never leaving his. "I want you, Minho. I want this."

He groaned as you palmed him through his boxers. You could feel him getting harder under your hands.

"Y-you don't have to, baby" He said through his moans. You slowly pulled down his boxers, his erection springing free. "We can take it slo-OH," You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his pink tip.

You continued by placing a trail of kisses down his cock, keeping eye contact with him. You licked your way back up to the tip and took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, tasting his pre-cum as it seeped from the top.

He couldn't help but throw his head back and lean further onto the bench. His breath caught in his throat as his ears began to turn a shade of red. You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

The only thing heard in the locker room is the lewd sounds coming from your mouth along with his whimpers.

Minho moaned loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily. You took him deeper into your mouth and sucking harder than before. You reached up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your fingers as you continued to pleasure him.

"Fuck, Y/N," He moaned. "That feels so good. You're so good."

You responded with a low growl, taking him even deeper, his tip kissing the back of your throat.

Your lips were locked around his shaft. You choked slightly around his cock, tears beginning to fall from your eyes as his tip hit the back of your throat continuously.

He whined for more, almost sobbing when you completely removed yourself from around him, removing your lips from him with a pop.

You lick your way up his cock, once again paying extra attention to his swollen tip. His gaze locked onto yours, he began to thrust his hips forward, his thick, hard cock pressing against your lips. You parted them slightly, allowing him to slide inside once again.

He began to fuck your mouth roughly, his cock sliding in and out of your throat with each thrust. You could feel the saliva dripping down your chin, but you didn't care - the only thing that mattered was pleasing him.

"I'm go-gonna.... fuck.. gonna cum." he said, his thrusts beginning to slow down.

You feel the familiar slip of your glasses down the bridge of your nose, threatening to fall off completely.

Before you can react, Minho’s hand gently brushes against your nose, and with a soft chuckle, he reaches up, pushing your glasses back into place. His fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, his touch warm against your skin. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, your glasses sliding sending him overboard, and his cum paints your throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his as you sucked him dry.

He pulled his cock out, and you pressed your thumb down onto his dripping red tip.

The lower half of your face glistens, your features wet with your his cum.

"Fuck you're pretty" he said hold your chin with his hand. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that," his voice a mix of amusement and admiration. “You’ve always seemed like the super nerdy type—guess I was wrong.”

You laugh, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. “Well, I do have my moments of... unexpected skills.”

Minho’s smile softens, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you reply, a grin tugging at your lips. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out more.”

He chuckles, leaning in again, and you both fall back into the moment, the world outside fading away once more.

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jstor · 1 month ago

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JSOTR why do you make your research locked behind a subscription? So much knowledge, lost forerver…

Hi there. We often receive questions like this, so we'd like to provide some clarity here (we have a few previous posts on here about this that are a bit outdated). Scholarly publishing and the hosting of said published content is complicated, and we see how it can appear complex from the outside.

JSTOR doesn’t own the content hosted on-platform. We're not a publisher ourselves. We’re a mission-driven nonprofit that works with publishers like university presses and scholarly societies, and we pay licensing fees to host their scholarship. Those fees go back to support scholars, editors, and academic publishing as a whole.

Institutional and personal subscriptions helps us pay those fees, digitize and preserve physical materials, maintain reliable access for millions of users, and serve libraries and students around the world—including institutions in Africa (free access), low-income countries (near-free), and correctional facilities. Our role is to make these troves of knowledge more discoverable and accessible. In many cases, hosting an item on JSTOR actually helps to ensure it isn't lost to the ages or left in storage.

Over the years, we've worked to make more items on JSTOR free to access. So far, that includes:

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Plus, there are a few additional ways you can access the articles you find on JSTOR:

Some institutions offer alumni access to JSTOR

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Often, authors of articles will send them to you if you contact them directly

We should also mention: JSTOR doesn’t have full control over the access terms for most of the scholarship we host. That’s up to the publishers who own the rights. These partners play a vital role in creating and curating scholarship, and we work closely with them to make as much available as possible while respecting the sustainability of their work.

All the above is to say that JSTOR is just one part of a much larger publishing ecosystem. We’re committed to our values and to doing our part in preserving the scholarly record, making as much of it available as we can. We have a team of over 350 people hard at work on article intake, metadata, search functionality, support, and more.

There’s already a lot you can explore for free, some without a log-in and even more with a free account. Start here if you’re curious!

#jstor #ask #i hope this is helpful!#edit: corrected a stray “an” that should've been “a”

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sttm99 · 10 months ago

Text

Older!pro hero!Bakugo falling for one of UA's newer students seven years after he graduated.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+!!

Note: I am without a doubt going to expand on this later, so consider this a teaser and let me know if anyone would like to be tagged when I post that one!

He only went back to participate in some event the school was hosting, standing near the edge of the stage next to Red Riot. He face was rigid, and his expression twisted in annoyance at having to be there as he handed out certificates to the approaching students.

He notices you after a couple of minutes standing there, his eyes glued to your side profile as you converse with your classmates. He thinks you're absolutely beautiful, and he tries not to let himself get distracted, but he can't help himself.

Everyone's giddy at seeing the heroes in their school's hall, even though they're alumni and their pictures are plastered on walls all around the school. You're excited too, and he likes that.

He likes that your eyes keep glancing over to where he's standing, and he can see how you grin, how you look towards the girl at your left, mouthing, 'Dynamight's looking here, right?'

He can't help the pride swelling his chest, his eyes still stuck on you even when you leave, all the students filing out of the classroom.

He's quick to put out an offer to you to join his agency when you guys graduate two months later. It's uncharacteristic of him, and his assistant is more than shocked when asked to send the letter, but he doesn't really care.

He doesn't care when Mina and Todoroki ask him why he's at your class's graduation even though he's always invited and has never shown up before.

He also doesn't care how quick Heroes Weekly is to talk about the first UA student to be offered a sidekick role at Dynamight's agency straight from graduation.

And he honestly couldn't care less about waking up to the scandalous picture all over social media about 6 months after.

DYNAMIGHT CAUGHT GETTING COSY WITH HIS NEW SIDEKICK!

And it's a picture of you sitting on his lap, hands rubbing over his chest, exposed by the undone buttons of his shirt, taken in the VIP section of a high-end club he and other heroes frequented.

He smirks to himself, throwing his phone on his bedside table as he climbs back into the sheets, running his palm over your naked back and leaning in to kiss the back of your neck softly.

Extra note: I guess it's my fault for writing it this way, but please, reader is 18! 😭she's unironically inspired by me, and I was 18 before I graduated, so she's intended to be 18 in her last year of school.

#bakugou smut #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo fluff

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ramshacklerumble · 2 months ago

Text

Ready? Hurry up. No way I’m missing out on this.

Groovification: [LOCKED]

Set to Home Screen: Heh, heh, heh…

Home Transition 1: I made Grim a collar to match with me. He’s happy with it, so I’m happy.

Home Transition 2: Yeah, I brought my magestone with me. I dunno, at this point it’d be stupid to think nothing’s gonna happen. I might need it.

Home Transition 3: I missed Lilia and Oisín. We used to jam out together in my first year, it was really fun.

Home, after Login: They’re selling shirts over there, let’s get in line already.

Home Transition, Groovification: [LOCKED]

Tap Home 1: Sent Floyd a picture, now he’s whining why I didn’t bring him. He can die mad about it.

Tap Home 2: Sebek got really scared when I said I was snitching. Far as I know, Malleus doesn’t even have a phone anymore.

Tap Home 3: Wonder how many people think Kingsley’s mask is fake…

Tap Home 4: Dunno what’s Copper’s got planned, but we’re heading backstage. With backstage tickets. Yeah. Totally.

Tap Home 5: Mm, it’s chewlery. I normally don’t wear any, but sometimes I get really…bitey. I guess. Not in a bad way, though, y’know?

Tap Home, Groovification: [LOCKED]

DUO MAGIC with Copper Benoit/Barbossa @cyanide-latte

"We doing this or what?" | "Go hard, Yugo, I've got your back!"

(so while the event is made to that anyone with oc of any year can join, for my own stuff, the Wishmaster’s Concert does take place in gia’s junior year. hence them wearing floyd’s earring and their line referencing missing lilia and @/tixdixl’s oísin, who are now alumni at the time of gia’s junior year.)

taglist:

@cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @tixdixl @winterweary @thehollowwriter @harryinramshackle

@theleechyskrunkly @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @the-trinket-witch @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @kimikitti

@s-t-y-x @nightwingshero @water-writings @beneathsakurashade @oya-oya-okay @scint1llat3

@twstinginthewind (dm to be added)

#Wishmaster’s Concert #twst fanevent #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #disney twst #ramshackle oc #twisted wonderland oc #gia yugo #gar’s art #gar’s oc #oathofoaks #copper benoit #cyanide-latte

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treatmelikeasmut · 2 months ago

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The Artist and the Engineer Part 1//Chapter One//The First Sketch

Master List NEXT >>

Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Artist!Reader

Synopsis: Heimerdinger wants a commemorative painting done of Viktor, who is not fond of the idea.

Word Count: 2.6K

Author's Note: This is the first in the canon I'm building for my fic For Your Pleasure. I'm working on making a whole series that will lead up to those events and after!

Listen to it on YouTube!

Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog your favorite fics ❤️

~*~*~*~

Viktor had never been to the art wing of the university before. It was all the way across campus from the engineering wing. He never had any reason to trouble with the journey. Even during his student days. So, he couldn’t even begin to fathom why Professor Heimerdinger wanted to meet there.

It was much the same as other parts of the school. High arches, vaulted ceilings, and long polished hallways. The most noticeable differences were the art installations scattered throughout. Student and alumni collections were displayed from the moment you set foot through the archway. They ranged from grand paintings that ate up a large portion of the wall, down to hand carved statues, folded paper displays, and multimedia pieces with swatches of fabric roughly hewn to canvas.

Viktor didn’t really get art. Or more, he didn’t really have the time for it. Sure, it was pretty to look at. But he wasn’t the type to stand around and ponder a painting, wondering what the girl was staring at out in the blank distance. He could draw enough to make his blueprints and observations, and he was satisfied enough with that.

This time of day, the campus was nearly empty. Most people were in classes. Just a few stray lingered. A couple people called to Viktor as he passed them. He greeted them politely, but their names escaped him.

The clicking of his cane against the floor echoed far beyond him. Squinting at the door plaques, he sought for the room the professor had specified. Finally, after a long stretch of hall without any doors, the Alumni Studio came into view. It was titled with tall thin letters over a set of double doors. Opening one, Viktor popped his head in, tentatively scanning the space. The scent hit him first. Some notes were familiar to him - the slippery smell of oil mingling with the dryness of parchment. Others were foreign, a different kind of burn in his sinuses he didn’t know the source of. All of it was underlined with earthy clay.

The room was empty of people, but full of other things - mostly furniture. A massive canvas took up one wall, it was covered with a white sheet. Smears of bright paint and multicolored shoe prints stained the floor, despite the dozen beige drop cloths scattered about. Viktor carefully stepped over these, making sure not to get his cane caught up in one. There were gallon buckets of paint on the floor against one wall, a few were open with dribbles down their sides. A metal pail with some kind of murky solution overflowing with paint brushes stood beside a sink. A tall cabinet with papers stuck to its doors sat in the far corner next to a long counter equally covered in random items.

Right in the center of the room was a crimson chaise lounge. A single dark pillow nestled into the space where the high part of the back met the single arm. Before it sat an easel with a sizeable blank canvas. A small table had been set up beside it, the only thing on it a large drawing pad and a small bag.

Still, no Heimerdinger.

The professor’s voice came before Viktor actually saw him. Heimerdinger was chattering away around a corner where another door had closed. Whatever he was saying was too low for Viktor to hear. Then the professor emerged from a hallway beside a floor to ceiling mirror. Adorned in his usual blue coat and brown pin-stripe pants.His eyes lit up as soon as they saw Viktor standing there.

