#i was stressing for possibly not passing this subject

[not-a-lady-irl]

Midnight Studies

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x reader Summary: You were up until night studying for Mr. Crewell's test, the most feared of all. You swore no one would notice you were awake, seeing as the storm made it muffle all noise. However, you were wrong. Warnings: terrible writing (indeed) Author's Note: I confess the writing wasn't one of the best but in my defense I was exhausted from sleep while writing lol Words: 1.0K

Heavy rain pounded on Diasomnia's dormitory window. The noise of thunder was an addition to all that storm. It was already a habit for you, much less a problem, you loved these nights when these sudden storms joined you in your studies. They gave you a feeling that you weren't alone.

Studying late at night was not an easy task, but with some exams arriving this effort was necessary. Mr. Crewell's test was the next day and you were having difficulty with a specific subject that you were almost certain would be on the test so because of that subject, you were here, now, at 2 in the morning, sitting at the table in the entrance hall, with all your books, notes, notebooks and pens on it, studying.

Oh, and how you were studying.

You needed to get a good grade on this test to pass, you couldn't disappoint your dorm who were known for excelling in almost every subject and activity at school. You also didn't want to be disappointed, believing that you are a burden.

— I think just a few more questions and I can rest.

If it were any other normal night, without rain and thunder, you would be trying your best not to make noise and indicate that you were awake at those hours, but, thanks to the storm, you believed that you wouldn't need that effort.

You gave your notes another quick read and decided it was time to answer the questions, because what better way to practice a subject than by doing exercises on it?

You read the first question. Pause. Think. Read it again. Pause. Think again. Go back to the beginning and get stressed.

— It's not possible… — A tone of despair escapes your lips.

You place your head in the palm of your hand and rest your arm on the table. The material was right there in front of you, you spent the entire afternoon studying it and now the night trying to understand that subject.

Despair takes over you and as a result you end up deciding to stay up all night.

It would be very bad for you, since you would be awake for more than 24 hours, your sleep would be disrupted, your concentration would be low, your energy would be almost exhausted…

You honestly didn't imagine that this would be a problem for both the prefect and the vice prefect of Diasomnia, as you were studying precisely to help the dormitory's reputation! It felt like you were doing it more for them than for you.

— Well, then I think... from the beginning….

Before you could pick up the book again to read, a voice came from behind you.

— How long do you intend to stay up to study?

The voice takes you by surprise. You didn't believe that someone would be awake at that moment to realize that you hadn't gone to bed yet. When you turn back, you found Lilia looking at you with an expression of concern and reprimand.

— It's bad to stay up this late at night, I can't believe you didn't know that. — His voice comes out strict.

He was the last person you imagined would catch you awake.

Nervous, you try to explain yourself and lie saying that you were already leaving.

— I was just reviewing content Lilia, I swear I was going to bed right away! — You give a smile trying to affirm your excuse.

Lilia just stares at you. Obviously he wouldn't go down that easily.

— Since that's the case, I'll remain here until your quick review is over and you go to your room to sleep. — He comes over and sits in the chair next to you — You have five minutes — His lips form an amused smile.

You didn’t know if he was having fun with you or the fake situation you created. Maybe both, who knows.

But now you had no option but to "revise" in five minutes.

You put down the book and pick up your class notes again and read them, still not understanding most of the things that were there.

Time passed and when you least expected it, the brief five minutes had already ended.

— That's it! Time to sleep. — He gets up and pulls you by the hand, taking you to your room.

The weight of not doing well on Mr. Crewell's test made you explain your situation to Lilia, hoping that he would understand and just let you stay awake that night.

— Lilia… please, I can't sleep now. — He stops pulling you and looks at you — Mr. Crewell's test is tomorrow and I haven't managed to understand a specific subject yet… I don't want to do badly and ruin the reputation that my dorm has because of me — The outburst comes out and you anxiously await Lilia's reaction

But all you get is a laugh.

— Do you really think we would lose our reputation because of a test? — He lets go of your hand and approaches you.

— Y/N, the happiness and health of our students is much more important to us. You don't need to try so hard because of this, although I can't deny that it makes me happy to see such a dedicated student at Diasomnia! — He lets out another chuckle.

— But…. Lilia…. — You try to defend yourself again but are interrupted by him pulling you back to your room.

— No more excuses! Time to sleep.

You are led until you stop in front of your room, Lilia patiently waiting to see you enter to confirm to himself that you have indeed gone to sleep.

You let out a sigh and finally enter.

— Good night Lilia. — You say goodbye to him and close the door.

— Sweet dreams, Y/N — Lilia walks calmly towards his room. — I think I should be more careful in case she spends more nights awake....

You couldn't deny it, Lilia's words and the fact that he forced you to go to sleep helped you have a good night's sleep without any worries.

And honestly, it's a good thing he told you to go to sleep, because the test had been canceled thanks to the heavy rain the night before.

[orangerainforest]

x

[astrxealis]

hi guys please wish me luck for my college entrance exam tomorrow for one of my dream schools xoxo

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

analyzing hermes, emet-selch, the ancients and ascians, how they're written, and the fandom's reaction to them be like hm. emet-selch's role in this fuckery is compounded by the fact that his backstory as a genocide survivor is incongruous with his ruling a huge genocidal colonialist world power in the present da [ANTISEMITISM BLAST]

[miss-hyoko]

Privileged One

Character(s): Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, and Malleus

Summary: What if you were his childhood friend?

Tag(s) and warning(s): GN!Reader, fluff, platonic but can be read as romantic, reader is NOT Yuu, a bit depressing for the character's part (not too serious)

Note: I initially plan to make you two a normal pair of childhood friends, but my stupid brain is acting up midway and makes it seems like he has a one-sided crush on you. I still hope you enjoy, though (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

1. Riddle Rosehearts

Most of the Heartslabyul students are jealous of you. You are the only person who can (accidentally) break the rules of the Queen of Hearts and then get away with only a light scolding from the Housewarden.

There had once been a student who dared to say that Riddle played favorites on you, but then the red tyrant got angry and they ended up getting collared for a whole week. The punishment actually could have lasted much longer, but you who heard the news took pity on the student and asked Riddle to release him. That student is now a living example of what can happen to people who dare to comment on how Riddle treats you. Now, almost everyone knows how important you are to Riddle.

Every time you come to visit Heartslabyul, the students there will automatically lead you to Riddle without paying attention to your reason for visiting. You find it a little amusing, the way their faces light up whenever they see you before trying to get you to Riddle as quickly as possible, it's as if they have found a savior who can save them from a calamity called Riddle Rosehearts. You can't blame them, they became like that after noticing that every time Riddle's with you, he will be a bit lenient in giving punishment to the rulebreaker because his attention is too preoccupied on you.

When an Unbirthday Party was being held, you would definitely be invited and there's a special seat that has been arranged just for you, which is right beside Riddle's own seat. There's an unwritten rule that says the first slice of cake belongs to the Housewarden. But, since the cake belonged to Riddle now and that rule wasn't exactly written down on paper, then there's no harm in letting you have the first bite, right? In his defense, Riddle claimed that he didn't break the unwritten rule. The first slice of cake was indeed his, he just let you have the first bite.

If you have trouble understanding a certain subject, fret not because you have Riddle to tutor you. Once school was over, you two would have a study session in Riddle's room. Accompanied by tea and Trey's handmade cakes, Riddle will teach you with the patience he has never shown to anyone but you. Every time you answer correctly a question he gives, Riddle will give you a spoonful of Strawberry Pie from his plate. And if you answered wrong, Riddle will explain it again from the beginning until you fully understand it. This pattern will continue to repeat until finally all the questions are answered or the strawberry pie on his plate runs out.

Amidst his busy life as Heartslabyul's Housewarden, Riddle would always try to spend more time with you. Like; accompanying you to walk to school, talking briefly with you when you two pass each other in the hallway, having lunch together in the cafeteria, and when school is over, he'll wait for you so both of you can go back together to Heartslabyul and have a private tea party.

Whenever he's feeling stressed and exhausted, somehow you always show up at the right time and give him the comfort he's looking for. The two of you would spend time together in his room, with Riddle resting his head on your thighs while your fingers trace the soft strands of his hair. Accompanied by your gentle hum, Riddle then decided to rest for a bit together with his childhood friend before continuing his work later.

2. Leona Kingscholar

Rather than calling yourself Leona's childhood friend, you actually feel more like his personal assistant, considering how much work you have been doing for that lazy lion.

Together with Ruggie, you two were entrusted by the teachers to bring Leona back to class every time he skips class. But knowing Ruggie, he will surely let you handle it all while he himself returns to class to study (he would rather not waste his school fees, okay?). Left all alone, now start your journey, trying to find Leona. You already know where Leona is, but first you need to go to the cafeteria to buy some meat which you plan to use as an 'offering' so (hopefully) he will go back to class with you.

Every time you pick Leona up from his napping place, usually there will be two possible endings. The first one was that he will accept your 'offerings' and go back to class with you, although begrudgingly and full of complaints all the way to the class, then continue his nap in class, which makes you heave a long, weary sigh. While the other one is, he pulls you to accompany him to take a nap together, where you will be his pillow and also his partner in crime considering now you also skip the class together with him.

Even though he never shows it, Leona secretly loves watching you bustle around doing things for him. From cleaning his room, cooking for him, doing his laundry, and other menial work. Ruggie would do all that work for his money, meanwhile, you do all of that out of concern for your lazy childhood friend. It makes Leona feel as if you put him in as your priority that's more important than anything else, it makes Leona feel smug.

Every beastman in school knows better than to pick a fight with you. Never mind fighting, they shouldn't even talk rudely to you. If they dared to do so, then they should be prepared to face Leona's wrath. In Leona's mind, you who are his childhood friend are a part of him. Offending you means offending Leona as well, and Leona won't take it well.

But no matter how your patient is, sometimes you can also get annoyed with Leona's endless laziness. So, you will wake the lion up from his sleep and tell him to do his own business himself. And since it's Leona, of course he refuses and will try to go back to sleep, but you're not going to let him have that peaceful sleep until he finished all his works. The two of you then will start squabbling about it for a bit while the other Savanaclaw students will stare at you in amazement, for you're the only daring one to scold their lazy of a Housewarden. If it were anyone else, their Housewarden would probably kick that person away the moment they disturbed his sleep.

In your eyes, Leona is no different from an overgrown cat. Whenever Leona's mood gets worse, he will look for you and take you to his room to accompany him to sleep. You didn't try to cheer him up, you knew all Leona needed now was just your company, so you started telling him about your daily life and other interesting things you encountered today. And whether you realize it or not, Leona never sleeps even though his eyes are closed. He listens to all your stories in silence without missing a word. For him, your voice is far more effective in calming his nerve than sleeping.

3. Azul Ashengrotto

In the Mostro Lounge, there is one special table that no one is allowed to sit on, no matter how much they are willing to pay for it. If someone tries to occupy it by force, then they would come face to face with one of the Leech brothers and be banned from entering Mostro Lounge again. That table was specially prepared by Azul just for you, his most beloved childhood friend. Every time you visit Mostro Lounge, Azul will drop anything he's currently doing just to greet you personally and help you order your favorite menu.

Contrary to what people think, Azul doesn't give you free food just because you're his childhood friend. You still have to pay for your meal, but Azul doesn't mind giving you a little discount. And when I say he gives you a little discount, it means he will give you several discount coupons that you can stack with other discount coupons with a maximum of 100%. But in exchange for the coupon he gave you, you have to keep this nice thing a secret from the other customers. Because truth to be told, Mostro Lounge doesn't accept stacking discounts, but since you're his childhood friend, Azul doesn't mind making a little exception for you.

At school, you were always seen together with the three infamous Octavinalle's students or at least one of them, mainly Azul. Because of that, there are rumors going around saying that you are also involved in some kind of shady business alongside the three. You aren't concerned with the rumours, but Azul does. He would send the twins to find the person who spread the rumor and teach them a lesson or two about how one should not just jump to conclusions without any real evidence. People can talk shit about him and he couldn't care less. But talk shit about you, and Azul will take it personally.

Every time Mostro Lounge wants to add a new menu, Azul will call you to be the taster. If he sees you enjoying the new menu, then that same night the menu will already be on the Mostro Lounge menu list.

Since you're Azul's childhood friend, it's not surprising that you're also good friends with the Leech brothers. Together with Jade and Floyd, you three have fun teasing Azul. But different from the Leech brothers, who will be given additional work if Azul manages to get angry, you will only end up with a long scolding from the businessman.

Even so, you still feel a little guilty for making Azul angry. You know Azul usually has a fair amount of patience, but if he gets angry, it means the jokes you three makes have gone a bit too far. Hence, you volunteered to help out at the Mostro Lounge. Azul is a little touched by your sentiments. You have always been very caring and concerned with his feelings, ever since childhood. Well, that side of you is the main reason why you're Azul's favorite person.

But as a businessman, who is Azul to turn down the chance you're giving him? Since you asked for it yourself, then he won't be lenient in giving you orders. This resulted in you ending up in the VIP room, sitting on one of the soft sofas, cookies and tea served on the table in front of you, while Azul sits at his desk and goes through his documents. Azul has indeed given you one task, which is to sit quietly and accompany him to work until the closing time.

Azul is the type of person who is full of preparation and planning. It made him feel secure, knowing that he was ready to take on anything. But if something goes wrong and out of his expectations, Azul will become very frustrated and all he wants is nothing but to crawl back into his octopus pot. It was times like these that the twins would turn Azul over to you. Their childhood experiences have taught them that once Azul entered his octopus pot, only you can persuade him to come out. You won't blatantly coax Azul out because the first time you do it, Azul actually hides deeper into his octopus pot. So to solve this problem, you're going to sit outside his octopus pot for a few moments without speaking a word, giving him alone time while still reminding Azul that you're there for him. After a long enough silence, you will start talking about random things to completely turn his attention to you and forget his frustration. For a while, you will continue to talk alone, but you keep telling stories until finally, Azul starts responding to your words one by one. Azul realizes that all the topics you choose to talk about are completely useless, but oddly enough, he doesn't mind hearing all your ramblings at all. When he is finally back to normal, he will pop himself out of his octopus pot and act as if nothing happened. But the next time you visit the Mostro Lounge, Azul will treat you to a free meal as his token of gratitude.

4. Kalim Al-Asim

Even though you are not a servant of the Asim family like Jamil, but you still insist on taking care of Kalim because he is a sunshine boy who must be protected at all cost.

Usually, people will see you hanging out together with Kalim, with or without Jamil. You are the only person Jamil trusts to look after Kalim when he is too busy doing other things.

Kalim loves to tell you numerous things, from the big news he heard from Cater in club-meeting to the little things like how sleepy he was during Professor Trein's class. You always listen attentively to him, while occasionally giving a response as a sign that you pay attention to his story.

Kalim also likes to gift you random objects he found at shop. He said they reminded him of you, so he reflexively bought them and wanted to give them to you. Because of his habit, Jamil often scolds him and constantly tries to remind him not to buy things spontaneously. But did Kalim stop? No.

Everyone knows Kalim likes to throw parties, but when it comes to you, Kalim hopes to always throw a party for you if Jamil doesn't forbid it. Did you get a good grade on Professor Crewel's pop quiz? It's time to party! Did you get coach Vargas' praise for doing a zigzag flight? It's party time! Are you sad because your favorite novel character died? A party will make you feel better!

Look, Jamil is grateful that you often accompany Kalim so that he can focus more with another work, but can you stop agreeing to all of Kalim's requests?! What do you mean you can't say no to him?! What do you mean his twinkling eyes look so mesmerizing that you forgot to say no?! Great Sevens, please give Jamil's more patience to face your and Kalim's stupidity.

Kalim is the epitome of the sun itself, he is always optimistic and cheerful. But that doesn't mean his life is always smooth, sometimes Kalim can also feel down. If that's the case, Kalim will usually sneak out of the dorm using his magic carpet and then go to your place to invite you to join him. Flying his magic carpet and spending time with you is Kalim's best way to relieve stress.

5. Vil Schoenheit

Initially, little Vil didn't want to be your friend because he thought you were ugly (you're not, it's just Vil's standards that's too high). But the little you have been fascinated by his ethereal beauty, so you constantly try to pester him. Being a child, you can only praise Vil's beauty with a limited vocabulary. Like how clear his eyes are, how pink his lips are, how beautiful his hairstyle is, how melodious his voice is, and other little things you like about Vil. No one has ever praised him like that, so little Vil accepted you as his friend on the condition that you have to constantly compliment him, honestly and sincerely.

And that's what you've been doing until now. But even as a grown up, you still prefer to compliment Vil's beauty with straightforward words because you think it sounds more sincere than long poetic words. Vil says it's a stupid thought, but deep down he'd rather you keep praising him like that because your simple compliments are always better to hear than empty flattery people give to him to curry his favor.

As a result of having Vil as your childhood friend, your beauty standards have been greatly affected. When other people compliment someone as handsome/pretty, you can only awkwardly nod your head, even though in your heart you are trying to find which part of that person is handsome/beautiful. They didn't even have a thousandth of the charisma that Vil had! How can people call him handsome/beautiful? Do they have a problem with their eyes? (No, it's just your standards that's been raised very high by Vil).

Every time Vil becomes a model for a brand, usually he will share the products he got with you. And if the film he's starring in is coming out soon, he will invite you to attend the film premiere together.

You are Vil's first and number one fan, while Vil is your personal stylist and makeup artist. Every outfit and makeup that you will wear must pass through Vil's strict selection. He won't force you to look perfect like him, but he will make sure you look outstanding in any style of fashion that you choose.

With other people, Vil has this Untouchable Queen aura who is difficult to approach. But with you, he's just Vil, an ordinary young man with extraordinary ambitions. When both of your schedules are free, you and Vil will meet in his room to do beauty treatments together while exchanging stories. Vil tells you about what's going on in the entertainment world, while you tell him about the stupidity that some NRC students did when Vil was away.

Vil has one big secret that he doesn't even tell you. And that secret is the fact that you are his emotional support that always cheers him up whenever he feels down. When he gets frustrated every time he gets a villain role, you always stand for the character he plays instead of the main character. When people started to leave him for Neige, you still chose him. When you have seen all the bad sides that he has always buried, you remain by his side. For Vil, you are the most beautiful thing the world has ever given him.

6. Idia Shroud

Apart from Ortho, you are the only person who can freely enter Idia's room as you please. But before entering, please don't forget to knock on his door in the rhythmical order that you two have agreed beforehand, so he knows that it's you outside and not the normies that he constantly tries to avoid.

Just like Leona's childhood friend, you're also entrusted by the teachers to bring him to class. Together with Ortho, the two of you will spend nearly half an hour persuading Idia to attend the class. Faced with your and Ortho's pitiful faces, what else can Idia do but to man up and do the shit? At least, that's what he said to himself. When he just come out of his room, his anxiety gets the better of him and he will immediately scurried back to his room. In the end, you managed to bring Idia to class, but it's not the person himself and rather his floating tablet.

It is common knowledge among students that Ignihyde has a private Wi-Fi network with excellent signal. So, whenever you have homework to do, or you simply want to play online games, you will come to Idia's room and borrow their dorm's Wi-Fi. In exchange for giving you Wi-Fi, Idia will 'borrow' your hand to do his game's gacha. Apparently, you have this 'golden hand' that every gamer would kill for. The card with the highest rarity will come home in just one pull or the first ten pulls every time you gacha.

The limited time event just started a few minutes ago, but thanks to your 'golden hand', you immediately get the SSR event character, whose spawn rate is less than 1%, in just one pull. He will immediately jump around while squealing like a child, and then subconsciously hug you while thanking you many times. After that, he immediately posted the gacha's result online and starts being salty to other players who have to hit the pity system just to get it.

You spend more time in Idia's room than your own. His room just has everything, okay? Cool air conditioning, smooth internet network, comfortable bed, and various kinds of snacks. Every time you visit Idia's room, you will usually fall asleep in his bed listening to the sound of keyboard typing that's created when he plays his games or programming stuff that you can't really understand. Of course, Idia initially is a bit unhappy with that habit of yours since he only has one bed. But when he sees you sleeping so soundly in his bed, Idia can only sigh and decided to sleep somewhere else, maybe in his chair or just straight up lay himself on the floor. He'll be kind just for this time, the next time you fall sleep in his bed, Idia swears he will really kick you out of the bed (he lied, he still lets you hog his bed while he himself sleeps on the floor).

You may not know, but Idia is the envy of every gamer in his online circles. He often shows off Ortho and you to other gamers, saying how lucky he was to have a younger brother who is very considerate and also a childhood friend who has a 'golden hand'. How many introverts can have the same thing as he does? ALMOST NO ONE, SUCKERS!

When Idia's anxiety becomes worse and he starts being pessimistic about all aspects of life, Ortho will immediately go to you and take you to his brother. You both will find him huddled under the blanket on his bed. He asked you and Ortho to just go and leave him alone. But you two know better than to leave. So, you and Ortho will sit on the edge of his bed and start trying to coax him out, telling him about all the good things this world has. It would take a while for him to calm down, but that was better than letting him sink deeper into dejection.

7. Malleus Draconia

Becoming a childhood friend of Malleus means accepting Lilia as your father figure. And accepting Lilia as your father figure means being prepared to be chased down by Lilia who wants to hear you call him father.

You are the first friend Malleus has ever had, so he tries very hard to maintain your friendship. Something caught your interest? Next time you meet Malleus, he'll give it to you as a present. Are you having trouble learning magic? Worry not, Malleus will help you master your magic. Are you amazed by his status as a prince? Hmm, maybe Malleus could ask his grandmother to adopt you? (His grandmother also likes you, but she can't adopt her potential grandchild-in-law just anyone)

You've once tried to stay away from him because some people say you don't deserve to be a friend of Malleus, the crown prince of the Briar Valley. As a result, Malleus's mood became so bad that it threw the palace into a turmoil. His mood finally returned to normal when the two of you were reunited again. After that incident, Malleus became quite protective of you. Someone spoke badly of you? Malleus will meet him personally to have a 'friendly' discussion. Someone wants to pick a fight with you? The next second, they all suddenly fell to the ground for no apparent reason.

You and Malleus are basically one package deal. NRC students will often see the two of you walking around the school hand in hand like two little children, you talk to him and he listens to you. Those who saw that sight dared to swear by the name of the Great Sevens, Malleus had this very rare gentle smile graced his handsome face when he's looking at you.

Malleus loves spending time with you, even if all you both do is just sit quietly under a tree listening to the sound of birds singing in the distance. When the soft breeze starts to blow, you start to get sleepy and unknowingly end up falling asleep leaning on Malleus. Seeing your peaceful sleep expression, Malleus couldn't help but gently trace your face using his finger. He just wanted to make sure that all of this was real and you're not an illusion his mind created.

Having a Malleus as your childhood friend makes you get free bodyguards. For the starters, Malleus himself is quite protective of you because of what happened in the early days of your friendship. And because Malleus is practically glued to you, his two retainers, Sebek and Silver, will also stick to you for the sake of guarding Malleus. Then, there's Lilia, who doesn't want to miss the fun, so he will always appear suddenly and join your group of four. It's kind of complicated, but at least now you have four free strong bodyguards.

Even though he looks young, Malleus has actually lived quite long. Therefore, he's quite mature despite having a seemingly teenager's body. There are only two things that can affect his mature mind, namely anything related to you and not being invited to an event, usually it's the letter one because he always makes sure nothing bad happens to you. When he starts to sulk because he wasn't invited to an event, Lilia will call you to cheer Malleus up. As soon as he saw you, Malleus was practically beaming with excitement. You don't need to bother coaxing him, just doing any activities together with him like walking in the park, eating ice cream, taking care of Roaring Drago, or trying new things is enough to make Malleus entirely forget his sadness from earlier.

[fireinmoonshot]

idea for a tyler owens one shot. he broke off the relationship years ago and then you see each other again. maybe you go out for drinks and one thing leads to another. kinda inspired by the song bad idea right by olivia rodrigo.

