#on one hand opening a door means maybe it can be dealt with. on the other its not likely + FUCK THE DOOR IS OPEN SOMEONE CLOSE IT

[nonbinarygamzee]

need to like. deactualize. uncracking the shell and all.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。2:09 AM — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college au!, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, alcohol consumption (gojo), mentions of his rude dad tryna break y’all up >:(

it’s test night. meaning you have a very important test that will heavily weigh on your grade coming up at 8:30 am sharp. gojo should know not to bother you—you’ve told him at least one million times (maybe one billion) that you absolutely will not be coming over.

but judging by the insistent knocking on your door, he’s failed to listen to your warnings and decided to come to you instead. so you decide you’re going to kill him as soon as you open that door—you’re going to walk up, open the door, cup his cheeks and take one last good look at that beautiful face, and then you’re going to kill him and bury him somewhere where no one will find him.

except when you open the door, ready to scold your painfully irritating boyfriend, you’re greeted by his best friend instead. geto has gojo slung over his shoulder with a tired enough look on his face that you almost feel bad for him even after he’s ruined your sleep. almost.

“it’s two am,” you say, unimpressed. gojo perks up as he hears your voice, slurring your name as he tries to take a step towards you—if not for geto’s arm around his waist, you’re pretty sure your boyfriend would face plant onto the floor.

“yes, and i’ve dealt with him until this long. it’s your turn,” geto grumbles.

“just take him home, i don’t want him,” you wrinkle your nose. gojo whines in disbelief, still too drunk to stand on his own two feet or form proper words. you raise a brow and then promptly decide to ignore him.

“well, i don’t want him either,” geto huffs, “and he doesn’t want to go home. he went at it with his father again.”

“then make him sleep in his car.”

“he’s your boyfriend,” geto insists.

“he’s your best friend. you’ve known him longer.”

“you know him just as well,” he argues, “plus, you fuck him. that’s way more than what i do.”

“suguru!” you sputter, earning a sly grin from the dark-haired jerk standing before you—maybe you should kill both of them and hide their bodies in your freezer.

but then again, your tiny freezer in your run-down apartment that you can hardly afford as a tired, overworked college student couldn’t possibly fit two oversized men with abnormally large limbs. so instead, you offer geto a not-so-appropriate hand gesture (that he graciously returns) and grab gojo from his arms.

and instantly, gojo brightens.

“baby!” he slurs, kissing your cheeks with sloppy, scattered pecks. you crinkle your nose at the smell of alcohol surrounding you as soon as he enters your personal space.

“he’s your problem now,” geto mutters, rolling his eyes at the headache he’s had to supervise for the entirety of the night. you suppose you can feel a little bad for him—but only a tiny bit.

“wanna crash on the couch?” you ask sympathetically. it earns a soft smile from geto before he shakes his head.

“nah, i’ll go home. thanks.” with an affectionate flick to your forehead, he turns and walks back to his car, leaving you with the lanky, drunken mess leaning half his body weight on you.

you really should kill gojo satoru—and you should do it before 8:30 am.

“didn’t i tell you i have a test?” you grumble, dragging him to your bedroom.

he flops unceremoniously onto your mattress, snuggling with the stuffed bear by your pillows. and you should stay strong, but before you can help it, you smile softly at the sight.

“i won this for you,” he grins, his sunglasses crooked and falling to the tip of his nose. you grab them from his face and set them on your nightstand.

“yes, i know,” you roll your eyes, “i was there.”

“you kept it,” he giggles, words still slurred and messy.

“yes, satoru,” you snort, “i kept the stuffed bear my boyfriend won me. it’s not a surprise.”

“‘s right,” he nods, “‘m your boyfriend. best one you ever had, huh?”

“sure,” you sigh, pulling him by the arm to sit up. he puckers his lips as soon as his face is close enough to yours, looking at your expectantly.

“gimme a kiss. i need a kiss,” he demands.

“satoru, you’re drunk,” you sigh, trying to work the sweaty button-up off his body, “and you smell like beer.”

gojo is well built—he doesn’t seem like it because he’s a bit lanky and has an awful sense of fashion that doesn’t do his figure any justice, but he’s well built. you try your best not to stare at the sculpted abs and the curves of his pecs—especially not the slight sweatiness of the skin that makes it almost glisten.

nope. you keep your eyes trained on him, not his shirtless torso.

except gojo satoru is nothing if not observant even in his drunken stupor—he grins that shit-eating grin of his that you hate so much but fall in love with every time, noticing the way your eyes wander back to his chest every few seconds for a fleeting glance.

“you don’t have’ta sneak a look, baby,” he slurs smoothly, chuckling, “‘m all yours. wanna feel?” and because he’s an asshole, he grabs your hand and lays it flat on his chest. “i’ve been working out with suguru. can you tell?” he winks.

“no,” you say flatly, pushing him back onto the mattress once you’ve worked his shirt off, “now sleep.”

“can’t sleep unless i’m in boxers,” he pouts, “can you take my pants off for me?”

and he even dares to bat his long, unfairly pretty eyelashes at you, putting on his best innocent face. you see past him, though—you see the smirk he tries to hide and the amusement in his clouded eyes.

you’re definitely going to hide his body in your freezer.

“you’ll live,” you huff.

“please,” he pouts deeper, “can’t sleep in these. too uncomfortable.”

“fine,” you hiss, and for a brief moment, you mourn the sleep you should be getting right before the most crucial midterm of your life.

you glare at his cheeky grin as you work his belt off, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down his legs, grumbling curses under your breath. this time, you make careful work not to stare at his lower half—you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“are you ready for sleep now, your highness?” you ask with a raised brow. he giggles and nods, holding an arm out for you.

“c’mere.”

and….well, you can’t exactly complain once you’re nestled comfortably in his arms, cheek pressed against the bare skin of his chest. his arm wraps around your body tightly, pulling you close as he plants a wet kiss on your forehead.

“you’re a handful,” you sigh, “did you bother suguru too much?”

“nope,” he shakes his head, “i was on my best behavior.”

“you’re never on your best behavior,” you grin, rolling your eyes. and because you love him, even when he calls you as you study and crashes your apartment as you try to sleep, you lean up and kiss his jaw sweetly, making him hum happily. “goodnight, satoru.”

“you forgot to say i love you.”

“i hate you.”

“so mean,” he whines, making you giggle.

“i love you,” you murmur, “i’ll love you a whole lot more if you let me sleep for my test.”

“kay,” he yawns, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “i love you too.”

it’s silent for a bit, just the steady breaths from gojo and the loud air conditioning ringing in the distance. you’re sure he’s asleep from the way his chest seems to rise and fall under your cheek slowly—until he speaks up quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to hear.

“‘m never breaking up with you,” he whispers, “promise. no matter what that old man says.”

you hold your breath as his warm lips press against your forehead—you’re certain he thinks you’re asleep, and you’re also certain that you were never meant to hear those words in the first place. so you swallow, trying not to give away that you’re still very much awake and very much aware of his words.

and then it hits you—suddenly, you remember the way gojo refused to go home, the way geto mentioned he’d gotten into an argument with his father. it clicks all at once that the subject of this argument must’ve been you—gojo’s father has never been subtle about his disapproval, and it’s no secret he’d greatly prefer that the heir of his company stopped dating someone entirely out of his realm—someone like you.

“you’re it for me,” he mumbles softly. you think he sounds a bit more sober as he speaks the words against your forehead—and for a moment, you think that gojo is it for you too. 

maybe you’re not so mad about your sleep anymore. maybe, as he kisses your forehead one last time, as his breath slowly evens out and his grip loosens slightly around your body, you fall in love with gojo satoru a little harder. 

stab dadjo and stan suguru ‼️

ps here’s a little part 2

[stevesjockstrap]

Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad?

Based on this post

Or, Steve invites Craigslist!Eddie to Thanksgiving as his fake boyfriend for entertainment and drama purposes

Rated: T? Always with the swearing idk | read on ao3

ETA a/n: shout out to @rocknrollsalad for a direct quote in here and putting up with me and @machtaholic for encouraging this 🖤

“Are you serious?”

Steve sighed. “Yes, Robbie. You know how much my parents have been on me since they’re losing what little power they have left. This is going to be awesome.”

She was pacing around their living room, making him anxious. “But why are you going to take this stranger from Craigslist? Why can’t you find someone you know? Argyle would do it. What if this guy doesn’t show, or he comes and steals something?”

“If he doesn’t show I’m in the same boat anyhow, but hey, there’s a thought. You think I can pay him more to steal something from my parents? I’d love to see that.”

“Steve!” She rounded on him, eyes wide. “You’re paying him? You didn’t tell me that!”

“For fuck’s sake, Rob. He didn’t ask for money, the post actually said he would do it just for food. But the guy’s driving half an hour and I’m willing to bet my family is worse than he’s expecting. Sit down, you’re making me dizzy. Read this and tell me this isn’t exactly what I need.” He scrolled on his phone and handed it to her.

Her shoulders relaxed as she read on, laughing finally, “You’re not going to make him propose or fight your dad on the front lawn, right?”

“Maybe for Christmas,” he smirked.

His parent’s house was always so cold and empty. It was his childhood home but he had never really felt any attachment to it. His apartment with Robin was small and cluttered but cozy, and full of memories of them and their friends. They had done a Friendsgiving the previous weekend that had been a dangerously good time. (The smoke detector had only gone off three times, a new record.)

Running his hand through his hair again, he looked at the clock. Would Eddie show? He checked his phone again, knowing there were no missed texts because he had just looked thirty seconds ago. Why was he more nervous about meeting him than introducing him to his family? They’d had one phone call and some texts, mostly arranging the time and place and Steve already apologizing for his family.

Eddie had laughed, “It’s okay, Steve. Trust me, I’ve dealt with worse.”

He went to the bathroom, just to kill time.

And of course the doorbell rang.

He quickly washed and dried his hands, sparing a second to pull his hair into a less raked-through mess.

Quickening his pace when he saw his mom still holding the door open, not allowing whoever was on the stoop in, he craned his neck to see out the door.

Oh fuck.

“If you’d just go get him, ma’am, we could clear this all up,” Eddie was saying. The words were polite but there was an edge to them, just the tinge of a sneer on his lips. It was perfect.