“Viktor, m’boy!” greeted Professor Heimerdinger. “Right on time, glad you could make it!”

“Good afternoon, sir.” Viktor nodded to him. “May I inquire - why are we in the art wing?”

“Ah, yes!” Heimerdinger turned away, calling a name he’d never heard into the room.

“Sorry!” called a voice in response, a bit muffled. “I’m a bit stuck. I’ll be there in a second.”

From the hallway next to the mirror emerged a young woman Viktor had never laid eyes on before - you. With your bright eyes, huffing and puffing as you carried a few large rolls of paper. There was a constant tink, tink, tink as you came towards them. Viktor looked down to find that another metal pail had its handle caught around your ankle.

“What is this?” Viktor asked, frowning. He was staring at Heimerdinger, who wasn’t paying a single bit of attention to him. Instead, trying to help get the pail off your foot.

“Viktor, right?” you asked, now looking at him expectantly. He didn’t answer right away. Taking in your paint covered clothes, and the sooty smear on your face. You were clearly an artist. “The professor has told me so much about you.”

“He’s told me told nothing of you,” Viktor murmured, mostly to himself. The smile on your face faltered a little, eyes flickering to the professor. Louder, he asked, “What are you planning, sir?“

“Yes!” Heimerdinger said, and introduced you to him properly. “Since you’re my assistant, I thought we should finally get around to properly commemorating it. It’s a very big deal, you know.”

Many emotions flickered through Viktor at once. His brain couldn’t pick one to act on, so his protests came out as incoherent half-sentences. But Heimerdinger just kept on talking. You paid no mind to his rejections. Just going to the easel and putting down the rolls. Heimerdinger paced around the room, and Viktor followed quickly after him.

“Professor, I have research to do,” Viktor protested loudly.

Heimerdinger waved him off. “That can wait. This is a tremendous promotion for you. I expect you to take an hour or two a day to pose until the painting is finished.”

Viktor choked on his own spit. “You can’t be serious - sir, please. I do not need to be painted.”

“This young lady is an excellent artist and will capture your likeness to the letter. For her senior thesis last year, she chose to paint me. I’m sure you’ve seen the portrait in my office. - I promise, she will do you justice.”

“I - that is not the problem here!”

“Viktor,” you started. He looked to you, annoyance coiling in his chest. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t be upset.”

“Nonsense,” Heimerdinger said with a note of finality. “Viktor will sit for you, and he will be an excellent subject. - Won’t you?”

Viktor knew he didn’t have a choice. There was a hard glint in the professor’s eye. An almost threatening one. It wasn’t a request as a mentor, this was an order as the Dean of the Academy. He didn’t want to find out the consequence of disobeying him. Finally, Viktor sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Heimerdinger, back to his usual self, exclaimed, “Excellent! Then starting today, you will start sit for your portrait! Now, I have a meeting to attend. But I’m putting my trust in you to be a respectable subject as assistant to the Dean of the Academy, Viktor.”

Viktor nodded, and the professor started moving towards the door. He was muttering to himself, briefly announcing that he’d be back later to check the progress. The pair of you - the artist and the engineer - watched him walk out the door. The only sound in the cavernous room its soft closing. Viktor continued to stare at the door, a part of him hoping Heimerdinger would come back in and say he was pulling his leg.

He didn’t.

“So,” you started, rocking back on your heels. “I - uh…”

Viktor’s gaze shifted to you. A sliver of guilt wedged in his chest when his annoyance spread to you. You were probably just commissioned. You had no idea he was being forced into it. He watched your eyes travel the room, then land back on him, eyebrows drawn together with an awkward smile. You gestured to the drawing pad in your hand. It was the large one from the table, now opened to a blank page. You shifted foot to foot under his gaze.

“Where should I be?” he asked.

You nodded towards the chaise. “I want to get a few sketches first. You can read or something while we do this. I figured that’s probably how you would want to be in the painting anyway.”

Viktor went to the couch, dropping his bag on the floor by one of the legs. It was a little firmer than he was expecting. He sat on the end with the high back, perched stiffly. Shoulders rigid. You sat on the other end, the pad in your lap and pencil in your hand. It was already moving across the page with quick, deft movements. He watched, but couldn’t see what you were sketching.

“So, assistant to the dean, eh?” you asked, not looking at him. “That’s a pretty prestigious spot.”

Viktor hummed, but chose not to say anything else. His annoyance with Heimerdinger burned at the back of his mind. Meanwhile, his conscious mind was flitting around a mental image of the lab. Making of a list of things he’d have to do to make up for lost time. He was going to have to sleep there until these sessions were finished. He frowned a touch at the thought. There was only so comfortable the emergency couch got. He may almost have to resort to sleeping here, even this couch was more comfortable than that one.

“Hhmmm…” you hummed.

His attention shifted back to you, alarmed to find that you were now closer to him. He shifted slightly away from you. Your unwavering gaze made his skin itch. Finally, you leaned back and scribbled a little note on the side.

“Your eyes,” you started, glancing up at him then back at the page. “They’re the most stunning shade of amber I’ve ever seen. - I hope I can mix the color right…”

Viktor felt hot at those words. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever said that to him. To hide the embarrassment, he went into his bag and scooped out a book. He didn’t pay attention to which one it was. Blindly thumbing through the pages. Great, this was one he’d already gone through and notated.

You didn’t say much else to him. Eyes intently flickering between his face and your page. Your hand movements were practiced, he could tell. But, in the back of his mind, a small voice nibbled at him. It asked why someone would bother wasting time with art? Why would Heimerdinger dedicate an entire section of the academy to it?

Viktor almost asked the question out loud, then thought better of it.

When the bell tolled the hour, you sat up. He could hear your spine crack. Viktor found himself quite stiff from staying still so long. You glanced back down at the pad, and dragged your pencil across it one last time.

“What do you think?” you asked, and turned the sketch book to him.

Viktor was alarmed to find himself staring back in striking detail. Thick lines and thin ones cutting out the hollows of his cheeks, the bags under his eyes, and fly away tufts of his hair. There were solo sketches of his eyes, his hands, his lips - his brace and the way the fabric of his pants folded under it. It felt far too intimate.

On the side was a quick note, he traced his name in your handwriting with his eyes. You’d scribbled down ochre and raw sienna. Making a note of how much white or ultramarine to mix for the proper color match. You even referenced a study you’d done with honey. And he had a brief thought of how much it almost looked like his own notes on the sides of his blueprints. Almost.

Clearing his throat, Viktor said, “I cannot deny you have a keen eye for observation. - May I take my leave? I have sat for the hour.”

The smile on your face flickered again. You flipped the pad upside down then discarded it on the open seat behind you, tucking the pencil behind your ear. “Right. Yeah - no - go right ahead. I’m sure you’re busy.”

Viktor put the book back in his bag and stood, stretching. “Thank you. - I will come tomorrow, the same time -”

“Actually,” you started, standing as well. You kept your back to him as you went to fiddle with the table by the easel. “I know the professor wants us to sit everyday. But I have something that will take all of tomorrow. So we’ll have to pick it up the day after.”

Viktor stared at where the straps of your overalls were twisted. “Very well. That gives me time to sort things with my colleague.”

You nodded. “Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. I’ll let Heimerdinger know when I go to see him. - It was nice to meet you, Viktor.”

“Likewise,” he muttered, and headed for the door.

Viktor grumbled as he made his way across the building. This walk was going to kill him (though he knew that was an exaggeration. He’d walked longer back to his dorm after a night out drinking in his student days). A painting, he scoffed in his mind. How utterly ridiculous.

Jayce chuckled when Viktor told him of Heimerdinger’s request. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but it finally managed to be pestered out of him. Jayce had been trying to figure out why he was so grumpy.

“Who’s the painter?” he asked, one arm slung over the back of his chair. He seemed totally engrossed.

Viktor shrugged, already your name had slipped from his mind. “A recent graduate.”

“And…what?”

“What what?” Viktor kept his turned to his papers, but could feel Jayce’s eyes on his back.

“Did they say something to you?”

“Only that she was impressed by my position.” And that I had lovely eyes. But he wasn’t going to tell Jayce that. He would never hear the end of it.

“And…that's it?”

“Yes, that is it.” Viktor’s glare was over his shoulder. “Why are you be exceptionally irritating today?”

“I think you’re just ‘exceptionally’ irritated.”

“Yes, of course. Because you are not at all annoying.”

“I’m glad you see it my way.” Jayce was silent for a moment, then continued, “So this artist, what’s she -”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Why must you continue to press the subject?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re so pissed.”

Viktor turned to him then, and Jayce’s playful expression just dug into the well of annoyance Heimerdinger had started. “Because I do not wish to waste my time. I have better things to do than to be stared at for an hour.”

“Alright, alright…” Jayce finally held his hands up. He chuckled a little, spinning back to his desk. “I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you,” Viktor huffed, and turned back to his own workstation.

He worked hard throughout the afternoon. Attempting to make notes and collections for Jayce to follow up on in his absence. He almost expected the professor to pop in, but he didn’t. By the time night fell, Viktor had forgotten all about his irritation. About the portrait.

About you.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #smut fanfiction #arcane league of legends fanfiction #arcane smut #fanfiction #viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor league of legends #viktor nation #viktor x reader smut #viktor lol #viktor

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edamameimei · 4 months ago

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Perhaps, Even This (Megan Skiendiel x Reader SMAU)

“what a joy, perhaps, to remember even this.”

A year ago, you were known as your friend group’s “sunshine.” You were able to light up a whole room with your energy and everyone could rely on you for your quick wit and easy humor. You lived life simply one day at a time. However, seemingly out of nowhere, that all changes. Now a Junior in university, you find it extremely difficult to do all the things you used to do. Especially being the Resident Assistant for the Geffen Dorms. New residents begin to move in and one them is a girl you could only describe as “radiant." Her name is Megan Skiendiel, and at first, you don’t welcome the positivity but as you two continue to meet and hang out, you find yourself becoming the person you used to be. Will you be able to be that person you were a year ago? Or will everything just stay the same?

tws: kms/kys jokes. this story will dive into topics such as depression, anxiety, reckless substance use, and toxic relationships. if any of those things affect you in any negative way, please do not interact with this story!! take care of yourself!!

tags: smau, crack, fluff, will get pretty angsty at times. university!au, golden retriever!megan x black cat!reader, sexual jokes, lots of swearing, future suggestive themes.

feat: katseye, txt, lesserafim, ive + more to come!

pairing: megan skiendiel x gn!reader

status: on going!

notes: this smau is not a REAL portrayal of the people in this fic and are not based on any real-life events. this was made for entertainment purposes. some idols’ ages were changed for the plot. all pics are from pinterest! dividers were made by me in canva pro!

profiles: hybe crashouts 1 2 dream academy alumni 1 2

chapters:

00. prologue (written)

01. reinforcements

02. roommates to lovers

03. the duet (half written)

04. omg slut!

05. AA meeting

06. mad respect

07. dumb question

08. floor meeting

09. turtles

10. homewrecker

11. picasso

12. hallelujah or whatever

13. u care

14. sounds good (half written)

15. the pigeon

16. poetry slam

17. oh! nice!

18. nonchalant mfer

19. meiyok (half written)

20. lambda

21. favorite person (half written)

BONUS: winter break

22. no homo

23. I'm grown ok?

24. scout's honor

25. kidnapping (half written)

26. yapper

27. jimmy neutron

28. dark room (written)

29. just stay (half written)

30. did u die???

31. redemption arc

BONUS: megan fan club

32. my protege

33. spidey senses

34. the weight (half written)

35. oh. ouch.