A/N: Thank you so much for sending this request in. I'm sorry it took me like a week to get around to writing and posting. I hope you like it. I honestly had so much fun writing this one. I'm not sure how closely inspired it is by the song, but I tried my best to give it that same kind of vibe! 😊💗

You knew that going home was probably a bad idea, but it’d been years since you’d gone back and after a particularly hard couple of months, home was the only place you wanted to be – even with the threat of seeing Tyler around. That’s why, when you’d gone out with friends two nights ago to celebrate your return to town, you hadn’t been surprised to run into him.

The two of you had exchanged pleasantries, saying a quick hello before you’d headed back to your friends. You weren’t avoiding him, but you weren’t particularly interested in a conversation with him either. After all, he had been the one to break things off between the two of you a few years ago. 

It’d been a fairly amicable break-up, but that didn’t mean you wanted to be best friends. Especially since you hadn’t seen him in years. 

You’d assumed that the one interaction at the bar would be the only one. That you likely wouldn’t see him again before you headed back home or before he headed off chasing storms again. Until you woke up to a text the next morning. 

It was nice seeing you again last night. Would you wanna catch up over a drink?

Every fibre of your being told you to say no, but somehow you’d texted Yes back. 

You didn’t put too much effort into your appearance or dress up to meet him at the bar he’d suggested – one you used to go to a fair bit when you’d been together. You hadn’t been there since. Tyler had seen the best and worst sides of you, so you knew he wasn’t going to care if you showed up in your best outfit or your pyjamas. 

It was the smile he gave you when you walked towards the bar and saw him waiting outside for you that made you question whether thiswas a bad idea. You pushed down the feeling in your stomach – the same one you used to get around him before. 

“So, how’s the city treating you?” Tyler finally asked when you were both sat down inside, a drink in front of each of you. “Not being tempted into moving back home?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, it’d have to take a miracle to bring me back home, I think. The city is nice. I wouldn’t call it home, but it’s as good as these days.��� You decided to refrain from telling him about the stressful few months at your job, as well as some drama with your landlord. He didn’t need to know about those things.

Tyler, though, had always been able to see through you.

“It’s nice? It’s as good as home? I’m not convinced.”

You stared at him for a moment. He could still do that, even after not seeing or speaking to you for years? It felt like the time had never passed between you, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. You leant towards not, and you knew your friends would agree. 

And… was it possible for Tyler Owens to have gotten more attractive?

“How’s the team? Have you blown up on Youtube yet?” You decided to attempt to change the topic before you got off track or before you said something you’d probably end up regretting. Tyler had asked you out here tonight to catch up, not to rekindle. 

Tyler let out a long sigh, obviously irritated with you changing the subject, and then  switched, his annoyed expression breaking into a grin. “You mean you haven’t been keeping up with our Youtube channel? C’mon, darlin’, we’ve got a million subscribers and you’re telling me you’re not one of them?”

“I’m really not,” you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I don’t make it a habit to keep up with what my ex-boyfriends do, funnily enough. But I’m glad to hear the channel has worked out for you guys. I guess there’s a real market for storm chasing these days.”

“I mean, I tried to keep up with what you were doing, but Boone eventually convinced me to stop once he caught me checking your Instagram right before a chase,” Tyler laughed softly, then paused, as if he was surprised at himself for admitting that right to your face. “Anyway, Youtube is going well and the team are great. Storm season starts soon, we’re all hoping it’s gonna be a good one.”

You paused, your drink half way to your mouth. “You check my Instagram?”

“Key word there was checking, darlin’,” Tyler said. “But yeah, at the start, of course I did. I broke up with you, you left not long after. I had it in my head that I was the reason you moved away, even though you told me I wasn’t, but I still wanted to know that you were okay, that the city was all right and that you were safe.” 

The desire to come clean and tell Tyler everything about your life in the city had never been stronger. You wanted to tell him about your irritating landlord, about the way your refrigerator in your apartment kept breaking down and the air conditioning never worked, about how everyone at work kept looking down on you despite your experience, about the fact that you’d been on so many dates in the last few years since you moved, but none of them came close to Tyler. 

But you couldn’t.

Instead, you took a very long drink from your glass and then sat it back on the table. All the while, Tyler looked at you, reading you with those eyes that he could see through you with. 

“Things aren’t great in the city, are they?” He asked softly.

You didn’t have to tell Tyler anything because he already knew. 

Hearing his words, the soft way in which he spoke them, and seeing the way he looked at you, suddenly became overwhelming. This man, the one you’d been in love with years ago, the one you used to tell everything to, the one who used to be your home, was sitting right in front of you again and making you feel like you mattered again, after months of being made to feel invisible in the city.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” You didn’t give Tyler a chance to respond before you were up, making a beeline for the front door, desperate to get some air. If you stayed in that bar any longer, you were sure you’d end up making a bad decision. If Tyler kept looking at you like that and making you feel like the version of yourself you were years ago, you worried you were going to become that person again. 

You let out a breath of relief as you stepped outside the bar, the cool evening air hitting you. It was still spring, the air not quite cold but nice enough to be refreshing on your skin as you walked to an emptier spot just down the street, away from the crowd which had spilled out of the bar the later it got in the night. 

It didn’t come as a surprise to you that Tyler followed you. He always wanted to make sure you were okay when you had been together, and that clearly hadn’t changed, especially with the way he’d just been talking to you. 

He sidled up beside you, making sure to give you enough space, knowing that you needed it. “Sweetheart,” he started. “I know I’m probably the last person you wanna talk to right now, but you know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

You met his eyes and nodded. 

“I know I’m your ex, but I still care about you. Probably more than I should.”

You’d never wanted to kiss a man more in your whole life.

“Why more than you should?” You asked, taking a step towards him and noticing the way the look in his eyes changed as he looked at you. 

“Because I should’ve moved on by now.”

“But you haven’t?”

Tyler swallowed. “It’s only ever been you.”

In that moment, nothing could stop you from closing the distance between the two of you, cupping Tyler’s cheeks in your hands and pressing your lips to his. Tyler was quick to kiss you back and you could tell that for the both of you, it was just like coming up for air after years of drowning without each other.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his body as his lips moved against yours, tongue sweeping across your bottom lip. The fact that you were out on a public street, not far from a crowded bar, didn’t cross either of your minds. All that you could think about was each other and the feeling of each others lips.

When, eventually, you needed to stop for a breather, Tyler rested his forehead against the top of your head, his breathing heavy. “I take it we’re not just talking tonight, darlin’?”

“Not tonight,” you admitted. “We probably shouldn’t have done this, y’know?”

“I know,” Tyler agreed. “But if you think I’m ever letting you go again, you’re wrong.”

You let out a small laugh. “I said it’d take a miracle to bring me back home, Ty.”

His face broke out into a grin. “Didn’t I tell you miracle is my middle name?”

[alexiroflife]

hii!! i recently read your ‘Five more minutes?’ story with Choso and am absolutely in love with it, i’ve read it a million times already! i’m so so sorry to ask but are there any plans for a part 2?

thank you so much, and again i’m sorry for asking! take care! 🫶

"beyond that"

"five more minutes": part 2, college au, mutual pining, FLUFF

choso kamo x writing tutor!reader

Synopsis: you and choso, now having been studying with each other for weeks, battle the development of your "little" crushes on one another

to sum it up: at this point, tutoring is the last thing on either of your minds

WC: 4,673

Warning(s): noneeeee, just fluff everywhere

Choso, admittedly, is incredibly nervous.

He doesn't know why after weeks of visiting you as his writing tutor, you have managed to have this affect on him - yet, nevertheless, his heart is pounding and his palms are sweating as he makes his way over to your now usual spot at the library, just outside the school cafe which is attached to the quiet building.

He goes through this every time he has a meeting with you. The two of you will shoot a few texts back and forth about your upcoming meeting time, the brunette would anticipate the day all week until it finally comes and his nerves are eating him alive, his face will burst into flames and his mind will drag him through every possible outcome that could turn out poorly in your presence to make him appear less favorable in your eyes, and then he'd see your face, watch you smile kindly in greeting at him, and all of is anxieties would melt away in an instant.

You have a comforting air about you, though you continue to work his nerves like crazy. While you are beautiful enough to strip the air from his lungs when he lays eyes on you and you are so humbly intelligent that it makes his head spin on his neck, you soothe him with your approach, with your voice, with your gentle advice and teachings that have helped elevate his writing skills immensely, more so than they had developed over the four years he had been attending this school.

As intimidating as you are physically, you bring Choso peace in a subject that has always aroused such stress in his life, and he is so grateful, so baffled by this magical skill that you have that he continues to return to you for more.

He did not mean to develop the crush on you that he harbors now, but how could he not? You are a breath of fresh air, a glimmer of sunlight in a world he previously deemed to be drab and dull. You're light, and fun, and down to earth, and helpful, and unintentionally charming in an adorably shy, giddy way and it makes the violet-eyed man's knees wobble and his throat run dry every time you giggle softly to ease your apprehension in his presence.

Choso loves your tutoring sessions so much, he never wishes them to end. He feels that the hour he now has carved out with you is hardly enough time, and he needs more of you - more of your face, more of your gentle voice speaking directly to him, more of your bright (e/c) eyes that soak up every ray of light that beams into your rented study room, more of the press of your lips together as you smile warmly and fully up at him when he catches on to something you taught, more of your pretty fingers grasping a pen and scribbling over his work, more of the little smiley faces you have begun to doodle onto his drafts alongside your notes.

Choso wants more of you, all of you, but he does not know how to get you. He hardly sees you outside of your sessions, and when he does, its in brief passing and you are too far away to take notice of him catching sight of you. He tries to extend your text conversations when scheduling, but they never go much further than a repetitive expression of thanks for your help or a short inquiry about how your day has been.

You're eating him alive in his mind, and it is driving him crazy. He has no idea what to do with this little obsession he has developed over you except to cling to every second he spends next to you in the library as you work through each and every aspect of his project and then some. Choso finds he has even begun to tune out when you speak to him, his thoughts so entranced by thoughts of you that he is too busy ogling over the new color you have painted over your nails, or the scent that clings to your skin, or the pattern of the skirt that you decided to wear to your meeting with him.

And you, just as smitten with your tutee, feel yourself reverting back to a bumbling schoolgirl mentality when you see him. You're always grinning ear to ear when you catch wind of Choso walking through the door and toward you, his lips curving into a soft smile when he sees you in return. And when you are tutoring him, you pay far too close attention to how far away his hand is from yours when you write over his paper, how the quick brush of your palms sparks your body to life and has you nibbling down on the inside of your lip to suppress a smile.

You like Choso. You like the way he thinks, the way he works, how lowly he speaks as though he is constantly tired, and yet how sprinkles of passion flutter their way into his speech when he discusses his research findings or other unrelated topics like his younger brother. You like the way he sits in his chair next to you, first slouching back with his legs sprawled before him before hunching forward with loose fists to the surface of the table, one leg stretched out while the other bends at the knee under the table. You like the way he focuses, the way his gorgeous lavender eyes flitter over the paper as the two of you work, then up at you when he believes that you are not paying attention, holding the image of your face until you peek up and he's snapping his eyes away as though he has been staring ahead the entire time.

God, you like how he surprises you with his warmth and generosity, his knowledge and selflessness. You like how he looks to the world with curiosity, with a clear goal, and how he acts better than he can form words - you think it proves his genuine spirit, his honesty.

You like damn near everything about him, except for when he has to leave, and he fails to ask to see you outside of an academic setting when he stands before you and stares, stammering whatever he says about having enjoyed the time you've given him. You hate when you have to watch him walk away from you, and how you have to wait another week until you see him again.

You wonder if you have deluded yourself into believing that he could return any form of attraction to you. You catch him staring at you all the time, and you see the bubble of his iMessage pending and disappearing frequently as though he is attempting to think of a way to talk to you but second-guessing so. You think the two of you have good conversations even outside of school-related topics when you are together, and you think he enjoys your company, but he never acts on it. Could it be that you are reading into things? You are his tutor after all. He could be simply behaving respectfully or showing you basic human decency by being kind. You're not sure, but one thing you do know is that you're tired of only getting to see him once a week.

You figure it does not matter when you see that familiar head of brown hair making its way past the cafe and toward the study room on the far left that the two of you have been reserving for the past few weeks. You brighten instantly and give a small wave when Choso's face comes into view. His eyes find yours through the glass and he smiles, waving in turn with rosy cheeks.

"Hi, Cho!" you greet chirpily. Choso's feet almost trip over themselves as he opens the door and walks in, the nickname you have taken to referring to him by still new on his ears, as it makes his heart skip a beat.

"H-Hey," he clears his throat, throwing his bag to the floor and taking a seat next to you. "How are you?"

"I'm good," you smile widely. "I like your outfit."

The brunette looks down at his choice of clothing, an oversized Rise Against hoodie and tattered baggy jeans. "Oh, thanks," he mumbles, looking back up at you. "You listen to Rise Against?"

"No," you admit sheepishly. "I just like the way those colors on you."

"Really? It's just black."

You point to the splashes of yellow and red in the graphic detailing. "Yeah, but the yellow brings out your eyes," you say rather casually, and the tips of Choso's ears burn at the compliment.

"Thank you..." he mumbles, averting his gaze and scratching the back of his neck. "I... um... I like your nails today."

Your brows shoot up as you glance down at your freshly done manicure. "I just got them done yesterday! You noticed they're different?" you smile and he nods slowly.

"Yeah... they had been red for a while. I like the change," he admits before his eyes widen slightly and he looks at you in a panic. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound creepy-"

"You don't," you chuckle. "It's actually really sweet of you to notice. Thank you," you flash him that jaw-dropping grin and Choso swallows hard with an awkward nod and a wobbly smile.

"Sure."

You look down, tapping your hands against the table to ride yourself of the antsiness bubbling inside you. Choso watches the action softly, musing internally at how cute he finds you to be.

"Okay, so how's your paper coming?"

"Pretty good," the brunette eventually responds as he fishes for the said paper in his bag. "My professor's actually been saying that I've made a lot of progress with my writing," he sets the heavily marked paper onto the table along with his computer, which holds a fresh coy he has been working on.

"Really?" you ask excitedly. Diamond eyes shoot to you swiftly out of the corner of his eye as he hums gently in affirmation. "That's amazing, Cho! You should be so proud of how far you've come."

"I'm not all there yet," he emphasizes as the color swirls over his pale cheeks once more. "Even so, I'm only getting better 'cause of you. You're the one helping me out."

"Well, yeah, I'm giving you direction, but you're making the improvements all on your own," you playfully nudge his shoulder, and he topples loosely to the side. You try your best not to allow the bulk of muscle you feel beneath his sleeve to affect you more than it already is as you retract your hand and straighten yourself. "Seriously, you've been doing a great job."

"It's... the bare minimum honestly," he brushes off your compliments, unable to take them on properly without the gears in his head malfunctioning.

"You're so humble," you shake your head.

"I just don't think there's anything to really brag about, that's all," the brown-haired boy chuckles stiffly and you sigh.

"Well, just know as your tutor, I'm proud of you," you say gently, tugging the stack of papers over to your side with the stretch of your arm past Choso's frame.

The purple-eyed senior perks up slightly, blown pupils turning to focus on you as your previous words drill themselves into his brain. You're proud of him? Of him of all people? Hell, he thinks the praise alone from you is going to make him spontaneously combust though you move on as though you have not said anything special.

The session proceeds as normal. Choso shows you the updates he has made in his paper, and you look over his shoulder at the computer screen as he speaks lowly, explaining what you are reading as your eyes skim. At one point, you ask him if you can scroll through the document yourself, and he allows you. He leans back in his chair as you push yourself forward and press yourself to the edge of the table. In doing so, you push into his personal bubble, leaning over his frame so that the top of your head is just below his chin. The brunette's eyes widen as your sugary scent invades his senses, your perfectly manicured finger swiping over the cursor as you mutter his words under your breath with concentration.

Choso feels himself hold his breath within your closeness, blood flooding throughout his body rather aggressively. You have such a strange effect on his body, rendering him weak by simply hovering a few centimeters away and it kills him. He has to fight the urge to lean down and sniff your hair, to run his palm over your hand as you swipe through his computer familiarly, to press his lips to your temple or the exposed skin of your neck as you crane it downward with your free hand pushing into your cheek to support your head.

You're so pretty, so perfect it hurts. He wants you so badly, but he has no idea how to say it- how to get your attention. Do pretty, preppy girls like you even want his attention? Do you think yourself above him though you have made him feel so comfortable, so equal to your intellectual level over the past month or so? Do you think he's pretty the way he thinks you're pretty? Do you stay up in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling with thoughts of his face wandering your mind the way yours does his? Do you think about him like that at all, or are you just his tutor?

Choso breathes in sharply, watching as you pull away to sit upright in your seat again. He watches you speak, the way your slightly glossed lips move to echo a muffled phrase, but somehow his ears are ringing. The sight of you is so loud, so powerful that it overpowers the sound as it travels to his ears and sends signals to his brain. His eyes are still as he looks at you, somewhat dumbfounded, until he’s snapping himself out of it when your voice finally comes back into focus more clearly.

“Choso?” you call his name again, and he hears you this time. His shoulders jump slightly and he blinks.

“Huh?”

You furrow your brows with a small laugh. “Did you hear what I said? Are you okay?”

Just then, Choso can feel his body burst into flames when he realizes that he had just sat and stared at you while you spoke for far too long. “S-Sorry. I’m sorry,” he apologizes profusely, thoroughly embarrassed. He shifts in his seat, a habit you notice he takes to often when he’s on the spot. “I spaced out for a second. What did you say?”

You look at him for a moment longer than you should have as he fights desperately to look anywhere but into your eyes. He inhales and exhales slowly, deeply, as if he is trying to regulate himself, and you try your best not to look like you’re enjoying the sight.

With your teeth sinking into your bottom lip and the corners of your lips twirling upward, you prepare to repeat yourself. “I was just saying that your sentence structure has gotten a lot better… I like what you did especially in the third paragraph."

The purple-eyed man's nose flares subtly. "Oh. Okay," he murmurs, voice dipping lower and lower. "I mean- yeah, I was trying to do something different there... where I transition to talking about the human body as a whole."

"I can see that," you nod, tucking your hands into your lap after tilting his computer back toward him. "I think it flows better. Just make sure you watch your grammar in some spaces too. There should be a comma after that one phrase," you nod to the screen and Choso is quick to turn his head to what you are referring to.

You watch from the side as his jaw clenches and unclenches when he finds his error and hastily clicks to fix it. He's so gorgeous, you think to yourself as you admire the structure of his sharp jaw and the veins running down the side of his neck and into the beginnings of those tattoos that seem to tease themselves to you whenever you're with the bio major.

And oh, do baggy clothes look absolutely amazing on Choso's body. While you're sure he'd look even better with clothes that snugly fit his form, you find his laid-back style to suit him astonishingly well. You like the way his hoodie drapes over his shoulders, the sleeves cupping loosely around large, well-sculpted hands. You especially love how his dark eyeliner accentuates the vibrancy of his irises and blends into the complementation of the rest of his clothes. Choso dresses so well, so uniquely, and you are fascinated by it. You're fascinated by him.

"Alright, anything else? Do you want to look at the most recent section?" Choso turns to ask you but pauses when he finds that you are already looking at him. The two of you blink at each other, and you almost think that Choso is shocked to make eye contact with you again so suddenly. "What's wrong? What... what is it?" he asks, unsure of what you are doing, unsure of himself.

You shrug your shoulders tightly to your ears and look down with a gasy smile. "Ah, nothing," you hiss, pursing your lips. "Sorry, you're just a little distracting sometimes."

His face falls as he tilts his head slightly in genuine confusion. Has he offended you somehow? "Me?" he points to himself slowly and you nod with a tight smile and warm cheeks. "Uh- sorry, I don't mean to... distract you," he says carefully, regretfully, genuinely. "I didn't know I was doing anything to be distracting."

"No, no, you're not," you giggle to yourself and swipe a hand over your heated face with a heavy exhale. "Sorry, it's nothing like that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"...Then what did I do?"

"Nothing," you reiterate as you pick at the hem of your shirt. "You're... nice to look at, that's all," you confess timidly.

Choso can feel his heart plunge into his chest and his pupils shrink slightly when he takes in what you said. For a moment, he thinks he imagined it, but by the way you are fiddling with your clothes and keeping your eyes down suddenly allows him to deduct that perhaps he heard you correctly the first time.

"You think I'm nice to look at?" he asks carefully for clarification and your face tightens along with your nod.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything," you quickly say. "I just figured you were wondering why I was staring at you. I do that a lot, anyway... sorry, this is really awkward. I probably shouldn't have said that."

"No," Chose rushes, and you look back up to see those beautifully pinked cheeks and big eyes again. "No, please, don't- don't take it back," he requests gently, turning to face you in his chair. "No one's ever said that to me before."

You suddenly shoot your head up, staring at him incredulously. "What? Are you serious?" Choso nods in confirmation and you gape. "But look at you! You're beautiful!"

The boy's lips spread into a thin line as more color blossoms over his face. He feels that familiar dampness drip over his palms as he fidgets, looking to you meekly as though you have just bent down on one knee and proposed.

“Beautiful?” he tests the word on his tongue, brows drawing together.

“Yeah… I can’t believe no one’s ever told you that before. You have really good bone structure, and your eyes are… pretty,” you scrunch your nose. “I-I’m only being honest. I thought… anyone could see that, really.”

Choso shakes his head. “Not really. I think you’re the first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense to me at all.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me that you think I’m beautiful,” Choso chuckles slightly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” he shoots out. “And to be considered on the same level as you is… I never would have thought that.”

Your lips part in shock, your hand immediately flying to conceal your lips as another stupid smile makes its way onto your face. Choso, in turn, angles his brows as though he is angry with himself for allowing his feelings to slip so freely. He cringes softly, berating himself, as his fingers slip into the back of his hair to scratch anxiously at his scalp.

“I’m getting ahead of myself, sorry-“

“You apologize too much,” you beam beneath your palm.

Choso looks over at you, normally so laid back but now with a tortured expression. “I know,” he admits. “But so do you.”

You go to retort but find that you can not, for you have to give him credit for how much he has noticed about you. “Let’s- get back to your essay,” you clap your hands suddenly, blinking rapidly as you pull yourself closer to the table to shove your nose into a page that you have already read a hundred times over.

Choso watches you for a second before a smile crosses his lips. He ducks his head down, dimples prodding into his cheeks as he revels in the moment the two of you just shared and the way you are so hastily trying to keep yourself together. It’s cute. You’re so cute.

The time flies by just as quickly as it always does during your tutoring sessions, and before you know it, your session is over and the time you rented out for the study room has ran out.

The two of you routinely attempt to mask your disappointment as you pack your belongings in tension-fueled silence, flashing shy smiles whilst gathering your things side by side.

Choso jumps to hold the door for you as you walk out, to which you thank him with a bright grin. The two of you venture out of the library together, outdoors and onto the steps leading up to the building.

You sigh, brushing a piece of your hair back as the breeze waves over you. “I guess I’ll see you again next week?”

You look up and Choso is staring down at you with a hum, clutching the strap of his satchel bag tightly. “…Guess so.”

“Alright,” you nod stiffly. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.”

You stand there, looking at each other for a bit longer before you give in and nod again. “Okay. Bye, Cho.”

You move to start heading into the direction of your dorm when the brunette steps forward abruptly. “(Y/n), wait,” he stops you, and you pause.

You swiftly turn back around, eager to stay. “Yeah?”

“I… uh,” he stammers, eyes darting over your face nervously. He leans back and forth on his shoes, unsure of how to proceed yet knowing that there is something more he wants to say. “I really- I appreciate… no, I really like our tutoring sessions together.”

You smile warmly, folding your hands before you. “I like our sessions too. I’ve told you that before. I think you’re a great mentee.”