“He’s mine,” he heard himself say. His mom whipped around, eyes crazed and mouth open. “Uh- I mean,” his eyes returned to Eddie standing on his doorstep. Taking in the long thick wavy hair, big brown eyes, his lips pulled into a toothy grin now. He’d clearly attempted to dress up, grey slacks and a black button down, paired with heavy combat boots. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal tattoos up his forearms and the backs of his hands. There were more tattoos on his neck, and Steve’s eyes glued themselves to the ring through his lip. Guh. “He’s, uh, here for me.”

“Hi Steve,” he watched the lips form. “Was just meeting your lovely mother.” Again there was nothing wrong with the words themselves, nothing anyone could pinpoint or take offense to. But that slithery way he said it with a razor sharp sting, Steve was impressed. He was clearly an expert at this.

Steve tried to school his own expression and voice. “My apologies. Mom, this is Eddie, my boyfriend.”

There was a long silence where he thought his mom was going to combust. She opened and closed her mouth several times, her eyebrows furrowed. He’d never seen her speechless before.

Eddie sent him a smirk and he almost matched it but his mom looked at him finally and stammered, “Y-your, ah, I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and pulled in a steadying breath. When she opened them she asked, “He’s your boyfriend?”

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie answered from almost behind her now as she turned to question Steve.

“And why is it you didn’t tell us he was coming? Why is he ringing the doorbell like a stranger?”

“I, um, well I did think he’d text when he got here or something…” Steve started, meeting Eddie’s eyes over her shoulder.

“What, and miss out on this warm welcome?” Eddie winked at him but quickly settled his face when his mom turned to him. Doing the exact thing he’d hoped for, Mrs. Harrington remembering she’s leaving a guest out on her doorstep.

Steve delighted in the fact that this was going to be a chess match and his mother was already several moves behind.

Her eyes narrowed and she held a hand out to welcome Eddie in, walking them all into the foyer. “Well, don’t let me stop you, go ahead and greet your boyfriend, Steven.”

It was a challenge, he knew, but they hadn’t discussed this. Eddie was on the ball, however. He continued his momentum to slide a hand under Steve’s suit jacket to settle on his ribs and the other he brought up to cup his face, leaning in and angling their heads together. Steve tried to relax and closed his eyes. Eddie pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, but from where his mom was standing she wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Hey, baby. Missed you,” he breathed when he pulled away. Steve was halfway to believing this himself.

“Yeah,” he sighed stupidly.

Eddie pulled his hands away and he almost reached back for them before stopping himself with a shake. He found he’d only gone a foot away when he opened his eyes though. Oh he was in trouble.

His mother cleared her throat from behind Eddie like she hadn’t put them up to this. Steve reached out for his hand and held onto it.

“Okay so I’m going to go introduce him to everyone else,” he said quickly and walked further into the house. Holding his hand.

They made their way through the dining room, Steve taking more and more pleasure with each stilted interaction Eddie weaved through with his family members.

His dad was propped in the living room with his uncle and Steve could feel his eyes on him as they made their way around. He knew his mother had ran to tell him all about it but he wouldn’t take being ignored well. It was making his skin crawl but he knew it would further piss off his dad so he kept it up.

After everyone else had been formally introduced to Eddie and Steve had gulped half a glass of wine, he felt almost ready to go deal with him. He took Eddie’s hand again and turned, but navigated them to the sliding glass door and outside instead.

It was chilly, late November in Indiana, but it felt amazing after the stuffiness of the house.

Steve remembered he still had Eddie’s hand in his and he quickly dropped it. “Uh, you smoke?”

Eddie grinned, all teeth and tongue as he held a battered pack of Newports out to him. “Not usually, really, but it makes for a good prop. Sorry they’re shit.”

“Holy shit. You’re amazing. I mean- perfect, I mean- fuck.” Steve laughed and shook his head. “The on-the-spot fact checking of my aunt’s political shit was next level. You could do this year round and make a killing, man.” He did pull a cigarette out of the pack and Eddie leaned into him, clicking the lighter for him, meeting his eyes as Steve sucked in.

“I don’t-“

The door slid open behind them and Mr. Harrington walked out.

“Looks like you and your date are avoiding me, Steven,” he said. Steve watched as he gave Eddie a very slow up and down look.

“No, dad. Just needed a break. It’s warm in there.” He made his face remain neutral. It’s not like anyone was cooking anything, his mom always got their big family meals catered.

His dad narrowed his eyes at him as he held eye contact, taking a drag from his bummed cigarette.

“Where is Robin today?”

He sighed. “With her family, dad. And for the last time, I’m not dating Robin. She’s a lesbian. This is Eddie, by the way. My date? He’s my boyfriend.”

When Steve had tried to come out as bisexual to his parents, his dad especially had made it clear that he did not accept that about his only child. As the years went on and he hadn’t spoken much about this part of his life, it seemed his dad had hoped it just went away.

Mr. Harrington scoffed, “I don’t understand why you want to throw your life away, Steven. I thought we’d raised you better-“ Eddie made a noise next to him and Steve knew he couldn’t look at him or he’d burst out laughing.

“Save it, dad. Believe it or not I love my life. Which is something I’d never thought I would be able to say. Can you even say that?”

His dad shook his head disappointedly and walked back inside.

“Excellent job. I don’t think you need me here after all,” Eddie joked.

Steve propped himself against the wall of the house, deeply tired from having to defend his choices to his dad for the umpteenth time.

“Maybe not need. But it’s been really fun having you here. Usually dinner conversation is about how big of a disappointment I am. Oh, I guess I didn’t give you that backstory. I’m graduating with my masters in psychology in the spring, and I’ve been early accepted into a PhD program. And there’s no money in helping people,” he chuckled. “So.” He scuffed out the butt with his heel and left it on his dad’s pristine patio.

“Steve. That’s amazing! Congratulations.” Eddie seemed genuinely excited for him and it brought a small smile to his face. “You look like you could really use a hug, man. Can I hug you?”

“Of course.” If he let himself hold on for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, Eddie allowed it.

Dinner was quiet. His uncle asked Eddie what he did for work and he enthusiastically explained he was a line cook and worked nights at a bar. Steve surreptitiously looked around to take in everyone’s expressions and quickly covered his mouth with his napkin. He actually enjoyed himself during a holiday dinner for the first time he could remember.

Eddie at one point threw an arm around the back of his chair and he leaned in a bit into him, catching the disapproving stares they got from the corner of his eye.

Pie was passed around and by then Steve had had another glass of wine or two. He reached over to thumb the whipped cream from the side of Eddie’s lip without thinking, before popping the thumb into his own mouth. Eddie’s eyes widened and it was on the tip of his tongue to apologize but he caught himself.

“Thanks, babe,” Eddie said with a chuckle.

After saying their awkward goodbyes to everyone, Steve walked Eddie to his van. He looked down at his feet, fiddling with his keys.

“Hey, um, this may be out of left field and let me know if it’s too much, okay?” Eddie waited for Steve to nod. “Do you want to come to my uncle’s with me tomorrow night? It’s just the two of us and he always volunteers to work the holiday. But we do a thing, you know. A-and he’s always bugging me to bring someone.”

Steve blinked. “Would it have to be a fake date? I’m not as skilled at that as you are.”

“No, I mean, it wouldn’t- god I suck. I’m actually asking, like for real. If that’s okay? Just be you. And I’ll just be me.”

“That’s very okay. I’d really like that.” He couldn’t hold back his smile. Taking the chance, he leaned in, Eddie meeting him in the middle to finally press their lips together.

[enidette]

PATHETIC COWBOY

warnings :: both are 18+, sub!carl, riding, piv, mommy kink, manhandling, humiliation, nipple play, teasing, begging, overstimulation

carl grimes x fem!reader

denise was a gift, truly. she saved many lives which proved a lot about her. but she needed help, and you along with a few others volunteered to be her medical assistants. you were the only one your age however, it kind of boosted your ego. learning all of this and helping people so young.

you dealt with patients nearly every day. it was typically older people, with he exception of one boy, one around your age. you got a glimpse of him around alexandria, you knew he came for check-ups and cleanings for his eye. he’s cute, but you’ve never gotten lucky enough to be the one to help him.

but when you see him, he’s always looking at you first. and if you’re not being too cocky, he seems like he’s trying to get your attention. but his lack of experience in the flirting department leaves him failing ninety percent of the time. but that only drew him to you more; how pathetic he was.

today is a particularly short-staffed day, meaning denise had gone on a run and you as well one other intern were the only one’s in the infirmary. even that lasted a short while, due to the lack of patients today your coworker decided to call it. checking with you before leaving you to the rest.

there was only maybe two hours until sundown, which is when denise should be returning. then you could go home. so you didn’t mind being left there, especially at the rate of, well, no patients today.

you make your way to the bag you bring every day, whipping out the comic you bring in case of a slow day. you sit where denise usually does and let yourself get into it. your hands mindlessly go to the stash of snacks in your bag before you’re interrupted by a soft knock.

guess you couldn’t have it all your way.

you put your things away and hurry to the door in case of an emergency, opening it to see him. the cute loser, the cowboy. well you couldn’t complain now, could you?

he seems taken aback at the sight of you, stammering slightly. “where’s denise?” you frown but stand to the side to let him in.

“she’s out on a run.” he gives you a weird look, no doubt confused as that’s not denise’s forte. “looks like you’re stuck with me.” you give him a sorrowful look that you only half-heartedly mean before leading him to a bed.

carl looks down when you sit in front of him, avoiding your eyes. “no offense…” he looks up to see you quirking a brow at him, “i’m used to denise doing this. since she usually has to clean it and all… not many others have ever seen it.”

you hum in acknowledgment, nodding your head in understanding. “okay then,” you place your hands on your lap and give him a tight-lipped smile. “i think you can wait if you want-”

“no.” he cuts you off, causing you to blink at him. he racks his brain for an excuse to get you where he wants without scaring you away with the mutilation on his face. at least that’s what he thinks of it. “you can still give me a check up, right.”

the thought of you so close to him made him nervous. he hasn’t felt this strongly about someone before, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. and with your hands on him? his brain may short-circuit.

but you nod to him with a sweet smile that eases him. but it doesn’t stop his mind from running wild when you stand up to grab his files. his eye can’t help but follow your ass as you walk. that’s how crazy you make him, his brain going haywire at your close proximity. but once you’re far enough away it’s free to be tainted and lewd.

he doesn’t snap out of it until he hears you sigh, and he realizes you’re sat down in front of him again. “so, since i’m not familiar with you, i have a few questions.” he nods as a sign for you to continue. “what brings you here today?”

he laughs a little, “check up.”

you nod, “i know, i know. i gotta ask,” you look down at the pieces of paper again. “is there anything bothering you?” he shakes his head. “do you often drink alcohol or use drugs?”

he tilts his head, “how would i do that?” you shrug and adjust yourself in your seat.