36. the beginning (written)

37. let her go

38. breakthrough

39. yn n friends (half written)

40. rescue mission (half written)

41. ur gonna love it <3

42. WWMD ™

43. whiskered dimples (half written)

44. off the hook

BONUS: ill give you a dollar

BONUS: please do

45. ask her out

46. yn's commune

47. bi curious, maybe?

48. the project

49. loose ends pt. 1

50. loose ends pt. 2

51. perhaps, even this (THE END)

more to come...

#katseye x reader #katseye smau #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #lara raj #sophia laforteza #jeong yoonchae #katseye #megan skiendiel x reader #perhaps even this smau

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classcursehq · 1 year ago

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"i can't believe how many of them actually came back after all these years. i heard that the wilders are coming... isn't malcolm wright giving the opening speech?"

it might have a new name and a new brand but you know that you are still breathing the same air the moment you step inside of new horizons. you are ushered as a group to the new grand hall by your previous headmistress, tight lipped smile and an impatient air. the guests aren't there yet... you thought you were speaking to future students but instead you are talking to their parents. it becomes clear as you are handed the programmes that you are being used as show ponies, not inspirations to a new generation but to encourage their parents to empty their pockets for a new lease of life at new horizons. some of you have suspicions it's to fund a new stained glass window but you decide not to comment.

looking around, it seems to most of you that the looming threat of the online messages has disappeared... just another stupid class of 2014 prank. seats seem to fill, snacks lined up at the side that you are looking forwards to getting to when this part is over. and then you see them... god, is that the wilders? why are they wearing vip banners that look like they came from from party city. there's no time to think about it because the first speaker is already up and most of you are thanking the lord it wasn't you. take the stage, malcolm... wait, this isn't the slideshow that was prepared for you. is this one of chris' home videos? is that malcolm and helena together? did that seem weird to anybody else?

somebody yanks out the projector cable... the headmistress is waving to hurry up and just like that... the speeches continue rolling on just like life at st marys always did.

out of character guidance:

the dash event that will take place from friday 26th until sunday 5th (this can be extended if we need to!). the most important aspect of this event is that it will be split into two sections, before 9pm and after 9pm. this post will hold all the details for the start of the event and the second plot drop will be shared on monday - this will affect what all characters are doing after 9pm. from the morning of the 26th, you can post event starters.

timeline.

5:30pm: alumni arrive.

6:00pm: guests/parents arrive.

6:15pm: speeches begin opened by malcolm wright, you can choose whether your character self-elected to do a speech to the guests about their successes and time at st marys/new horizons.

7:30pm: 5 minute short video about the successes of previous st marys alumni and where are you nows then a q&a session.

8:00pm: mingling, refreshments and opportunities to catch up with your fellow students and parents who decide to stay on.

if you are ever confused about where we are up to in our story, you can click here for a summary!

#oc rp #tumblr rp #mature rp #mystery rp #chapter 1: the class of 2014 are together again #event: alumni evening #2014admin

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wttcsms · 5 months ago

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anatomy of desire, satoru gojo

part i. terminal velocity

with mysterious circumstances centering around a first year med student's "suicide", you do something stupidly noble: reporting to a detective that you saw satoru gojo slipping out the backdoor of the very same building yu haibara supposedly jumped from. in doing so, you start a twisted, sick game of cat-and-mouse with the most powerful and insane student on campus. the only thing keeping you alive? the fact that satoru gojo is apathetic towards everything and everyone, besides you. ( fem!reader )

chapter contains description of dead body word count 3.7k [ next ] [ masterlist ]

There’s an ongoing joke that only those who attend Tokyo Metropolitan College are privy to. It’s posed as a question, serves to make people laugh, but like all things spoken by these students, the intention of the words said are different from what they’re truly asking. It goes like this:

How much was your application fee?

The joke is the idea that any of them would ever actually have to pay something as plebeian as an application fee to attend a college their parents or family have attended for generations. The “joke” has layers to it, though: how much did your parents have to cough up to get you in here? Did they only “donate” a new building? Did they agree to sponsor the next charity event hosted by the university? Or did Mother and Father only have to invite the head of admissions to a dinner party? For children who come from money, social currency holds a significant amount of value in their eyes.

With an acceptance rate lower than most of the Ivies, alumni that consist of the world’s most powerful political leaders, actual royalty, and the most influential celebrities in the public eye, and the prestige that comes from graduating from such a decorated institution, attending Tokyo Metropolitan College should have been impossible for someone like you.

Full ride scholarships to TMC are nearly unheard of and are only extended to the best high school athletes or the brightest minds of the current generation. You’re smart, of course, but not at the caliber Tokyo Metropolitan demands.

With your worn-out bookbag, drugstore makeup routine, and outlet clearance shoes, it’s obvious that you’re a scholarship student. Your classmates might have been willing to ignore your crime of being poor, but not even being able to at least wear last season’s runway designs? Some sins are just unforgivable.

It’s fine by you, of course. You’re nothing but honest, and so if you were to ever be asked the cost of your application fee, you’re not sure how they would react when you confess that it cost a life.

You fall in love with journalism when you’re ten years old. At the clearance grocery stores, the type of shops whose air conditioning never seems to work and there’s a perpetual leak at one area of the ceiling, there’s a rack of magazines (your mother tells you these are called “tabloids”) by the checkout line. Of course, there’s usually only one cashier working out of the entire store, and you spend most of your time waiting in line than you do actually picking out your groceries.

While your mother shuffled her coupons clipped from last week’s newspaper, you would grab the latest issue of National Enquirer, your eyes eagerly soaking up every last word of the publication. Outlandish headlines, anonymous sources, poorly Photoshopped paparazzi photos — this tabloid is your first taste of journalism. It might not be Pulitzer Prize worthy articles, but it is the spark that ignites your insatiable, burning hunger for a story. A true story.

As you grow older, you swap National Enquirer for National Geographic and Time, going so far as to even grabbing your father’s discarded newspapers from the recycling bin whenever you catch a glimpse of an enticing headline. Everyday, there are hundreds, thousands, millions of stories, all happening at once. Depending on who’s telling the story, the immortalized version of events could very well differ from the truth. And at your young age, when you declare to your entire middle school class that you’re going to be the world’s best investigative journalist who uncovers and reports only the truth, you are met with polite, bored applause.

Looking back, you realize just how silly you were. You used to walk around with a Hello Kitty notepad, one of those jumbo sized book fair pens (the one where it comes with like, five different colors you can pick from), and an annoying habit of never minding your own business. It pays off eventually, though. Your inquisitive (all the adults call it nosy) nature and hunger to get to the bottom of things leads you to find out that your seventh grade homeroom teacher was stealing money from the classroom’s activity funds. You got your picture in the local paper (it still hangs on the kitchen fridge, even after all these years), and the school principal even encourages you to start a school newspaper club.

You fear you’ve peaked in the seventh grade, though. It’s been nearly eight years since that incident, and you haven’t quite uncovered anything else that’s newsworthy. You suppose the hot topic on campus right now could be worth getting to the bottom of: did Mei Mei get a boob job or not? If you figure out the truth behind that, maybe then people will actually start to care about what you have to say.

Good stories don’t just fall into your lap; most journalists don’t spend their time sitting at their desk, typing up their finds. Instead, they’re actually on the ground, actively hunting.

You tell yourself — justifying your eavesdropping, really — that this is just you hunting for a good story. Besides, if the conversation was meant to be so private, why wouldn’t he at least have it in his dorm room?

“Listen, Ken — after tonight, I’ll be set for life.” The hushed whisper immediately catches your attention. You pause, glancing behind you to see if anyone’s coming. They’re not. The Liberal Arts Education building houses the least amount of students here at Tokyo Metropolitan, and everyone’s either already in class or getting lunch off campus. No one even bothers with this outdoor walkway; it’s too cold to justify walking in the shade the overhead supplies, and the vending machines located here never have any of the good snacks — just stale packs of peanuts and the brand of soymilk no one likes.

You don’t make a habit of listening in on people’s phone calls. You have some concept of boundaries. It’s just… The Liberal Arts class is such a small group of fish in an already small pond. You’ve run into everyone who has a reason to be in this building. You were forced to take Public Speaking with at least half of them, and this voice you don’t recognize.

That, and everyone who can afford to spend years at college, stress-free and getting a degree in the arts, don’t need to make hushed phone calls behind unwanted vending machines to discuss how they’re going to be “set for life.” Ninety-nine percent of the student body here already are.

“Just trust me,” the voice mumbles. “I’ve got it all under control.”

You’re really trying your hardest to fight the urge to listen, but you can feel it — that sense in your gut that tells you that this is a story worth pursuing. Who cares about whether or not Mei Mei got a boob job? Whatever this student is up to is certainly of more interest than breast implants.

When he stops talking, you recognize that he must’ve hung up the phone. Trying to remain casual, you continue to walk towards the vending machines, and when he comes into view, walking in the opposite direction of you, you briefly glance at him.

Brushed brown hair, slightly taller than you — kind of cute, actually.

“Excuse me,” you call out to him. He stops to turn at you, a polite smile stretching across his face.

“Yes?”

“Do you happen to know where room L203 is? I just switched to that Japanese Literature class, but I’m still trying to navigate this building.”

“Hmm.” He takes a second to appear in deep thought. “I’ve never had to take the course, but L203 should be on the second floor, left side.”

“Thanks!” You chirp out, letting him go on his way. A majority of the buildings here are built similarly; the first number always dictates which floor the room is on, and odd numbers go to the left, with even numbers on the right side of the hall. You know damn well where L203 is; you just needed a second to commit this student’s face to memory. That, and you wanted a good look at the embroidery on his black jacket.

It says Tokyo Metropolitan College Zenin School of Medicine.

One thing about medical students is that they (and the college) can never seem to let anyone forget, for even a split second, that they are a medical student.

You immediately head to your dorm, cracking open your 2006 MacBook that begs dearly for you to put it out of its misery every time you power it on, and wait impatiently as the website for the Zenin School of Medicine page to officially load. Every year, the administrative team at the med school makes a big deal out of welcoming the newest incoming class, and you’re hoping that he, whoever he is, has been enrolled within the last three years. You’re not sure your laptop can handle clicking through more than three links in the timespan of five minutes without excessively overheating and then exploding on your dorm room’s desk.

You luck out when you realize he’s from this year’s incoming class. The picture is taken outside, in the familiar quad in front of the med school’s buildings. There’s only about a dozen students entering, and you spot his bright, smiling face. To the untrained eye, he fits in well with the rest of his peers. Nothing about him appears to be different, but three years learning to navigate this world has taught you well: he doesn’t have the same social standing as these students. In a sea of On Clouds (for the active students, you presume) and Dior sneakers, he’s wearing a pair of Skechers.

You squint at the small font of the caption, listing the students from left to right.

Yu Haibara.

When you search his name on the school’s site, another article appears, confirming your suspicions.

Yu Haibara, Latest Recipient of the Zenin Merit Medical Scholarship. Every other year, the Zenin Family provides a scholarship to a promising individual who will “change the medical field for the better.” With his easygoing smile and genuine attempt at being helpful, you can believe it. Yu Haibara seems like a very nice guy.

Which is why, in the glow of the setting sun, you feel a bit guilty for tailing him. No matter what he does, it’s not even like it’s going to be something publishable for the school paper. Putting a first year medical student’s side hustle on blast isn’t anything newsworthy; you know this. The rational part of your mind tells you to go back to your dorm and actually start working on your history paper due next week. You know, something actually productive and beneficial for your future.

But the gut feeling you’ve never been good at ignoring… It tells you that the hunt is on. There’s something here for you to uncover, and even if you have to keep it a secret to yourself, the satisfaction of satiating your curiosity will be enough.