He gulps. “Yeah. I think you’re a great teacher… but, I mean I like… I like our sessions beyond just working.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I guess… what I’m trying to say is that I like spending time with you.”

You feel your heart in your ears and your cheeks aching from how hard you’re smiling. “I also like spending time with you.”

He perks up. “As more than my tutor?”

You laugh softly with an enthusiastic nod. “As more than your tutor, yes,” you affirm. “I think you’re really cool. And I meant what I said earlier about you being attractive.”

A swift breath of relief escaped Choso as he looks down with a gentle smirk, cheeks pinkening. You think it’s endearing to watch such an intimidating-looking man crumble so easily before you like a toddler picking a flower for his playground crush.

“Cool,” he chuckles, picking at the belt buckle of his bag strap. “You’re pretty too. Like, really pretty. You’re gorgeous.”

“You said that earlier,” you tease, and flames further ignite the poor boy’s face.

“I-I know. I thought I’d just say it again… I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I’m not too good at this kinda stuff.”

“You’re doing a great job, Cho. Keep going,” you encourage, biting into your lip.

The twenty one year old’s eyes flicker to the sight before they snap back up to you. “Okay,” he exhales. “I don’t wanna just see you once a week.”

You nod. “Me neither.”

“…I wanna see you more than that.”

“So do I.”

“Would it… be cool with you if I asked to hang out with you sometime? Maybe tomorrow…? We could go grab some food together… I- I have my car. I’d take you.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Choso’s brows lift as he looks at you, your expression expecting and welcoming to his advances. You’re swaying back and forth as he somewhat does the same, one hand digging harshly into his pocket while the other that grips the strap of his bag tightens. “…Do you want it to be a date?” he asks slowly. “It doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it. I mean, we can just go as friends.”

“Choso.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“…Oh,” he stills. “Then…?”

Your head tosses back as you laugh loudly, the skin beneath your glimmering eyes creasing. “I want to be more than that with you. Please ask me out on a date.”

Choso feels a weight lift from his shoulders as he slumps with relief. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you giggle. “Go ahead.”

The brunette shakes his head and rubs a hand over his warm face, biting back his own smile. He looks back up at you to meet your twinkling (e/c) gaze, heartbeat in his throat. “Will you go to lunch with me tomorrow? As more than friends?”

You bounce on the soles of your feet, shoulders raising to your ears again as you lean giddily to the side. “I’d love to.”

A grin breaks onto Choso’s face as he takes you in. “Okay. Good, I’m glad. I can pick you up at 12?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll text you what dorm I’m in tonight.”

“Okay,” he nods happily.

“Okay,” you grin.

“…So I’ll see you later? Or, sorry, tomorrow?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay,” he repeats, and you laugh again.

“Okay.”

“Sorry,” he scrunched his face. “You make me nervous. I’m sorry if I’m- sorry.”

You roll your eyes, stepping into him. He watches your movements carefully, slightly confused, before he feels your palm press to the side of his face. His eyes go wide when you tilt up and lean in, pressing your soft lips to his cheek in a quick, sweet peck. His body freezes, his blood pumping through his heart vigorously as you lean away and lower your hand with a cheeky smile.

“Stop apologizing,” you advise and he nods instantly.

“Okay,” he obliges, dazed.

With another soft giggle, you turn on your heel to part ways. “Good job today, Cho. I'm excited for our date tomorrow.”

“T-Thanks,” he mutters. “Me too.”

You flash him one more smile before turning and walking off. Choso’s eyes glue to your fading figure, his fingers grazing the space in which your lips touched his skin with awe.

He does not miss the way you turn over your shoulder as you walk away to give him one last wave, and he returns it eagerly, his heart fluttering and head disappearing into the clouds, rendering himself a dumb mess by the likes of you.

[bethanydelleman]

I find the Christmas visit in Emma incredibly sad. Emma's family is visiting, which should be a nice time, but Emma doesn't get to enjoy it because she's so worried that someone will offend her father,

"There he had not always the patience that could have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse’s peculiarities and fidgetiness were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance or sharp retort equally ill-bestowed. It did not often happen; for Mr. John Knightley had really a great regard for his father-in-law, and generally a strong sense of what was due to him; but it was too often for Emma’s charity, especially as there was all the pain of apprehension frequently to be endured, though the offence came not."

and later, "Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and had half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass. She would keep the peace if possible"

These people are her family, Emma should be allowed to speak more freely but this is where we see her the most restrained and careful. And I note that John Knightley is being "rational", he's saying normal sane things which set off Mr. Woodhouse.

During the visit, we see Knightley and Emma as a united front against DANGEROUS TOPICS, which is cute, but Emma is not having a good time. She sits between as like a conversation referee, ready to jump in with a safe thing:

"And she talked in this way so long and successfully"... “Come, come,” cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, “I must beg you not to talk of the sea.... "Here was a dangerous opening."... "Emma’s attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when he had reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at her brother-in-law’s breaking out.".... “True, true,” cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposition

I just think its so tragic that Emma has to spend every holiday completely stressed out because her relations might say something true and rational that might offend her father. What a life! She is already so isolated and she can't even enjoy a visit from her only sister.

[kellysue]

The Suit-Making Metaphor

[Written in January, 2024] The cold eventually got bad enough that the Grandma, the kids and I fled to a hotel while Matt stayed at the house with the dogs. We were fortunate to be able to that of course, and sharing a room in a nice warm hotel was not suffering by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, it was stressful. We brought ipads, paints, books and needlework to keep the kids entertained and alleviate some anxiety, but time also had to be made for school work—especially as they would be going back to class just in time for finals. We made lists of their classes, what they had to study, what we could help with and what questions would need to be put to their teachers.

Henry’s 16 now (!!) and instead of an exam, his Humanities final was a personal essay. We chatted a bit about his writing process, what he liked about what he had done so far and what was frustrating for him. Though he had a terrific topic, he’d written and rewritten his opening paragraph several times and wasn’t making any real progress.

Been there, buddy.

As we talked, I stumbled on a metaphor that I found helpful, and so I’m going to try and share with you roughly what I said to him, and perhaps some of you will find it helpful too.

I get it, I do. It’s exactly my inclination as well. But writing like this-- where you try to perfect everything as you go, effectively writing the third draft before you finish the first--it’s like trying to make a suit from the top to the bottom. You can’t make a suit like that. You can’t start with the collar and get that perfected and then move to the shoulder. You can’t topstitch the upper part of the button placket before the bottom even exists. And even if you could figure how to do it that way, your suit isn't going to fit. Because that’s just not the best way to make a suit. Finishing the thing from top to bottom is not the best way to write, either. You start by choosing your fabric—your topic. What material are you going to craft the suit from? What’s the subject of the essay? You want to write about your relationship to various monsters. That’s terrific! That’s like a nice wool; there’s heft there—memories and feelings and personal details that resonate as truths; it should make a rich and interesting suit. Now, instead of cutting out the collar immediately, let’s choose a pattern. We need a pattern to help us cut the wool into the proper shapes. The pattern is the very basic structure of your essay. How might you organize your thoughts and feelings about monsters? The order isn’t as important as the categories. For the suit jacket, we’ll need right front, left front, sleeves, collar, lining etc. For the essay, what monsters do you want to write about? King Kong, the Rancor, the Minotaur and Bernard the Bull. Perfect. Cutting the pattern pieces out is equivalent to gathering your thoughts on each monster. Write freely about each one, taking the time to remember in as much detail as possible where you first encountered each monster, how old you were, etc. Go through each of your senses to help you recall the moment. What did you see? Smell? Taste? Feel? Who was with you? How did you feel in your body? How did you feel in your heart? Include everything that jumps out at you, you can always edit it down later. In our metaphor, this step is not just cutting out the pieces but also taking the time to transfer the pattern marks. You might not need them all, but you're sure to make a finer suit if you have them all available. Once you have the pieces, the next step is to see how they fit together. Read through each monster and look for connections. Is there an order that suggests itself? Rearrange and then edit and expand to highlight those connections. The first pass of this is basting stitches—loose connections just to test the fit—once you’re happy with the shape you can go ahead and lay in seams. Here is where our parallels start to fall apart: For the suit, you’ll want to do all the finishing touches—the handstitching, buttons, pressing, etc.—and then try it on and style it. But in writing your essay, these steps are reversed—styling is crafting the last paragraph, bringing the piece to a close. Your essay doesn’t have to wrap up neatly, in fact, you don’t want it to be too matchy-matchy. Just as an outfit’s style is improved by personal idiosyncrasies, a piece of writing is enriched by the author's capacity to engage with complexity and ambiguity. With the styling done--when you really know what it is you're trying to say--now you can go back with needle and thread and do that hand-stitching: tighten the prose where you can, polish rhythms, word choice, grammar and voice. With the whole of the thing in front of you, you now have what you need to do the kind of “third draft” finishing work that was impossible to begin with.

This might be the very definition of beating a metaphor to death, but I surprised myself with it. It was as revelatory for me as it was for Henry--probably more so.

And with that, I need to get back to those now-422 emails.

Cheers,

Kelly Sue

PS New creator-owned book coming out late fall this year--first launch in a decade or so, I think? I do need to figure out this whole newsletter/blog conundrum sooner rather than later. Advice and opinions welcome.

[pausgirl33]

"Bad Day" | Pablo Gavi.

Summary: Since his operation, Pablo has felt quite discouraged and grumpy, and one day he makes the mistake of lashing out at the person who has been most there for him.

Warnings: angst

a/n; it's a little long but hope you enjoy 😬

ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ

A couple of months had passed since Pablo went injured and had to undergo surgery. This left everyone sad, and had obviously caused a complete change in the boy's attitude, clearly for the worse. He looked more down and insecure, even though Xavi and his teammates assured him that he would be fine soon, Pablo still couldn't stop being clouded by bad thoughts.

And since that happened daily, you had been trying to support and be aware of your boyfriend's needs at all times, and added to that, your studies and household chores were exhausting you but you tried to cope with everything as best as possible.

So you tried not to let yourself get so carried away by the pressure and stress of this and help Pablo as much as possible, be it bathing and so on.

Although sometimes (all the time, actually) the boy was too stubborn and childish to let himself be helped, especially when it was bath time.

Like the other afternoon...

He came home after another special training session in a visibly foul mood. Like always, Pablo entered slamming the door loudly, causing a couple picture frames to shake on the wall—you flinched at the noise from the living room, dropping your book onto your lap. You could tell from the sound of his heavy footsteps that he was mad.

The boy passed through the hallway, without even giving you a glance and stormed directly into the bedroom, muttering under his breath.

"This is so damn frustrating," he grumbled, yanking clothes out of the drawer. He grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom, slamming the door again behind him.

You, accustomed to this routine, took a deep breath and grabbed a couple of fresh towels. As she approached the bathroom door, she could hear the water running and Pablo's irritated mutterings. She knocked gently, "Pablo, mi vida, do you need any help?"

"No! Que puedo hacerlo yo solo, joder!" He snapped from the other side. (I can do it myself, damn it!)

She sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and worry. You hated seeing him like this, full of anger and pain. "Pablo, I just want to help. Please, let me in," You insisted softly, hoping to soothe him, since last time, he almost fell in the shower and all because of his stubbornness.

Instead of a calm response, the door flung open and the boy stood there, his face flushed with anger. "I said no!" He shouted, before slamming once again the door, this time in her face, miraculously not hitting the tip of her nose in the process. The sudden action startled her, leaving her standing still.

You stood there for a moment, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You were tired of this attitude but you knew that it was the frustration and pain talking, not the Pablo you loved. With a long face, she decided to wait on the bed, just in case he changed his mind. She didn't want to bother him too much because she knew how he reacted to persistent help, and she hated fighting.

Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. She could hear him moving around in the bathroom, the sound of water splashing and occasional mutterings of frustration. She felt helpless, torn between wanting to give him space and the need to be there for him.

ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩

Today was a pretty bad day for you, since last week you had 3 important exams for which you spent hours studying but you still had the feeling that everything would turn out well, but to your surprise you failed.

This left a really bad feeling in your stomach all morning, yet you tried to distract yourself with other subjects and then making lunch for when Pablo arrived from his trials.

As you were turning off the frying pan, you heard the door open and close with a loud slam, something you were already getting used to. You wiped your hands with the rag and trotted to the entrance hall, where Pablo was struggling to take off his jacket.

"Hey, Pablito, do you need help with your—"

"No, I'm fine," The boy said through gritted teeth, interrupting her still struggling. The girl raised her eyebrows as she still watched him.

"Pablo, just let me do it for you—"

"Joder, déjame en paz!" Pablo snapped, his frustration boiling over. (Fuck, leave me alone)

Y/N rolled her eyes, starting to get irritated as well.

"Sometimes everything would be a little easier if you would just let me help you," Y/N crossed her arms.

"I told you dozens of times that I don't need your help. I can do things on my own, you know?" He said, finally hanging his jacket reluctantly on the coat rack.

"Well, I saw you struggle a lot with that jacket, so I don't know—"

"Y/N," The boy told her in a warning tone, interrupted her again, thing that was already starting to annoy the girl, who looked at him with a frown.

"Jeez! You should stop being so stubborn, Pablo, I was just trying to help," she murmured again, after releasing a heavy sigh, watching him walk towards the kitchen, slowly starting to follow him closely.

"Well, I don't need it! I don't need you!" He barked harshly, quickly turning to look at her.

Y/N froze, suddenly stunned by those words. She would never have imagined hearing Pablo say something like that. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, trying to stay strong.

'He doesn't need me?'

"Fine." She murmured in a small voice.

And without another word, the girl turned and walked away, cautiously closing the bedroom door, her heart feeling heavy already. The tears she had been holding back for those few seconds finally fell down her cheeks once she slid onto the door.

All the pressure and stress she had tried to suppress was finally taking its toll, and added to Pablo's outburst towards her, she felt that everything was too much. Y/N had reached her breaking point.

In the other room, Pablo let out a heavy sigh, while running a hand through his hair. He turned around and his eyes landed on the pan with food still warm on the stove, and the plates set out ready to be placed on the table.

The sight made him feel a pang of guilt so intense that it took him a while to realize the tears forming in his own eyes. Y/N always took care of everything—shit, even of him, and yet he took it upon himself to act like an ungrateful and insensitive jerk, and now Pablo thought about all the previous moments in which he behaved in the same way.

Pablo's heart broke a little more when he heard the inconsolable cries of the girl being cushioned by the door. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the food Y/N had prepared, his appetite gone.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for sending in a fandom ask no one clocked? I know this probably sounds like bait, but I feel genuinely guilty.

I had read the FAQs before submitting but I also think I perhaps overestimated the reach of the 2018 Peter Rabbit movie. I didn’t think I could come right out and say “yo I’m a rabbit btw” so I omitted perhaps the most obvious tell but I was watching it on repeat at the time and I guess I had just assumed everyone would catch on.

I also didn’t think that saying I was a rabbit would ever get the ask posted bc it goes against the guidelines, but reflecting on it I also think there’s a difference between how you treat a person and how you treat a wild animal you’re not aware has real person feelings that would impact the voting and reaction so idk.

I didn’t feel guilty when I submitted it and I thought it was funny until I saw that people were getting (what I perceived as) really distressed about it in the notes. I guess I didn’t realise how bad it sounded until I had taken the context away. I know this is probably silly and I probably inflated the reactions in my head, but I still feel really guilty about how passionate the reactions were and possibly causing anyone to feel stressed like that irl.

This has been weighing on me awhile. I didn’t find the actual post until the voting had already passed and it was too late to add info so I’ve decided to ask in here if that’s ok. In my defence, it was about a scene that I always genuinely felt was weird, and the results did justify it haha.

So, AITA?

Anon you GOTTA tell me which it is because neither I nor apparently anyone else clocked it at ALL holy shit

But yeah, this is a good illustration of why you want to clearly telegraph in the last paragraph that this is a fictional submission, especially if the subject is more obscure like that

[jaketsparrow]

SOMETHING... | JTK

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f! Reader

Word Count: 10.6K

Summary: When you have to say goodbye to your professor and mentor, a cocky young professor steps in, Jacob Kiskza. Literature used to be your safe place, but now you feel him getting involved in every corner; it doesn’t help that you’re his TA. You deny yourself every opportunity to fall for him until…

A/N: Hi guys :) I know it’s been forever since I’ve put something together and I apologize about that, but this is life. This one has been on my mind since the Grammy U interview and I finally had the idea to put it all together. I hope you enjoy :) 

Playlist

*Also I'm so sorry I lost my tag list so if you want to be tagged here's a new form* Taglist

MINORS DNI

MENTIONS OF/ TW: Sexual content (of course), talks about death/grief, angst, swearing, Dom! Jake, restraints, possible orgasm denial, choking, alcohol use, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, ~some~ degrading, praise kink!, I’m sorry if I missed anything, but, etc, it’s filth. 

The classroom was cold in the early months of the year. You had gotten in the habit of wearing your coat through the 3-hour seminar. You were lucky that this class only ran once a week, but you often had to stay longer than the students, working with the professor for a few hours afterward. He was always elusive. Always eager to get things done as fast as possible; efficient and snappy. 

There was much to admire about him, but his personality often left you rolling your eyes. He always seemed a bit too sure about himself, always being the tough grader, pushing students further than they were willing to go. He cared a lot, especially about the subject matter. He still had that gusto in him to do things right, to be stern. 

He was new to the program; and before this, only about a year into teaching. You studied under his predecessor. She was a kinder old woman who cared deeply for you, like your mother away from home. She taught you everything- and even got you to change majors during your sophomore year. She supplemented your reading supplies, nurtured your abilities, and was always willing to sit in deep conversation with you. Discussing the classics, introducing modern pieces, talking about life, talking about it all. 

Professor Kiszka on the other hand… 

When he took over for Professor Meelo, he took very little time to rip the bandaid off. When you had originally been promised a TA position in the literature department, you were expected to be under your mentor, not a cocky white man. 

You spent weeks crying during winter break after first meeting him. The day you met him didn’t go exactly as you hoped. It was the week of finals when you found out Meelo was sick, and that she was stepping away from teaching. As if finals week wasn’t stressful enough, you had to come to terms with the fact that the woman who taught you everything was going to be leaving this world sooner than you would’ve thought. It was even more of a punch in the gut to walk into your introduction meeting to see… him. 

3 Months Ago

The walk across campus felt heavier than usual. The winter had been harsher than it usually was in early December. The wind whipped across your bare rosy cheeks, causing freezing tears to slowly fall out of the corners of your eyes. Almost like a bad omen, the weather continued to get worse as you sludged your way across the quad. 

The parking lot was nearly a mile away from campus, which was nice during the warmer months; the trees would sway across the crosswalk, blessing the sidewalk with fallen flowers and leaves. The grass was green and lively, a welcome mat onto a wonderful learning home. Between the cracks of the stone walkways, little dandelions would grow. You never understood the people who thought them to be unnecessary weeds. They were bright and yellow lively plants, and when the time of beauty passed, they passed their good wishes onto you. Blowing what once were vibrant petals into the wind. Who knew you’d miss the weeds on your walks?

Instead, now the stones were smeared with remnants of snowy footprints, broken earth that had been cracked through with the force of shovels, and the remnants of the dead earth.

Meelo called you just last week. You begged to go see her in the hospital, but she didn’t want you to worry too much. She agreed to call you every other day, just like your usual coffee arrangements. She loved them just as much as you did. She never had a husband or any children. Her students were her children, her soul was fed enough through changing lives that she didn’t want to take away that love from her students or prevent any child from feeling all of it. You were not the first to bear their soul in her office, but you might be one of the last. 

Meelo begged you to go meet the new professor. You had tried to rescind your TA position, but she blocked you at every chance she got. Even while in hospice she still managed to look out for you…

“Please, sweetheart. I know it’s not easy. But he’s young, he’s smart, I think you’ll have a lot in common with him,” She pleaded through the phone. 

“But he’s not you. I just, I thought… I thought I’d have more time…” Your voice trailed off. 

You tried to hold the phone away from your face, trying not to distress her more with the sounds of your whimpers and tears. 

Her voice started again, “You never know what you will learn from him. You have more time with me, but there comes a time when a teacher must share her students for them to learn more. If we stayed in our echo chamber together my dear I’m afraid you wouldn’t learn everything you need to know. Jacob is going to be a great professor, and I know you will learn a lot from him. His research and analysis work is quite extensive. The school and I hired him for a reason. Please. Just give it a try. For me.”

“Just for you.” 

And here you were trudging through, feeling every bone in your body telling you to turn around, to go home. But you were doing this not for you, you reminded yourself. For Meelo. She was right, you latched on to her from your early years in college and favored her over all of your other professors. They were kind and nice as well, but it didn’t matter to you in the end, if they weren’t Meelo, they were never going to compare. 

The building seemed colder than usual. The large glass windows were covered by their shades; no one wanted to see the gross state of life outside of the classroom. That’s hardly motivating to any student, the fluorescents would give more life than the grey state of the weather. 

You pull the door open, walk through the entryway, and follow your usual path down the hallway to Meelo’s room. 

The thing about old colleges, everywhere you turn is a little piece of history. Each room has housed many professors and many students. The building had life, had ghosts of its own hidden in each brick, in each stone. You felt the comfort of this presence moving through the hallway. 

You stop right before Meelo’s room, catching your breath before you enter. Trying to have an open mind. Kiszka could be something, or he could just be another man throwing words at you. Not that all men were the same, but a majority of the male professors here were lackluster, favoring the male students and the athletes who needed the better grades to stay in the school. And if they favored the women… You always felt a cold chill thinking about that. Thinking about why…

One last deep breath before you enter the classroom. You grab tight onto the handle of your tote bag and strut confidently into the room. 

It was empty. 

The beautiful artwork and posters that Meelo had filling the room were stripped. Revealing the natural state of the architecture. It was beautiful in its own way but didn’t feel like the educational home you once felt so blessed to be in. The desks were all shoved to one side of the classroom. The previous welcoming U-shape was demolished, instead providing a cluttered destruction of Meelo’s work. 

You stood awestruck in the shape of the room. There was no time wasted between Meelo leaving and Kiszka starting to make his mark on the room. The bookshelves that used to be filled in the back of the room had been emptied and their contents sat on the floor in boxes.

You walk over to the boxes, kneeling to gently sift through the carelessly placed books. This was Meelo’s library that she had collected for the classroom. Take a book, leave a book, borrow a book, bring it back. You loved visiting this wall every week, seeing what books your peers were interested in, and which books made their way into the library. Some new, and some returning after long months away. 

Sitting on top of the box was the classic “Brave New World”. Aldous Huxley. 1932. Not an original copy, but a new binding. It was like the universe was sending you signs. This would be a brave new world. A world where you might have to come to terms with the fact that Meelo would not be in your life forever.  A world where you might have to figure out everything with a new mentor. A world where you thought you would have years to work on your pieces with a woman who understood you, but now you would turn over your heartfelt pieces to a man. One who may not understand you the same as someone else does.

“A favorite of yours?” A voice perks up from the doorway. 

You turn to see him. Your eyes work your way up his figure. He’s wearing Chelsea boots, black thick linen pants, a white loose shirt with a black vest, and a dress coat over it. His chestnut hair lays over the shoulders of the coat, and his eyes are covered by circular gold-rimmed sunglasses. He oozes mystery. His arms crossed, surveying your crouched body by the boxes. You hate to admit it, but he may be one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. 

You hold up the book towards him, displaying the cover. 

“Not particularly. I don’t like thinking about the takeover of technology. It feels too real right now.” You respond. 

He wanders over to you, taking his time, each step creating the most annoying echo in the emptied classroom. He reaches his hand out to yours, asking silently for the book. You hand it over to him and stand to match his level. 

He passes the book between his hands, admiring the binds, “Ah, yes, but perhaps something can be learned from the book if more understood its warning… if only more read it…”

“If only…” You let the conversation trail off. Your eyes wander back to the pile of desks on the opposite wall. You feel yourself zoning out, focused only on the change of the room, not on the man in front of you. 