“there’s beer and stuff here, and medications.” you say it like it’s obvious, which makes him turn red at how dumb he may have sounded. but the way you said it, like he was dumb for asking, it made his face heat up. “and i know no one cares about the age thing anymore.”

he just nods, your words starting to become scrambled with the more questions you ask. he half-ass responds to most of them, focused on how hot your voice was coming from your pretty lips. that’s when the next question shocks him and rips him out of his head.

“are you sexually active?”

he chokes on his spit, not knowing how to answer that. the other assistants have asked him that before. it always flustered him having to say no, but it’s much worse when it’s you. the girl he’s been eyeing for way too long. the one who makes him feel like some dumb kid, humiliating him even when it’s something small. even when others probably wouldn’t bat an eye at it. even though you may not even notice how it affects him.

not that he doesn’t like it.

he squints his eye shut, “no?”

“that didn’t seem like an answer.”

and there it goes again, little things like that. making him feel like he does nothing but sound like an idiot. it makes him want to hide away, but at the same time crawl back to you so you can make the embarrassment worse. it’s like you have him on a leash.

“no, i’m not.” his voice is barley above a whisper when he says it. he curses himself for sounding so meek at quiet. how do you reduce him to this? and so easily?

the look in your eyes is hard to decipher. it drives him crazy. did he just ruin his chances with you? did he sound like some pathetic guy? or maybe you didn’t care, and this is just some one-sided attraction and you’re weirded out by his behavior. at least you can’t see into his slutty mind.

“have you ever had sex?” he blinks confusedly at your words,

“the… the other assistants never asked me that-”

“but i am.” again you’re saying things so matter-of-factly it has him curling into himself a little. mostly to hide the ever growing problem in his pants. “answer.” he merely shakes his head, leading you to grab his chin with your hand. you’re standing up now, towering over him while he looks up at you wide-eyed.

“no.” his voice is so breathless, his pupils blown with lust. he tongue darts out to wet his lips, is he finally getting you how he wanted?

a smirk rises on your face, your hand trailing from his face to his bicep. your eyes stay on his, silently challenging him to look away. you lean closer, lips close to his before you whisper, “do you want to?”

the weak ‘please’ he lets out is all you need to press your lips to his. it’s harsh and rushed and has him whimpering. he’s hardly even kissed, and that was only once. honestly, you could tell. but the inexperience was what drew you to him.

you pull away to push him down. your actions caught him off guard, leaving him to fall clumsily with a huff. he doesn’t get a lot of time to register anything when you’re grabbing him harshly by the collar and pulling him into another rough kiss.

he whines against your lips, one hand coming up to your left breast. you swat it away, separating from his lips again to glare down at him. “you don’t get to touch unless you ask.” he lifts his head to give you an incredulous look before letting it fall back down. his hat folds in the process, and you swear you hear him mumble something.

“what was that?” you give him a look that just dares him to ignore your question, to disobey and see what happens.

he grimaces, “it’s stupid, it slipped out-” you pat his cheek, harsh enough to leave a little sting but not enough to hurt him. the action has his hips bucking up, he’d never been treated this way. he didn’t know he’d like it so much.

you grab his face again, “say it.”

“mommy.” his face scrunches when the word leaves his lips. of course, why aren’t you surprised? you laugh at him, watching as he attempts to shy away from you. the grip you have on him is stopping him. could he overpower you if he wanted? definitely, but would he?

“you’re pathetic, cowboy.” your lips go to his neck, nipping and sucking at his skin.

he whines, “don’t call me that.” you don’t even look at him this time, opting for your left hand to go to his chest. you give a harsh twist to his nipple, laughing when he yelps.

“didn’t think you’d be so sensitive.” you smirk, letting your thumb run soothingly over the bud though his shirt. you hum, “physically, that is…” you run your hand down, stopping at the hem of his shirt. “i see how you act when i humiliate you in front of your little group.”

his breath picks up when your hand slides up his shirt, running along his abdomen. his pretty skinny, slightly toned from all the running and fighting he’s done. “mommy,” he whines out again, grabbing onto you in a way that’s pleading you to go further. to give him more.

you squint your eyes at him, “stop rushing me.” he goes to speak but just shuts his mouth, watching you with a needy, obedient gaze. “you’re gonna take what i give you, got it?” he nods quickly, his eye widening for a moment.

“i-i mean, yes. yes mommy, i got it.” you hum and slide his shirt up, muttering a ‘good boy’ under your breath. you trail kisses along his skin, starting above his jeans and stopping when you get to his chest.

you can’t help but smirk when your tongue hits his nipple, the way he flinched from sensitivity, you couldn’t help yourself. you listen to his whimpers get louder and breathing get heavier and more rapid with the more stimulation you provided to one side. so you switched, and the noises started all over again.

you glance at his neck, pride filling you at the sight of purple-red marks all over his skin. they went down to his collarbone, then more on his abdomen. some so others could see, some so just you can see.

“please,” he pants, leading your hand down to the tent in his pants. he hisses when you start to palm him through his jeans.

“please what?” you can’t even hide the amusement in your voice, it makes carl groan and shut his eye tightly.

“please mommy.” he breathes heavily, watching your hand travel to his zipper. “more.” you chuckle darkly, unbuttoning and tugging the fabric off his legs. he swallows thickly as he watches you play with the waistband of his underwear.

“you just keep begging and begging.” you tsk and shake your head. in reality, you love it. but you can’t pass up this opportunity. “you’re that desperate to get your dick wet?” you take his silence as an excuse to pinch his nipple again, smiling when he cries out.

carl sighs, brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. “yes. okay, yes. just please, mommy.” his eye is slightly watery and he looks dazed and still rather confused on what to do. he gasps when you slide his underwear off, the cold air and how close your hand was ripped a moan from his throat.

you stand up, causing him to whine at the lack of contact. but the complaint he was about to dish out gets caught in his throat when you lift your shirt off. your work clothes hid the body you had underneath, which seemed so perfect to him that it felt criminal he hadn’t seen it until now.

his eye stayed on your body as you stripped down, watching you saunter off before coming back with a condom in hand. his eye widens and he looks at you hungrily, “do we have to?” you laugh and sit yourself on his lap,

“do you ask dumb questions on purpose?” carl purses his lips and stays silent, but you feel him twitch against your thigh. “you’re such a fucking loser.” you press your lips to his before he can speak, swallowing the whine he lets out at your crude words.

you’re suddenly taking your time, slowly sliding the condom over his cock. of course you pick now to tease him, he can’t help but squirm. “hips?” he asks dumbly, hovering his hands over your hips.

“are you asking to touch them?” he nods, causing you to scoff. “you’re already all dumb and i haven’t even fucked you yet.” his hands grip your hips, sliding your cunt over his length.

“then do it,” he whines out, letting his head fall back. “please, mommy.” you sigh, lifting up your hips and lining him with your entrance. you sink down on him slowly, adjusting to the feeling and wiggling your hips. all the while he’s a mess, trying to keep his noises as quiet as he can — which is still quite loud, not like you’re complaining.

you lean down to his ear, “you sound so pathetic.” you laugh, your breath hitting his skin causing him to shiver. your wiggling turns to grinding, which turns to bouncing. it left him a mess, gripping onto your hips like you’d disappear if he didn’t. he couldn’t stop the whines and whimpers of ‘mommy’ leaving his lips.

he lets his head fall into your neck when you tell him how loud he’s being. that laugh you let out every time you embarrass him is hypnotic. it’s like it commands his body to let go and fully be at your mercy. it leaves him feeling even more embarrassed, as he’s fought off being the small, inferior one. but the embarrassment you cause is good. it’s so bad and humiliating but it leaves his cock throbbing in his pants every time.

“i can’t,” he breathes out. “i can’t hold it. ‘have to-”

“hold it.” you snap, tangling your hands in his hair to pull his head back. you look him in the eye, “or you’re going to go again. and again, and again if your pathetic dick betrays you. you’re going to make me cum too.”

he nods frantically, letting his eyes fall to where your bodies connected. that was the wrong move, the sight alone had him cumming without even trying. you watch with an amused look at his face, scrunched up in a silent moan. his body shook and his grip got tighter before his arms fell.

he pants heavily, slowly lifting his head to look at you. “sorry mommy.” he purses his lips, unsure of whether to use the name or not. he grunts when you slide off of him quickly, too quick. you laid beside him and tugged his body on top of yours.

you took note of his dazed look, erratic breaths and flushed face. he was so dumbed down, but you couldn’t have him thinking mommy’s a liar?

“cmon,” you nudge his side with a laugh. his glazed over eye meets yours with confusion. “aww, you didn’t think i was serious.” you coo, running your thumb over his cheek. “i’ll use you as my own sex doll until i get what i want.”

his face flushed a deep cherry red, but he gets the message. and even though he’s so fucking sensitive, and so dumb, already unknowing of what to so, he slides into you again with a hiss. his thrusts are erratic, messy, and fast. you can’t help but giggle, causing carl to grimace. he couldn’t tell when you were laughing out of joy, or if he was doing something dumb again.

“mommy please, quick.” his rushed voice gave away his approaching orgasm. his face buries into your neck, lazily biting at your skin. “can i touch?”

you hum, letting out a moan when he hits a certain spot. but he’s so far gone he misses it, unlike before when he would’ve taken notice of anything that made you feel good. “touch where?”

he breathes out, letting his head come out from its hiding spot to watch what he’s doing. he shakily trails his hand down your body, landing near your clit. “here?” you move his fingers so they’re in the right spot, muttering something about how dumb he’s being. he feels his face heat up and he swore he could cum from your remarks alone.

he circles his fingers, starting slow but eventually speeding up to match the speed of his cock inside you. he whimpers, watching as he pumps in and out of you in awe. he looks up at you, using his free hand to hold onto your waist. “close, mommy? please tell me you’re close. i can’t hold on and i can’t go again.”

he babbles into your ear, losing his composure completely. he nearly screams out a ‘thank you’ when you tell him to cum with you, his hold on your waist near bruising as he does. he can’t even move, slumping down onto your body. his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.

he hears you chuckle, and he curses his body for reacting the way it does. but all you do is grab his hat, placing it back on his head from whenever it had fallen.