Following Yu isn’t really a hard thing to do. This side of campus is unsurprisingly busier than the side you normally stay on. There are more bodies for you to blend in with, more noises to disguise your footsteps, and Haibara doesn’t even seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings. He walks with his arms swaying by his sides, and he makes casual, fleeting conversation with a few faces you recognize from the class photo on the school’s website. You’re hoping that wherever he’s heading to isn’t his dorm; if it’s secrecy he wants, it would make sense for him to do everything in the privacy of his own residence, but—

“Hey, girl, what’re you doing over here?” Distracted by the greeting, you take your eyes off of Haibara’s back to look at who’s speaking to you. Sakura; you share a good portion of classes with her. You remember her mentioning a boyfriend who’s in medical school. Something about her making an offhand joke about being a future surgeon’s stay-at-home wife. It’s not like working was something she was actively going to do in the future, anyway. Her mother is a hotel heiress, and her dad owns a hefty share of Vogue.

“Sakura, hey!” You smile at her, trying to peek over her shoulder. Haibara makes a left turn, you note. “I wanted to meet with a professor here, actually. To see if he wanted to give an interview on his research. Running out of article ideas for the school paper, honestly.”

She crinkles her nose. She works for the school paper with you, too, but she’s never paid much attention to anything beyond her submissions to the Beauty & Fashion column. “Have fun with that.”

“Definitely will.” You chirp, glad that Sakura’s not the type to care about what some old doctor has to say about cancer. The sidewalk is crowded with students grouping together, discussing where they want to eat out tonight, but as you make a left turn, trying to follow Haibara’s steps, you notice that the lampposts lining the walkway are fewer and farther between. It’s still not dark enough to really need their warm, yellow glow, but you’re certain you’ll need them on the walk back.

There are less students frequenting this area, too. The buildings here are older, less maintained. You doubt any of the major classes are held here, and the only building you can really justify Haibara disappearing into would be the one at the end of this walkway. A three story brick building, whose large sign can be read even at your distance.

OLD KASHIMO LABORATORY.

Old certainly seems fitting. You wonder if the building is even still in use.

Leaves crunch under your sneakers (that are unfortunately not straight from Rick Owens’ latest drop) as you continue to move forward, heading to the lab. It’s a big building, and it seems a shame that it isn’t as well-maintained as the front-facing buildings that make up the medical school. Your legs are practically burning by the time you make it to the steps leading to the front door. If you realized just how far of a walk it is from your dormitory to the complete other side of campus, you would have at least stretched first.

Anything to get down to the truth, though.

Selfishly, you hope whatever Haibara’s up, it’s something scandalous. If it’s boring, and your gut feeling is entirely wrong, you’re going to be so annoyed that you got your daily steps in for no reason.

Pushing through the large oak double-doors of the building takes some effort, but when you do, you realize the lights here, unlike the other buildings you’ve been in, aren’t triggered automatically by movement. At least the windows all over the walls allow the fading light of the setting sun to filter through the massive entrance.

Way down on the other end, you see it. A silhouette of someone else; you see them, but you’re shocked you don’t hear them.

Haibara?

No. Even from this distance, this figure seems taller than the brunet boy you’ve been stalk— following — for the past hour. The figure pays you no attention, but when it opens the backdoor, for a split second, they’re — he’s — bathed in the glow from the nearby lampposts and sunset.

White hair, sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and even at this angle, his sharp, blue eyes that are recognizable anywhere.

Satoru Gojo.

The difference between college and high school is that in high school, it’s pretty common to have a few people designated as “popular.” College is different. Everyone is a grown adult now, whether they like it or not, and concepts as juvenile and irrelevant as “popularity” no longer matter.

At a school like Tokyo Metropolitan, though, social hierarchy is everything. A school this small, this exclusive, this prestigious, thrives because parents send their little heirs and heiresses here in order to network. These kids grew up trading Pokemon cards by utilizing tips from The Art of the Deal.

In a small group where only the wealthy and influential are allowed in, Satoru Gojo comes from the wealthiest and most influential family there is. His father has global politicians trying to cozy up to him, and his mother comes from a family who supposedly made their fortune off of blood diamonds (naturally, the Gojos deny this claim, squashing any speculation about how the wife’s family made their money by spamming the news with nothing but reports of their charitable acts). Instead of pursuing business, Gojo makes headlines by his father announcing how proud he is that his son is choosing the noble path of medicine.

“He’s all about helping people,” the reporter quotes Mr. Gojo.

That must be true; it’s why Gojo’s so known all over campus. It’s not enough that socially, he’s better than all of them, which makes being his friend all the more appealing. It’s the fact that he’s just a good guy. You remember how last year, the school paper did an article on how Gojo funded the entire extravagant retirement party for a beloved professor at the school. You heard a rumor that the one and only time he was late to class (by three minutes) was because he was helping a student get her kitten out of a tree. During his undergrad, he was captain of the basketball team and took them to the championships every year. He does all of this while remaining absolutely humble, kind, and top of his class.

You wonder if there’s a story there. If maybe Satoru Gojo, who is too perfect to be real, isn’t real. Maybe his parents figured out where to get their hands on an ultra-realistic robot, something that poses as the perfect son. That would explain his eyes, you think.

You’ve always tried to see the appeal in Gojo. He’s handsome, yes. He’s nice, no doubt about it. You don’t think you could find anyone with a single bad thing to say about him. But during your freshman year at this school, you think about the moment where you had to fill in for the school’s photographer. You had to photograph Gojo accepting an award for being MVP on the basketball team (once again), and while Gojo was charming everyone, from the coach to the dean of the school to the girls in the crowd cheering him on, there was your gut feeling telling you that something was just off.

“You’re not the usual photographer, are ya?” He peers down at you, hands in his pockets, a big grin on his face. He’s not teasing you, at least, not in a rude way. He just has a light-hearted inflection on all his words that makes everything he says seem… warmer? Like, he’s trying to put you at ease.

You’re fiddling with the settings on the camera, unused to the tech. “Um, yeah. I’m a freshman, but I’m just subbing in for my senior who got sick.”

“Really? That’s neat!” He says it, and it sounds so sincere, that you nod along. Yeah, maybe it is neat.

(Gojo’s good at that. Putting people at ease, getting them to see things from his point of view.)

“Try your best to make me look good, and I’ll do my best to make sure whatever shot you get is fine! Deal?” He’s still smiling at you, and all you can do is nod. Even at this point in time, a fresh-faced baby to this school, you’re aware of Gojo’s power. When you’re looking at him through the lens of the camera, you think it’d be impossible to get a bad photo of Gojo.

The uneasy feeling you get around him gets chalked up to nothing more than nerves. You’re a writer, not a photographer. Gojo is a legend amongst men, and being in such close proximity to him would make anyone nervous.

But when you look back at the photo once the article gets published, you know why you felt so weird around him.

When Satoru Gojo smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You’re not sure why Gojo is — or, more accurately, was — in this building, but it’s none of your business. You’re here for Haibara, and whatever weird ass, secretive but lucrative side hustle he’s got going on. Probably dropshipping. Or, maybe he’s selling old test banks?

Chances are, it’s nothing special or noteworthy. The reason why you haven’t gotten a good story lately might simply be because your senses, your so-called reliable gut instinct, has just gone dull. Maybe you’ve never even had a good instinct to begin with. Or, maybe losing it is just the karma you deserve for everything you’ve done to get to where you are now. It would serve you right, wouldn’t it? The universe must have a taste for poetic justice sometimes.

You’re hungry. Your legs are sore. It’s getting late. Whatever Haibara has going on, you don’t care anymore. You’ve got a paper due, and a protein bar somewhere in the bottom of your book bag that will serve as dinner for tonight because you don’t have enough funds to get anything halfway decent at the dining hall, and what a waste of time today was.

You’re opening the doors of the building, letting the cool evening breeze hit you in the face as you exit. You still need something to write for the school paper; the lie you told to Sakura might actually be the only valid idea you have, and—

“Holy fucking shit! Is he dead?!”

You look to your right. There’s a trio of students gathered around a lump on the ground. Someone’s screaming, then they’re all screaming. More students are flooding out of nearby buildings, and despite the protest of your limbs, you turn and head right where the screams are coming from.

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you barely manage to hold back your own scream.

Lying on the concrete walkway is Yu Haibara, with his neck and body at two different odd angles, his head cracked open and spilling blood that leaks onto the manicured grass of the campus.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #series: anatomy of desire

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b3ach-bunn7 · 8 months ago

Text

GOOD GRACES

You meet Gojo at a party and tell him he needs to prove his worth before you let him take you out.

Or, the four times Gojo tries to date you and the one time you try to date him.

The dress you’re wearing is impossibly tight against your figure, and this night is impossibly boring. You’re a good friend. A great friend, even. To put yourself in a room with all these stuffy, high society people. You think you deserve some kind of award for it.

When Utahime asked you to join her, there was no contest. Of course you’d say yes to your best friend, no matter how heinous her request was. She’d been unable to find any plus one and she knew half the people at this event would turn their noses up at the fact she’d shown up alone. That was enough to deter you but the desperate look on her face had you accepting.

That’s why you were here, sitting on a table on your own while she mingled with others. You think it might be some alumni event from the rich high school she went to. Jujutsu Tech? You remember she showed you the tuition her parents used to pay once and you nearly passed out. You’re sure that's an amount of money you’d probably never see in your life. God, you hate the rich.

At least some of her peers were hot. You had your eyes on the blonde wearing blue and cream. Definitely boyfriend material. You tug your dress up your body. Utahime was definitely smaller than you, and the expensive dress she’d lent you was much more revealing on your body than it was hers. You wonder what all the high class teachers thought of your cleavage popping out of your dress. You wonder what blue suit thought about your cleavage sticking out of your dress.

“You look like you’re having fun.” A voice teases.

“I’m glad somebody’s fooled.” You reply, looking up at the man standing in front of you.

He’s tall. That’s the first thing you notice about him. You’re sitting down but you’re sure even if you stood he’d still be towering over you, long limbs that cross over a broad chest. You can see the outline of muscle through the black button up he’s wearing, and the thickness of his thighs that stretch his black slacks. And his hair is white. Dusting over his eyes that are impossibly blue, crinkled with amusement as he looks down at you.

You hold a hand out. “Hi. I’m Y/N.”

His brows furrow slightly at your hand. But he still grabs it and his palm is warm as he shakes your hand.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I don’t think I recognise you. You were in the class of 2018?” He tilts his head slightly as he asks the question.

“Oh, God no. I’m here as a plus one.” You shake your head.

“You don’t sound too happy about that.” He grins, taking the seat beside you. You turn a bit so that you're slightly facing him, rolling your eyes.

“Of course I’m not happy about it. This place is way too prim and proper for me.” You sigh.

Gojo laughs. “What, high society not doing it for you?”

“Hell no. It’s like every conversation I’ve had is just a competition of who can brag about their wealth more. I’ve taken to just lying about it all.”

“Lying?”

“Yeah. You have two yachts, then I have three. You have one million, I have two. I can go all day.” Gojo laughs again and it makes you grin.

“Well, Y/N. You’re a good addition to these things. I hate them too. Everyone’s always all over me, you know. I was valedictorian, the teachers love parading me around to the current students.”

The very unsuccessful attempt at subtle bragging is not lost on you. Something about him, the attractiveness and cockiness rang familiar.

“Hm. You’re Gojo, right?”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Oh, Utahime told me about you. Full of himself and tall, amongst other things. I think you fit the bill.” You pat his shoulder affectionately and he pouts.

“I can’t believe she’s been chatting shit about me. I’m a great guy.”

“It’s never the great guys who need to say they’re great guys, my friend.”

He pouts again and you giggle. You lean back, taking another sip of your champagne. You don’t notice the pair of blue eyes intently watching you do it.

“God, there’s a box of chocolate and a movie marathon waiting for me at home. I just need to power through this.”

“Oh yeah? What are you watching?”

“Romcoms. Tooth rotting romcoms.”