“-Your favorite?” He asks. 

You snap back to the conversation, trying to recall the beginning of his question, “I’m sorry? 

“If this is not your favorite, can I ask which is?” He waves you to walk with him. 

You follow him into the office at the back of the classroom. He sits in Meelo’s chair, and you sit in the chair that had held you so many times. You wouldn’t be surprised if the cushion had a you-shaped imprint in it at this point. 

He asks a third time, “You don’t seem like the Jane Eyre or Louisa May student, so what is it?” 

You let your bag fall off your shoulder and you try to sit up in the chair, asserting some sort of professionalism. Your answer will hold some sort of judgment for him. Although you want to be offended by his comment about the female author’s classics, he’s right. They were never your favorite. 

“Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Meelo gave it to me as my first assignment.” You respond, confident in your answer. 

He nods in approval, “Lovely choice, very telling. Meelo said you were very bright–one for the classics.” 

He leans back in his chair, stroking his chin. His hand reaches up to the gold-rims and pulls them off, clattering onto the desk. He pulls himself towards the desk, resting his elbows on the table. 

“Are you going to ask me mine?” He asks, almost presumptuously. 

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he has to find a way to be important here. You adjust yourself in your seat, crossing your arms in the process. 

“If you want me to know, why don’t you just say it?” You retort. 

He chuckles to himself, “Lord of the Rings.” 

Your mouth falls so far open that you’re afraid a fly might buzz its way in. You lift your hand to your mouth and try to hide your disapproval.

“That’s a classic for sure.” You reply, “Not one I would’ve expected from a college literature professor, but a classic nonetheless.”

He pushes himself off the desk, running his hands through his long locks before they make their way onto the arms of the seat. 

“You don’t approve?” He scoffs. 

“I didn’t say that, I just said it’s not one that I would expect.” 

“I believe there is a difference between a personal and professional favorite. A favorite you could read over and over again, and you could enjoy without having to think too much about what it all means. it’s an adventure, its heroes and legends, it’s a call for relaxation and enjoyment. I’d rather have my favorite be a well-known classic than a deep thought-provoking story about purity.”

You fight every urge in you to slap the man sitting before you for disgracing such a beautiful novel. But you think about Meelo. You think about stepping outside of the echo chamber. 

“I think we may have different opinions on favorites, Professor Kiszka.” You say shortly. 

You feel the tension grow between you already. This would be a difficult semester. Even more difficult because as you felt your dislike for him grow, you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful man sitting in front of you. His brown eyes stared deep into you, trying to assess his new assistant. You tried not to let him in too far. You were not fawning for him, at least you weren’t trying to. You wanted to fight off the growing warmth crying to spread through you. It was like seeing a handsome stranger in the bar; you knew the danger, but almost didn’t want to let yourself protect your heart. 

He was by far the youngest professor here, and the most eligible. No ring was on his finger. 

“Please, call me Jacob.” 

You stood up from your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder. You try to compose yourself enough not to let any distaste escape from your lips. 

“Sorry, Professor Kiszka, I have finals I need to finish, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you in January. If you need anything from me before then, I believe the dean gave you my information.”

You reach your hand out awkwardly, trying to invite a handshake. He cautiously reaches his hand back, pulling you into a firm, but still gentle handshake. 

His eyes meet yours. The deep brown staring into you. Although you should have the power from your standing position, you knew he held all the cards from his seat. The handshake lingered longer than you had expected, both of you locked deep into staring each other down. He finally releases his hand. 

“It was a pleasure.” You start to leave the office, but he makes one last remark, “Oh, one last thing…” 

You turn to face him, “Yes professor?”

 He reaches into the desk and pulls out a cloth-bound book, handing it to you. You slowly return to the desk, taking the book from his hand—the Lord of the Rings. 

“Try it for me? You do have a whole winter break…”

You rub your hands over the cover, smiling at his request. You place the book back in his hand.

“I used to read it as a child. No need to give it a try when you’ve read it four times already.” You smile at him. 

Even if it wasn’t your favorite, didn’t mean it wasn’t a favorite. 

Present

In some ways, your relationship with him felt like a love-lost marriage. Just moving through the motions. You sat in on the classes and took note of who engaged, and who didn’t. You graded assignments, tests, and papers, with him always double-checking and doubting your work. You didn’t sit in on long conversations with him like Meelo. Perhaps some of that was your fault, always quick to get to work. He adjusted to you quickly, understanding how you needed to work, and letting you grieve. 

Meelo passed quickly into the semester. You cried once in front of him when the news broke. You nearly snapped his head off when he asked if he could help you. From that moment on he took on this cold persona, but you don’t blame him at all. You knew in your heart that you would not have the same connection with him as Meelo, so it was easier to never try. 

Through everything, your work never faltered, and your school work remained the priority. Perhaps it was a way to hide through all the pain but the calculated steps it took to grade provided a soothing rhythm amongst the distress. 

You never failed to notice all the times you caught him catching glances at you. You were silly to think that it meant anything more than just a quick look, but still maybe somewhere in your heart, you had hoped that maybe he was thinking of you more than his assistant. For weeks you watched him stroll into class, always wearing a disheveled but somehow put-together outfit. You loved seeing how he would piece together different clothes from his collection. Never repeating an exact outfit, but always finding new ways to repurpose the same items. 

One day he walked in with a new addition to his look, a cluster of pendants on a necklace. They looked older, more worn in than any new silver. You asked him about it briefly, trying not to engage in a further conversation. 

“They’re coins, Spanish coins, designed after ones from the 1600s. I think the jeweler lied to me when he said they were originals, but they still look okay… Do you think so? 

“You look like a pirate.” You responded. 

A sexy pirate. You shoved that thought deep into the back of your mind. Holding on to it, because you didn’t want to forget how good he looked. 

His Thursday classes were always one of the better ones. This was one that you had to take yourself for your graduate program. There was no TA’ing involved as that would be a huge conflict of interest if you got to grade your papers. You chose to sit in the back corner of the class by the window, in hopes that when spring rolls around you could watch the foliage return. The unfortunate thing about this choice was the waiting. February was colder than you had expected and the windows provided no warmth. 

When you were TA’ing you got to sit at the edge of the office and the classroom. Kiszka brought a space heater for you to place at the doorway. He joked he didn’t need his assistant ‘freezing to death’, because then ‘who would grade the papers’.

You tried your hardest to not let him favor you, but you knew he was someone who would be kind no matter how much you asked him to stop. He would leave books on the edge of his desk for you to read and when you tried to return them he declined and told you he already had a copy in his collection. You doubted that and always protested in fear that you thought you might lead him on. But in the end, it was always you walking out with a new book in your bag. 

He was trying his hardest to get along with you. Some days it was easier and you would entertain his questions, but other days it was easier to be quick and move along. This relationship was not going to be a fairytale. You had already found your soulmate once, and you lost her. In your mind, there was no more room in your heart to let someone in. And why should you prepare space for someone if you truly don’t know if they want to be there? 

This class although interesting became boring as the weeks went on. The class had fallen into a seasonal depression of sorts. Many like you had expected to have Meelo for the semester when you had booked your classes, so when Kiszka showed up and tried to shake things up… It wasn’t easy. He was skilled and smart, sure… But not the same. He craved involvement and wanted the class to join in with him, but often would push people further than they were willing to go. A room full of mid-20-year-olds was truly a space of burnout. Many of these students had already passed four, sometimes five years of school before they stepped into this class. They no longer have that lively interest in reading and analyzing literature but want to create their own.

“-And what was this author trying to convey through his use of metaphors?...” He asked from his commanding space at the front of the class, “No one?... No one picked up on this…? Or are you too scared to be wrong?”

Your attempts at fighting off eye-rolls also subsided the longer this course went on, and this roll came on hard. You’ve heard this line countless times through multiple classes. He wasn’t wrong, but he could at least find different ways to say the statement. 

“Y/N? Care to enlighten everyone?” He calls to you, in need of saving the class who had lost attention nearly an hour ago. 

“Sure. It’s a metaphor for how women are treated in society.” You answer.

He grits his teeth and sighs, “Not quite, but you’re close…” 

You lift yourself from your slump, “No, that’s right. She is clearly trying to convey the expectations of women in society and how we are treated. As a female author, she leaves these metaphors to be very simple for female readers to understand. For males, it’s harder to grasp that the severity of these situations could imply the treatment of women, but that’s what she’s trying to explain.”

He clasps his hands together giving them a brief shake, “That class, that is how you analyze. Literature can be read in different ways by different readers. The author may have a clear intention of what they are trying to write, but others may be able to relate it to other aspects of their life. I have my own interpretation, and you all may have others. That is how this should be working. There is nothing wrong, with how you analyze, just that you have the knowledge to back it up…”

Every time you tried to make him out to be the bad guy, he ended up being in the right. You hated how smart he was. You hated how much you wanted to watch him while he stood up there. You hated how he wasn’t her. But you knew you didn’t want him to leave. 

“So with that,” He continues, “Finish up the last few chapters and please come prepared with statements next week about your findings. I want you to dig deep; feel the author. I’ll see you next week.” 

The class starts their shuffle for the door, while you meander to your usual spot at the doorway of the office. The next class wouldn’t be in for 20 minutes, but you would at least have time to warm up. 

You click on the heater and walk over to Kiszka’s rolling desk chair. You take your coat off and rest it over the seat, pushing it over to the door. Kiszka finds his seat at the front of the classroom, pulling out his book of the week. He usually would try to follow you, asking you what you were reading, then the next day showing up to class with an identical copy. It was annoying and endearing how much he wanted to learn from you. You wondered if it upset him that you weren’t as keen on learning from him. 

He confided in you that Meelo was an idol of his as well, and although he didn’t get to learn from her, he was going to try to through you. 

You pull your copy of Anna Karenina from your bag and join him. Your chapters ahead of him, but you enjoy being one step in front of him. 

You peep up from the back of the room, “I didn’t ask, but please tell me this isn’t your first time reading this.” 

He lifts his head from the book slightly, eyes still skimming the page, “Third.” 

You sigh in relief. That would’ve been embarrassing; for him. 

You return to the book. You’re finding it harder to dive in today than usual, something is different… You see out of the corner of your eye that Kiszka has put down the book altogether, and you can sense him staring. This lasts a few moments, but you try to remain focused on the words, but catching yourself having to re-read the paragraphs; not processing the sentences you’ve already read.

A minute goes by and he hasn’t returned to his pages. Instead, you hear the squeak of his chair rolling over to his computer. A few clicks and a frenzy of taps on the keyboard. 

“Hey.” He prods. 

You look up again from the book. He peers at you over the edge of his computer and then closes it so he can see you better. He grasps his jaw lightly, stroking it in his hands. 

“Yes?” You asked, trying not to seem annoyed by the interruption. 

“Let’s go over your manuscript. I want to see it.” He continues. 

No. It’s not time yet. You’ve been meticulously editing it for months now. He wasn’t supposed to read it until midterms, you were supposed to have more time…

You drop the book into your lap, “It’s not ready…” You close the book, “Also we have class in twenty minutes, you won’t be able to read it all by then.” 

He stands up from his seat, straightening his vest out, “I canceled class. Pull it out.” 

Two Hours Later

Some time had passed. You both sat in his office now. Him at… his… desk, and you still positioned by the heater at the door. At this point you were warm enough to finally take your sweater off, stripping down to a simple black t-shirt. You saw him staring through the pages when you pulled the sweater off. If he had looked any harder you think he might burn a hole through the book.

The office was silent except for the occasional click and clack of the heater, and the flickering of the candle on his desk. He flipped through the lightly bound pages while you continued through your reading. Every couple of minutes you could hear the stroke of his red pen hit the pages. The words or corrections will wait for you later. You could sit and scoff at them later in your apartment. The man said his favorite book was Lord of the Rings, how could you possibly trust his editorial judgment?

You had made it about a hundred or so pages through your book, which was slower than you would’ve liked. You still couldn’t breach the interferences. You thought the silence would help, but hearing his hums, his pen strokes, the occasional sip of scotch… It was all a distraction. 

You couldn’t stop looking up from the book to watch him slyly admire your work. You knew your writing was good; Meelo had seen the early stages of it all. She heard the direction and loved every word… A complete sadness rushed over you thinking of how she would never see the final product. 

Kiszka would adjust himself every few minutes; switching positions in his seat. You wanted to trust yourself enough not to look every time he shifted his hips, but those linen pants he loved so much left little to wonder about him. You had a closeness to him that you didn’t want to admit. As many differences as there were between you, there were just as many similarities. He was an outsider here; you could see that clearly. The other professors didn’t trust him because of his age- the students tried to walk all over him because of that too. 

Even though you wanted to hate how pretentious he seemed, deep down you knew it was a facade to seem more studious to others. You saw the real him in glimpses. The kindness he offered to you that many others most likely wouldn’t have. Your youth and love for literature matched his perfectly, although you couldn’t always find the way to express it correctly. Your loyalty to Meelo prevented that at every chance. 

Letting him read this manuscript was a big step that you didn’t fully even realize until he had reached the halfway point. You wanted to go and rip the pages out of his hand, throw them out the window, prevent him from seeing you too deeply… But something inside you needed to know what he thought of it. 

Frustrated by your lack of progress, you lowered the book into your lap. You took this time to look around the room. It had changed so much since you had seen it back in December. Kiszka’s library had taken up the room, along with his record collection. When you would come by early in the morning to drop off the graded work, you would hear him playing some of it. Blues, rock, the classics. You never disturbed him during these times, it felt too intimate to interrupt. Instead, you would place the binder of essays on his classroom desk and scurry away before he could come to say hello. 

You place your bookmark into the page opening. You calmly stand and place the book where you once sat. Quietly, you make your way over to his collection.  

You see him peer up through the pages. Curious about your movements, watching you silently behind the manuscript. 

You lower yourself to the floor, sifting through the jackets of the vinyls. Alphabetical. Of course. You make your way quickly through the a’s and land through the b’s. As cliche as it seems, you truly love Abbey Road, and of course, there it is front and center with the other Beatles albums. You pull it out from the shelf, removing the jacket carefully from the sleeve. You lift the vinyl out and place it on the record player. It’s a modern one, which feels very out of character for Kiszka. He always seemed like the type to randomly have every item of his be nothing newer than 20 years old. 

You press play and lower the needle onto the music. 

Come Together plays softly through the speakers. You turn to look back at him, seeing if there is any protest. Instead, he has the red pen out, slashing across the paper. You grit your teeth and try not to engage. You return to his collection, running your fingers along the remainder of the vinyl. The plastic tickles through your fingers, creating a click, click sound as each jacket releases from your hold. 

Although you did want Kiszka to keep reading, you felt it was necessary to distract him, to try and persuade him to step away…

You continue from the vinyl collection, traipsing through the room. It’s like a library out of a movie, truly. You admired his office deeply and loved to gaze at it while he was lecturing. Sometimes when he was deep in his philosophy of literature speeches, you would lean back in the chair and try to read the book titles from afar. Your eyesight was good, but not good enough to make out the exact names of all of them. You never dared to peruse like this before, but this moment presented the perfect opportunity. 

You were his captive for the remainder of his reading. Well… In all reality, you didn’t have to be here, but you didn’t dare leave that manuscript alone. It had been stored with you in your tote for the past month. You tried to take chunks of edits at a time, working through it yourself when you had time but didn’t want to share it with anyone until you felt that it was complete. 

You tried to fight Kiszka off, but the notion of him canceling class meant that he found taking the time to do this very important… 

The books that were displayed on these shelves were not the type of books that you would find at your local bookstore. They were older, worn in, some of them originals, even some you haven’t read yet. Maybe he did have some things that he could show you…

 You make your way to the last set of bookshelves, rounding the back corner of the office. The last edge of the wall had his makeshift bar. 

The liquor was all dark, amber-colored. Very manly, you thought to yourself. Bottles of whiskey and scotch lined the makeshift bar. Jack Daniels, Sazerac Rye, Macallan Double Cask… You recognized some of the labels. 

Kiszka crept up behind you, “If you wanted a glass, you could’ve asked.” 

He reaches down below you to fetch a rocks glass from the bar. He grabs the Macallan Double Cask and pours a finger for you. The alcohol flows effortlessly out of the bottle, barely splashing into the glass.  He hands the glass to you, your hand brushing his. His touch is warm… Kind. He takes his other hand and grabs your shoulder, in a comforting way. You want to seem completely normal, but feel your cheeks getting rosy from the touch. You suck on your bottom lip and try to hide your face. 

You take a large swig of the scotch, trying to be mindful of not wasting such a good drink. He looks at you, shocked at your ability to take it so easily. 

“Wow. Good.” Is the only words he can mutter. 

You smile meekly. The praise makes you feel undoubtedly shyer than you had just before. 

“Are these originals?” You ask, pointing to the corner section of his library, “I couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to touch them if they were.”

“Many of them, yes,” He responds, “I trust that you would be gentle with them, please, which one were you curious about?” 

You make your way over to the shelf, placing your drink down on the small table near the corner. You reach up to fold out the red bound book. Its title was completely faded from the binding, but we’re curious as to which one it was. He follows closely behind you, close enough to almost be on you. 

He laughs, “Funny you should grab that..” 

You open the cover to find Lord of the Rings printed in big black letters. 

“Oh, dear god.” You sigh. 

“It is an original if that makes you feel any better about it. I know you hate this book, but still-”

“No, no,” You protest, “I never said I hated it, I just said it wasn’t my favorite. Remember we have different opinions on that professor.” 

He scoffs and takes the book from your hand. Rubbing the cloth binding with his thumbs.

“Want to know something funny?” He questions. 

You did. You really did. You wanted the connection at this moment… For whatever cosmic reason it finally felt okay to banter with him. You nod your head, approving him to continue. 

“I saw the movies before I read the books.” He laughs, “My brothers and I loved it, we were practically obsessed, but I was younger then and a stupid boy who didn’t read like I do now. Not the fairytale way most people find their favorite but it reminds me of childhood…”

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to make fun of him for it. But you knew that this was a special moment for him. A look into his past, a presentation for more. He places the book carefully back on the shelf, tucking it back into its spot. 

“Well, I guess that makes more sense now. But, as a graduate professor, you ought to just say you like the pretentious shit. No one’s going to take you seriously.” 

He turns from the shelf, “Who said I was worried about that? If I lie then I am a fraud. I don’t care if anyone says that.” 

Oh fuck. His confidence is so intoxicating. He’s right. Why should he care? 

“I just- I meant… I thought that the other professors-” 

“You thought that they don’t take me seriously? Right. They don’t. In schools like this, you have to earn respect. I’m not an alumnus, I didn’t go to Harvard, but I do a damn good job at what I do. As much as you may protest some of my teaching, I know what I’m doing.”

He breezes past you and strolls back over to the bar to pour himself another drink. You reach back for yours and hold it between your hands, trying to collect yourself. You hope that you didn’t hurt him. 

“Did I offend you?” You ask.

“‘Course not,” He takes a swig, “I just wish you would realize that it doesn’t matter what standards others hold you to. You are not someone else. You are you.” 

“I know that.” You respond dryly. Your answer didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to be. It came out unsure and desperate. 

“Then why has your whole academic career been based on your relationship with one woman? Why must everything you do be for her?...” 

You stand there silently. Completely struck with emotions. Anger, sadness, discouragement.

“She… She made me who I am,” You pipe, “She’s the reason I am in this program.” 

He strolls back over to you, locking your eyes with his. It’s intimidating, this look he has on his face. He’s studying you, seeing how lost you feel. Truly for the first time you couldn’t even try to put up any walls. He had broken you down. 

He places his hand on your shoulder again, “Can I show you something?” He asks. 

Before you have time to even object to him, his hand moves from your shoulder to your waist, guiding you back towards his desk. You feel butterflies growing inside you. 

No. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He is your advisor. He is not someone you should feel this way about. He’s trying to help you, he’s not interested in you. 

The vinyl finishes its song and moves on to Something. He guides you into his seat. You place the glass down on the desk and wipe the condensation from your hands onto your thighs. He reaches over the desk and twirls the manuscript back in front of you. The pages sit open about two-thirds of the way through. He stands behind you, practically leaning on your back. His chest rests against your shoulder, pointing at the beginning of the page. 

“See this paragraph here?” He questions. 

You strain so hard to not melt at his touch. His hair is grazing your cheek. It smells wonderful, but you can’t admit that. He has this gentle but clean musk about him. He smells like a perfectly cared-for bookstore. A soft smell of tobacco and oak. The chains with pendants are draping over his neck, sparkling in the moonlight of the night, softly clanking together with his movement 

You need to focus. 

You respond, afraid that you waited too long, “Yes?” Your voice wavers, the lack of confidence creeping back through, “Is there something wrong with it?” 

He turns to face you, “Yes. I have a big problem with it.” 

You feel your heart sink. What could be wrong with it? The back half of the book is the best part, it is the part you feel most confident with. You feel confused. All of those walls and confidence you felt once in his presence were lost. 

“What…? What problem?” 

You look back at the pages, disregarding his closeness to you, pulling the bundle of paper back towards you, and flipping through to the previous pages. He puts his hand on yours, stopping you from searching. He lowers himself next to the seat, squatting to be at your eye level. His thumb wanders back and forth over your wrist. 

He smiles a crooked and cunning smile, “It’s some of the best writing I’ve seen in years, and the author was too scared to even share it with anyone. She lost someone and had to do this all on her own. That’s terrifying, but it’s still her work. ” 

You look at the hand holding yours. It’s strong but has a softness to it. It has a few rings sitting on them, but none a wedding band. You lower your head and release your wrist, grabbing it with your other hand. You sigh heavily and grasp your hands in front of the pages. Your hands travel up to hide your face, which presents a melancholic smile that you can’t let go of. You can’t tell if it’s the liquor or his presence, but you feel a glow coming from inside. 

You rush your hands past your face and through your hair, resting your hands on the back of your neck. Scoffing, you turn to look at him. His amused smile is irresistible. 

“You,” He starts, “Are an amazing writer.” His hand lifts from the pages and reaches up towards your cheek, holding your face in his palm, “And no matter who your teacher is, you can still do it on your own.”

Your hand finds its way up to his arm, holding him back. Staring longingly at each other. Both deep down knowing that this was about to lead down a path you couldn’t return from. 

“Professor-” You initiate.

“Jacob.” He replies. 

“Fine… Jacob. This- I… I don’t think.” 

He quickly removes his hand from your face and comes to his senses. “Oh, dear, um… I’m so sorry y/n… I…”

You let yourself slump in the seat. How could you? How could you squander that moment? After years of wishing to find a man who was at least half as interested in literature as you… Here you are throwing it away. But you could be right to do so. He was your professor, you were his assistant, the moral implications of this all… 

Jacob stands and leans back onto the desk, stroking his chin, concerned. Thinking about it all. You can see the nerves climbing through him. He feels embarrassed.

You reach your hand up to your face again, burying your emotions into your skin. 

“I just thought- I, fuck.” He continues, “I thought we were turning a corner, I was looking and I thought I saw you-” 

“You did.” You respond, “...I was looking.”

You lower your hand from your face to stare back at him. You put the manuscript back on the desk and stand. 

“You… You were?” He searches for the answer. 

“Jacob… For months I have looked. I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want to admit that to myself. My mentor was my heart and soul, she was everything to me. I didn’t want to give you any chances because I didn’t want to lose someone like that again… I can’t handle that heartbreak. But…” You trail off. 

“But?” He inquires. 

You reach for the scotch glass and swirl the liquid around. Staring deep into the stormy amber. 

“Fuck it.” You take the last of the scotch into your mouth and turn back to Jacob, “You… You are what I’ve wanted. I can’t deny the way I feel when it’s just us. When I see you deep in thought, when you push me to go further; when you challenge me. When we’re alone, and I see you for the man you are. When I see how genuinely fucking amazing you are. And I’m so mad at myself for not opening myself to you.” 