“there you go, my pathetic cowboy.”

[deathbecomesthem]

Basement Apartment Part 2/2

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader - 6.6K

+18 ONLY - Minors DNI

Summary - It's 2001, and you've just moved into this new basement apartment. It's not so bad, except for the neighbor directly above your bedroom.

Contains a mean reader (kinda). There is smut within Eddie is submissive here, but there isn't really any kind of actual dom/sub dynamic. This is kind of an enemies to lovers deal. Sorta. Alcohol. Use of derogatory language against Eddie.

Part 1

A/N: Thank you @jo-harrington for loving this story, and thank you for editing this at a moment's notice. Love you forever.

The alley is dark with only a singular halo of light illuminated by the light perched over the oversized metal door through which you and Jeannie just exited. There’s a rusty pipe just outside of the circle of light dripping into a small puddle of trash water next to an open dumpster. Cigarette butts litter the ground like the memories of past alleyway encounters to which you and Jeannie will add your own.

“You really are the hottest girl I’ve seen around here in a long time.” Jeannie’s smile is sweet, one of a Chesire cat grin. She’s eyeing you up and down in appreciation. “Maybe that’s just because I get to see you put Ed in his place for once.” You cough out a laugh because it is fun to put that boy in his place.  “Don’t get me wrong, he’s actually a great guy, just a cocky bastard when someone gets his dick hard.”

“Yeah, well, sounds like most of the guys I’ve dealt with,” you exhale the words along with a mournful sigh. You think about the casual misogyny that impacts every aspect of your daily life and frown at the thought. Just another man that looks at you like a prize, something they can win. Something they deserve.

“Nah, Ed really is a good guy. Not your typical asshole. Don’t let him fool you.” Eyebrows cocked, you take in the cheeky smile on Jeannie’s face. Guess I’m not getting any pussy tonight.

“I take it this” you move your hand between yourself and Jeannie “is not happening, eh?”

“Can’t do it, pretty. Not when you dance with me, and eye fuck a guy. No hard feelings.” No, no hard feelings. Not for Jeannie, anyway. No, you’re a stupid bisexual mess, and that’s not her fault.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I cock blocked myself.” This has you both laughing. “I’m sorry, that was bad behavior. You’re being too nice about it.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Jeannie rubs out her cigarette and wiggles her fingers at you in a goodbye as she turns and heads back into work. She stops at the door and adds, “He’s not a bad guy. He’s really not,” and the door is closing, leaving you alone in that circle of light to listen to the water drip, drip, drip while the filter of your cigarette starts to burn.

You hear faint laughter and watch a couple walking by, arms wrapped around each other. You step to the side, hiding in the shadow so you can watch them without being seen. You let out a little groan and stomp your foot in frustration. 

“Fuck this.” You’re done, ready to go home and find a bottle in the cabinet. You consider going to 2A to see if Mary and Steve were around, but you couldn’t bear the idea of cock blocking Mary too. It was pissing you off that this guy was in your head. It was pissing you off that you wanted him.

The short walk home is not enough. Just as your apartment building appears in the distance, you detour through an empty parking lot. This is a spot you’ve never explored, an elementary school with 4 square lines spray painted in the pavement, rusty basketball hoops, monkey bars, and 3 swings lined up in a row. One of the swings has been tossed over the top of the poles a few times, it sits higher than the other two. The moon is out, the air is calm, and you don’t mind the slight bite of cold through your thin pantyhose. You swing.

At first, it’s a gentle movement, but muscle memory takes over. You find yourself pumping your arms and legs, gaining momentum. Higher, higher, and higher still. You let your laughter erupt in the open air. Your breath fans out in a cloud around your face. You feel clean and free for a moment. You are laughing and swinging for what feels like hours, until something draws your attention.

A jingling sound can be heard at the side of the building, near the old basketball court. Someone is walking a dog, maybe? Your senses are heightened at the perceived possible threat, dragging your feet on the soft earth beneath the swing, you open the snap at the top of your purse. Then you see what is approaching, sauntering, towards you. A huff of aggravation leaves your mouth.

“You come here often?” The line is so ridiculously delivered, a faux husky voice, it earns Eddie a small laugh, and you can see his back straighten with pride. “Shouldn’t you be sitting at the bar waiting for Jeannie to get off work?”

“Did you put a tracking device on me somewhere? For fuck’s sake, give a girl a break.” His head is wobbling back and forth, as if to say, yeah, sorry. His long legs squat deeply to allow himself to rest on the swing to your right. You can’t help but giggle, the sight is endearing if not completely annoying.

“I heard someone laughing while I was on my way home. I had no idea I’d find you out here. I was intrigued, what can I say?” What can you say? Nothing. So, you don’t. You toe the dirt for a moment and begin pumping your arms and legs in earnest. Let him see your laughter. What harm could it do?

Eyes are on you as you reach the sky. Your hair whips from in front of your face to back behind your head. The laughter comes, the boy still watching and kicking the dirt. And then he says, “Wanna hear a joke?” And how could you not? You let out a loud, “Yeah” on your down swing.

“What do you do when your wife starts smoking?”

“What do you do?” You ask with genuine curiosity.

“Use some lube.” 

You snort a laugh at the ridiculous joke. You drag your feet, a giggle still in your mouth. And you look at Eddie. God, he’s so beautiful it takes your breath away.

“That was an awful joke. Tell me another.” Now he’s swinging while you watch him. His legs are too long to kick back fully and get any real height, but he’s still going for it. He’s letting out a “Hmmmm” in thought while he thinks of another joke. You aren’t fooled, you know this guy has a whole arsenal in that brain of his.

“What do you call someone who refuses to fart in public?” He hasn’t even gotten to the punch line, and you're giddy enough to giggle already.

“What?” He stops hard, feet planted in the dirt to deliver his punch line.

“A private tutor.”

You can’t help it, you’re laughing like a flirtatious teenager, “You idiot.” You go to swat his arm, and he’s fast. He grabs it before it hits its mark. His fingers interlace with your own, and he lets your arms drop between you. Holding hands, arms formed in a V at this little school playground. It’s so tender you could puke.

“I’m sorry.” A long finger is rubbing along your knuckles while you listen to his soft voice, “I’m such an asshole. To be fair, that usually works for me.” His eyebrows are cocked at you, and his small smile is barely visible in the moonlight. He seems small and sweet in this moment, and you feel warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of him.

“Yeah, well, I was just about ready to hate fuck the attitude out of you.” He drops your hand and dramatically grabs his chest.

“Hold on, let me just get in the right mind frame.” He stands up and shakes his arms at his side to limber up and clears his throat. His long arms grab the metal chain of your swing, and he leans into your space. A low seductive voice reverberates through his chest as he says, “Baby, your boobs remind me of Mt. Rushmore. My face should be among them.”

Your laughter is a release of tension. You’re in hysterics. It’s the only thing to describe your reaction to this fucking nerd putting on this ridiculous show. There are tears in the corner of your eyes until you catch sight of Eddie’s face. He’s watching you, the moonlight creating a halo around his stupid head with a wide smile that beams with pride.

“I would do anything to hear that laugh.” When you let out a groan of protest, his hand waves it away, “I’m serious. It’s what drew me back here. You have the sweetest laugh I’ve ever heard.”

You grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him down to your eye level. Right as your noses brushes against his and you’re angling your mouth towards him he whispers, “I’d love to hear what other pretty noises you make.”

Hand flattened, you give him a shove. “You’re such an asshole, Eddie.”

“Oh, come on, I was joking.” You’re up and heading back to your building, annoyed with yourself more than him. “Please stop. I’m sorry.” Wheeling around to face him, he stops abruptly with his hands raised in surrender. You have your hands propped against your hips. You bend down and unlace your boots and toe them off. You’ve lost a couple of inches, but Eddie still seems completely intimidated. He inches his way towards you, as if approaching a rabid dog, and he reaches down to pick up your discarded boots to carry for you.

“Let me walk you home, hmm? Are you hungry? I picked up some perch at the fish market yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, are you offering to make me dinner at,” you look at your watch and scoff, “1:30 in the morning?”

“Uh, yeah. To be fair, I was planning to make myself dinner anyway, but why not. It’s obvious neither of us is getting laid tonight.” Too true. Neither of you were getting laid, which made you wonder…

“Why aren’t you getting laid tonight? You been in a dry spell lately? I saw plenty of pretty bimbos making googly eyes at you earlier.”

“Yeah, true.” He sighs dramatically, “I think I’ve had my fill of bimbos for a while, ya know? Plus, I think I was getting a slutty reputation around the building.”

“Pffffttt, come on.”

“I’m serious, I was more than a little embarrassed to have the hottest chick I’ve ever seen call me an asshole and a slut to my face.” Well, you are a slut. “And I know what you’re thinking, you were just calling it like you saw it, but is it a crime to have a good time, Sweetheart? I didn’t know everyone in the apartment building could hear me.”

There’s a tinge of something, guilt, in the back of your mind. You never told him about the vent. The vent that certainly can’t be legal. The vent that creates a direct opening between your rooms. Yeah, he’s a loud ass, but you probably wouldn’t hear most of what he’s doing in the privacy of his own room if it wasn’t for that fucking vent.

“Not everyone in the building.” You admit, sheepishly. A pause, a gentle hand on your shoulder, an eyebrow raised in question. “So, there’s this vent I discovered. It’s basically just wide-open space between our rooms.”

His eyes are moving side to side as if he’s trying to understand, trying to see it in his mind. “A vent? Why is there a ductwork that goes from one room to another room like that?” And you think for a moment you might get away with your bad behavior, because maybe he’ll focus on the design flaw instead of the fact that you blamed him for something out of his control.

“Wait. Are you telling me that you’ve been ragingly pissed off at me for something that isn’t my fault?” You wave your hand a little bit. Because, yeah, that’s pretty much true.

“Sort of. I mean, you’re still a cocky asshole that doesn’t consider his neighbors when he’s got his dick up.” His arms go up in frustration. “No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have decided to be mean right off the bat.”

Eddie’s still gripping your boots while your feet are walking on the freezing cold sidewalk with nothing but pantyhose between you and the night. The chill is finally starting to get to you, the booze having worn off completely. Your building isn’t too far, about a block away, and your teeth start to chatter a bit. You’re trying to hide it, not wanting to seem too vulnerable, too weak in this moment, but he’s observant. He swings off his leather jacket, leaving himself in just his cropped t-shirt, and wraps it around your shoulders. It smells like cigarettes, worn leather, and Old Spice. You could scream at how comforting it all is. How safe and cared for you feel. Instead, you try to satisfy your curiosity.