“Oh I love romcoms. You know, a lot of women say I’m just like-“

“I’m going to stop you right here.” You hold up a hand in his face and Gojo huffs, reaching up to grab it and move it.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’m sure I can guess and none of it makes you look good.”

He’s still pouting and also still holding you. Long, slender fingers that basically engulf your own hand, they’re that much bigger than yours. You wonder what else-

Okay. Maybe no more champagne for you. You tug your hand out his grasp, trying to play off the blush that dusts your cheeks.

“If you wanted to hold my hand so badly you could just say, Gojo.”

“I want to hold your hand.”

You fluster. “Shush. What’s your favourite romcom?”

“You just told me to ask. And.” He pauses, thinking. “27 dresses.”

You grin, now turning to face him completely. “I love that movie!”

“Me too!”

“Wow. I thought you were just lying to get into my pants. But you’ve got good taste.”

“Yeah, I definitely have good taste.” And he looks at you in that intense way again that makes you laugh nervously.

“So what do you do, Gojo?” You clear your throat, changing your mind and downing the rest of your champagne. You could do with the confidence.

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh, cool. Like in suits.”

Gojo snorts a laugh. “Yes, like in suits. Though I think I’m much more attractive than that Harvey guy.”

It’s your turn to laugh. He pouts again. “What, you don’t agree?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not actually watched the show.”

“Take my word for it. I am much more attractive than him. I’m taller, too.”

“What, that’s important to attractiveness?”

“Well, you know what they say.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks reddening again. You do know what they say and some part of you knows Gojo is probably not only blessed in the wealth department.

Jesus. You really need to stop drinking so much at these things. You glance at the empty glasses near you and you pretend they don’t exist.

“Gross.”

Gojo grins again, flashing those pearly white teeth.

“So, are you-“

“Gojo, fuck off.”

Utahime’s voice is whispered as she speaks but Gojo’s face twists like he’s been yelled at. He stands and tries to pull her into a hug but she shoves him away.

“Utahime! It’s been so long, you grew up so beautiful!”

“Shove your compliments up your ass, Gojo. Come on, Y/N, we’re leaving.”

You frown slightly, glancing at Gojo who also looks slightly dejected. But Utahime warned you of what he’s like. And while all the flirting and everything was nice you’re sure it’s all just a ploy to fuck you and leave. You were not going to be another woman under his belt. That poor girl that he fucked once.

But he’s so hot. That button up is hugging his biceps so deliciously you have to physically pull your eyes away.

“It was nice speaking to you, Gojo.” His eyes widen as you go to leave.

“Wait, can I get your number?” He asks quickly.

“No, you can’t get her number. I’m not letting you fuck her over.” Utahime snaps, pulling you up on your feet.

For the first time a twinge of irritation crosses Gojos features. “Come on, Utahime, don’t be like that. I’m not-“

“I don’t care, she’s not interested. It was not nice seeing you.” She snarls, dragging you away.

You always commend Utahime on her strong character but you sort of wish she’d just shut up. You give one more wave to Gojo, and you sigh at the sight of him standing there, because you know it's the last time you’ll ever see him.

——————-

It turns out you will see Gojo again. Or more accurately, his wealth.

You walk into your office the next day to see a very expensive looking bouquet on your desk. Blues and whites, all different types of flowers that bend and twist over each other. You slip off the card that’s attached to the bouquet and smile slightly at the very bad drawing of Gojo imprinted on the front. And a phone number scribbled underneath. A quick google search tells you these flowers cost a few hundred pounds. You’re so shocked by the sight of the price you don’t hear Utahime slide up beside you. You do hear her annoyed sigh.

“Let me guess. Gojo?”

You slip your phone in your pocket. “Might not be. I could have a secret boyfriend.”

“Yeah right. Like you can keep a secret for longer than a second.” She grabs the card out of your hand.

“Tell me you’re not going to message him.”

“I think I might. Thank him for the flowers, you know?”

Utahime brows furrow at your sly smile. “Whatever. I can’t stop you. You’re a grown woman. It’s your funeral.”

She raises her hands in surrender and passes you the card again. You pocket it and decide you’ll message him after work. You spend the rest of your shift staring at the flowers, wondering when he’d had the time to even get them here. Had he been thinking about you as much as you had him? Because you had been, last night, as you were falling asleep. Thinking about his height, those slender fingers, that grin. You realised it had been a bit too long since you’d been with a man.

You decide to text him on your way home. You’re squeezed on the train between an old man and a woman you think is about to fall asleep on you.

You: thank you for the flowers mr gojo

Gojo: 😁😁 Did you love them so much

You: I did

You: thought they take up a lot of room in my office

You: how much did you spend on them 😭

Gojo: Only the best for you baby

Gojo: And price is no issue

Gojo: You deserve them

Gojo: Surprised you’re even messaging me

Gojo: Utahime finally lay off?

You quickly realise that Gojo is not against double texting. Or quadruple texting, it seems.

You: I told her to fuck off >:)

You: jk

You: I told her I’m a big girl who knows what she’s doing

You: especially with guys like you

Gojo: 🤔 Guys like me!?

Gojo: Incredibly handsome and rich and talented and funny and smart guys??

You: modest too..

You: no, I mean guys who fuck girls and then expect them to leave right after

Gojo: If EYE fucked you you wouldn’t be able to leave

Gojo: But I’m not like that 🙁🙁 what has Utahime been telling you about me

You: im gonna ignore that first message for ur own good

You: and she told me enough 😒

Gojo: Whats enough

You: what’s your body count first

Gojo: … 😅

Gojo: Okay not fair I used to be a slut when I was a teenager

You: look i won’t say I’m not interested

You: ur hot and ur funny and u have good taste in movies

You: but I’m 24 😭 I’m not getting involved with someone who isn’t considering long term

Gojo: But I am considering long term

You: really?

Gojo: With you yeah

You: you prove that to me then

Gojo: 😫😫😫 HOW

You: YUCK don’t use that emoji

Gojo: 😫😫 WHY

You: looks like ur in the throes of an orgasm

Gojo: LMAOOO

Gojo: I look much sexier when I orgasm thanks

You: okay luckily my stop is next so we can stop talking about your orgasms now

——-

The flowers become a regular thing. So does the texting. You let Gojo know after the third time of leaving them at your desk that this wasn’t proving he was serious about you. He tells you he knows, and that he just wants to spoil you. You pretend that it doesn't leave butterflies in your stomach.

It’s been two weeks and you find yourself growing more and more attached to him. He messages you every morning and every night, during his breaks at work. He sends selfies too, with his three trainees, the smiley one with pink hair, the moody black haired one and the girl with a killer bob. Selfies of him in his suit for work, of him at the gym. You think those are definitely your favourite.

It’s weird that someone like Gojo is interested in someone like you. You’re sure there’s a thousand girls who are prettier and rich like him he’d get on with much better. You told him as much one late night, insecurities churning in your head, the early hours of the morning loosening your lips.

Gojo: Shut up don’t say that

Gojo: I like you because ur funny and kind and ur so smart

Gojo: I could give two shits about how much money you have

Gojo: And you’re beautiful Y/N

Gojo: Why do you think I approached you in the first place?

Gojo: Once you finally say yes ur definitely wearing that dress again 😋

You: thank you Gojo <3

You: and that’s utahimes dress I had to give it back :/

Gojo: I’ll buy you ten like them

You’ve not actually seen Gojo since the party. But you couldn’t mistake the figure chatting to your receptionist as you leave for your lunch break as anyone else.

“Gojo?”

He looks up the second he hears your voice. And you think his eyes brighten a little when he sees you, and he bounds over. He stops in front of you, warm hands dropping on your shoulders.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m taking you to lunch.”

“I’m not going on a date with you, Gojo.” You cross your arms.

He smiles slightly, shaking his head. “Not as a date. As friends. We’re friends, right?” He smiles wider and you couldn’t say no to him if you tried.

You begrudgingly walk out, waving goodbye to Doris at the front desk. She winks at you and you shoo her away. Gojo ends up driving you to a cute little ramen shop not to far from your place. He orders something he insists you’ll love. He commends his choice again as the steaming bowls are placed in front of the two of you. Before you could call him too confident, you practically moan when you take the first bite.

“Oh my god, this is so good.” You speak through a mouthful of noodles and Gojo nods.

“I know! You’ve never been here before?”

“No! If I did I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

The two of you chat about work. Gojo tells you about his latest case, and you listen intently, only a little jealous of how fun it sounds.

“The most interesting thing that happens at my work is someone eating someone else’s lunch.” You huff. “Or maybe the huge bouquets of flowers that keep showing up at my desk.”

Gojo leans forward slightly at the sight of your teasing smile. The table the two of you are on is small enough that when he does so his legs press against yours. You sit up a bit.

“Glad I can bring some entertainment to your office.”

“You’re giving me way too much. I had to give one of the bouquets to my mum, I had no space at my place. And she’s asking questions.”

“Oh yeah? Who’d you tell her they were from?”

“My stalker.”

Gojo splutters. “Your stalker? That’s not fair!”

You laugh. “Why not!”

“Well, that's ruined my first impression. I need my in-laws to like me.”

You roll your eyes. “What happened to this just being lunch?”

Gojo hums. “I can’t be prepared for the future? Who knows what it holds?”

“Shut it you.” You dunk your chopsticks into your bowl

He just looks at you. You glance up at him. You think catching him in the act will make him stop, but he doesn’t. Just keeps staring at you.

“You alright there?”

“You look really pretty today.”

Your face heats and you swallow. “Thanks.”

“This blouse.” He leans forward, fingers curling into the collar of your button up. He’s about one inch away from touching your skin and you want him to, want him to reach and trace his fingers down your chest.

“Looks good on you.”

You nod. Eyes transfixed on his. “T-Thanks. Yeah. Thanks.”

He grins once again, something glinting in his eyes.

————

A week later, the office postman drops something at your desk. An envelope with messy handwriting you can immediately recognise as Gojo’s.

You rip the envelope open and two slips of paper fall out. You quickly deduce that their tickets. Your eyes skim over them quickly. Your mouth drops open when you read the loopy calligraphy on them and you grab your phone, immediately dialling Gojo’s number.

“Gojo! You didn’t!”

“Wait, what did I do?” His voice comes confused down the other line.

“The tickets! To the outdoor movie night thing at the park! They were sold out, how did you get them?”

“Oh, that! Yeah, I know someone who works there that owes me a favour.” You can almost hear the smug tone in his voice but you don’t care.

Because the truth is you really wanted to go. Those outdoor movie parks. You always loved the picnic blankets all spread across a field, watching the sunset behind the movie screen. And not only was this one in the prettiest park in your town, but it was also showing one of your favourite movies ever. You usually went every year and you’d tried to buy tickets but you missed the cut off and they’d all been taken. You tried not to dwell too much in your disappointment, but this was too much.

“God, Gojo, thank you. How’d you even know I wanted to go?”

“You mentioned it like. A week or two ago? When I called you during my lunch break, remember?”

You barely did, so you have no idea how he did. You say as much to him and he laughs.

“I don’t know either. It’s not important. I hope you enjoy them.

He pauses suddenly.

“Also, this isn’t me like- asking you out subtly. They’re yours, you take who you want.”

God. Was Utahime sure this is the same Gojo she had gone to school with? Bceuase the man she’d described was nothing like the one you were on the phone with.

“Shut up, I’m taking you, obviously.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“I know. I want to.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll pick you up after work, then?”

“I finish at five.”

“I’ll see you then.”

——

It’s been a month and Gojo doesn’t know what to do.

He hates it. Never in his life has he been this enamoured with anyone. It’s usually the other way around and usually he’s the one rejecting unwanted advances. As vain as it sounds, Gojo doesn’t think he’s ever met a woman who’s taken longer than a few days to fall for him. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much more. You respect yourself too much to fall for the stuff his usual girls do.