Jacob peels himself off the desk and stances himself in front of you. He grabs your hands and holds them tenderly in his. You drop your head, your hair falling over your frustrated expression. 

“You were grieving, you wouldn’t have been ready for this.” He reaches his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. 

You look up to him with doe eyes. He was the older man, coming in for the prey. You wanted to be his. You wanted to have him. You wanted it. You denied it for months. You denied it from the moment you saw him. You denied yourself to knowing him in fear that this exact moment would happen. But here you were. Unveiling yourself to him in the very place you felt the first attraction. 

“I want to be ready. No, I am ready. I want this. I can’t deny myself happiness because of everything that happened,” You said. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. Trying to test you. 

You nod your head in approval, trying once again to keep the emotions bottled in. 

“I don’t want you to feel any pressure because-”

“Please don’t say it. I know. I know this is all morally fucked up, but I’m an adult, you’re an adult. Just treat me like one.”

He smiles, admiring your maturity, “If you want to do this, there are some things we have to settle first.” 

You look up at him confused, “Things? What things?” 

“More like rules,” He answers, titling his head playfully, “I need to know what you’re comfortable with. I don’t want to scare you even more than you already seem.” 

He returns his hand to hold your face, just like he previously had only moments before.

“I’m not scared Jacob. What rules?”

“As much as I like to be gentle with women, I also enjoy being rough.” He says through a velvety tone

You jolt back, at first fearful of his words, but relax quickly, reminding yourself you don’t need to be scared. 

“How rough are we talking…” You prod. 

The cunning smile returns across his face, “Don’t worry, I don’t leave marks, at least too bad of marks… And only rough enough that you’ll still be wanting more by the time we’re done.” 

You bite your lip at the thought. You’re no virgin at this point in your life, but you’ve never been able to explore this type of intimacy. Every man in college is practically an amateur at pleasuring women and even more so when it comes to exploration in sex. You’ve read plenty of books to know about the type of sex he was talking about. As much as you enjoyed the classics and the light-hearted romance, you still found yourself picking up a steamier romance book in private. 

You wanted that. Had practically dreamed about it before… 

Being here with this man, who was only a few years your senior, felt like you could practice this fantasy safely. He knew what he was doing, he could show you pleasures you didn’t even know you could enjoy. Even if you felt like you couldn’t learn more from your education with him, perhaps there were other things he could teach you. It was all becoming a bit too exciting. 

His hand moves slowly down from your cheek to your waist. His palms gently grazed your spine until they locked in on your love handles. 

“So,” He continues, “Are you going to be my good girl? Can you be good for me? Do you think you can take it?”

You reach out to his chest, moving aside his shirt which had barely been buttoned. With one swipe down his sternum, you unlatched all of them revealing his smooth golden skin. He watched you intently, seeing you explore his skin like never before. You traced your fingers along the opening, feeling your need to reach more grow. With each second that passed you felt the insatiable thirst to be close to him; to feel him. His grip on your waist tightened with each pass you made over his chest. 

His other hand joined him on your opposite side. You feared that your hips may break with his excited hold. You looked up at him, biting your lip, trying to remain coy. That soft smile appeared on his lips; you had answered with your body language. 

He pushes his hands further into you and lifts you onto the desk, your ass barely resting on the edge of the wood. 

“Words,” He said, pulling himself closer into you, resting perfectly between your legs, “Nothing’s going to happen until you tell me you want it to. This isn’t going to work sweetheart unless you use your words.”

“Jacob-” Are the only breathy words that you can mutter. 

You can feel him growing, feel the linen pants barely holding back his excitement. You feel your heartbeat travel from your chest, down into your stomach, into your… 

His hand moves up to your jaw, holding it firmly in his grip, “Y/N, follow the instructions. Words. I’m not going to wait much longer.” 

“Yes-”

Before you can even finish he’s pulling you into an embrace. Your lips meet his. The soft taste of scotch remaining on both of you created an intoxicating addicting feeling. It was complete passion, complete neediness to be one. His tongue introduces itself into your mouth… Soft, wet. Beckoning. The noises you both are making sound feral, completely unusual for the both of you. What once was a prim and proper relationship between you became a fervent desperation to touch… To fuck. 

His hands traveled down your body, first reaching your chest, grasping you completely in his hand. Rolling his palms over the front of your breasts, driving you completely mad. You wished the barriers of clothing had been completely stripped away, but he was too hungry to even keep you waiting for long. His hands reached under your shirt, plowing underneath the wire of your bra to find your naked breasts. A soft relieving moan escaped your lips through the breaths of the kissing. 

You reached your hands out to find the remainder of the buttons of his vest closing you off to his body. You made quick work of unbuttoning them, reaching your hands across his midsection; climbing to his back. Reaching up towards his shoulders, feeling the softness of his skin across the pads of your fingers. God, he was perfect. 

His fingers traveled to your nipples, running his thumb and forefinger over the bud of your nipples. Before you could even realize what you were doing, your nails dragged down his back, raking into his skin. He paused the kissing for a moment to let out a moaning growl. He slid his hands out from your bra, slipping down to the edges of your shirt, attempting to tug it off as fast as he could. You snatched your hands out of his shirt to raise them over your head, giving him complete access to strip you. 

He placed his hand between your breasts and forced you down onto the desk, your head falling onto the manuscript below you. He shook off his vest and was quick to pull his shirt off. 

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes it rough, huh?” He asked. 

You lifted your head from the desk, “No, definitely not.” You responded. Unsure where this untamed version of you had even come from. 

“No, sir” He stated, pushing you back down. 

“What?” You asked, skeptical of what he meant.    

He mounted himself once again between your legs, grinding himself into you. He traced his finger down your neck, to the waistline of your pants.

“Sir… That’s what my good girls going to call me, okay?” 

You rolled your eyes, unaware that you were even doing so, “Call me Jacob,” you mock, “Call me sir.”

He reached back up to your jaw, pushing his thumb into your cheek, “If you’re going to be a brat we’re going to need to set some more rules. Good girls don’t get punished, but you’re already testing me.”

Completely stunned, you look back at him trying to emulate a softness, an apology. You had to admit though, you weren’t scared of him… If anything you were more turned on by the thought of his punishments. 

“And how would you punish me, sir?” You ask in your best sultry voice. 

He let out a low grumbling laugh. He studied your body, not even acknowledging your question, just thinking… Thinking of what he would do to you. He grabbed onto your hips and pulled you hard into his cock. There was no wondering anymore. You could feel how large he was, how excited he was. If your own body wasn’t blocking it you could probably see it entirely. 

“Maybe,” He starts, “Maybe you’re not going to be my good girl,” His hands dig deeper into your waist, “Maybe, you’re going to be my little slut.” 

The word echoed through the room. It sent a shiver down your spine, but not the feeling of being displeased, it was a feeling of being right. Being here with him, being under his control, felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. He could see you in a way that someone hasn’t seen you for months. He was learning every inch of you and would learn even more as the night went on. 

He leaned down from his high position to plant gentle kisses along your neck. Gingerly leaving behind little reminders of passion. 

“-And if you’re going to be my slut,” He whines through breathy kisses, “you need to know the safe words.” 

You run your hands up to his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. Tracing his scalp over your fingertips. You don’t want to go this slow, the breaks are killing you. You just want to feel him. You want to feel him on you, in you, taking you completely as his own. 

His kisses finally reach the band of your jeans, but that doesnt stop him from exploring further. He pulls down on the jeans to reveal more of your stomach, delivering gentle almost tickling kisses. 

“Green,” He whispers, “Means you like it… You don’t want me to stop.”

His hand travels over to the button of your jeans, popping the metal away from the denim. Your eyes follow him, watching his hair fall over your stomach, the metal of his necklace chilling your bare skin. His shoulders look strong here, masculine, powerful. Watching him focus so intently on you is killing you. This is a man unlike any other that you’ve been with, he’s focused on treating you first, even if there were some other pleasures in it for him. 

“Yellow,” The zipper slowly starts to unravel as he pulls your pants further down, “Means you need me to slow down… If you need a break…” 

Your pants steadily fall off of your legs, finally being exposed to him entirely until they fall onto the floor. The only thing separating you from him now is your thong. Which you are now praising yourself for wearing today. He resumes his consuming kisses across your midsection, joining back down where he had left off. His hands slip underneath him to grab the edges of the lace, sliding off the thong with ease. 

His kisses start to graze you closer to your… 

He stops and lifts himself. His hand leads up to your mouth, putting his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. You accept them, excited for what it means. 

“Red.” His voice develops a more serious tone, “Means stop.” 

He removes his now slick fingers from your mouth, returning them down below. His fingers reach your cunt, and you welcome him with excitement of your own. Your body is in shambles waiting, wanting to know what it feels like. His fingers dance across your aching clit, his thumb padding the bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your deprived body. A loud distressed moan escapes you, you can’t help but express your enthusiasm. 

“Don’t worry sir,” You shudder through achy moans, “I don’t think I’ll need to use that one.”

“Good girl.”

Without any hesitation his fingers breach you, filling you up. He stands over you, watching you grow with the agony of pleasure. Your breath hitches with each pump, your back arching with each lift of his fingers. His thumb traces back over your clit, stimulating every inch of you. 

Every attempt at communicating the feeling faulters, except for, “Oh fuck-” 

Your body is shaking with each movement. He’s painting the perfect picture of an orgasm with just one hand. The power he holds, the knowledge he has. He knew how to please you better than you knew how to. 

His free hand makes its way around your neck, gripping it, holding you in place so he can work harder at you. You’ve never been choked before, it’s a completely new sensation. The gasps for air were something you thought you’d fear, but instead, you were wishing he’d hold on harder. 

“Green?” He asks, looking for permission. 

You nodded your head ferociously  

You feel yourself completely letting go under his control, something you feared once to let him have all the power. But here, now, held down to his desk… You never wanted it to stop. 

“Words.” He barked. 

Your hand reaches up to hold his wrist, “Yes, yes…” 

“Yes, what?” He asks again, his fingers slowing their movement. Clearly, he wouldn’t be letting you get away with anything. You had to be obedient and do as he told you.

“Yes… Please, Sir,” You beg. 

The words were getting harder to communicate. If he could finger you into oblivion, you might let him if it meant you could feel this good again. 

He smiled in approval and resumed his previous pace. Steadily building faster, and faster. Harder and harder. You could feel how wet you were becoming, it really didn’t take much for him to draw the excitement out of you. The swirls of his fingers and the vigor of his motions were precise… Calculated, trying to accomplish only one mission; and he was close to succeeding. 

Your moaning only got more frequent and louder, you couldn’t hold back. The pleasure was far too great to stay quiet. He almost let you be loud too, only for a few moments before reminding you of your location. He lifted his hand off your neck to lift a single finger to his lips and then pointed around the room. 

“If my good girl can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to make her. We don’t want anyone spoiling all the fun.”

You nod your head, remembering you were still in his office. Your surroundings had escaped you completely; only thinking of him and you. 

His thumb started to apply more pressure, practically begging for you for more. A softer moan forced its way out, helpless to be silenced. His hand plasters itself over your mouth, holding you silent. The pads of his fingers resting deep into your cheeks. 

“I know baby, it’s so hard… You’re gonna be so good and come for me now, okay?” 

Finally being relieved of speaking, you nod your head, ready for the climax. His fingers dive upward, grazing the sweet spot buried inside of you. The pressure, the sensation it’s all too much. You feel your belly tighten, your back arching. He’s trying to hold you steady as you writhe in pleasure. There’s no stopping anything now. 

“Do it baby, come on… Be a good little slut for me…”

Your eyes roll deep back into your head. You feel the sweet sensation of release wash over you. Like a wave of ecstasy, traveling from your toes, past your aching clit, through your belly, all the way to your head. Stifled moans slip through the cracks of his fingers. His fingers stay at their steady pace, pushing past your orgasm. You feel yourself dripping around him. You’ve never come this hard in your life, you’ve never felt the devotion to make you feel this good. Your body is quivering around him, unable to shake the overstimulation. You’re squeezing onto his wrist, trying to come down easy, but everything he’s doing is making the sensations crash into you. 

He takes his hand away from your mouth and you immediately gasp for air, trying to find serenity. 

“Oh god,” You moan, “How did you-”

He shuts you up by taking his mouth to your soaked cunt, sliding his tongue through the mess he made. You place your hands beside you to sit up slightly. This was a sight you did not want to miss. You take his hair in your hands and tuck it aside. Each stripe of his tongue makes you wince, you want him to stop, but you can’t let him. It feels too good. It’s too much but just the right amount all at once. 

He was consuming you, desperate to explore every inch of you. Wildly eating you up, trying to capture every last drop of his work. You were spilling into him, it was never-ending.  It was like you weren’t even there; everything except your pusy. This was a high that you never wanted to come down from. He was devoted to keeping you there as long as he could, but you couldn’t hold on for more. 

You fell back onto the desk, squirming through it all. He had you right where he wanted you. You let yourself fall into him, trying to take it all. Your hands reach over the desk, trying to find somewhere to hang onto, but instead knocking the scotch glass off the desk. Shattering loudly beneath you. 

Jacob didn’t stop though, he was completely distracted, locked in. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Yellow.. Yellow..” You begged, completely overstimulated and shocked. How could you even ask for that?... But it was impossible to withstand any more sensation. 

He stopped slowly, easing you out of the enjoyment. His hands reached up over your thighs and rested on your hips, slowly petting them with his thumbs. He looked up at you through glazed-over eyes, completely drunk on your arousal. He didn’t want it to end. 

Slowly raising himself back to a standing position, you could see how hard he had gotten. He felt just as much pleasure as you did. He was completely lost, coming back to reality. Chin dripping with your wetness… 

He leaned back over you and kissed you sloppily. The passion was more fiery than before. You did something to him and he did even more to you. It was strange to taste yourself on his lips, but exciting nonetheless. You were caught up together. Complete and one at that moment. And then it all stopped… 

Footsteps approached outside the classroom. You both stopped. He removed himself from your lips and raised his head to listen. 

A knock at the classroom door. 

“Hello?” Someone called out. 

There was no mistaking that someone was in this office, between the music, the glass breaking… They knew. 

“Everything okay in here Kiszka?” 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He stands and reaches for his shirt, buttoning it with no haste. He grabs your shirt and pants and kicks them under the desk, “Go, get underneath the desk,” He whispers, “Now.”

[jensettermandu]

doppler effect - jennie kim

genre;smut

pairing;student!jennie x professor g!p reader (everyone is of age)

content;praising, age gap (21, 27)

words;6k

masterlist

"Hi, professor!" Jennie chirped and you looked up from your laptop that was on your desk at the front of the classroom. You glanced towards the door to see the last few students piling out of the room before looking back at the girl who stood in front of your desk with a smile.

Kim Jennie, 21.

The worst student you have ever had in your classroom and this was your first semester and first-ever job as a college professor. You were young for a professor, 27 and it wasn't common for people your age to become professors this early. One thing you could brag about was how you had always been a prodigy when it came to your subject...The same couldn't be said by the girl in front of you.

You couldn't even stress how bad she was at physics. It was mind-blowing how bad she was and you were wondering why she even picked this class up in the first place since she joined mid-term.

"Yes, Miss Kim." You said, half-interested before looking back at your screen. You tried to be enthusiastic but you just found students like her annoying, but you tried not to show it. Annoying in the way that she would sit through the lessons, look like she was listening to every word you say and then hand in the most half-assed papers possible and you had caught on that she simply wasn't listening but pretending that she was. It felt like your class to her was a joke and she would honestly be better off not being in it.

It went quiet for a few seconds and you looked up to see her looking impatiently at the door where less than a handful of people were heading out. "Can you close the door?" Jennie asked, slight irritation lacing her voice as she spoke to the last guy that was about to leave. He murmured something, but still closed it as requested by the girl in front of you.

She smiled again once it was just you and her, looking back at you as you two met gazes.

"I'm failing your class." She stated as a matter of fact and you hummed, scratching your temple as you leaned back in your swivel chair, resting your elbows on the armrests. Rolling the chair back a bit to stretch out your legs, the girl watching every move.

"I know." Jennie nodded at your simple words.

"And so...I was wondering if there is anything I could do to not fail." The brunette prompted about to step closer to the desk, but ultimately stopped as you shut her down.

"Study and pay attention in class." You replied, playing with the rings on your fingers as you looked at them. Her lips parted in disbelief and she was wondering if she was maybe too discreet with her words, she was trying to go somewhere else with this. You were oblivious to it since things like that didn't cross your mind.

"Isn't there anything else that I could possibly do to pass your class...Like an exchange-." She widened her eyes as you cut her off bluntly and she sighed. "Get a tutor, they usually work. I've had some students that got help from tutors and the results were quite astonishing." You told her since you've had students struggle before as physics wasn't an easy subject. They maybe weren't as bad as Jennie, so the tutor would be up for a challenge with her, but it could possibly work. No matter how much you disliked the way she simply didn't seem to care about your class and how that annoyed you, you still had hope and wanted every one of your students to pass.

"You could ask someone in this class for help." You said and offered her a small smile before rolling the chair closer to the desk again and going back to your laptop.

The gears in Jennie's head were turning, fast.

"I don't know anyone in this class, professor...Most of my friends are on the other side of the campus studying fine arts." Jennie admitted since this was her only class on this side of the campus since she belonged on the other side too...Majoring in fine arts. Her only knowledge about physics was from high school and even then she barely passed. This only made you wonder even more what the actual fuck she was doing in your class.

"You don't have to know anyone to ask for help after classes, Miss Kim." You reassured her, your gaze staying on the screen and missing the girl who rolled her eyes at your words.

"I can't do that," Jennie said with a soft voice and you frowned, looking up at her with a confused hum.

"I am too shy to just ask a stranger for help." Jennie wasn't exactly lying, she was a very shy and introverted person, there were a few rare instances where she wasn't all too shy. You licked your lips as you thought about it, the hope rose in her eyes seeing that you were thinking about something- all the hope deflated when you opened your mouth and nothing that she wanted to hear spilled. "I could ask someone for you...Stacy has tutored before, I am sure she would be up for it." You offered, being kind and understanding of her situation.

"I won't be comfortable enough to see her after school...Social anxiety, there are only certain people that I am comfortable with like friends, family...professors." The girl continued to try and hint at what she actually meant right from the start. Watching you scratch the back of your head in thought again.

Jennie had honestly never met such an oblivious person ever in her whole life.

"I'm sorry Miss Kim, but I don't think I have anything else to offer to you that would raise your grades." You gave her an apologetic smile.

"Couldn't you...possibly take some of your time and tutor me?" She asked and bit her lower lip in anticipation.

"I don't know." You said, you only wanted to go home after being done here and not spend time tutoring one of your students who clearly didn't know anything about physics.

"Please? You could just tutor me for like an hour or so...I won't need more than an hour. You're the only one I would ever be comfortable enough with to do this." Hint after hint.

You heaved a sigh at the desperate plea coming from the girl. You looked at her, she looked somewhat miserable (miserable because of your obliviousness to all the hints.) with a small frown and eyes that were looking at you full of hope. It would really suck for you to have a student fail your class in your first year as a professor, wouldn't it? You always liked being the best and never failing- which meant not having students fail your class either because that would mean that you failed.

"Fine Miss Kim, but I can only do Thursdays and Fridays at 10 pm...if having your Fridays busy is a problem then I guess you will have to either sacrifice those or fail." You ended up offering, to use the two days you had evening classes from 5 pm to 9 pm.

"Not tomorrow though, starting this Friday." You added that Thursday was tomorrow and you had plans.

"Oh my God, yes that works. Thank you, really...You won't regret agreeing to this, I promise." You only nodded and Jennie gave you a smile before hurrying to the door that you still wondered why she needed it closed.

Friday.

Jennie had hurried towards your classroom after first making it to her dorm to make sure to change into something less...modest. She felt dumb, but she only had herself to blame for joining a class she had absolutely no business joining.

You looked up at the door that closed to see your least promising student in physics, the girl turned around and beamed a smile at you as she ran her fingers through her hair that had gotten slightly dishevelled from the wind that blew through it as she was basically running through the empty halls.

"You're two minutes late...You can sit down." You redirected the girl with a gesture of your hand and instead of heading for your desk she pursed her lips and went to sit down at the first row.

It had been 30 minutes already and you had been explaining everything in detail to Jennie, simplifying everything for her, making it look like something that a kindergartener would understand. Drawing and writing on the chalkboard as Jennie "watched" and "listened" while scribbling down whatever notes that would help with getting her grades up.

This was not how she planned this going, she wasn't paying any attention, instead, she was trying to figure out a way to get closer and make it clear that she wanted to put in a different effort into getting a higher grade and not fail your class. Her clothes didn't even seem to catch a glimpse of your attention, no double take on what she had on, no slightly longer stare, no checking out. Were you asexual? Just as she was walking through the halls earlier she had an older professor push his glasses up and look at her pass by.

"This is the next assignment you will have to turn in, so I will be here now two times a week to help you with it after school." You said as you finished explaining the assignment to her and turned to look at the girl who was busy chewing on the top of her pen while staring into the abyss. Now you couldn't be sure if she had listened at all during the past 40 minutes you spent simplifying the assignment for her or not. Did you just waste your time? It was possible.

You walked up to the girl who was stuck with her gaze on the papers in front of her and as you looked down at the papers, they were filled with doodles and half-assed barely readable notes. "Kim." You said and the girl jumped in her place, hitting her knee under the table with the pen that was in her mouth dropping to the little desk with a clatter.

"Were you listening to anything I just explained to you?" You calmly asked the girl who trailed her eyes up your lanky body, lingering her gaze slightly below your waist before looking up at you through her lashes. She bit her lower lip for extra effect, blinking her eyes in innocence, but felt her self-confidence crumbling under your gaze that did not change a single bit...Had she overestimated her own looks? You were making her insecure. Or was she simply stupid for thinking that a professor would look at her in any other way?

She hummed and you hummed back, not convinced.

"So in short, what's the Doppler effect?" You asked since it was part of the assignment, she needed to know what it was to be able to do the equations for it. Jennie froze and glanced subtly over at the chalkboard with the keyword Doppler effect in her brain...She spotted it on the board. "It describes the changes in the frequency of any kind of...sound or light wave...produced by a moving source with...respect to an observer," Jennie explained while continuously glancing between you and the board and you decided to play stupid since you were well aware that she had no clue unless she would look at the board for the answer.

"That's great Miss Kim...How about we cut it short today and you use these last 15 minutes we have left to walk back to your dorm." You suggested since you had 15 minutes left.

Jennie heaved a sigh and nodded her head, she had to use her brain for something else either way. She needed to figure out how to get what she wanted because this tutoring deal she got was not it.

"Make sure to start on your assignment for the next time that we meet." You said while gathering your stuff.

Jennie had no clue what assignment you were talking about as she walked out. She would have to look into it.

Thursday.

Jennie did end up looking into the assignment because even if she was half listening to you last Friday, the way you were explaining it to her caught some of her interest. It also gave her the opportunity to do what she was about to do. Jennie glanced over at you to see you being occupied with your laptop for the moment while she was working on the assignment, free to ask for your help whenever she needed it.

She grabbed her phone to look at herself in it, fixing her hair before reaching for a button of the little cardigan she was wearing that wasn't covering a lot, but she made it cover a bit less. She glammed up her sex appeal before grabbing her paper and standing up and with gracious steps she made her way over to you in the short skirt she was wearing and the v-necked cardigan.

"Could you please check this out for me?" Jennie asked, her voice dripping like sweet honey from between her lips as she walked around your desk. You hummed and looked up at the girl who handed you over her paper- you almost got thrown off by the enticing scent of citrus fruits radiating from her (she had made sure to put on extra lotion and perfume before coming) and grabbed the paper from her.

Her gears were turning again because you still didn't have any reactions or anything that gave her the green light. She was honestly ready to try coming naked next time to see if you would react to that.