“So, tell me, Eddie, what do you do for a living?” You ask, hating the way the question sounds coming out of your mouth. Boring chit chat that doesn’t fit the already too intimate understanding the two of you have with each other. 

“Besides playing metal for free booze at the downtown bars? Take a guess.” Oof, if you had to guess, you’d have no idea. Tattoo artist? That’s plausible. Cook? Could be. Mechanic, plumber, electrician? How annoying to not know and how annoying to have him play coy about it.

“Oh, I don’t know. Can’t you just fucking tell me?” His head is thrown back in a laugh. He really enjoys needling you. He likes pissing you off, at least just a little.

“God, you’re so impatient. If you must know, I work with kids. Believe it or not, I’m a counselor for at-risk youth.” You can’t hide the shock on your face. There is no way you would have ever been able to guess that this guy worked with kids. Is a counselor. You’ve done work for family attorneys in the past, and you know what some of these kids go through. You imagine him holding the hands of kids going through the horrors of life. A lump begins to form at the base of your throat.

“Are you joking?” You practically choke out the words. It’s a rude question and you have no excuse for it other than the fact that it’s exactly what crosses your mind.

“Not joking. I had a rough time when I was younger. I barely got out of high school alive. Steve started going to a community college back home, and I decided to go for it with him. I spent 6 years getting a 4-year degree while flipping burgers.” 

Your mind is so blown you can’t do anything but stutter, “You’re a fucking saint? That’s actually kind of annoying.” You nudge Eddie with your shoulder affectionately. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I do for a living?” He nudges you back, affectionately.

“I know what you do. Mary told me. You’re an assistant for a lawyer with the aspiration to go to law school. And, you’re very likely going to do it and be a huge success because you’re a genius and you work harder than anyone she’s ever met.” Bless Mary, what a sweetheart. You can see her saying this to him, verbatim. She’s your biggest cheerleader. “It’s why I haven’t been having any overnight guests. You seriously had me feeling like the biggest dick in the world, you know.”

Ascending your steps to the front door of your building, you stop and look at Eddie. He’s a step below you, and still taller than eye level. “Why did you come on so strong with me? Why not just” you’re flapping your hand around looking for the right thing to say, “be normal with me?”

“I’m naturally flirtatious.” A roll of the eyes has him breathing through his nose, “Fine. you’re hot when you’re angry. Like, it’s insane. And, you know, most people find me charming.”

Yes. You could see it. He is charming. And sweet. Jeannie is right, he’s not a bad guy, he’s a really good guy, in fact. You reach your hand out to touch his curls, you’ve been thinking about how soft they would feel between your fingers since the first time saw him. Yes, they are soft. Oh, his hand is cupping your cheek, and you’re leaning your head into it. His skin is so warm despite the cold.

“God, you’re so beautiful, I could cry.” The words are out before you can stop them, and maybe you don’t want to. Maybe he needs to know what is true about him in your eyes. That he is beautiful, and that you want him, even more now that he’s let you see who he really is.

He releases a slow exhale at your words, and you can see a flush creeping up his neck. You are charmed. Before a protest can be made, you let your mouth meet his. You let yourself taste him, breathe him in. And he is sweet. A light kiss, and his breath is fanning over your face.

He pulls back to look into your eyes and says, “I think you might have something in your eyes.” You furrow your brows a little while he inspects them, “No, sorry, just a sparkle.” He’s breathing out a laugh at his own terrible pick up line, and you hate him.

“I hate you.” You say the words without conviction, and this time, his mouth meets your own with a firm kiss. A tongue snaking across your bottom lip in a plea for entry, and you grant it. This is bliss. His arms are holding you at your hips while yours find his neck. Like teenagers at your parents’ doorstep not wanting the night to end. This goes on until he feels you trembling and remembers that you could be doing this inside. Where there’s heat and comfort.

“Wouldst thou allow me the honor of walking thee to thine door this fine evening, M’lady?” He asks, and you realize that this guy that has  fucked every woman in the tri-state area is an actual nerd. A goofy bastard.

“Thank you, kind sir. I hate to be out on these streets alone.” You bat your eyelashes and he lets out a little groan of pain. You relish in that groan, an indication that you have the upperhand with this man. You do have him wrapped around your little finger. Not only could you make him putty in your hands, you are doing it by just existing within his space. 

As you head to the stairs, you feel Eddie’s warm fingers tangling themselves with your own, and that feeling of being a kid hits you again. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of zinging tingle from such a simple gesture. Will he be careful with me? A bit of doubt begins to prickle at the back of your mind.

“So.” You’re standing with your back against your door, head tilted up to Eddie while he’s leaning his arm above you and bending into your space. “Did you want to come in, or…” Lips are on you. His soft mouth, so warm and inviting, and your tongues are dancing. It is divine. It is perfection. Until. Until. Until. “Wait.”

When your eyes focus on his face, there is concern. Not anger at being told to wait. Not frustration at your hand holding him away from you. Just brows knit together in distress for you. 

“Are you ok, Sweetheart. I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” His knuckles brush against your cheek, and then he takes a small step back to allow you a little distance.

“No, Eddie, you’ve done nothing wrong.” You’ve turned around at this point, and you’re fumbling for your keys. They rattle as they hit the linoleum at your feet. Curses are being muttered under your breath while you try to recover.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Eddie’s big brown eyes are still so full of concern, you could cry. You want nothing more than to bring him into your home, into your bed, and just let go. It would be one thing if there weren’t these feelings brewing inside of you. It wasn’t what you planned. No, you want his mouth all over you, a tender embrace. The last time you had those things, you got burned. You’ve learned about playing with fire, and you just don’t do it anymore.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” You let out a little shocked noise at your stupid self, “you really are beautiful and sexy. And you’re a good person to boot.” Your head is shaking at him, because these are not things you’ve been looking for.

“Um, thanks? Why is that bad?” His tenderness is too much for you, and you feel yourself wanting to give in. His hand is gently brushing your hair away from your face, and he’s tilting his head to try to see you better.

“Because, I like you, and that’s not something I can deal with. I’m not looking to feel anything other than mutual physical satisfaction. With anyone.” You throw your hand out to emphasize your point. Nope. Not looking for a boyfriend. And that’s what this motherfucker is, he’s a goddamn boyfriend if you’ve ever seen one.

“Uh, well, I say that’s too fucking bad, Sweetheart. The feelings are mutual, and if you don’t want to hang out with me because we’re super compatible, that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” The smile he’s wearing barely masks his frustration. He’s looking like the cocky shit you first met. Arms spread open to present himself to you. “Fucking fine, I’ll leave you alone. Give me my jacket back.”

You shrug it off and hand it over, already missing the warmth. You feel so small right now, and so angry at yourself. He’s right, it is stupid. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I don’t think I could fuck you and have it be just casual. I can’t have you living above me, hearing you and whoever else. It would be one thing if we didn’t live in the same building, but I’d rather not even go there right now. There’s no way this wouldn’t end up being a complete shit show.”

He spins on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time, leaving you standing alone under the glow of the fluorescent lights that illuminate the hall. When you finally enter the apartment, tears are stinging at the corners of your eyes. What is your fucking problem? You don’t even notice that Mary and Steve are sitting on the couch watching a movie.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Mary is scrambling out of the embrace she was sharing with Steve. “I heard you shouting with, uh, someone in the hallway.”

“With Ed, it was definitely Ed.” Steve says nonchalantly, as if saying his name wouldn’t drive a dagger through your heart.

“Thanks for that, Steve.” Mary’s annoyed face is completely unconvincing. To be fair, how could anyone be annoyed with Steve? He’s so precious.

“I just,” You sigh and try to find something to say to get her to leave you alone, “I hung out with him a little bit tonight, and I can’t do this right now. It would be one thing if it was just sex, but he’s so fucking perfect.” Mary knows. She’ll support you. She knows how hard you took it the last time you tried to do the feeling thing with someone. She will hug you and tell you that you’re doing the right thing.

She is staring at you with incredulity. Flabbergasted. Bemused. Dumbfounded. Absolutely flummoxed. “You’re fucking stupid.”

Steve lets out a little laugh through his nose and clears his throat to cover the sound. You and Mary both shoot eye daggers in his direction and he just gives you both a little shrug. “You know, Eddie hasn’t stopped talking about how much he wants to get to know you. You have him so wound up, it’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve done nothing but be a complete bitch to him.”

“Yeah, and Mary here has told him how amazing you are. He’s always like this. He loves when someone is willing to put him in his place.” Your head is spinning at the thought. Putting him in his place. “Plus, Mary told him that you want to be a lawyer and work with legal aid. He’s ready to go out and buy a ring.”

“Shut up, Steve, you’re freaking her out.” Mary turns back to you and grabs your hand. “Just answer this question for me, and I’ll leave you alone.” Her eyebrows are raised, and you nod in answer, “If you’re already hurting your own feelings by not allowing yourself the chance to spend time with Eddie, what’s the harm in seeing what might be there before you crush it?”

You roll your eyes and wave, “Good night, guys. Be safe.” You hate that everyone is right. Fuck this. You’re going to bed.

Emotionally exhausted, you find sleep easy to find. As you drift, through the sound of your fan blowing gently on your night stand, you hear something that is bringing you back into the waking world. It’s soft, so quiet. Is that? It’s music.

It’s a song you recognize, anyone would, but it’s so much more mournful than it should be. Soft and gentle strumming. Mary’s words are hounding you while you hear Eddie singing, through that fucking vent, I Want To Hold Your Hand. You’re so pissed off, there’s nothing you can do but throw your legs over the edge of your bed and stomp out of your room. Down the hall. To the living room where Steve and Mary are sleeping. Out your apartment door. Up the stairs. All while still in your tiny sleep shorts and tank top, the breeze of the front door to the building leaving your skin covered in goose flesh.

*knock, knock, knock* Come on, I know you’re awake. A little louder *knock, knock, knock*, and you hear him grumbling behind the door. “You’ve got to stop forgetting your keys man, it’s like 3 in the morning. The door swings open, and he sees you.

“Hi.” His eyes widen, “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Was I too loud?” Yes. Too loud. Too pretty. Too kind. Too sexy. Too everything.