Gojo will be honest. When he approached you at the party, his one goal in mind was to get you in bed. You just looked so good. Tight dress clinging around your curves, those tits almost spilling out. The expanse of your legs, paired with those heels. God, he’s only human. How could he not come over to you?

But then he’d actually spoken to you. And you were funny, and witty, and he kind of wanted to introduce you to his mother instead of just fuck you. And then Utahime had to ruin it all before he even had a chance.

So Gojo’s been trying so hard to win you over. Done everything he can think of. And it’s worse now, because the more he tries to win you over, the more he gets to know you, and the more he wants you. Not just physically but in every way of the word. He wants to take you out on dates, and wants to introduce you to Geto and Nanami. Buy you necklaces and bracelets that cost half his paycheck, introduce you to his family.

And most of all, though, he wants to spread you open against his bedsheets. Kiss his way down your neck, your chest. Make you whine underneath him, come undone under his hands.

That’s all minor details. Patience is what Gojo needs and what he definitely doesn’t have any when it comes to you.

He walks into his office, cursing the wasted good weather as he signs in. He waves at the receptionist Ijichi, a cheery, starry-eyed man a few years younger than him. Before he can reach his office he sees Yuji and Nobara standing in front of the door, giggling and whispering amongst themselves. Megumi is standing off to the side. He looks uninterested but Gojo can tell by the way he’s slightly leaning towards them he’s listening too.

“Is there a reason you young trainees are giggling in front of my office?” Gojo asks.

He feels oddly like their teacher, even though new hires are sort of everyone’s responsibility. They always only come to him. Megumi is probably his favourite but he’ll never tell them that.

Yuji giggles again. “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend, Gojo.”

Gojo’s brows furrow in confusion. He tilts his head to the side. “Apparently I didn’t tell myself either. What are you talking about?”

Nobara joins him, grinning. “Yeah, is she hot? I bet she is, you’re too vain to date someone ugly.” She shakes her head scathingly and Gojo splutters.

“Both of you shut up. Go do some work.” He shoos them away and they stalk off.

Gojo mumbles some choice words under his breath. He walks in and instead of seeing his messily kept desk he’s met with a bouquet of flowers on his desk. They’re definitely smaller than any of the ones he got you, but they’re pretty and pink. He plucks the card off the side and scoffs at the clumsily drawn person he’s guessing is supposed to be you.

Gojo: Blushing so hard in the office rn 🙈

Soon to be gf: do you love them :D

Gojo: They’re very pink

Soon to be gf: does that hurt ur masculinity :(

Gojo: Of course not

Gojo: I love them😆

‘I love you’ is what Gojo wants to say but he holds his tongue. That’s always his issue. Gojo doesn’t love a lot but when he does, he loves hard. Loves so much that he thinks it might kill him, swallow him whole.

He spends the first few hours of his shift idly working, eyes darting to the flowers that sit pretty on his desk. The trainees keep trying to find stupid excuses to walk in so they can try and see who they’re from, but Gojo just waves them off every time. He decides to go out for his lunch break, because the sickly sweet smell of the flowers is only reminding him of everything he doesn’t have.

And then he sees you chatting with Ijichi at the entrance and he remembers what this is all for. Your face lights up when you see him, grinning cheekily.

“Did you like your flowers, Mr Gojo?”

“I did indeed.”

You rest your head on your hand, leaning against the desk. You’re wearing a summer dress, something blue and patterned that clings to your chest and torso and flits around your lower half. The skirt rides up your thighs as you lean forward to whisper something to Ijichi and he curses under his breath.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo walks until he’s right in front of you.

You look up, something mysterious in your face.“I’m taking you out for lunch.”

Gojo tilts his head. “You’re taking me out? What's the occasion?”

“Just felt like it. Come on.”

Gojo follows obediently as you grab his arm, linking yours in it to walk him out the building. You chatter about something or the other. He can’t really focus because the sun is shining off your skin and your smiling and he just wants to reach over and touch you.

“Okay, we’re here!”

You pull Gojo into a bakery. There’s cakes and cupcakes and pies all lined up in glass cases, and the other half of the shop is filled with sandwiches and savoury treats. Gojo is practically drooling as he reads the menu.

“What- Why are we here?” He asks, eyes still trailing over the long expanse of desserts to choose from.

“I know you like your sweets so I looked around for a good bakery and this one was right here, right next to your work! So I thought I’d take you here so I could-“

You pause. “Yeah.”

“So you could what?”

“No matter. Now go pick something.”

You end up taking the desserts to go after the ten minutes it takes for him to decide what he wants. You lead Gojo through some pathways he’s never been down before. He asks you if you plan on murdering him and you roll your eyes. Doesn’t deny it though.

The end result is not his murder location, but a cute park, with ducks and a pond. They sit on a rusty bench dedicated to someone gone, and eat their desserts. You scrunch your nose at the amount of sweets he can eat in one sitting. The two of you talk about everything and anything, until you start looking nervous.

“You okay? You’ve gotten all fidgety.”

“Mhm. I’m okay. Just nervous.”

Gojo is confused. Nervous about what? About him?

“What’s there to be nervous about?”

There’s a soft breeze blowing wisps of your hair into your face. It's only twelve o clock so the sun shines brightly above the two of you. The park is pretty empty, though, the occasional dogwalker or old man idly walking by. You bite your lip, scratching at your cheek.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to ask you out.”

Oh.

Your cheeks flush red almost the same second as the words leave your mouth.

“Shit. Fuck, I didn’t mean- Oh god, I’ve ruined it.” You groan, covering your face with your hands.

Gojo breathes a laugh. “What- What's going on?”

You shake your head, still hiding in your hands. “God, I just. I like you, I realised. Really like you. And I think that- that I want to be with you. So I thought about asking you out and I was going to do all the things you did for me, like the flowers and everything. But I’ve fucked it.”

You look up at him and he looks at the crease between your eyebrows, the small pout on your lips. And it seems the only thing he can do is reach forward and kiss you. His hands reach up and curve under your jaw, fingers toying with the hairs on the back of your neck. You make a little whine as he licks into your mouth and it makes him press closer. He’s sure you can probably feel the arousal on him, and he knows that as he lets his hands slip to the small of your back and pull you onto his lap.

“So beautiful, you know that? Been dreaming about this.” He groans, kissing your jaw, down your neck.

He licks at your pulse and you moan slightly and he can feel the heat on your face as you cards a hand through his hair. You pull him back, and it’s his turn to moan at the pain in his scalp mixed with the delicious pressure of you sitting in his lap.

“Gojo, we- we’re in public.” You laugh.

He leans forward, dropping his forehead on yours.

“I don’t care. I’ve been waiting for you for a month, you temptress.” He sighs dramatically.

“Ask me out first at least, gosh.”

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

I hope you all enjoyedddd! i just randomly had the idea for this and i hope you all like it. also i really wanna write smut but i also cringe out so much?? so one day just expect at the end of one of these oneshots y/n getting dicked down!

as always asks are open, so plz feel free to leave me some suggestions!

#fluff #oneshot #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo saturo #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru #satoru #gojo satoru x reader fluff #jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen #b3ach bunn7

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yanderenightmare · 1 month ago

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Prompt List

Just a little list of writing exercises.

Use the traits, characteristics, and anything else associated with the coming prompts to create a character.

More details here: Writer's Block

♡ Apex Predator Hybrids

Lion, Wolf, Shark, Tiger, Polar Bear, Grizzly Bear, Saltwater Crocodile, etc.

Apex Predator Club

♡ Mythological/SciFi Creatures

Vampire, Succubus, Werewolf, Zombie, Ghost, Droid, Robot, Alien etc.

JJK as Mythic Creatures BNHA as Mythic Creatures

♡ Seven Days of the Week

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.

Yandere Days

♡ Seven Deadly Sins

Pride, Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony, Lust, Envy, Greed.

Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

♡ Seven Heavenly Virtues

Humility, Patience, Diligence, Temperance, Chastity, Gratitude, Charity.

Yandere Seven Heavenly Virtues

♡ The Four Seasons

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall.

The Four Seasons as Boyfriends

♡ The Seven Colors of the Rainbow

Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet.

The Rainbow Colors as Boyfriends

♡ The Twelve Zodiac Signs

Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, Pisces. You can break them up into fire, water, earth, and air signs.

♡ The Twelve Months

January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December. You can break them up into winter, spring, summer, and fall months.

♡ Numbers

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten etc.

♡ Five (or ten) Fingers

Pinkie, Ring finger, Middle finger, Pointer, Thumb. Have fun with their names and qualities.

♡ Nature’s Four (or more) Elements

Water, Earth, Fire, Air—plus Plasma, Gravity, Ice, Life, etc, if you want.

♡ Eras

The Dark Ages, Industrial Age, Age of Oil, Atomic Era, Space Age, Internet Age, etc.

♡ Fashion Periods

Victorian, Art Nouveau, WW1, Art Deco, The Roaring 20s, WW2, Hollywood, Rock & Roll, Swinging Sixties, Flower Power, Disco Fever, New Romantics, Yuppies, Grunge, Boho, Fast Fashion, Thrifting, etc.

♡ Today’s Fashion Styles

Minimalism, Chic, Thriftstore, Goth, Grunge, Punk, Hippie, Couture, Old Money, Streetwear, Preppy, etc.

♡ The Eight Planets + Pluto

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto.

♡ Other Celestial Bodies

Sun, Moon, The North Star, Shooting Star, Comets, etc.

♡ Countries (pick & choose)

America, Britain, Spain, Japan, etc… think Hetalia, though I haven’t watched it personally…

♡ American States (pick & choose)

California, Texas, Florida, New York, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio, Georgia, etc.

♡ The Five (or more) Flavors

Sweet, Salty, Sour, Bitter, and Umami—and No Flavor, like pure water.

♡ The Five (or more) Senses

Sight, Smell, Hearing, Taste, Touch—Balance and Proprioception—and maybe even Emotion and Thinking.

♡ Core Subjects (or others)

English, History, Social Studies, Science, Foreign Language, Gym, Art, Music, Geography, etc. Maybe base it around the teacher of each class.

♡ School Mobs

Principal, Homeroom Teacher, Student Council President, Tutor, Class Rep, Janitor, Frat House President, Frat House Alumni, Valedictorian, Head Nurse, etc. You can mix this one with the one on Core Subjects above, including them as teachers.

♡ The Periodic Table (pick & choose)

Gold, Oxygen, Arsenic, Tungsten, etc.

♡ Music Genres

Classical, Rock, Rap, Pop, Jazz, Country, Electronic, Dubstep, House, Folk, Hip-hop, New-Age, Indie, Beatbox, A’cappella, Heavy Metal, Bebop, etc.

♡ TV and Movie Genres

Horror, Thriller, Western, Romance, Comedy, Action, Sci-Fi, Children’s movie, Fantasy, Adventure, Drama, Documentary, Mockumentary, Musical, Animation, Anime, Porn, Reality TV, News, etc.

♡ Book and Writing Genres

Poetry, Fiction, True Events, Scientific, Picture, Fan-fiction, Joke, Fun Fact, Cook, Craft, Knitting, Magazine, etc.

♡ Hobbies

Singing, Knitting, Arts, Sewing, Writing, Gaming, etc.

♡ Toxic traits

Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Protectiveness, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Lying, Selfishness, Controlling behaviour, Jealousy, Boundary-violating, Judgemental, Defensive, Stone-walling, Feigning Ignorance, Avoiding Accountability, Aggressive, Querrelsome, etc.

♡ Food

Junk, Guilty pleasure, Fast food, Frozen, Healthy, Self-grown, Gains, Street, Dessert, Candy, etc.

♡ Holidays and Celebrations

Christmas, Valentine's, Halloween, Easter, Snow-day, April Fools, Birthday, Summer break, Saint Patrick's, etc.