She quickly made herself comfortable on your desk, crossing her legs as she sat as close as possible to you without making it all too obvious- she wasn't trying to make it weird. Her gaze was on your leg slightly bouncing under the table while you read the paper...Was that a possible reaction? Was it her scent? Proximity? Clothes? Body? It was something and Jennie was going to take it as a reaction even if the case would most likely be that you bounced your knee any other time.

"Is it any good?" Jennie asked, her hands gripping the edge of the desk on each side of her thighs before leaning forward slightly. You hummed, still reading and when you glanced to look at the girl you assumed was standing in front of you on your left you were met by smooth naked thighs crossed over one another.

The enticing scent of oranges was much stronger and you quickly looked back at the paper in your hands, looking away from the thick and creamy thighs that were on your desk.

Your brain had already dismissed what you saw as you went back to the paper.

Jennie bit her lower lip after catching your gaze on her legs for what was a split second, but it was one step closer to where she wanted this to go. She reached her hand up to the cardigan and made sure to part it more around her cleavage before uncrossing her legs and leaning against the desk instead of sitting on it.

"You could explain this further." You said, using your pen to point at what you had in mind, looking up at Jennie who leaned forwards to you to look at the paper. You watched as she pushed her hair to one side so it wouldn't get in the way (of blocking the view of her cleavage) of her eyes as she looked at the paper in your hold. Now you felt unsure about what was going on. Was this normal? It felt a bit seductive. It didn't take you a lot of fighting to not look down and you looked at her side profile as she was almost leaning over you.

"Where?" Jennie questioned unsure and glanced up, catching your eyes with her intense ones and you quickly looked at the paper pointing where.

"This one here?" Jennie asked as she pointed where you had just pointed with the tip of your pen, you hummed, nodding your head. Getting a tiny bit jittery in your body as you spun the pen between your fingers to occupy your mind with that.

"Could you please elaborate on how I should proceed further for you?" Her tone was far from innocent and you almost flinched when her hand that was pointing at the paper fell to your knee and you couldn't decipher if that sentence held a double meaning to it or not.

You cleared your throat and pushed your chair back, rolling towards the board, the hold that was on your knee disappearing as you grabbed the piece of white chalk to get to explain.

Jennie bit down on her lower lip, eyes intense on you, trying to ignore the wet gush in her skimpy underwear. Maybe she wouldn't have to come naked to get your attention after all.

Friday.

"I elaborated on what you pointed out last time, professor." Jennie happily explained as she was yet again by your desk, leaning against it as she handed over the paper to you. It seemed like she had somewhat of a more enthusiastic approach to your subject now after the first two tutoring sessions which was quite good to see.

Jennie watched you read through her paper as you played with the rings on your fingers, the girl trapping her bottom lip between her teeth as her devilish little brain was starting a fire in the pits of hell, hotter than the sun. She had to get through today because she may have found some bit of interest in your subject, but not enough to keep coming here for actual tutoring.

Crossing her legs again, she turned her body towards you and subtly used her foot brushing it against your leg. Barely touching you, not gaining your attention as you were engrossed in the paper she handed to you. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as she innocently and by "accident" brushed her foot up your leg. She watched your body tense up, shaking your head the slightest, but not diverting your attention- probably to not make it weird and thinking that she did it by accident.

She honestly felt like kicking you in the shin because you were not breaking.

Once again her foot rubbed against your leg and this time it felt like it was intentional, the second you looked up with raised eyebrows, the girl knocked over your pen holder that was beside her, letting out a faux gasp. You pushed your swivel chair back to pick up the few pens that fell under the desk, but a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"I knocked it over so I will pick it up...I'm sorry for the mess." Jennie said with such sweetness in her mouth that honey probably couldn't compare. She pushed you back into your swivel chair as she slid off the desk, her hand running down your arm as she crouched down and got on her knees. "It's fine, accidents happen." You reassured her, your legs tensing up as her hip brushed against your left leg and you looked away since the only thing that was out was her ass that was barely covered by the short skirt- her upper body under the desk, the student on all her fours.

You watched the time tick away on the clock that was on the wall, listening to the shuffling under your desk as you tried to not think about it.

"I was thinking..." Jennie trailed off as she never picked up a single pen from the floor and instead got on her knees facing you. You hummed in confusion and looked down at the girl, this time you couldn't even try to hide anything like all the other times as your eyes widened in shock.

"I was thinking, professor that..." Jennie repeated as her hands trailed up to your knees and you were trying to think of what to do when she spread your legs. "We could maybe do an exchange instead." The girl suggested, biting her lip and looking up at you through her lashes with innocent, but suggestive eyes as her hands ran up your legs slowly.

"Miss Kim- what...come on, get up." You tried, being at a loss for words because of what was happening right now because you would never think that something like this would happen to you out of all the people in the world. You grabbed her hands to try and stop her, but she gripped onto your thighs.

"It could be a one-time thing...or more than just once as long as my grades stay up until I graduate, it doesn't matter," Jennie spoke, her voice sultry, as hot as a scorching July sun, her fingers slipping from under your hands and trailing patterns lightly on your thighs.

You should stand up right now and get her on her feet and get all of these ideas out of her head because it was wrong. It was against all your morals, but something was stopping you. "Kim, I could report you for this and have you expelled." You warned, hoping that would get her up since you couldn't get yourself to do it no matter how wrong it was.

Was it wrong to find her extremely hot? Yes? No?

"I know, but why would you if I let you lend my mouth for good grades...Could be more than just my mouth, professor. Whatever you please and are into." Jennie offered seduction radiating through her whole body and your breathing got heavier. You honestly would push away anyone else, but there was just something special about the girl who annoyed you with her ignorance in your classroom. Was it perhaps that she was the first and only student to ever pay no attention to what you were trying to teach?

"I- I- Jen- Miss Kim." You cursed yourself for stuttering and almost calling her by her first name. Jennie's eyes never left yours as her hands were running up your legs again, this time your eyes betraying you and looking down at her unbuttoned shirt. Your lungs drain off the air at her cleavage in your line of sight.

"Jennie works, babe too...I know some people are into slut, whore and bitch too, I don't mind those either since humiliation is quite arousing don't you think. I find it quite humiliating already how I am on my knees in front of you for better grades." The girl spoke, her fingers running over the bulge that was forming in your pants, her fingers dancing over your clothed dick like ghosts. The dirty words in her beautiful mouth created a knot in your stomach. She smiled brightly at you. "I do have a preference for good girl, princess, or angel since I've always been a good girl, don't you think? On my knees in front of you like a good girl." Your hips bucked the slightest into her hand when she palmed you, sitting between your legs now as if you hadn't pushed her away or said anything that clearly stated that you didn't want her to continue.

You gave the green light. You did not say no to her. You have only stated what the consequences were and she didn't care about them.

"Jen- Miss Kim, this is strictly forbidden and wrong, please get up before someone sees and we both get in trouble." You said, remembering that anyone could just walk in even if most people had already left. Just this position you two were in would get you both in a shit ton of trouble. Jennie smirked and teasingly played with the button of your black pants.

"I locked the door already and there will be no trouble as long as we keep quiet about it...I don't kiss and tell, do you?" Like the idiot that you were for letting this go so far you shook your head, practically glued to the swivel chair as the girl undid your button. "I just want to be your good girl and make you feel good for better grades prof- what would you like me to call you?" Jennie stopped herself from unzipping your pants, looking back up at you wanting to know what you wanted to be addressed as if this was going to happen.

"Mommy? Miss? Professor? Teacher? Maybe you're into daddy? Or just a first-name basis?" Jennie asked with a tilt of her head as she palmed your outline that was now prominent through your pants as just those dirty words and her rubbing on you was enough to get you going. "Y/n- just Y/n is fine or professor." You swallowed, nodding your head and a smile grew on her lips as she went back to looking at your crotch. Her nimble fingers slipped your zipper down and she tugged your pants, lifting your hips so she could get them down just enough.

You watched as she licked her bottom lip, her fingers brushing over your already hard cock. "Do you want me to put it in my mouth?" Jennie asked, looking up at you through her lashes you grabbed hold of her wrist, her fingers getting stopped from bushing over your dick so gently. Jennie pouted slightly and you pushed the swivel chair, the girl gasping as you pulled her up, manhandling her and she felt her underwear sticking to her as she got up on her feet. You stood up, towering over the girl who backed up into the desk until her ass was against it.

"Did you plan this?" You questioned and she leaned back even more as you came closer, reaching behind her and pushing everything aside. Her breath hitched as you grabbed her by her hips and easily lifted her onto the desk, Jennie squirming the slightest at the cold wood under her ass. You weren't stupid, you noticed on the first day what she was trying to do, but you did your best to ignore it since you refused to believe that it was actually happening. "Yes, professor." She answered you with an innocent glint in her eyes as she bit her lower lip again while still looking at you through her lashes and head tilted down.

You reached for her face, grabbing onto her cheeks with your fingers and making her release her lower lip, forcing her to look up at you and Jennie felt the heat course through her whole body all the way to her throbbing clit. "Then you came prepared, didn't you?" She nodded her head at your question, her legs spreading more for you to get even closer, luring you in and dooming you. She reached her hand inside her bra and took out the rectangular blue packet. "I tried my best to guess your size," Jennie mumbled, embarrassed about how she had spent her time staring at your crotch in class, trying to figure out your size before she even thought of this. The girl had always somehow gotten off to you, something about you talking and sounding so smart made her panties wet and her clit to tingle.

You took it from her with a scoff at her words as you let go of her, Jennie's breathing heavy with lust. "So that's what you do during my class?" She inhaled deeply at the question. "Yes...you're the only hot professor on campus and most guys in my classes are...well, you know." Jennie did the limp wrist and you put the pack between your lips and hummed, running your hands along her smooth thighs that felt like silk while you snaked them under her sinfully short skirt. You felt how her legs tensed up around you the slightest as you made it to her underwear, hooking your fingers around them.

Jennie's heart picked up at the thought that she would get fucked by you, her hot professor that was manhandling her on top of the desk. "So you want to be a good girl?" You mumbled with the pack between your lips and she watched as you slowly pulled the underwear down, going down and getting them off her legs, getting the skimpy and drenched underwear of her slick pussy. "I want to be your good girl, professor," Jennie replied and you put the underwear to the side, the girl leaning back onto her palms and spreading her legs for you. "Your good little stress reliever if you want that." She spoke in a humid tone as her short skirt rode up and exposed her glistening pussy, her wetness leaking down onto the wooden desk.

You looked over at her, the buttoned shirt unbuttoned halfway and messed up at the top, showing her white bra and cleavage, her eyes right on you with her legs open, awaiting you eagerly yet patiently to prove that she was a good girl. You had already gone this far so you saw no reason to stop now as you pulled your boxers down, Jennie's eyes instantly going down and looking at your hard cock that was leaking with precum. "A good girl for better grades?" You questioned as you opened the pack and took out the rubber. Jennie hummed, her tone already up an octave from her eagerness and arousal as she watched you pull the condom over your length.

"A good girl for your cock, professor...Grades can be talked about after." Jennie breathed out and reached for your shirt, pulling you to her and between her legs. She did not care about grades right now as she was feeling too needy to think about them. She just wanted to know what it would be like to get fucked by you into the desk. "You're being eager now." You warned, not liking how she pulled onto you and you grabbed her hand that was on your shirt. Jennie let out a gasp as you pushed her down, making her lay on the desk with her back.

"Please...I can take it all just fuck me." Jennie begged with need, feeling your cock against her soaked pussy as you pressed against her. Holding onto her one wrist, her other hand holding onto your shoulder. You hummed at her plea and reached between you two and grabbed hold of your cock.

"You will take it all?" You asked while running your tip between her puffy folds before finding her hole, but not pushing into her yet. "Yes, all, everything, however much you do, I will take it all...I'm a good girl." She let out desperately, making you let out a breathless chuckle at the neediness in her voice. "We will have to see if you're such a good girl then." You breathed out and her grip on your shoulder tightened as you pushed into her, a moan pushing through her lips as her head slumped back against the desk. Jennie tensed up at how you were stretching her out, pushing into her fully, leaving no space between you two.

You groaned while slowly moving in and out of her, Jennie letting out light breaths, feeling how your cock caressed her sopping and throbbing walls. You moved your hands above her head and gripped the edge of the desk, holding onto it to be able and fuck her tight cunt harder. With each thrust, you picked up your pace and went harder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck...Please fuck me harder." Jennie whined, gasping as you didn't hold back at her request, the lewd sounds her pussy was letting out travelled across the big classroom together with her gasps and cries.

"Tell me that I am a good girl...Look how good I am taking you." Jennie moaned out with cries, her back arching at how perfectly you fit into her, her pussy snug and just for you as she so badly wanted to be a good girl. You groaned as her walls squeezed around your cock, her sopping cunt being a tight fit even if she had her legs spread. She gripped onto your shirt and pulled you closer, her chest pressing into you as the desk creaked with a few things falling over from how it was shaken. "You really do take dick like a good girl, don't you." Jennie hummed with a blissful smile with her head thrown back and legs wrapping around your waist and arms around your shoulder, clinging onto you so she would stay in place.

"I want to be your good girl...for you to fuck my little pussy whenever you want to, to fill me up until it's leaking from me and I can't walk." Her breath hit your ear as her mouth was dirty, but so hot.

"You're doing so good right now, you're taking it all so well that I might as well fill you up the next time." Jennie moaned at that, already imagining how it would feel to have you shoot all your cum into her greedy pussy that wanted more.

"Please, I want it all in me, I want to take it all."

You gripped harder onto the desk, feeling how it was all building up in the pit of your stomach. The girl under you moaning with her head thrown back, legs spasming around you, arched back and eyes closed, but mouth agape. Her clit was throbbing and she felt the satisfaction from having her tight and needy cunt filled with your cock. Each stroke was filling her stomach up to her chest with heat, spreading further down to her legs as she was getting close now.

"You look so good while taking cock in your pretty pussy...Fuck you feel good." You moaned at how she clenched more around you, your head falling against her shoulder and you continued to pound her just like she wanted and begged for.

"Touch me, please...I want you to play with my pussy so I can cum." Jennie cried out, feeling so close yet unable to get there without you playing with her throbbing heat that you were pounding into. You moved up, propping yourself up with your forearm beside her head and looking down at the girl, your right hand moved down between you two and you pulled her skirt up more. "Open your mouth." You ordered and she obliged right away, parting her lips just enough for you to stick two fingers in it. Jennie coated them in her spit and you pulled them out of her mouth. Finding it between her thighs with your hand too you found the swollen bundle of nerves with your fingers covered in her spit as lube.

"Oh- oh fuck...Oh my god." Jennie gasped out a moan when you pressed onto her clit, rubbing it with enough pressure to make her legs spasm fully around you and each moan got louder and higher in pitch. You bit down on your lower lip and watched as her brows furrowed and she pushed her chest into you.

"Y/n." Jennie squealed out a moan as she reached her orgasm with heat shooting through her whole body and the way her walls constricted around you while throbbing more than they already were as she continued to whine made you moan as you filled the condom with all your semen. Her breathing was heavy as you stopped rubbing her sensitive clit, Jennie felt the aftershocks of her orgasm and you pushed yourself up with her legs unwrapping from around you.

You hummed and looked down as you pulled out of her, taking a step back and removing the condom, tying it and wrapping it in tissue after taking one out from a pack that was on the desk. Putting it on the desk in the meantime. "Was I a good enough girl?" Jennie hopefully asked as she managed to push herself up to sit, her legs still spread open in front of you as she watched you fix your pants and slump down into the swivel chair. You licked your lips, watching Jennie's gaping hole clench at that with her juices leaking out of her pink pussy.

"Think you might get an A this semester Miss Kim." Jennie grinned at that as she now had a reason to look forward to your classes...Always being up for getting pounded by her hot professor. 

[diodellet]

Sorry to bother you, but for your Valentine's Day event I wanted to ask Jamil and Leona with Prompt 15 please

💌Jamil Viper + Prompt #15 (Ranting about how insufferable they are, but your friend thinks knows otherwise. Bonus points if the subject of your conversation overhears Everything.) ++Reader is not Yuu, slight angst with a bit of comfort at the end

It was only something he said. Offhandedly, matter-of-factly, casually, all those similar words.

Aren’tcha happy to see your little fan?

…Not really. It’s annoying.

Then again, a sharp knife could still cut to the bone. Even in the hands of a careless wielder.

(Even if his cheeks warmed at the knowing glance that his clubmates gave him, seeing the flicker of hurt across your features sent a stab of guilt into his gut.)

Jamil scanned his surroundings. He last saw you duck into the hallway of the third year classrooms. Slowing to a walk, he considered your possible hiding spots. The ghosts kept staff rooms locked, laboratories and offices as well. In fifteen minutes, the doors to the classrooms would also be enchanted to keep from anyone entering. That meant—

…What was an empty coat rack doing here?

He walks past it, brow furrowing in confusion. Your—admittedly admirable—disappearance didn’t make any sense.

A potion? Your Unique Magic?

Just as he reaches the end of the hall, behind him, the telltale sound of a spell wearing off confirms his guess, revealing you in place of the coat rack. He half-expected you to turn and bolt.

Instead, your eyes turn glassy and tears slide down your cheeks.

At a quiet call of your name, you wave off the concern. “It’s true, I’m—I’m annoying, you don’t need to…to justify it.”

Your other palm is held out, stopping Jamil from approaching.

“I know, I should have talked to you properly and let it happen. I just… got scared.”

Jamil hated that, being scared. It led each careful and cautioned move of his. As much as he refused to let it step to the forefront of his mind, fear was a looming shadow. The calculated, sharp-tongued vice housewarden of Scarabia was born from a practiced skill in passing fear off as any other visceral emotion.

…Though you were annoying. Persistent. 

Always just a little out of reach.

His hand closes around your outstretched wrist.

The apology is worded perfectly in Jamil’s mind, but his throat refuses to cooperate. “...look, I didn’t…” When it’s just the two of you, he finds that he doesn’t mind being the sole recipient of your wholehearted attention. “As…as long as it isn’t in front of everyone, I’ll hear you out.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek, and your lips form into a shaky smile.

💌Leona Kingscholar + Prompt #15 ++Reader is not Yuu

“I don’t understand what’s his problem.” You wrench the locker open.

“Well, I am having a nice day, thanks for askin’,” Epel frowns, but doesn’t look up from folding up his training attire.

“Is everyone pretending they didn’t see me getting badgered on the field earlier?” Thank god, you still had band-aids. “Scoot over.” Epel makes space for you on the bench, winces when he sees the scrape on your leg.

“Yeah. This is what I get for trying to play and listen to the captain’s yelling at the same time.” You layer two band-aids. “I’m not even first-string, so why’s he on my case? He should be focusing on you and Ruggie more.”

“Hey!”

“In a good way! I just don’t get why he has to take his stress out on me.”

“I hear you.” He slings his gymbag over his shoulder. “I’d wanna stay and listen s’more but—” 

“Yeah, Vil would wring your neck or something. See you.” You’re focused on covering most of the scrape. Unsuccessfully.

Turns out you weren’t left completely alone.

Leona’s blocking your way out of the locker room. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Though he seems to always be frowning, you see a muscle in his jaw tense as you approach.

“...I’m guessing you heard that.” A part of you hoped that Epel would be forced to do penalties with you, he technically was a co-conspirator in your shittalking as the listener.

“Hmph, if you have such a problem with me running the team, then you might as well hand in your jersey right now.”

No way—is what you’d say if you had no shame. But you, mediocre as you are, fought tooth and nail for a spot on the Spelldrive team.

But he’s right. Your hand tightens around your bag strap, protecting its contents. The only marker of your effort. “I'm only…It won’t happen again.”

You’re burning. From shame, from frustration. Why would he take notice of you?

At that minute gesture, Leona steps aside. “Guess I was wrong to think that you could handle some tough encouragement.”

“Encouragement?” A satisfied grin stretches across Leona’s features. “No, no—training’s over. I don’t need to listen to y—this.”

“Now, hold on a second there.” It’s unfair how the authority in his voice is enough to pin you in place. “Next Monday, you’re running twice as many laps for warmups.”

a/n: ahaha this is sooo late... sorry 🙇‍♂️(girlie didn't think she'd struggle this much tryna figure out leona's character in a reader-insert way, this is my karma for making fun of housewarden stannies 🤧🤧) i hope it was an enjoyable read nontheless, i tried to spice up the interpretation of the prompt, make it a seat-grabber or sumn along those lines ahahaha NEways! have a (looks at scrawled writing on hand) happy summer! 💕💕

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman - Part 1

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe : Military School

Summary : Ona has to leave Barcelona against her will because her mother decided to sent her to a school in Manchester.

Words : 4k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Monday, October 5; 6:45 AM - Home.

« Get up, Onii!!! »

I jump when a little bundle pounces on me, screaming. I groan into my pillow as he laughs in my ears before getting off my back. I turn over as quickly as possible to catch him before he runs away. The surprise rings in my ears even before his shrill scream, but I don't let go of him.

« Joan... » I begin in the calmest voice I can manage. « How many times have I asked you not to wake me up like this? »

« Mmmmmh... »he pretends to think. « I don't remember! »

« You'll see! »

A mix of cries and laughter fills the room as I attack him with tickles along her ribs. He tries to struggle, but I'm far too strong for him.

« St-stop », he says between laughs. « P-Please... Oniii! »

« Ona, let go of your little brother. He'll be late otherwise! » my mother reprimands me as she passes by my bedroom door.

« You're lucky this time! »

I release him and get out of bed to go to my closet. I sigh when I see that a large number of clothes are missing.

« Are you taking me to school this morning? »

I turn around to see my little brother watching me from the edge of the bed where he's sitting. He's so innocent. He makes me want to go back to when I was his age. Everything was simpler. It's rather ironic, considering he keeps telling me he wishes he were as big as I am. My many discussions about my departure don't seem to have sunk in, given his question. I'm afraid he'll hold it against me over time, as this isn't the first time I've left home. I approach him, crouching down to his level. His doe eyes and sad expression don't make it any easier to say what I need to, but I go ahead anyway.

« Joan... » We've already talked about this. You know it's not possible.

« But I don't want you to leave! » he raises his voice. « You just got back... »

I tense up when he lowers his head to hide his sorrow from me. I feel so guilty for causing him so much pain. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in all this mess. I gently stroke his cheek to encourage him to lift his head.

He makes a pout that could melt anyone's heart, mine first and foremost.

« I'm sorry, little heart... I'm really sorry for putting you through all this. You know that if I could stay, I would. You know that, right? »

« I don't want you to leave! » he shouts again. « Stay, please. »

Now he's crying, which only makes me feel worse. His tears bring tears to my own eyes. I hold him as tightly as I can and stroke his hair to soothe his sadness.

Joan is undeniably my weakness in all this. I feel so guilty about leaving again. I have to stay strong and hide my feelings to avoid making his reaction worse. If it were up to me, I would stay. I resent my mother for sending me to that damn school thousands of miles away. It cuts me off from the few loved ones I have left.

« When will you come back? »

« I have no idea », I shrug. « We'll see. Anyway, I'll call you regularly. »

« Promise? »

« Of course, if I'm allowed to, I will. »

« Is it very strict there? »

If there's one thing I don't like about kids, it's their curiosity. They just keep asking questions and can ask the same one ten times to get an answer. It's not so bad, but in my situation, it's annoying because I don't have the answers myself. He just reminds me why I've been stressed all week since the news broke.

« Well, you know what? » I change the subject. « If we hurry, I'll try to negotiate with Mom to take you to school before I leave. »

« Really? » He smiles with all his teeth.

« Of course! I just have to make sure I don't miss my flight. If we leave a bit earlier, I can drop you off before going to the airport. »

« YAY! »

I laugh at his excitement. I help him get dressed so he can quickly head downstairs. His departure allows me to clean up his mess and get myself ready more peacefully. Fifteen minutes later, I join him downstairs.