You push your way past him and into his apartment, back into his bedroom. He’s following you, still confused, huffing at you. Until you stop to face him outside of his bedroom door. A finger firmly pointed at his chest.

“One of two things needs to happen tomorrow.” He’s looking from your finger to your face, trying to understand what’s going on, “Either we get the landlord down here to fix this vent issue, or you and Steve switch rooms.”

“Uh, ok. Yeah, that’s fine.” Your finger moves up to the fringe of his hair, letting it dance along his forehead. “Sweetheart, do you have something else in mind to talk about?” You shake your head at him, eyes still focused on his, absolutely mesmerized by him.

“I want you, Eddie, if you’ll have me. Even if it’s just for tonight. How does that sound to you?” Eddie’s lip curls up and throws his arms around your waist to lift you off the ground in a bear hug. Your fist pound his chest in protest while giggles are erupting out of you. Without putting you down, he kicks his door open and walks you over to his bed.

“Oh, Sweetheart, this is gonna be so fun.” Your mouths are mingling gently, with need and passion, but so sweetly. His big hands grip your torso and toss you onto his messy bed. He’s climbing over you while you crook your finger to draw him closer to you. Close enough for you to-

“Jesus, woman.” -wrap your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back. You wiggle your finger at him in a “no-no” gesture when he tries to push himself back up.

“Let me make you feel good, Baby. You’re so pretty, I just wanna play for a while.” A pathetic whine leaves his mouth at your words. You know these are probably words he’s used on countless women over the years. You mean it, too. You want to open him up and see his heart beating in his chest. You want to see his lungs expand and expel his breath. You want to explore the expanse of his chest with the tip of your nose. Your tongue. You want to see the freckles that are hidden from his own gaze and take the time to appreciate each of them.

“Let’s come to an agreement, Baby. If you tell me no, ask me to stop, or in any way sound like you’re anything more than enthusiastic about what I’m doing, I’ll stop. Ok?” Eddie nods enthusiatically. “The only other thing I’m going to ask is that you don’t touch me until I tell you it’s ok. You can ask if you really need it.” He’s nodding again, and you give a curt head shake, “Tell me if this is ok, please.” You’re sitting with your legs slung over his chest, and a hand cupping his cheek. You need to see what his face and words are telling you.

“Yes, please.” He’s nodding, and then a little wolfish grin crosses his pretty lips. “That all sounds good for now. We can talk about a switch up for the next time.” You scoff in answer, but you can’t deny the throb you feel at his words. Maybe you could see yourself relinquishing some control with him.

No more words for now, Eddie is on his best behavior as he watches you with keen, shining eyes. You waste no time and peel his shirt off, showing you that chest you wanted to mark up. Before even touching him with your hands, you lick a stripe from the line of hair below his belly button, up his stomach, over his chest, and to his neck where you begin sucking behind his ear. His responding groan is music to your ears.

Before long he’s laid out for you, completely nude, hard as a rock and moaning while you tease him with gentle strokes and words of praise. He is so good for you, so beautiful with the purpling marks on his chest and thighs. And quiet, he’s being so quiet for you.

“Baby, you’re such a good boy for me. Tell me what you want me to do.” You give his slit a little kitten li k and his eyes roll back but his hands are still firmly planted and gripping the sheets below him. “Wanna see how far I can get your cock in my throat? It’s pretty big, Baby, I don’t know if I can handle it.” You’re pouting at him, giving him your sweet big eyes, batting your lashes at him.

His response is high pitched, sounding almost painful, “Sweetheart, I want you to suck my cock, but god, can I touch you, please.” Aw, it’s only been 30 minutes.

“Oh, Baby, I was just getting started.” Your hand moves down his shaft to the soft sac at the base of his cock. As he’s watching you, you take two of your fingers into your mouth and let your saliva coat them. His own mouth is moving in sync with your own, tasting the ghost of your fingers. You bring your hand down to the spot below his sac where it’s so sensitive and press firmly. His cock jumps and arousal leaks down to the thatch of hair at the base.

“Oh my god, I need to touch you. Please, please, please, let me touch you.” His whining cry, and the tear gliding down his cheek have you feeling weak.

You work your shorts off, finally exposing yourself to him. His hands are still pinned to the bed while you hover your sticky center over him. You sit on his stomach and rock yourself, not quite touching the head of his cock with your ass. His head is thrown back in concentration when you finally tell him, “You can touch me, Baby.”

His eyes shoot open, and his hands find your hips. Without a word, he has you on your back. “You gonna let me make you feel good, Sweetheart?” He’s wild, he looks like he wants to devour you, and you’re ready to let him do anything in this moment.

“Please, Eddie, anything you want.” His eyes are still wet from the edging. You’re running your finger along the purple marks you left on his chest, and he’s gone. You feel him ripping your shirt over your head and he’s throwing it out into the room.

He’s not gentle, and you’re not surprised. He’s not used to being teased like this. Your legs are spread wide, and his big hands pull you down into his waiting face. Immediately, he gets to work, he’s laid flat against the bed, his erection finally getting some friction while his tongue gets to taste you. It’s broad stripes along your slit with tiny kitten licks when he reaches your nub. Over and over and over. The movements are calculated. You’re watching him and he’s watching you. It’s when you start to rock your hips up to meet his mouth that he latches on to your clit with ferocity.

*bang* you’re writhing in pleasure. The feel of his mouth has you shaking uncontrollably, your moans get higher and higher until every muscle in your body is tense and you feel your center releasing. Eddie is practically growling as he laps up your arousal until your hands thread through his hair and you’re pulling him up to you.

“I need you inside me. I need it, Baby. Please.” Eddie is calming you down with a gentle shushing. His hands have found your face, and he kisses away the tears you didn’t know you had shed.

“I’m here, Sweetheart.” Kissing him now, with your taste on his tongue, you want it to last forever. You wrap your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles around him, pleading with your eyes. He leaves a kiss on your temple as he reaches for the small box on the nightstand. You watch, your body still boneless as he glides the condom down his length. You can’t remember the last time you had a man in this position. His body flush with your own, covering you, his face in your neck. Every inch of him makes your body hitch in excitement until you are completely full. You and Eddie are both open mouthed, and making silent noises until he moves. You’re meeting every thrust with your hips.

Moving in tandem, hard and fast, you know it won’t be long. Every thrust is hitting your most sensitive spot inside, while the hair at the base of his shaft tickles your clit. His breath on your neck, the whimpers and moans in your ear. It all feels so unbelievably good. You’re wound tightly again, already, sweat is collecting between your breasts that are pushed against Eddie’s chest.

“Oh, Baby, you’re fucking me so good. I’m gonna cum.” His reaction is to speed up even more, pounding you brainless. Only static and pleasure. That’s all that’s left of you as he uses you.

“Fucking cum with me.” The orgasm rips through you, and you’re screaming. If you had a brain to think with, you’d realize that if you were in your own room the sounds would be louder than any you’ve heard before. You can feel his thrust turning into a gentle rocking as he empties himself. And then, you’re both still, breathing into each other’s necks.

You lay together for a while, until you start to feel like you’re being suffocated. “Eddie, get off of me.” You reach down and give his ass a little slap. You think he might have drifted off to sleep while still inside of you.

He rolls over with a deep groan. You know you’ve worn him out, he looks exhausted. “Oh, Baby, I’ll be right back.”

You head to the bathroom and wash yourself. You count it as lucky that your apartments are identical, and guess that you could find some washcloths in the linen closet. When you reenter Eddie’s room, he hasn’t moved an inch. You remove the condom and clean him off while he makes little noises. You find his boxers and guide them up over his slender hips. After you find your own underwear, you climb into bed and cozy up into his chest.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is full of sleep and barely whispered. You hum back to him. “Can I keep you? Will you be mine?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

tagging: @missmarch-99 @powderblueblood @thornsnvultures @corrodedcorpses @munsonburn3r

@definitionwanderlust @mopeymopeymouse

[dpimagines]

Blind Date

SYNOPSIS: Wade is set up with a friend of Ellie's and Yukio's. It goes better than anyone expected it to.

Warnings / Notes: Mentions of past bullying, Deadpool being Deadpool (But His Sweet Side, so Mildly OOC) / I'm super open to writing a continuation of this! This is uncharacteristically fluffy of me, so I'm craving the smut or angst we could get out of this. Shoot me a request if you have any ideas!

Yukio squeals. Wade’s used to her giddy noises, squeaks and giggles and the like. Ellie still cringes like it’s the first time she’s ever heard it, but she still looks at Yukio like it’s the first time she’s ever seen someone so beautiful every time she looks at her, so it balances out. 

“What is it?” Ellie asks, stirring vegetables around a sizzling pan. Wade somehow managed to invite himself to their fajita lunch, and smelling the food makes his stomach growl.

“Y/N!” Yukio exclaims.

“Where?” Ellie says, looking around. 

“No, silly, we should set Wade up with Y/N!”

“Why? Are you mad at her?” Ellie remarks. 

“She literally cannot help but romance Hancock on every Fallout 4 playthrough. Seriously.” 

“That’s your basis? A crush on a fictional character?” Ellie asks, and Wade could spot her amused-bordering-on-pissed expression from miles away. You must be special to her in some way. 

“Well, she… Y’know, she’s different.”

“You think she should settle for him just because of her mutation?” 

“No! No, not at all! I meant her personality! She’s so sweet and patient and stuff!” Yukio quickly says. 

“So why would we torture her by sticking her with him?”

“Y’know, you girls haven’t even asked me if I’d be interested. What if I think she’s a total butterface? What if I talk about my ex-fiancée the whole time? What if she’s too pretty for me? What if-?”

“You asking those questions means you’re interested,” Ellie cuts him off dismissively. “Fine, Yukio. You win. Go for it.”

“Texting her now! Yeah, she’s interested. Just let me know what you’re planning and I’ll tell her when and how to dress.”

“Oh, uh… Maybe a movie?”

“That’d be good,” Ellie says quickly. “That’s a really good idea.”

“She’s ugly, isn’t she?”

Ellie glares daggers.

“Never mind, not a movie. Dinner… At De Luca.”

“De Luca?!” Yukio exclaims. 

“Uh, yeah? That’s a place people go for dates around here, isn’t it?”

“It better be your treat, that place is expensive!” Ellie demands.

“Well, duh. You guys seem to forget that unaliving people pays incredibly well. Anyways, what’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing,” Ellie insists.

“If he doesn’t know, he might hurt her feelings,” Yukio insists. 