♡ Sports

Gaming, Chess, Football, Basketball, Tennis, Frisbee Golf, Golf, etc.

♡ Tools

Hammer, Wrench, Drill, Saw, etc.

♡ Sicknesses

Common cold, Flu, Mono, Hangover, Crossfade, etc.

♡ The Eight Core Emotions

Ecstasy, Admiration, Terror, Amazement, Grief, Loathing, Rage, Vigilance.

♡ Transportation Methods

Car, Train, Motorcycle, Dirt bike, Boat, Plane, Submarine, Bike, Walking, etc.

♡ Weaponry

Gun, Sword, Dagger, Bow and Arrow, Crossbow, Whip, Slingshot, Poison, etc.

♡ Terrain

Forest, Desert, Ocean, Tundra, etc—think Minecraft biomes!

♡ Fonts

Times New Roman, Futura, Impact, Papyrus, etc. Probably good to have pictures with this one.

♡ Types of Depression + Symptoms

Melancholia, Anxiety, Insomnia, Hypersomnia, Bipolar, Despondency, Amnesia, Self-consciousness, etc.

♡ Art Mediums

Oil Paint, Acrylic, Charcoal, Pastel, Watercolor, Collage, Digital, etc.

♡ Architecture Styles

Neoclassical, Gothic, Contemporary, Industrial, Victorian, Colonial, Vernacular, Suburban, etc.

♡ A Deck of Cards

Spade, Hearts, Diamond, Clover—King, Queen, Jack, Ace, Joker, Numbers. Maybe make them four opposing kingdoms, with the reader being a delegator of some kind.

♡ Chess Pieces

White, Black—King, Queen, Rook, Bishop, Knight, Pawn. Two opposing sides, with the reader being a delegator of some kind maybe.

♡ Different Types of Money

Nickel, Dime, Penny, Quarter, One dollar bill, Five dollar bill, Twenty dollar bill, Transaction, Million dollar check, Inheritance, Settlement, Insurance, Paycheck, Tax return, etc.

♡ Types of Dates

Cinema, home, cafe, amusement park, picnic, hike, beach, etc.

♡ Grocery Store Aisles

Fresh Produce Section, Deli and Prepared Foods, Frozen Foods, Bakery and Bread, Meat and Seafood, Dairy, Cereal and Breakfast foods, Snack and Chip, Alcohol, Pet Food, Soft Drinks, Canned food, Health and Body Care, Magazine and Books, Cleaning Products, Condiments and Sauces, Cooking Oils, Baking supplies, etc.

♡ The Six Military Branches

The Army, Marine Corps, Navy, Air Force, Space Force, Coast Guard.

♡ Palace Mobs

King, Queen, Prince, Princess, Ward, Advisor, Grand Knight, Groundskeeper, Head Cook, Grand Healer, Priest, etc.

♡ Harry Potter

Hogwarts’ Houses—Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw.

Hogwarts’ Mandatory Classes—Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, Astronomy, Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Flying/Quidditch. Plus elective classes like Care of Magical Creatures, Alchemy, Muggle Studies, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy.

If you base it on teachers, you can also include the Principal, Groundskeeper, and Head Nurse.

Patronus (Pick & Choose)—There are more than a hundred different ones.

The Books—Philosopher's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban, Goblet of Fire, Order of the Phoenix, Half-Blood Prince, Deathly Hallows.

♡ Star Wars

Color of Lightsabers—Green, Blue, Yellow, Red, Orange, Purple, White, Black.

♡ Game Characters

Minecraft Mobs & Characters—Steve, Enderman, Pigman, Skeleton, Witch, Villager, Zombie, Stone Golem, Ender Dragon, etc.

Dungeons & Dragons Base Classes—Barbarian, Bard, Cleric, Druid, Fighter, Monk, Paladin, Ranger, Rogue, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard.

You can also use any other type of game…

♡ Professions

This is a whole list in and of itself. These don’t have to be grouped together, but can be prompts on there own:

♡ Outlaws

Kingpin, Mob, Mafia, Loan sharks, Extortionists, Blackmailers, Pimp, Drug dealers, Gang member, Muscle, Hitman, Mercenary, Bounty hunter, Sex traffickers, Pirates, Smugglers, etc.

♡ Government + Law & Order

King, President, Governor, Politician, Senator, Congressman, Law official, Judge, Lawyer, Agent, Spy, Cop, Parole officer, Warden, Prison guard, etc.

♡ Health

Doctor, Surgeon, Therapist, Psychiatrist, Dentist, Personal trainer, Health manager, etc.

♡ Art

Painter, Sculptor, Writer, Poet, Film director, Photographer, Singer, etc.

♡ Service

Bartender, Waiter, Barista, Butler, etc.

♡ Sex worker

Pornstar, Prondirector, Stripper, Escort, Sugarbaby, etc.

♡ Transportation

Pilot, Chueffer, Taxi driver, Train conductor, Ship’s Captain, etc.

♡ Sport

Pro-athlete, Pro-gamer, Chessplayer, Football player, American football player, Basketball player, etc.

♡ Rural

Cowboy, Farmer, Hermit, Hunter, etc.

♡ Handymen

Carpenter, Plumber, Electrician, Contractor, Construction worker, Mechanic, etc.

♡ Science

Scientist, Biologist, Chemist, etc.

♡ Business mogul & Industrialists

Network owner, Tech innovator, Factory owner, Company owner, etc.

♡ NIGHTMARE'S HELPDESK

#nightmare's helpdesk #prompt list #writing prompt #yandere prompt #yandere prompt list #fic prompt #writing ideas #writing exercise

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zzeraphilm · 1 year ago

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Fight For Me (II)

Part one Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (GN) word count: 3,803 Summary: When industries collide, Kuroo is reunited with the one that got away. But nobody is pleased to see each other.

“Oh Y/N!” Alisa Haiba screeched, bringing her old friend into a hug. “I’m so glad you took the role! Ah I can finally have a friend amongst my team.”

With a laugh, Y/N only rubbed their friend’s back lightly, not to crease her outfit that will soon be shot in the new YSL photoshoot. It had been back in Melbourne did Y/N L/N and Alisa Haiba became acquaintances. At first it took Y/N a while to realise how they recognised Alisa, thinking it was just because they saw her face plastered on every major billboard on their way to campus. But the illusive fantasy of a celebrity was shattered when she spoke in her accented English and their high school memories came flashing before their eyes. From that day forward, their worlds collided.

After a gruelling last ditch push to complete their masters, Y/N was lucky to have Alisa as one of their few friends in Tokyo. Since coming back to Japan, Y/N had forgotten how lonely the city could be. How they would blend into the crowd of faces, becoming another statistic on a long list of residents. They hated the city, they hated how the streets they used to walk down during high school remain untouched, how the faces of the shop owners only grow older, their frowns sagging to the floor. Getting out of Japan felt liberating, to come back to it all Y/N found themselves wallowing in the same self-pity that they found themselves suffering with during their teen years. Alisa was a reminder of the world outside of the city, she allowed Y/N to follow her on trips and try new exciting things to brighten their full life. When Alisa became the face of YSL Japan and her modelling career expanded beyond Asia, Y/N was thrilled to join their friend at the request to be her assistant public relations secretary.

If I could get Alisa to be the most known face across the globe, I can finally start my life again, out of Tokyo.

The desire to finally leave Japan behind, leave their past behind and explore the world beyond. Maybe, that could get rid of the sour taste in Y/N’s mouth every time they thought of Tokyo.

Despite their extensive years in academia, books could not compare to reality. Piles and piles of paperwork, emails and meetings meant Y/N lived and breathed the Haiba siblings. Being a part of Alisa’s PR team meant being a part of Lev’s, it was a given to see the fellow Nekoma alumni at work. At first, Y/N was resentful. Nekoma was supposed to be long past them, just a floating memory of guilt and regret. Lev was advised by his sister to not pester Y/N about high school, about anything related to Nekoma especially anything about Kuroo. The first few months with the Haiba siblings were stressful. Lev was growing increasingly popular amongst younger fans, booking him on daytime television to speak about his latest projects was a breeze. More fans meant more fan meets and thus more work for Y/N.

More work means bigger reach, and getting even closer to leaving.

With winter around the corner, Y/N knew there would be an exponential growth in events that would need to be covered. Press conferences, online campaigns, brand collaborations. Whenever Y/N closed their eyes, all they could see was the Haiba siblings plastered on the inside of their eyelids. Amidst the pile of work, Y/N noticed a oddly hand written note;

‘Please please pleaseeee consider this one! I wanna work with Kenma and Chibi-chan T^T’

Lifting up the sticky note, the title page screamed out to Y/N.

“Bouncing Ball Corp ft. Hinata Shoyo and Lev Haiba.”

“Helloo~”

“Where’d you get this plan from? Who gave it to you? Is this some kind of joke? You’re a high end luxury brand model with limited television guest appearances, what makes you think I’d let you represent sports now?” Y/N’s voice boomed into the phone, causing Lev’s eardrums to burst and bleed from the noise shattering scolding on the other end of the call.

“Kenma gave it me! He said his team told him it would be good to reach out to other famous people who knew!” He whined.

It was partially the prospect of being with Kenma and Hinata again, but more so, he craved the feeling of slamming a volleyball with his bare hands again. After years of maintaining his pristine image, his calloused hands had smoothened out, as soft as a baby’s bum. He was yearning for the thrill of the game again.

“No. This proposal makes no sense anyways. Who even wrote this?”

“Well it was someone on Kenma’s side! Anyways, he’s got a hugeee following on Youtube and Twitch! All people talk about on Twitter is his stuff! Y/N you’ve always wanted a big international gig, and I’ve found us one! Please, please, please, pleaseeee!” If Lev wasn’t in public he would’ve been on his knees begging, kissing Y/N’s feet till they said yes.

Indeed, all Y/N needed now was a major international break for the siblings, if they could book either a global brand ambassador position or an American modelling debut, then Y/N could finally relocate to anywhere but Japan. The Tokyo smog blocked their lungs each daily commute to work, the buildings never changed and the familiar scents of old stores and parks they used to frequent as a student became sickening.

“Give me Kodzuken’s contacts and we’ll see.”

It was a wild goose chase to get the right person to contact. Email, after email. More and more useless contacts that lead Y/N to no helpful responses. Different representatives of Kodzuken and Hinata Shoyo till finally the Japanese Volleyball Association. After two weeks of this ordeal, Y/N was finally sent through to the person in charge of organising the project. But of all people, it just so happened to be Kuroo Tetsurou. Shit.

Despite getting to chase around his old volleyball rivals across the world for scouting, interviews and just regular catch ups. Kuroo hated the mundane parts of his job, emails and project meetings. Managers up his arse about deadlines. His fingers were beginning to cramp into a contorted version of itself with all the typing he had to endure. He swore his email page was burned into the scleras of his eyes.

Ping.

Another one to the read later pile. It was fifteen minutes till the end of his shift, he wasn’t going to stay for overtime this week, he had made plans with Kenma tonight. After weeks of rejection, the self-made entrepreneur finally was willing to leave his room to grab a drink with his long time friend. Before he could shut off his monitor, he read the Sender’s name.

L/N Y/N.

Holy fuck.

He thought he had buried the last sparks of affection he had for Y/N the morning they blocked them. But no, like a phoenix, the embers within him burst into an inferno. Nothing could quench the burning desire he held inside. Kuroo had forgotten where he was, he was no longer stuck in a mechanical cubicle with the robotic tapping of keyboards echoing throughout the room. He was back in his Nekoma uniform, back with Y/N by his side. He could smell them, touch them and most of all kiss them. Their laugh was ringing in his head, he was high on their perfume. Kuroo begs to any mighty power above him or anyone who could hear his heart, for his yearning to cease. He thought he could leave it all behind but his body, no his soul calls for Y/N.