Dressed and with makeup on. I find him in the large dining room talking with his father and our mother. I don't bother to stop and head straight to the kitchen. I sit on a high chair behind the bar that faces the kitchen. I smile when I see a cup of hot chocolate and a freshly prepared pastry waiting for me.

« Good morning, Sam. »

« Oh, hi Ona. »

He moves to the counter so we can be face-to-face and chat while I enjoy my breakfast. I've had this habit since... well, since he started working here, to be honest. Samuel has been our cook for a few years now. We're almost the same age, give or take five years. His dishes are truly outstanding. I'll really miss them. They say the food in boarding schools isn't very good.

« So, you'll take me to school then? »

« What's this about now? » asks my mother, entering the room with Joan.

« I told him I'd drop him off if we leave a bit earlier. »

« Did you really have to tell him that? » she snaps.

« It's the last time I'll see him for a long time, you could make an effort. »

I maintain my gaze firmly. She eventually capitulates with a sigh. I suppress a smile that could change her mind. I always win when it comes to staring contests. I'm proud to have irritated her, but even more proud to have won.

« Fine, hurry up then. »

« Yay! »

My brother knows how to lighten the mood. I take a sip from my cup to hide my amusement as he dashes out of the kitchen, with my mother chasing after him, yelling to be careful on the stairs.

« Tough leaving, huh? » asks Sam.

« Not really. The hardest part is leaving Joan. Take care of him for me, please. »

« Don't worry about that. He'll be fine, unlike you », he says through gritted teeth.

« I'll be fine too », I assure him.

« I hope so. It would be nice to see you alive again », he jokes. 

I roll my eyes with a smirk. We've always had a good relationship. At first, I even thought he had a thing for me. I realized it was a mistake later when I found out he was dating this guy named Paolo. I had a good laugh. As a lesbian I was surprised that Samuel was gay too.

« Shall we go, Oni ? »

I turn to Joan, who has returned with his backpack on. The time for goodbyes has come. I smile at my brother and get up to put my empty cup in the sink. Then, I walk over to Sam and give him a tight hug.

"It's all going to be okay, you'll see," he reassures me.

"I'll try to call. Can you put Joan on when you get the chance?" I ask.

"Promise. I really hate goodbyes," he adds, pulling me back into his embrace.

I laugh, playfully tapping his shoulder when I notice his teary eyes. It's touching since I've never seen him cry. I leave before I end up in the same state. I miss Sofia, my governess, who has a day off today. I said goodbye to her yesterday, but it's not the same. She's a bit like my second mom. She always knew how to lend a listening ear when I needed it. I go up to my room to check that I haven't forgotten anything. I also stop by the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I'm sure everything's in order, I put on my jacket, grab my bag, and take one last look at my room. It's time to leave if I want to take Joan to school, so I head down the stairs without rushing.

Hector has put your suitcase in the trunk," my mother informs me as she waits. "Do you have your ticket? »

"Yeah," I reply, patting my pockets to double-check.

"A taxi will drop you off at the school."

I half-listen to my mother's final instructions about my arrival at my new life. I look up when I realize she's wrapping up her verbose explanations, which I could have done without.

"Are you going to be okay?" she finally asks.

« Does it really matter to you?" I retort rhetorically, brushing past her to reach the entrance. She sighs behind me as I open the door. It's all her fault anyway. I look at the cobblestone driveway where the car is already prepared with Joan inside. I greet Hector, our driver, who is standing nearby. I descend the stairs and glance to my left at our garden where Marcus is. I give him a small nod. Asshole. He's my mother's boyfriend. He's not entirely to blame, but I've never been able to like him. I avoid looking back at the landing where my mother might play the model mom, waving me off as if I'm going on vacation. I've never liked formalities, so I head to the front seat of the car. Hector has long stopped making remarks about it. He settles in beside me and pulls into traffic once the gate opens. I watch the house recede in the rearview mirror. Here we go... We're on our way. Before starting my new life, we make a stop at Joan's school. Hector wishes him a good day as I step out to walk him to the gate. The hardest moment arrives... I crouch down to his level. He immediately wraps his little arms around me for a hug.

"I don't want you to go," he says softly.

"Look at me, Joan," I ask gently, lifting his chin. "It's going to be okay, alright? I'll come back, don't worry."

"Will you think about me a lot?"

"I'll do nothing else."

"Will you call me?"

"If I'm allowed, I will. I promised you, little one," I say, touching his nose with my finger. "Sam and Sofia will pass you the phone if it's me."

"I'll miss you."

He hugs me again, and I squeeze him as tightly as I can. I kiss his forehead before helping him with his backpack.

"I love you, Ona!"

"I love you too, sweetheart! Now, go play with your friends."

He runs off to join them. I wait until he looks back to wave at him with a smile. I make sure not to show any emotion so that at least one of us is reassured. I turn around when I'm no longer the center of his attention and settle back into the car. Hector starts driving towards the airport without saying a word. Everyone knows these are the toughest goodbyes for me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, handing me a tissue.

I hadn't even realized I was crying. I nod and smile gratefully as I take the tissue. The journey lasts half an hour to reach the airport. I have plenty of time to check in my luggage and go through security before the flight. Hector insisted on accompanying me the whole way, despite my repeated assurances that he didn't need to stay, though I appreciate his presence. Boarding time arrives quickly, and we head there after passing all the checks.

"We'll take care of Joan, don't worry," he tries to reassure me.

"Thank you."

"He's a big boy now, you know."

"Yes, he's grown up so much," I reply with a faint smile.

The intercom interrupts, announcing the boarding call. I turn to my driver, whom I've always appreciated. He's in his forties, but we've always had a special bond. He smiles tenderly, and we share a hug. I take the opportunity to thank him for everything before joining the line that has formed. I teased Sam about his state earlier, but I'm not much better at the moment. At the end of the line, I present my ticket to a hostess who tears off a portion. A security guard beside her checks my navy blue Eastpack once more, then they wish me a safe journey... "Safe journey," my ass, yeah. I move forward without a word for boarding. A second hostess welcomes me onto the plane and helps me find my seat number. Luck seems to be on my side for once. I have a window seat, and my neighbor who arrives shortly after me is an elderly lady. I'll have peace and quiet for the entire journey. I switch my phone to airplane mode. I put my headphone on. Music will help me sleep since I have two hours to kill. I start my music just as the intercom instructs us to fasten our seatbelts because takeoff is imminent. Indeed, a few minutes later, we're airborne. I watch our ascent through the window with a thoughtful expression. "Hasta la vista Barcelona... Hello Manchester !"

Monday, October 5th; 10:25 - Manchester Airport.

Damn it... Not only did I forget about the time difference, but I also forgot about the temperature change here! I'm finally in my taxi after taking some time to find my driver with his tiny sign. We're now stuck in monstrous traffic. The scenery is different from Barcelona. I'm going to miss my city more than I thought. I put my headphones back on just as my driver announced that we still have a way to go. He explained that the school is located away from the city center, but right now, we're stuck in the middle of it. We just need to manage to get out. Given the traffic jams, I have more time ahead of me. I could have done without it, considering how my imagination has come back in full force. I know nothing about the school she's sending me to. As if what I went through wasn't enough. Something like this had to happen to me again.

I hate having to listen to my mother and do everything she says. I'll be twenty in a few days and I still have to do as she pleases. If I hadn't messed up, I might already have a job by now. Now, here I am stuck on the other side of the Europe, with no one. Thanks, Mom, thanks a lot! My stress level shoots up again, though it had subsided thanks to my nap on the plane. I managed to catch up on my sleep. Nothing can change now. I'm here, and it will be difficult to turn back. The driver tries to make conversation, but he understands it's a lost cause. I can be a real wall when I want to be. He seems relieved to have finally arrived after forty-five minutes on the road. We would have certainly taken less time without the traffic jams. I get out of the car while the driver takes care of my suitcase. There are no buildings here, just a few houses around and even then. I didn't see any bus stops either, which I don't like too much.

The driver told me it was impossible for him to go any further. I understand why now, seeing what's in front of me. A huge, very impressive metal gate blocks the road. OK, what is this place? It's surrounded by an impenetrable high brown stone wall. It might have had its charm in another context. I feel like I'm standing in front of a prison entrance. I read the sign proudly standing above the gate: Camp Wiegman. What the hell is this mess? A camp? I wanted to ask the driver if he had the wrong place, but he was already gone. What an asshole! He better hope I don't run into him again next time! I groan in frustration and resign myself to dragging my feet and my suitcase towards the reception. A woman in her fifties is there, with glasses dangling on her nose. She looks up and smiles warmly at me. At least I'm not dealing with an old hag.

"Hello. You must be the new one, right?"

"I guess. Ona Batlle," I introduced myself.

"That's right," she said, looking at a sheet. "Come in, I'll notify them of your arrival!"

A door next to the large gray gate opens. I push it and roll my suitcase inside. Surprisingly, the taxi wasn't wrong after all. This place is huge from what I can see. I don't know where to look, it's quite... breathtaking. I don't dare move, not knowing where to go. The door is now closed behind me, preventing me from getting out. I wait a few minutes, and still, no one comes. The receptionist smiles at me every time I look at her. I guess someone will come to get me.

"Welcome to Camp Wiegman, Ona!"

I jump and turn toward the voice. A blonde woman stands before me. She has glasses and smile at me. I frown as I shake the hand she offers me. The only question that comes to mind is: Who is she?She must have understood.

"Excuse me, I haven't introduced myself! I’m Marina Wiegman, the director of this camp."

"Why does that name sound familiar?"

"I'm a friend of your parents" he explains.

"Oh."

I can't manage to say anything else. They've put me in a damn camp run by their friend. Great! This is getting worse and worse! This whole situation reeks of trouble.

"Follow me, I'll give you a quick tour of the place."

She orders me to leave my luggage, saying someone will take care of it. So, I leave my suitcase but keep my backpack. We walk down the large tree-lined avenue. It looks like a beautiful place... until you see what's hidden inside. I wasn't wrong. This place is gigantic! I can't see the end because of the buildings in front of us, but the horizon is already impressive. We take a left where I can see two fields in the distance surrounded by perfectly maintained grass. As we get closer, I spot a macadam field and a grass field, both fenced. Next to that, there’s a huge brand-new gymnasium. We don't go inside, but she indicates there are several rooms that I'll discover over time. We continue the tour in the first building on the left. It’s attached to the central building. This one houses the various classrooms, according to her. There’s another similar building just behind, connected by covered walkways. They don't seem big, only having one small floor each. One thing is for sure, the decoration is far from warm. Everything is as cold as the weather outside. It's raining, by the way. I already miss the sun I left behind in Barcelona. All the buildings are made of gray bricks. The only place that seems less gloomy is the new gymnasium. We exit through the back of the second building after a short passage and continue to the right. We pass the cafeteria, then the dormitories which are at the other end. She indicates that the staff dormitory is behind the student one. We complete our loop by returning to the central building. It’s the heart of the place and houses the administration. It looks very large. The upper floor must be her personal quarters. We continue inside where we are greeted by a hall before accessing the offices. We pass through a door with a sign indicating the secretariat. We walk down a long corridor with several doors labeled with names, most of them closed. We finally reach her office at the end. She invites me to sit on a chair, which I do without hesitation.

"I'm sorry I could only stop by briefly, but work keeps me very busy."

"No problem."

"Alright, let's get to the point. Did your mother explain anything to you?"

"Not really," I replied honestly. "Just that I'd be here for a long time."

"I see," she said. "I've been informed about your issues. Do I have your permission to share this information with the staff?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"As you wish. Do you know it's usually hard to get into this kind of camp?"

"Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I wouldn't be here," I retorted.

"Many applications were rejected this year. I shouldn't even be taking on another person in the middle of the year. You should see this as an opportunity! Your mother contacted me. I owed her a favor, so I reconsidered your application after someone left."

"I could have done without it," I muttered.

"We are a strict establishment," she continued, ignoring my comment. "We have clear rules that must not be broken under penalty of sanctions."

"Hmm."

"We are a half-university, half-military camp."

I sat up straight. Did I hear that correctly?! Military? This has to be a joke! She frowned as I laughed.

"What's so funny, Ona?"

"Military, seriously?" I laughed even harder.

"Military, indeed," she confirmed. "Well, it's a big word. You simply have the right to supervision and guidance by instructors alongside your classes. We are a special private educational institution."

"Didn't see that coming."

I hate her. There's no other word. Sending me to a place like this?! Does she want to turn me into a little soldier or what? If she thinks I'm going to go along with this, she's dreaming! I can already tell I'm going to have fun driving them crazy. They'll get so fed up with me that they'll send me back themselves.

"Since you're just starting, you'll be under the responsibility of an instructor for a while," she informed me. "This person is the one you should listen to first. They will help you adapt, guide you, and discipline you if necessary."

"Yeah, yeah."

I couldn’t care less about what she has to say now. I've been tuning out since she mentioned it's a military school. I did catch that all devices are banned in the camp except in the rooms. Phones included. Great! Well, at least I can use it in the room I'll have the pleasure of sharing with a roommate. It won't change much; I'll act as if I'm alone. I don't plan on staying here, so I'll make sure not to get attached. The best thing would be to leave as quickly as I arrived. She finishes by giving me my class assignment. Wait, they have classes here?! Surprising for this kind of school. She hands me a paper with my schedule and the names of my teachers. I don't even bother to glance at it. I don't know anyone anyway. Wiegman's monologue is interrupted by a noise at the door. A young girl enters after getting permission. She introduce herself as Lotte Wubben-Moy the adoptive daughter of the director Wiegman.

"Lotte will show you to your room in the dormitory. Once again, welcome, Ona. I hope I won't have to see you in my office anytime soon!"

"Yeah, thanks."

I leave the office, ignoring the hand Lotte extends. I wait for her in the hallway while she quickly says goodbye to her mother and closes the door. She leads the way since I don't know the place well yet.

"Your name is Ona, right?"

"Yeah."

"Did you have a good trip?"

"Don't bother trying to make conversation"

Her face falls at my harsh and curt tone. At least she understands not to talk to me. I'm furious with my mother. How could she send me to a military camp! I can't swallow it. It doesn’t even make sense! I now understand why she didn't give me any information about where she was sending me. She just handed me a ticket and said I was leaving home. If I had known, I wouldn't have even gotten on that damned plane. Then again, maybe I would have. She didn't give me much choice. It was either this or she would cut me off and throw me out on the street. That was clear. I don’t know if she would have actually done it, but I didn’t want to take the risk.

We walk along the outside to reach the right side. We arrive at the dormitory I saw earlier. It's larger than the classroom building we visited before. It has three stories. We pass through wooden doors. I'm surprised by the interior. It's a bit cheerier than what I've seen so far since arriving. We're greeted in the hall by a large wooden staircase that leads in two opposite directions. We go up and take a right. Lotte explains that the dormitory is divided into two sections. We stop on the first floor where we reach a long corridor. There are two more floors, but they are for the first and second-year students. I'm surprised she still dares to talk to me after I so harshly rebuffed her. She stops her explanations when we stop in front of room 19. From what I've observed, the even-numbered rooms are on the right and the odd-numbered ones are opposite. She steps aside to let me enter first. The room is nothing special. It has the bare minimum. Two single beds dominate the middle of the room, each with a two-drawer nightstand next to it. A lamp and a clock radio sit on top. On the other side of the bed, two wardrobes face each other. The one at the far end is next to a window, the only source of natural light. Finally, there are two desks at the foot of each bed. There's just enough space to pass between each piece of furniture. I open the only other door next to the entrance to discover a bathroom that is also nothing special. Surprisingly, it’s rather modern. It has a shower, a small sink with an extended countertop, and a mirror above. There’s also a toilet and a laundry basket. I close the door and move into the room with white walls. There's no decoration, so it still feels rather cold, once again.

"Well, here you are," she breaks the silence. "Your suitcase is already here, as you can see. I'm going back to my room. If you need anything, come see me. I'm in room 3, first floor."

"I'll be fine, thanks."

She nods before closing the door behind her. I sigh, looking around the room. What am I doing here? I have to survive a year. A fucking year that I plan to cut short. They don’t know who I am, but they will soon. My name is going to be known to the staff very quickly. If I understood correctly, I'm free for the rest of the day. I pull out my iPod from my pocket and check my phone. I must have sent a message to my mother when I got off the plane. I'm relieved to see she hasn't replied. She would have faced my wrath, and this time, I’ll have trouble holding it back.

My suitcase is at the far end of the room, right under the window. I guess that’s my side. I check by opening the first wardrobe. I close it immediately upon finding it full and lie down on the bed at the back. I would have chosen this one if I had the choice. I like having the window on my side, even though I doubt it will be of much use given the weather outside. I grab my bag to get something to eat. I’m glad I thought to bring snacks. Given the time, I would have been starving until dinner since I didn't eat lunch. I then slip my headphones into my ears. I use this quiet time to gather myself, staring pensively at the ceiling. I still can’t believe where I am. A military camp. This is going to be interesting... depending on your point of view, of course!

[yournecessaryevil]

🥀 Scream For Me 🥀

💀GHOSTFACE! CHRIS X READER ONESHOT💀

He's the one with the dark secret you were never meant to discover. And you're the one who almost got away....

• smut; language; TW dark themes of death, violence, blood/gore, and a knifeplay kink

You were never meant to find out.

He'd worked so hard to keep all of it from you, everything. And now, here you both were.

Him, towering over you, his anxiety and nerves and all that stress concealed ever so easily behind that familiar mask, his blade at your throat.

And you, lying prone and helpless beneath him, those eyes wide with fear.

He hated it, hated himself.

How had things become such a fucking mess?

"You guys leave to come home soon, right?"

You stared down at the sleeves of your sweater, your fingers toying with the edges of the fabric as you waited for Chris's response.

Him and his bandmates had gone on their tour about four to five months ago, and while you knew they were due to come home soon, it still wouldn't be soon enough.

Why, exactly?

About a month or so before Chris and his band were supposed to go on tour, there had been headlines in the news of a sudden string of murders a few cities away, with the location of each murder growing closer and closer still, up until the most recent one.

That one had occurred only within a two hour's drive away from the city you lived in. A month or so had passed without any news after that, everything seeming to calm down a little.

But while you were trying to remain positive, deep down, you knew it would only be a matter of time before the one responsible for the murders would strike again, maybe this time choosing your own hometown as their next target.

"Baby, I promise, we only have one week left, and then we're home," Chris's voice cut through your thoughts, startling you. Your wide eyes locked with his as you nodded, though the traces of a frown still marred your face.

Almost like he knew where your thoughts lay, Chris spoke up again.

"Y/N, sweetheart. I know you're worried about what's been happening in the news, but I promise, I'm gonna be home so soon, and then I can keep you safe," he tried to assure you.

"They got really close before you left, Chris," you mumbled, your gaze dropping to land once more on your sweater. "They won't this time, don't worry," he immediately answered.

There seemed to be something almost unintentionally dark about the way he said it, like he somehow knew. Then again, maybe you were just imagining it.

"Hey, so I know Halloween's coming up soon..." Chris began, trying subtly to change the subject. You couldn't help the smile that slowly made its way onto your face.

He knew, he always did.

Ever since the two of you had started dating and he'd learned that Halloween was a favorite holiday of yours, he'd made it his personal mission to go all out for you, every single year.

And each year somehow seemed to top the last, if that was even possible.

You nodded, grinning as your fingers began to toy with the edges of your sleeve again.

"Only one more week," you echoed his earlier statement.

"Any plans? Just- please, don't do any of the haunted fairs or anything without me. I want to be there to do that with you," Chris said with a grin.

"Nah, she's gonna go get possessed in a haunted house or some shit!" you heard Vinny chime in from the background.

You were unable to keep from laughing as you nodded, answering with a "Yeah, just for you, buddy," much to Chris's disapproval.

"You guys are the worst," he grumbled.

You grinned at him, offering an apologetic "I love you?"

He stuck his tongue out at you, before calling you a brat and returning your heartfelt sentiments.

"Also, to answer your earlier question, yes, I do in fact have plans. Might catch up on the Scream franchise," you said with a grin.

Chris raised an eyebrow at you, shaking his head. "Those old movies? Haven't you seen all of them already, babe?"

You shrugged in response.

"I dunno, can't beat the classics. It's like you with the entire Halloween franchise," you pointed out.

Chris shook his head, making a face of disgust. "Nope, not all of em. Halloween H²O was the worst one of the franchise, and everyone knows it," he countered.

"Agree to disagree. Anyway, you know why I like watching all those horror movies," you said with a smirk.

Chris did indeed know why you liked horror movies so much.

There was just something about the fear and the adrenaline that kind of got you going, and when he'd found out your little secret, he'd been more than happy to indulge and explore in it with you.

If you were being honest with yourself, it had led to some of the dirtiest, (and sometimes borderline dangerous) sex you and Chris had ever had.

You could feel your thighs clench together now as your thoughts drifted back to some of those nights, when he'd had you trapped beneath him during sessions involving knifeplay...

The way you'd been so willing for him, craving his touch and the touch of the blade, the way Chris was always so careful and his intentions nothing short of pure, even if the act itself definitely said otherwise...

"Pretty baby, penny for those thoughts?" Chris teased you, startling you out of your brief daydreams.

The smallest of gasps slid from between your lips as you met his eyes, noting the way a smirk now rested on his perfect face, making him very much resemble the cat that ate the canary.

Your cheeks flushed with heat as you stared back at him, unable to form words. His smirk only grew as he stared back at you, those warm brown eyes seeming to darken a shade or two.

"Oh, I bet I know where my pretty little baby's thoughts went..." he said with a wink, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth for a second before letting it go.

Your eyes locked onto the minute little movement, and you swear, you could feel your heart stop for a second or two.

"O-only a week left before y-you get home?" you asked him, your words stumbling over one another in their rush to get out.

Chris nodded, a familiar look settling in his eyes. It was a look you knew well, one that never failed to excite you.

"One more week, baby, and then I'm coming home to have my way with you," he confirmed.

"O-okay," you breathed, your thighs clenching together once more. One week, that wouldn't be so bad, right? Still...

Your mind once again started to conjure up the images you'd seen in the news, crime scenes and death tolls and pure horror...

Shaking your head, you bit back a frown, quickly masking it with a smile that you hoped would fool even Chris himself. And by some miracle, it seemed to work.

"Hey, Y/N, baby, I gotta go. We have to start getting ready soon, but I'll text you the minute we get back in that break room, okay?"

You nodded, exchanging farewells with Chris and the rest of his bandmates, before the video call ended, leaving you sitting there in silence.

One week...

Why did that suddenly feel like an eternity?

Only two more days.

He could make it that long, right?

Part of him felt incredibly guilty for not texting you to let you know him and his bandmates were already back in LA, had been for the past three days, actually.

But right now, there was an entirely different emotion taking over everything else, a much darker emotion, one he had grown quite familiar with.

There was just something so thrilling about all of it, about the fact that nobody, not even LAPD's finest themselves, had caught onto it yet, had caught onto him yet.

Not even his bandmates knew, although he could have sworn that his guitarist and closest friend, Rick, was slowly starting to suspect.

But how could he?

He'd been incredibly careful, very meticulous with the way he'd gone about it, never leaving any evidence to suggest that he'd been the one to commit such horrendous acts.

No blood, no foul, right?

Except there'd been plenty of blood, exactly the kind of thing you just couldn't seem to avoid with these types of situations.

The faintest of smirks pulled at the corner of Chris's mouth as he recalled the most recent of atrocities he'd committed.

The way the light had slowly left the man's eyes, the way he'd begged and pleaded before he'd been slaughtered like an animal...

It was always one of the best parts, hearing them beg, seeing the fear in their eyes when they realized that no, in fact, it wasn't a game, it wasn't just a movie, it was actually happening.

It was kind of ironic, really.

His sweet, adorable little Y/N wasn't the only one who got off on horror...

And now, as he donned that familiar mask, another smirk crossed his features, concealed by that ever silent, eternally screaming face he wore so proudly.

Tonight was gonna be such a fucking scream...