“He can ask her himself. Let her say it in her own words, share what she wants to share.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna fuck this up,” Wade already knows. “But at least she’ll get a free meal out of it. How about tonight? The anticipation is already killing me.”

Yukio texts, before looking up and nodding. 

“What time?” she asks.

“Can she meet me in the foyer at five?” he suggests. She types some more. 

“It’s a date!” she cheers. 

“And lunch is served,” Ellie declares gloomily. 

“So, what’s the deal with you and her, then?”

“Ellie dealt with some bullying when she first got here,” Yukio explains. “It was mostly light-hearted teasing, but it was just too soon, and with some people, it kinda got out of hand. Y/N was a senior at the time and stood up for her. From then on, she’s admired her and is always looking for opportunities to repay the favor.”

“That is so fucking cute I could die,” Wade coos. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

“Hearing that coming from you, I’m more concerned,” Ellie grumbles, pushing a plate towards him. “Just eat. And be respectful. Now, and then.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Wade replies before digging in. 

A few hours later, Wade invites Yukio to give him one last once over before he meets you at the door, and her shadow has trailed along diligently. Yukio gives him some helpful pointers while Ellie sulks in silence, still not a huge fan of this idea.

“Lose the mask,” Ellie finally contributes.

“Lose the- No! If I’m paying this much for food, she better be able to eat it!”

“You didn’t seem to mind the price earlier. Besides… She’s not like that. Yukio had a point earlier. Your face works in your favor, this time around. It’s everything else about you that you need to tone down a little,” Ellie argues. 

“Fine. But when she throws up, I’m calling you down there to clean it up,” Wade retorts, taking off the mask. He feels naked without it despite his suit and loafers. This is the nicest he’s dressed since his mother’s funeral.

“There we go,” Yukio says with a beam. “Perfect. Now, go! It’s almost time.”

“Thank you, my fairy godmothers. Wait, it’s not offensive to call you guys fairies, is it? ‘Cause I didn’t-”

“Go,” Ellie insists. He scurries downstairs. You’re not there yet, but there’s a young woman lurking around down there. He hesitantly joins her, and she looks at him with surprise before smiling. Wow, she’s gorgeous, so pretty that he starts to question if she’s a figment of his imagination.

“Wade?” you ask. Your voice sounds like Negasonic’s, so much so that it’s weird, but he brushes it off as best as he can.   

“Y/N?” No way, you’re stunning in a flowy knee-length dress and mary janes, your hair styled in an effortlessly pretty way. You might just be the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. 

You nod, offering your hand to him. Your eyes say, “Shall we?” He hesitantly takes your hand. Your smile widens. He leads you outside. You trail alongside him to the car, letting your hands swing together, though not too much.

He lets go of your hand to open the door for you. You get seated, and he closes it, quickly making his way to the driver’s seat. 

“Sorry it’s kind of a beater, I can’t be driving anything too showy for obvious reasons.”

You shrug, but he can tell it doesn’t bother you.

“Not much of a talker, huh? I guess that’s why our friends thought we’d work. I talk, you listen, very cutesy…But I need someone to feed off of to be funny, so you better be up to the challenge.”

You giggle, covering your mouth. 

The drive to the restaurant is in awkward silence. He really doesn’t know what to say. He could ask you about yourself, but that might make you uncomfortable considering how little you’re willing to speak. He could start talking about himself, but that has the potential to put you off for more than one reason – either you’ll be disturbed by his life story, or he’ll come across as self-absorbed. 

The two of you enter and despite a wary look from the hostess, you’re seated relatively quickly. 

You’re brought ice water and bread. 

“Damn, this place is fancy…” Wade remarks as you sip your water. You smile sheepishly. “Hm… You seem normal. I was told there was something different about you. In fact, when Yukio had the idea to set us up, Ellie accused her of thinking you should have to settle for someone like me because of your mutation. I was expecting, I don’t know, snakes for hair, Silly Putty for fingers, something. I’m gonna start guessing if you don’t come out with it.”

Your sweet smile changes into a devilish smirk as you challenge him with your eyes. He realizes it’s more entertaining for the both of you if he does attempt to guess, so he gives it a shot. 

“Acid spit?” he asks. You shake your head. “Hiding a third boob in there?” he wonders, lifting his head and looking down for it despite your somewhat modest neckline. Your face scrunches up with amusement as you shake your head again. “Damn it. Can’t blame a guy for hoping. What about another face on the back of your head, Voldemort-style? That would be kinda cool.”  

You shake your head once more, though you’re clearly amused by his attempts to figure it out. 

“Wait,” he says, lowering his voice to a whisper: “Does your vagina kill people? Like that one girl on American Horror Story?”

“No,” you finally say, laughing. “It’s my voice.” 

“Whoa,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah, I can only speak words I’ve heard before exactly as I heard them last.”

“That’s why you sounded like Ellie earlier, when you said my name. She was the last person you heard say it.”

“Exactly,” you reply. 

“Well, that’s not so bad.”

“Most of the time,” you agree. “But I can’t always control my TONE!”

You slap a hand over your mouth as your fellow guests give you brief glances of concern and confusion. 

“Tone,” he says in a normal volume. 

“Tone,” you echo with a look of astonishment. “They call me Spirit Box.”

“Like the things ghost hunters use, right? That’s so cool. You must be great for espionage. Just bring you along as a secretary or assistant or whatever, then slap some headphones on you and turn up some instrumental music all the way ‘til you can get to a recording device and repeat what you heard.”

“I suppose so, but honestly most of the time I just hang out. I have some martial arts training, but when someone can choose between that and a human bomb, WELL, it’s not really a choice,” you explain. 

“Well,” he says for you. “I think it’s super cool. Normally, I get bored listening to other people talk. I doubt that’ll ever happen with you.”

“I might as well warn you- Damn it,” you swear. It’s in his voice. 

“What is it?”

“If I say this word I’m going to end up yelling it.”

“Uh, wanna type it out on your phone? I can read it.”

You blush, shaking your head. 

“Sounds are the same way. Even when I laugh it’s not MINE.”

“Mine,” he repeats, as you seem to appreciate it. “I don’t understand why I’d need a warning for- Oh. Gotcha.”

“I may be an alright… Talker to you, but I doubt you’d want to hear a man’s voice during sex!” Your eyes water as they avoid his in shame. Someone said that to you, and harshly. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I don’t repeat that,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand. You give it to him, your hands resting together on the table. “Besides, I’m pansexual, so, honestly… It’d be kinda hot. Best of both worlds.”

“No kidding,” you reply. It’s all Ellie. “That’s great!” you chirp in Yukio’s voice. 

“You’re pretty good friends with those two, huh?”

You nod. 

“Keeping a small circle helps with consistency,” you add. “But I’m a TV addict, so…”

“Me, too. That totally makes sense. Oh, we should look at the menus. I’ll order for you, if you want.”

“Please,” you moan, swiftly retracting your hand to cover your mouth once more as your cheeks flush. He laughs.

“I’m not repeating that, either. Hot,” he teases you.

“You’re mean,” you reply with a laugh, his laugh. 

“Please,” he says. “Forgive me.”

You smile in response before looking over the menu. 

“You haven’t said anything about my face,” he realizes.

“Oh, sorry. You’re very handsome.” You don’t even look up, still looking for something appetizing. “No prices. Yikes. What are you getting?”

“Uh… Seriously. You don’t wanna ask?”

“I think you should tell me when you’re ready. I meant it, though. I think you’re very handsome.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I think I’m gonna go with the seafood alfredo.”

The rest of the date goes swimmingly, the two of you conversing on various topics: TV shows and music you both like (and exchanging recommendations,) he shares his story (you fawned over him, maybe a little too much,) your careers (you transcribe classes at Xavier’s for students who are Deaf and/or have learning disabilities, he’s a…freelancer. You giggled at that. He doesn’t care whose sweet little giggle that is, it’s yours now,) and more. 

All good things must come to an end, though. Once dinner’s over, the two of you head back to the school. He walks you all the way to your room. 

“This was really nice,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

“It was,” he agrees. “Can I see you again? Maybe you could come up with a list of words for me to say for you, and I can say them for you over lunch.”

“That’s so sweet, Wade. I’d really like that, but I feel bad. Is there anything like that-” you cover your mouth again at the unmistakably pornographic tone, but he removes your hand gently with an amused smile. 

“Keep going,” he encourages you. “Like that.”

“Is there anything like that I could do for you?” 

“Well, you wanted to go on a date with me after seeing my face, so, you kinda already did.”

You open your mouth, but close it quickly. 

“What is it that you’re needing to say?” he asks quietly, like he’s trying not to embarrass you in front of someone else despite the two of you being alone in the quiet hallway, the only sound besides you both being the ticking on an old grandfather clock. You raise your hand, touching his lips. “You want to kiss me?”

“Yes, I want to kiss you.” 

Wade grins before taking your cheeks in his hands and uniting your lips with his for the first time. Neither of you wants to pull away, but air is an unfortunate necessity. 

You take your phone out of your purse, tapping around before presenting it to him on the Add New Contact screen. He eagerly types in his name and contact details, adding in the notes: “Just FYI after the whole Weapon X debacle I am hung like a horse and have an incredible refractory period. I only mention the refractory period because I’m pretty sure I’d explode if you even looked at it. Seriously, you are MAJORLY hot” 

He passes the phone back to you, and you look. You turn red before nodding in understanding. 

“Goodnight, Wade.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[maeumine]

Pairing: bf!Nishimura Riki x fem!reader

Genre: angst&fluff!

Summary: your boyfriend riki comforts u during a bad day

Warnings: mental health issues

Hii so this is my first story it's something really simple, let me know if you like it <33 English is not my first language🙏🏻

It was one of those days, no you didn't have your period, and no nothing bad really happened to you.

You couldn't really say what was happening with you.You were just...empty or sad. You never knew how to describe this mood.

Usually your way to dealing with this kind of things was to stay in your room, with your phone or computer, scrolling thru social media and watching some old nostalgic shows like h2o or drawing while listening to lana del ray and basically ignoring everyone and anything until you eventually felt better.

As you woke up already taking your computer to do what was previously mentioned, the sound of your phone vibration echoed in your room. Your finger was about to press the decline button, but your eyes read the name of Riki.Your boyfriend.