A few clicks was all it took and he plummeted to the pitiful man he once was without Y/N. His eyes darted at the few sentences, he could hear Y/N’s echoing in his head reading to him.

I hope this email finds you well…Lev Haiba…with Bouncing Ball Corp…please contact me…best regards L/N Y/N.

By some wicked power that festered inside him, Kuroo saw this as a sign from the universe. Finally letting Y/N back into his life. He could once again feel true happiness, the love that had left his heart with a gaping void for the last few years.

Within a few weeks, each team was able to schedule the first table reading for the promotional video. The main plan to have it filmed over a course of two weeks, just in time before the Olympics in Tokyo. Time was of the essence and the only reason why Y/N was pushing themselves to succeed in this collar was the promise of a better life for themselves. The table reading was in a spacious meeting room curtesy of the Japanese Volleyball Association, the room stretched far beyond any hall Y/N had seen before. A titanic monitor casts its shadow over the table, a long aisle of varied refreshments framed the corners of the room. The chairs were individually cushioned, the carpet was soft with the richest woven fibres from the farthest corners of the world.

Y/N had arrived with Lev and multiple representatives from his team, Kuroo was stood under the frame of the entrance door, his jaw ajar. To Kuroo Tetsurou the mere sight of Y/N took his breath away, all he wished to do was run as fast as his legs could take him and embrace them with the strength of a thousand suns. Claiming them to be his all over again. He didn’t notice that Y/N’s face was getting closer and closer towards him, till they were stood shoulder to shoulder, face to face.

“Mr. Kuroo, a pleasure to be working with you.” Y/N held out their rigid hand.

“…Y/N,” he whispered, as if saying their name aloud was punishable by death.

“My name is L/N. I expect you to refer to me as such. We will see you inside.” Five seconds. Their reunion lasted five seconds, Kuroo couldn’t help but watch Y/N’s figure walk away, the closest he’s ever been to them, and all he can have in return is the sight of their back.

“My god, they’re as beautiful as the day I lost them.” Kuroo uttered.

The meeting went as smoothly as planned. Any issues were discussed thoroughly and everyone was confident in the project. But Kuroo paid no attention to any of it. His eyes could not keep off of Y/N. The way they’d speak so eloquently, unlike how childish they were in high school. He admired Y/N’s new found maturity, this chic version of his love, he was still entranced by their allure years after their split. However, his eyes would dart to the presence of Lev Haiba next to Y/N. A deeply rooted feeling of jealousy to the boy he once considered his underling. The Haiba siblings could see and be around Y/N every waking hour, yet the only time he had with them within his reach, lasted only five seconds. It wasn’t fair. He had assumed that Y/N had no more ties to Nekoma, so the thought of Y/N never cross his mind, till now. Seeing them beside Lev Haiba, sparked a new fire within his chest. Distant memories would flash in Kuroo's mind, younger versions of themselves, a first year Lev begging to meet and be around Y/N, his partner of three years. Jokes that he would push aside, confirming how Y/N was separate to volleyball and he had no intentions of merging these two sides of him. Yet there they were, in union with each other. Y/N and volleyball. He felt sick.

“I understand that the sport is the focus of this project, but we mustn’t ignore the everyday audience who aren’t fans of the sport.” Y/N spoke with a tinge of spite, they never mentioned the sport by name. In case the moment they uttered its name, they would be shackled down to its legacy for all of eternity.

“Lev is the public’s rising heartthrob, for both his looks and his humour, use it.”

“Aw! Thank you Y/N!” The half-russian man tried to coddle Y/N only to be pushed back into his seat by them.

Kuroo Tetsurou was torn. He wished to be the one to coddle Y/N. He hated how formal this all was, never had he thought of Y/N as this pragmatic android that spouted the same endless bullshit his co-workers would repeat. He wanted to see them laugh again, he wanted to bring them crying on their knees from tears of laughter. Maybe if he did that stupid impression of their father that always made them laugh, maybe then Y/N would go back to how they were in school.

The meeting came to a close and the rounds of production was set in stone. Kuroo’s work continued to pile, he couldn’t stay on set with the boys anymore than a day and any moment he did have on set, Y/N was never there. Filming ceased and everyone returned to their original teams, muttering away on their desktops and laptops to meet the deadline their bosses’ had set. Lev Haiba went back to modelling for big brands, Kenma increased the number of live-streams in the weeks forward after having a week off for filming. Whilst Hinata was preparing the announcement of him joining the Japanese National team.

Kuroo was stuck in his monotone cubicle again. The sight of his friends succeed in things beyond the mundane 9 to 5, that he was a slave to, was not an idea that came to mind at first. Originally, he loved the thrill of working behind sports promotion. But now, as a settled employee, he felt his life drain by the second. Only the thought of Y/N pushed him, once the project is uploaded and succeeds, he could see them at the celebratory party. If everything goes to plan. Then he could finally speak to them. Apologise. Tie everything up in a pretty bow so he could feel, complete.

The promotional video saw millions of views and trending hashtags across multiple social medias. They had, of course, prepared for this case. Releasing behind the scenes content, exclusive photographs and interacting with online fans.

It was as Y/N had planned, down to the T. It was like a weight was lifted off their shoulders, they knew within a few days the money would come rolling in through sponsors and new deals for their company. The Japanese Volleyball Association along with Bouncing Ball Corp allowed the teams to work in a private office space for the collaboration to increase cross communication. Y/N had spent night after night working endlessly on multiple PR plans that would cover all of Lev’s possible mishaps. The moment everything succeeded, they crashed. Their face plummeted to the keyboard and drifted into a deep slumber.

Y/N was at the entrance of Nekoma High, their uniform was slightly creased because they forgot to iron their shirt the night before. First day of high school and they already felt nauseous. They hated how their uniform sat on their frame, they hated how they had they ended up in a school where most of their old middle school classmates joined them. They felt stuck in an endless cycle of the same boring, mundane life they always lived.

“Ya gonna go in?”

The light spring breeze blew the tall boy’s black hair to fly upwards, revealing his other eye. He quickly flattened it to hide his forehead. He looked ridiculous, his jumper was slightly too big for him, his parents probably went a few sizes up awaiting for his eventual growth spurt.

“L/N c’mon, let me copy your English homework! Just this once!” Kuroo pleaded, training behind Y/N like a cub to its mother.

“Kuroo this is the fourth time! Remember last time, the teacher called your mom in for a meeting about you cheating!”

The boy had grown to tower over Y/N now, he was freakishly taller than the day they first met. His long limbs made him be twice as fast as well. “I’d much rather get told off for copying than get told off for bringing nothing at all.”

With a huff, Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle. Their dynamic was a breath of fresh air for Y/N, who previously was so used to an isolated world. But by Kuroo’s side, Y/N felt like they belonged. Somewhere within Kuroo’s circle, Y/N had a place fit just for them.

Kuroo would always tell people that he asked Y/N out first, that he prepared a romantic dinner at his place and popped the question as if it was their last night on earth. In truth, Y/N caught him amidst his plans and cut him to the chase. But Kuroo Tetsurou, the ever-so secret romantic, wanted everyone to believe that he swept them off their feet.

“If we’re going to be together we’ve got to do good morning and good night texts,” he huffed whilst Y/N’s arms cradled him into a tight embrace. They laughed in response for his childish acts, as a way to get back on ruining his plans on asking them out, Kuroo insisted on being as romantic as he could be with them. Holding hands, spooning, kisses in public. He didn’t care for the stares, he didn’t care for the whispers. He was happy. Y/N was happy.

“Y/N,” Kuroo’s face was so close yet each time Y/N reached out their hand, it faded into nothingness.

“Y/N! Y/N!” He kept calling their name yet Y/N couldn’t reach him.

“Tetsu?”

A sudden jolt caused Y/N to shoot back up, their shoulders were covered with a distinct black jacket. Beside them was of course, the man who emerged straight from their dreams. Kuroo Tetsurou.

“Sorry but, they’re shutting the building soon. You shouldn’t sleep here, it’ll hurt your back. I know that very well,” he chuckled beneath his breath.

Y/N hadn’t realised this before, but Kuroo’s eye bags had sunken deeper into his face. He had more noticeable crows feet and the wrinkles between his eyebrows had settled in already, quite concerning for a man still as young as him. He had changed his cologne again. He went back to the faint powdery scent, with hints of elderflower. The cologne Y/N bought him for their second anniversary. They didn’t know they still made that scent. His hands were still as calloused as they were years ago, bulging veins decorated his wrists and forearms. He maintained his built form, Y/N could see it through his button up shirt. He hadn’t changed much but was still an entirely different person.

“I was just tired Kuroo.” Y/N shimmied out of the man’s coat to return it, but Kuroo remained still.

“It’s weird to hear you call me that.” He chuckled, “I was always Tetsu to you.”

“Yeah well that was when we were kids.”

Kuroo smiled, a sad empty smile that held the years of regret that he harboured. Kids in love, he thought.

“I’m going home now, thanks for waking me.” Before Y/N could step out of the office door, Kuroo grabbed their wrist. He knew this was the last time he would ever see them, he sensed it. The moment they walk out that door it’ll be over. He had to fight, it was now or never.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I’m sorry for how I treated you all those years ago. I’m sorry I didn’t pay attention to you. I’m sorry I was never there for you.”

Disgusted. Pained. Relieved. Scared. Y/N’s stomach felt like a pit of snakes colliding into each other, trying to consume one another but failing miserably. Kuroo Tetsurou was a shell of a man now, the pain of heartbreak that lasted an eternity was killing his body slowly. He hadn’t mourned Y/N properly. He hadn’t mourned their relationship properly.

“Why?”

“Huh- What?” Kuroo asked, dropping his grip on Y/N.

“After all these years. Why are you apologising to me now.” You could hear a pin drop from the deafening silence between the two.

“Because I love you. I’ve always loved you Y/N, I won’t ever stop loving yo-“

“Shut up.” This was straight out of teenage Y/N’s dreams, the Kuroo Tetsurou who was begging them to stay. The Kuroo Tetsurou that they used to cling to in hopes of a final embrace. He was finally right in front of Y/N. With glassy eyes, proclaiming his undying love to them, his body craving Y/N’s own. He was right there, and he was pathetic.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. If you did love me, you would’ve done this the night we ended it. But no, you barely said anything to me. In fact what you did, hurt me more than our actual split. You left me. You left me alone. Not just in our time together. I was never included in any part of your life beyond me. Despite being together for three years, I was completely, utterly alone." Warm tears that Y/N had suppressed for years began to arise from the dead.

“I thought you wanted me by your side, that you needed me because I had a place in your life. But you proved me wrong time and time again! I came second to everything in your life! Not once did I feel like a person to you. You took me for granted.”

It was like a slap in the face for Kuroo Tetsurou, he hadn’t realised it till now. In his eyes, Y/N was someone he once wanted to possess, to have and hold forever. He saw them just like his old pair of glasses he lost down the coach pillows. It took a few blinks to realise in front of him, was a person who had seen love and loss, found liberation and had it taken away. A person who had worked their life away to see the riches of their hard work. When they were in Nekoma, Y/N would always cheer him on from the sidelines, he thought it was fine. He thought they were okay with just watching them afar, he knew they didn’t really like volleyball but he didn’t care to talk about it anymore. He didn’t care. He didn’t care for having Y/N meet his teammates and hang around them, he wanted to keep them to himself. He didn’t care. His indifference was his demise. After over five years, he realised this.

“I have lived a thousand lifetimes since I left you. I think it’s time for you to do the same Tetsurou. Stop clinging to the past.”

Kuroo Tetsurou, the man who yearned the joys of his youth, could see clearly now. Y/N didn’t look back at the man. They picked up their bag and stepped out the door. Phone in hand, ready to dial up their friends, to celebrate a life well lived.

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