Tomorrow.

Chris and his bandmates would be coming home tomorrow, and then you'd have him home with you for another several months, maybe even a year, before he'd have to leave again.

The thought made you smile, although unbeknownst to you, your good mood wouldn't last. Your phone pinged on the bedside table, and in a hurry, you snatched it up, expecting to see a message from Chris.

But what you were most definitely not expecting was a panicked text from his bandmate and closest friend, Rick Olson.

'Y/N. News channel, now. You need to see this, it's... bad.'

With a frown passing across your features, you slowly reached for the TV remote, switching the set on and flipping to the local news station.

And as you sat there watching, your heart slowly sank, an odd sort of cold settling deep within your bones.

Splashed across the bottom of the screen, a single news headline: 'DEATH TOLL RISES AS LA LOCAL IS FOUND MURDERED'.

You sat there, listening with an anxious sort of desperation, your heart thundering in your chest. LA, that was... here. Had it finally come to this, had the person responsible for the slaughter finally made their way to your hometown?

You continued to watch the ongoing news with rapt attention, until something the news anchor said caught your attention, something about how they had given the suspect a new moniker, "the Ghostface killer".

No... this had to be a joke, right?

It had to be a mistake, right?

Surely there wasn't actually some sick fuck out there taking inspiration from a movie franchise... right?

Your phone pinged once more in your hand, startling you, and as you glanced down at the text, your heart dropped as far as it could possibly go.

'There's something else. Chris is gone. He left an hour ago and hasn't been back since. And he's been acting... weird... lately.'

What exactly was Rick implying here?

Wait a minute... was he assuming Chris had something to do with all of this?

You typed out a response, your fingers working quickly, almost in desperation.

'Are you saying you think Chris has something to do with the murders?'

Almost immediately, Rick's reply came through.

'I don't know yet. But something isn't right. I think- I think I know what's going on, but I really hope I'm wrong...'

You were about to respond when there was a muffled clatter from downstairs, sending your heart into a frantic staccato within your ribcage.

Phone in hand, you slowly got up off the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. You stopped near the bedroom door, glancing down to send a quick text to Chris.

'Babe, when do you guys get in tomorrow? Are you able to come home early tonight?'

You waited anxiously, but five minutes went by without a reply, so you sent another text.

'Please, I really need you right now... 😰'

Another five minutes went by, and still no response from him. Rick was right earlier, something was very wrong about all of this...

Slowly opening the door, you crept out and down the hall as silently as you could, your breath trembling as you carefully leaned over the banister to sneak a look downstairs.

Several seconds went by, until you heard footsteps, accompanied a moment later by a dark shadow cast on the floor.

You scrambled back from the railing, your heart pounding, each beat sounding rather loud in the silence of that dark hallway.

Back pressed against the wall, you stood there, waiting, hoping anxiously that your little intruder would give up and leave.

But to your horror, you heard footsteps ascending the stairs.

Trying not to panic, you made a beeline for your bedroom, and that's when you heard those footsteps behind you, growing louder before they suddenly stopped.

You cast an anxious look over your shoulder, immediately wishing you hadn't.

Behind you, standing at the end of the hall, was a black-cloaked figure, their face concealed by none other than... a Ghostface mask.

Fuck, they were here-!

You stood frozen in fear, watching as the figure stared at you, their head slowly tilting first to the left and then the right, almost like a hunter regarding their prey.

And then they were running towards you, before you had time to react.

A cry of fear left your mouth as you turned and ran into the bedroom, trying desperately to close the door, a struggle ensuing between you and the intruder.

Your phone clattered to the ground as you pushed against the door with all your strength, trying hard to get it to latch shut so you could lock it.

There was a loud thump from the other side of the door, and you staggered back a little, another cry leaving your mouth.

Abandoning the door, you ran over to the window, trying desperately to throw it open so you could escape, but you had only gotten it up maybe an inch or so before you felt strong arms close around your waist, yanking you away from the window.

Several pleading screams clawed their way up your throat, echoing off the walls of the bedroom, and you kicked your legs, fighting as hard as you could to get free.

Tears streamed down your face as you were slammed down onto the bed, your breath nearly knocked out of you. As gasping sobs slipped free from your parted lips, you stared up at the masked killer with wide eyes, your body numb with fear.

Is this really how it would end for you, dying at the hands of a masked murderer-?

Fuck-!

He had made sure to be as quiet as possible, and it still hadn't been enough.

Y/N...

You'd heard him.

As he made his way towards the stairs, he cast a glance upwards, and he could have sworn he saw you for a second, leaning over the railing.

But when he'd started ascending those stairs, all hell had broken loose.

You'd ran from him, actually ran from him-!

Why the fuck did they always have to run??

He stood there at the end of the hallway, staring you down, noting the fear in your eyes.

And you'd stood there, staring back at him like a little deer caught in the headlights.

His little deer...

In that moment, he wanted so badly to unmask and show you that it was okay, it was just him, nothing and nobody would ever hurt you.

He wanted to stand there and scream at you to move, fucking run, do something-

But it was too late. That familiar look of fear had already settled in your eyes, and Chris needed this, as sick as it sounded.

He needed you to feel that fear, he needed you scared for him, his frightened little bunny.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he took a running start towards you, and that's when you'd finally moved, running into the bedroom and throwing the door closed.

Or you'd tried, at least. He was faster.

He leaned heavily against the door, trying to push it open, to get inside and get to you, but you fought back, pushing harder against the door.

Under any other circumstances, he'd have been impressed, even a little proud of you.

You were fighting back so well for him, such a good girl. He'd have to reward you for that later.

But right now, all he felt was irritation.

If you'd just let him in, let him explain himself-!

Gritting his teeth, he threw all of his weight against the door, hearing you cry out in response, the noise igniting something deep within him.

God, you were so fucking good-!

But once more, the irritation flared up, drowning out any other emotion he may have felt in that moment. Jaw clenching, he slammed his weight against the door one more time, the wood easily giving way beneath him.

For a moment, he stood there in stunned silence, watching as you tried desperately to open a window, to get away from him.

That wouldn't do, he couldn't have you ruining everything for him just like that-

In three large strides, he was behind you, arms circling around your waist and yanking you away from that damned window, your screams echoing out into the night.

Again, something ignited deep within him, and he was unable to keep the tiny smirk from making its way onto his face.

Little Y/N.... you'd always been quite the screamer for him, hadn't you?

A soft groan left his mouth, too quiet for the voice modifier hidden within his mask to pick up on.

He threw you down onto the bed, leaning over you and pinning both of your wrists beneath one gloved hand.

You opened your mouth to call out for help, but before even he knew what was happening, he had drawn his knife, the blade toying with the delicate skin of your throat, your cries dying out into silence.

And as he stared down at you, taking in everything about you, his former irritation and arousal was slowly replaced by something more potent... a shred of remorse, perhaps.

Fuck.... what was he doing??

You weren't supposed to find out, it wasn't supposed to end like this. Something in your eyes made Chris briefly suspect that perhaps you already knew it was him beneath that mask, and that's why you were so terrified.

Because you'd trusted him and he'd gone and done terrible things in return.

He'd worked so hard to keep all of it from you, everything. And now, here you both were.

Him, towering over you, his anxiety and nerves and all that stress concealed ever so easily behind that familiar mask, his blade at your throat.

And you, lying prone and helpless beneath him, those eyes wide with fear.

He hated it, hated himself.

He hated how sick he'd become, getting off on this, getting off on you like this.

How had things become such a fucking mess??

Chris swallowed hard, staring down at you, and before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out of his mouth, modified to sound exactly like the character he'd been masking behind this entire time.

"Hello, Y/N... This horror enough for you?"

The answering look in your eyes, the way you swallowed nervously beneath his blade, the way you clenched your eyes shut tight, tears streaming down your face as you just lay there...

It was like you were giving up, accepting the possibility that you might die tonight.

He hated that.

Where was your fight from earlier, where was his feral little thing from a few minutes ago?

It's like all the fight had gone out of you the minute he'd had you pinned beneath him.

"Y/N..." he breathed, leaning closer, his face inches from yours.

You stared up at him, unresponsive and numb with fear. This wouldn't do at all, he missed the excitement and the way you'd look at him when he'd play on your fear during all those knifeplay sessions, times that now seemed to be a millennia ago.

"Little mouse, pretty baby..." he tried again, his nicknames for you a last-ditch effort to get through to you.

And at last, his words triggered a response.

"Little mouse, pretty baby..."

Those words, spoken in the masked killer's rasping voice...

Your eyes went wide at the familiar nicknames.

There was no fucking way-

Chris??

He wouldn't really do all of this, would he?

Except... you cast a look down at the blade held against your throat, and that's when it dawned on you.

Though it may have been spattered with blood, probably from the most recent of murders, it was still familiar, nonetheless.

You recognized the engravings along the dark handle, the way the blade curved ever so slightly near the tip.

It was the same knife.

It was the exact same knife Chris had used on you countless times before, his hands steady and his focus only on you, always on you.

Even now, with your wrists confined beneath one gloved hand and his face inches from yours, the focus was entirely on you.

And you swore if you looked hard enough, you could see those familiar dark brown irises behind the mesh eye-holes of the mask.

You sniffed, blinking away more tears as you inhaled a shaky breath.

"C-chris?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The grip on your wrists subtly loosened, just enough for you to feel the difference, to gauge the current mood in the room.

"No more tears, little mouse..." the voice rasped again, and the cloaked figure raised the knife, waving it back and forth once, twice, almost as an imitation of scolding you.

And then lightning fast, before you knew what was happening, he was bringing the knife down towards you, making easy and immediate work of shredding your thin nightwear like it was nothing, until you were laid bare before him.

You visibly flinched, and you could swear you heard a soft groan emit from behind the mask. "Now that's much better, isn't it?" the voice rasped, taking on a rather condescending tone. You couldn't help the spark of indignation that flared up within you, despite the lingering fear.

And the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

"Fuck you."

The masked figure tilted his head to the side a little, his blade once again inches from your throat.

"Are you asking me or telling me, little mouse?" he teased.

And before you could stop it from happening, he had reached down towards your thighs, dropping his blade for a moment to wedge one gloved hand between your legs, prying them apart and exposing everything for the world to see.

You watched as he dipped one gloved finger down along the spot between your thighs, looking on in silent, horrified shame as he brought that now-glistening fingertip towards the mask, slipping his hand underneath to taste your essence on his tongue.

"Fuckkk..." the voice groaned, the single word almost a growl.

"Still as wet for me as always, pretty baby..." he continued. With that, his grip on your wrists loosened just a bit more, but the gloved hand that had been between your legs was now wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly in warning.

"You gonna be a good girl for me, Y/N?" he asked.

This was wrong, all of it, it was so wrong, on so many levels.

You knew that, you had already wasted so many tears on it tonight.

And yet...

No. No, no, no.

You had to know why, first.

"Chris, why?"

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and you watched a sort of change come over the masked figure kneeling above you.

His grip on your wrists and throat loosened, a soft sigh coming from behind the mask. A moment or two of silence ticked by, and you almost didn't think he'd answer you... until he did.

"You don't get it, do you?"

The figure heaved another sigh, before he abruptly reached up and yanked the mask off, revealing a familiar head of purple hair.

Chris looked ragged beneath the mask, which he now let fall to the floor beside the bed.

"They all deserved it. Every... every single one of them," he said, a weary expression on his face. "Every single one of those greedy, self-centered, fucking narcissistic assholes-" he ground out through gritted teeth, reaching up to run one gloved hand through his hair, "they all deserved what they got. All of them."

You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing. All those times you had told Chris how you were worried, how you wanted him to come home, and the whole time... he knew.

Of course he knew, he'd been the one committing the murders in the first place.

Despite the fact that it was your boyfriend sitting here in front of you- or maybe it was because of your boyfriend sitting here in front of you- anger flared up within you, hot and quick.

"So all those times I begged you to come home, to stay with me, to be careful on tour... none of it fucking mattered, did it?" you ground out through clenched teeth.

Chris heaved a sigh, releasing his grip on your throat to push back the few sweat-drenched purple locks of hair clinging to his face. "Baby, I-" he began, but you cut him off.

"No! You don't get to justify this! Instead of coming home and spending time with your girlfriend, you'd rather get your fucking kicks murdering people!" you spat.

Chris immediately went on the defensive, grabbing the knife from where he'd dropped it and pointing it towards the spot at the base of your throat, his face contorting into a snarl.

"Do not be a fucking brat!" he hissed, leaning closer to you, those brown eyes like dark embers scorching through to your soul. The way he said it, the dark inflections in his voice, something about the way he was glaring down at you right now- you hated it, hated him.

And yet... it ignited a spark of arousal in you, starting from deep in your lower belly and spreading all the way to the tips of your toes.

You narrowed your eyes at him, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue before they slipped out.

"Fuck you."

An irritated growl rumbled deep within Chris's chest before his mouth was suddenly on yours, silencing any further sharp words and choking them out on your tongue.

"Gladly, little mouse," he hissed, his mouth working furiously against your own, his tongue and teeth working in unison to send you down, so far down, into that familiar spiral, unraveling so easily beneath him.

With another irritated growl, Chris broke the kiss for a moment to sit up, yanking off the glove on his left hand with his teeth, tossing it aside before he grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to look at him and only him, always him.

"Open your fucking mouth," he growled, glaring down at you. You stared defiantly back up at him for a moment, drawing it out as long as you could before he raised a brow at you.

You did as you were told, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him, just how he liked it. "Good fucking girl," Chris muttered, before he shoved two inked fingers into your mouth, nearly choking you.

"Suck. Now," he growled, staring down at you with narrowed eyes, that knife once again pointed towards the base of your throat.

You glared up at him through narrowed eyes before reluctantly doing as you were told, but not without biting down softly once, twice.

Chris let out a hiss, gripping the sides of your jaw with his few free remaining fingers, his eyes darkening. "Don't you dare bite, you little fucking brat!" he warned you, his tone firm. With that, he withdrew his fingers from your mouth, but the minute you went to close it, he shook his head at you.

"No. Mouth open, now," he ordered. You rolled your eyes at him, but complied, opening your mouth for him once more.

And Chris leaned over you with a snarl, his eyes narrowing as he spit into your mouth, the taste of him lingering on your tongue.

"Fucking swallow."

You did just that, glaring him down the entire time, your former hatred for him flaring up again, along with that delicious little spark of arousal.

Chris offered you a smirk, though there wasn't a single trace of humor within it. "Good girl," he muttered, the words of praise only adding further fuel to the steady blaze slowly burning away in your lower belly.

And yet that hatred was still there...

"I hate you-" you started on a hiss, but Chris shook his head at you, his gaze softening the tiniest bit.

"No. You don't. You love me, Y/N, you always have," he argued, before leaning down to kiss you.

And it was true.

You hated it, but he was right.

There was a small part of you that refused to be silenced, refused to die out.

You still loved him.

You hated him and you loved him, all at once.

You know what he'd done, the atrocities he'd committed, all of it was an unspeakable sort of horror. What he'd done to you tonight, was another horror entirely. And despite all of that...

You couldn't bring yourself to hate him, to truly hate him. At the end of the day, he was still Chris.

Chris, the sweet man with a heart of gold for those he cared about.

Chris, the goofball of his friends, the one who could make anyone smile, even on the worst of days.

Chris... the man you'd fallen hopelessly and endlessly in love with, who you'd given your entire heart and soul to.

You knew you'd always love him, you knew it in the way you kissed him back right now, in the way your leg slid up just enough to rest against his thigh, in the way his touch left you wanting more.

And he knew it too.

A soft groan left his throat, followed by a mumbled expletive, his mouth working urgently against your own. "Shh, baby, that's my good girl," he whispered, his tone less harsh than before. Your hatred slowly ebbing and fading into nothing, you let natural instinct take over, too exhausted to keep fighting, to keep trying.

You loved him too much.

Your leg hitched up a little further against Chris's thigh, a groan leaving his throat as he set the knife aside to grip tightly on your outer thigh, keeping you pinned against him as he kissed you.

"Such a good fucking girl for me..." he breathed against your lips, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. You arched up into his touch, wanting more of him, all of him.

"Need..." your breath was coming out in soft pants as you stared up at him, silently begging him to take control, to give you what you needed, what you always desperately craved from him.

"What, pretty baby, what do you need?" Chris murmured, leaning back to smirk down at you, a knowing look in those warm brown eyes. He knew exactly what it was you wanted, the smug little fucker. You glared at him, your breathing heavy as you waited.

"Don't look at me like that, use your words, Y/N," Chris told you, his eyes narrowing for a split second. You huffed, your gaze softening and turning into a pleading look, begging him again.

"Please?"

That one word seemed to set something off inside of him, because in one second, you'd been silently begging him, and now here in the next second, he was leaning down over you, his inked fingers reaching down to toy with your clit.

Then before you could even blink, you felt him push two, three of his fingers inside of you, curling perfectly against that sweet spot deep within. Your back arched up off the bed, a soft cry leaving your throat as Chris slowly worked his fingers to bring you closer and closer to that edge, ready to fall at any moment's notice.

And then all too soon, right as you could feel that warmth blaze deep in your belly, he was withdrawing his fingers from you, eliciting a noise of disappointment from deep in your throat.

"Shh, little mouse. Don't worry, I'm not fucking done with you yet," Chris murmured, his eyes darkening a shade or two as he stared down at you. "On all fours, now. Turn around," he added, leaning down to kiss you once, twice, before releasing you.

Your thighs trembling, you got up on all fours, turning to face away from him. "Head down, eyes closed. I want you to fucking feel this, all of it," Chris's voice was in your ear, all dark seduction.

And how easily you obeyed him.

A satisfied growl rumbled from deep within Chris's chest, and you had maybe all but five seconds before you heard the sound of a zipper being undone, followed by the feel of Chris pushing into you, burying himself deep inside, his hips settling against yours.

"Fuck... You're so fucking wet for me, you don't even need lube, little mouse..."

His words brought back that fire in your lower belly, a groan leaving your throat as you tilted your head back. His hand was on your throat in an instant, his fingers curling to grip just tight enough, exactly how you loved it.

All of this felt so familiar, so easy...

He had you exactly where he wanted you, and you didn't mind in the least.

Your thoughts were suddenly disturbed, your mind going deliriously blank as Chris's hips met yours repeatedly, each thrust seemingly rougher than the last, his hand holding ever steady to your throat like it was his own personal lifeline, his salvation.

And then he pulled you up by the throat, your back meeting his chest, the new angle causing little stars and dots to splash across your vision, soft cries to rise up from your throat.

Looking back over your shoulder, you saw him use his teeth to rid his other hand of its glove, before those inked fingers grabbed ahold of your jaw, tilting your head back far enough for Chris's mouth to meet your own in a harsh, unforgiving kiss.

"Still... fucking... hate me?" he gasped, in between kisses. You inhaled a sharp breath, your eyes meeting his as he waited. "No..." you finally breathed. And you could see it in his eyes, the way he knew you were speaking the truth.

Sure, you'd probably come to regret this a little the next morning, but here? Now? Right in this very moment? You still didn't hate him, you couldn't.

How could you hate someone who, despite having a near god complex this evening, despite committing horrendous atrocities, even despite hunting you down like nothing more than weak prey, still somehow had your best interests at heart..?

How could you hate the one person who had been there for you from the beginning, who had loved you more than you loved yourself at times?

"Say it," Chris's voice cut through your thoughts, his words firm.

"I... I love you," your answer was immediate, your breath coming out in soft pants.

"Mm... of course you do, pretty baby..." Chris buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving little kisses and bites along the skin there, bruises sure to form the next morning.

The hand on your throat moved down to rest between your thighs, his fingers toying with your clit and drawing you closer and closer to that sweet high, the blaze in your lower belly burning brighter than ever.

"Hah... fuck... m'close..." you groaned, leaning your head back to rest it on Chris's shoulder. He nodded, his grip on your jaw tightening a little as he bent down to kiss you softly on the mouth. "I know, baby... come on, Y/N..." he gently coaxed you, his words only adding fuel to the fire.

And then his next words had you tipping over the edge, falling blissfully down into that delicious darkness, his name leaving your mouth in a garbled shout.

"Scream for me, little mouse..."

Scream you did; your throat felt raw as your hands rose to claw at his, clinging on tightly almost out of fear of losing him, your first climax only working to bring on a second, more powerful one in its wake.

Somewhere in the white noise filtering in through your brain, you could hear Chris groan from behind you as he reached his own high, finishing inside of you, your name leaving his mouth like a swear word.

"Y/N, fuck, that's my good girl..."

His words of praise had you going completely stupid and sick in the head, your thighs trembling beneath you, and had he not been holding you tightly to him, you're sure you would have collapsed under your own weight.

As the two of you slowly came down from your unified high, Chris gently pulled out, tugging you down to lie next to him on the bed, shoving the earlier discarded knife to the side until it clattered to the floor, where it would most likely remain until the next morning.

Your heart thundered in your chest, the white noise gradually fading as you curled into Chris's side, your hand resting atop his still-clothed chest, your fingers tracing the collar of his robes, before a frown marred your features.

"Off.." you murmured, earning a deep chuckle from Chris as he sat up, tugging the black fabric over his head before discarding it on the floor, next to the knife.

"C'mere, lay down. Is this what you wanted, mouse?" he asked, pulling you closer to him. You nodded, your hand resting atop his chest again, your fingertips tracing over the ink there.

"Subby as shit, look at you, Y/N..." he teased you. Trying to hide a yawn, you lightly swatted at him, grumbling to yourself. "Shut up, I could kick your ass, you know..." you sleepily mumbled. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

"Says you, who wouldn't even have survived in her own horror movie," came his lighthearted response. "That's 'cause the villain is always hot..." you mumbled in response, yawning again.

That earned you another laugh, followed by a soft kiss on the forehead. "Hard to argue with that. Here, stay here a second. Let me clean you up, baby..." you heard Chris murmur, before you felt the bed dip under his weight.

You could hear his footsteps fading away, followed by the distinct sound of the tap running in the bathroom, before he came back.

And despite you trying your hardest to stay awake, there was just something so soothing about the warmth of the cloth down your back, in between your thighs, along the back of your neck...

"Stop fighting it, mouse. Get some sleep for me..." Chris gently chastised you, before you felt him lean over the bed to kiss you gently on the cheek. You mumbled a response before your eyes grew heavy, sleep waiting to overtake you.

And as his footsteps faded again, you finally gave in, letting your eyes fall closed, succumbing to the welcoming darkness of sleep...

You had done... surprisingly good.

Not even that, you had done exceptionally well for him. Better than he'd thought you would.

He had expected you to put up a bigger fight, sure, but... he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You loved him, you always had, always would.

The way you'd surrendered so easily to him after putting up quite the little fight... he had rewarded you decently enough for that.

At least he thought he had.

Either way, judging by the way you were currently passed out on your bed, tucked under the blanket he had taken great care to drape over you so you wouldn't get cold, he had worked you over pretty good.

God, the fucking noises you'd made for him tonight-! Always a good girl for him...

A gentle smile passed over his face as he leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching you sleep for a moment or two.

And then he noticed your phone lying there on the floor, completely forgotten from when you'd dropped it earlier.

Crossing the room to lean down and retrieve it, he glanced down at the screen, a small smirk settling over his features as he read the most recent text, from his bandmate and closest friend.

'Y/N!! Where the fuck are you??'

Ah, so that's who you'd been texting earlier...

Unable to help himself, he opened the chat, snapping a quick photo of you asleep in your bed, before hitting send and typing a reply, his smirk still in place.

'Little mice asleep in their beds... Y/N is safe with me now, she sends her love...

XO, Ghostface'

👻 TAGLIST: @synthetic-wasp-570 @nerdraging4point0 @motionlessindoubt @motionlessomens @bxrnthyfears @talialovesmiw @circle-with-me @thesazzb @tearfallpixie @annateagan @beaker1636 @bobateaandchocolatepudding @cookiesupplier

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