"Goodmorning sleepyhead how are you?" his soft voice hit your ears like a melody, immediately giving you the comfort you were searching for. Just by hearing his voice, you felt like u just got free from a heavy weight. "Hey Riki goodmorning why are u calling me this early? Your voice is coming off as more cold than what you expected to sound - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound mean I'm just really tired today, "your voice softened "don't worry princess, is everything ok? Yesterday you asked me to come to your house and have a baking date, remember?" Fuck you mentally slapped yourself for forgetting such thing "yes I'm so sorry Riki but I don't feel really good today can we postpone?" Your voice pleading hoping he will understand "of course y/n it's alright,do you want me to still come over maybe we can cuddle and watch a movie instead" you bite your lips "no Riki I'm sorry I prefer stay alone today see you tomorrow" you hung the call before he could even answer you.

Your body fell on the mattress beneath you, curling on yourself. You felt so guilty you didn't want to sound cold or mean you were sorry, but usually you dealt with these episodes alone. You always did, plus you and Riki were a new couple it was barely 1 month since he asked you to be his girlfriend, and you were afraid to show this side to him.

The morning went by, and so did part of the afternoon. You passed the whole time by staying in bed sleeping and crying, thinking of random scenarios in your head as your eyes were about to close again. The sound of your doorbell echoed in the apartment as u reluctantly dragged yourself to the door and opened it, reveling your boyfriend figure looking at you worried. "How are you?? I called you for the whole day. " his tone firm, your eyes looking at the floor."I'm sorry I was sleeping. I told u I'm tired. " You tried to shrug it off, walking to the living room the boy behind you."You don't seem just tired," he said, emphasizing the last word, his body crouching in front of you who were sitting on the sofa. "i just want to know what happened. Did I do something? Or is it something I can help u with? " his eyes pleading you, it hurted u seeing him like this he didn't do anything he's the best thing that could happen to you "no I'm so sorry it's not you it's just- you begin to say feeling a knot in your throat-i don't even know sometimes i have this episodes where I feel empty and I don't really know what to do thats why i wanted to ignore you" tears streaming down your face as he bring you closer to him, as you looked at him your body immediately cling at him like a magnet, on of his hand went behind your head and the other one massaged your back you let everything out feeling the warmth of his body giving you the comfort you were craving since this morning.

You two stayed like this for a while. As you calmed down, he kissed your head and looked at you. "Do you want to watch your favorite movie and eat something?" He asked softly, your heart warming you nodded, stending up and choosing the movie you wanted while Riki went to the kitchen returning a few minutes later with 2 bowls of ramen you snuggled closer to him watching the movie.

The 2 now empty bowls were on the table in front of the sofa, his arm sneaking around your shoulder as you leaned your head in the crock of his neck, inhaling his perfume, outside was now dark the and in the apartment the only sourceof light was the weak light coming from the tv, everything seemed to have stop it was so peaceful, you felt a hand caressing your hair "do you feel better now?" His deep voice brought you back on earth. Your eyes looked at him in the dim light. God, he looked ethereal, you nodded, snuggling even closer to him, which made him laugh lightly. "Next time you feel like this, tell me please, you don't need to hide from me ok"he said seriously, "Promise." Your voice answered before closing your eyes and drifting to sleep with a smile on your face and his heartbeat as your lullaby,knowing how lucky you are to have Nishimura Riki as your boyfriend.

CUT!

If you came this far, Thank youuu I hoped you like it let me know if there are any grammatical errors and if you liked it see you in the next one<3

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,844 Pairing: Negan x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, after the war, Negan is imprisoned Warnings: language, mild gore (killing walkers) Summary: In lieu of Negan's failing mental health, Michonne looks for options and Y/N steps up to do her share. A/N: This is part 1 of a miniseries (maybe 3?? parts) for Negan that I've been working on! I started it as a one shot, but... you know me lol so here we are! Part 2 will be released next week on Wicked Wednesday! Happy reading! “I’m afraid we’ve got a problem,” Michonne said seriously. You exchanged a glance with Daryl.

“What kind of problem? Like, Annoying Steve is being annoying or a new horror is coming to destroy everything we have and love?” you asked wryly.

Daryl let out an appreciative dry laugh but Michonne remained serious. “Somewhere in the middle, I think,” she said. “It’s about Negan.”

Daryl swore and paced a tight circle. “Course it is. Somehow, it’s still always ‘bout him, ain’t it?” he growled.

Michonne forged ahead. “Gabriel is—fed up with him. There’s no other way to say it. He’s not trying to do anymore counseling and he needs a break. I don’t blame him. He’s taken on everything with Negan since—since Rick—”

You frowned, your brow furrowing as grief roared upwards in all of you. “What exactly is the problem?”

“His mental state is really deteriorating,” Michonne explained. “Being in there by himself all the time, just the odd hour or two outside, no one talking to him—”

“Why should we give a shit?” Daryl asked in a low, dangerous voice. “Ain’t the whole damn point of him bein’ in there so he has to suffer for what he did for the rest of his life? His mental state… Fuck. They fed me one fuckin’ dog food sandwich a day after they shoved me into a fucking closet naked. They —”

You reached over and put your hand on Daryl’s arm before he got further charged up. He stopped abruptly and drew in a long breath.

“I know. I know what he did, but no,” Michonne said. “The point isn’t for him to just suffer. If we do that, we become no better than him.”

Daryl glanced at you and let out an exasperated exhale. “Hell, ya already know what I think about it,” Daryl said firmly. “He shouldn’t even be breathin’ still. ‘M the wrong damn person to ask ‘bout this.”

Michonne sighed and leaned forward on her hands. “I’m just trying to honor Carl and—”

“We know,” you interrupted her quickly. You paused thoughtfully. “I—I can take this on. I’ve dealt with him the least so far out of the three of us. Probably makes it my turn.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “What’re ya gonna do? Rub his back while he cries? Hold his fuckin’ hand? I mean, how do we help somebody like him.”

Michonne shrugged. “A little more conversation to start, I think. He said being alone and the boredom is eating him alive. Maybe we come up with some more things for him to do outside the cell.”

You nodded. “I’ll brainstorm,” you said.

Daryl looked concerned, his eyes flickering over you. “Yer gonna have to be careful. He’s a manipulative asshole. And I dun trust a damn thing ‘bout him. If he can get out, he will. Don’t matter what he’d have to do.”

“I’ll be careful. I’m not an amateur, Daryl,” you said, shooting him a smile.

He nodded, ducking his head. “I know. I just gotta say it.”

“Are you sure?” Michonne asked. “It doesn’t have to be one of us. I can talk to some other people.”

“I’ve got it. I’ll start today. I’ll take him his meals and check on him, make sure he gets some time outside the cell. I’ll take care of it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Flat on his back, Negan heard the door open and shut but he barely moved. His eyes stayed closed and he heaved a heavy sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in some anticipation of annoyance. “Gabey-baby, I am not in the fucking mood for your guidance counselor horseshit today, so why don’t you just turn that tight little toosh around, waltz back out, and leave me the fuck alone…” he said.

“Wow. That was—gross…” you said.

Now, his eyes opened. This was something different. You were different. He swung his legs down and sat on the edge of his cot, his hazel eyes finding you and looking you over. “God Bless America, a change in the fucking monotony,” he said. “Is Gabe still mad at me?”

You approached his cell, tray in hand and nodded. “Yep. In fact, so pissed that he’s officially on vacation from you.”

“Gotta envy that,” Negan quipped. “How do I sign up for one of those?”

“A vacation from yourself?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think that’s in the cards.”

“Damn. It was worth asking.” He seemed to be looking you over again and you rolled your eyes.

“My eyes are up here, Negan,” you joked.

His lips curled into a half-smile. “Sorry. But Gabe isn’t exactly my type and I don’t get much chance to look at anything so—”

“Just stop right there, okay?” you interrupted him. You slid his tray through the slot at the bottom of the door and straightened back up.

But Negan wasn’t interested in his breakfast. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” he asked.

“You know perfectly well what my name is, Negan,” you countered.

He cocked his head slightly. “You’re right about that,” he admitted. “So, what’s on the agenda?” he asked, finally moving to grab his tray. He returned to his cot and set it on the small side table.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Gabe was always counseling me. Trying to rehabilitate me. Were you a therapist or something in the old world?” He grabbed the small apple and shined it on his shirt before taking a bite.

“No. But we’re perfectly aware that your mental health has taken a nosedive recently,” you said.

Negan let out a low laugh. “And you give a shit?” he asked skeptically. “I nearly fucking destroyed all of you and you’re worried about my mental health?”

You sighed and nodded once, stiffly. “We’re not the same as you, Negan. We’re trying to do better. And Michonne wants to honor Carl’s vision.” You watched as Negan’s face fell. The look in his eyes grew distant and his shoulders slumped slightly.

“Yeah… He was a helluva kid,” Negan said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you replied, taking a seat in the stiff wooden chair set outside his cell. “I watched him grow up from a scared little kid and survive everything this world threw his way. You have no idea what kind of loss that was.”

Negan was looking at you thoughtfully and you were surprised when he didn’t reply, only nodded, and then returned to his apple.

“The agenda is for me to—” you hesitated for a moment. What the hell was the agenda? “For me to help you how I can. I know you’re alone a lot and you probably need some company, a change of scenery every now and then, mental stimulation…”

Negan laughed and smirked. “That’s not the only kind of stimulation I need,” he said.

You glared at him. “Jesus, Negan…” you murmured, rolling your eyes.

“It’s the truth,” he laughed.

“Yeah, well, I’m not helping you with that. I guess you’ll just have to try your hardest to think back to one of your past six wives,” you sassed.

The grin stayed on his face. “Five,” he corrected you. Then, the smile faded. “But, uh, only the first really counted.” Negan’s head dropped and you watched him curiously.

He was struggling. You’d never sensed so much truth or vulnerability in a single thing that had left his lips.

“I see,” you said.

For some reason, this made him laugh again. “You know, Gabe used to say that all the time. It’s some of that non-value, non-judgement counselor language.”

You stood up suddenly and sighed. “Finish your breakfast. I’m gonna go do a few things and then I’ll be back. We’re gonna get you out of that cell for a while today.” You fixed a stern and perceptive look on him. “If you think you can behave.”

Negan looked curious. “For you? I might.”

You cocked your head at him and looked unamused. “You will, or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Negan laughed again and turned back to his food. “Got it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Why don’t I come with ya?” Daryl asked, watching as you slipped the pistol into your holster.

You looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “You think I can’t handle this?” you asked.

“Not that ya can’t handle it. It’s just—it’s Negan. We all know what he’s fuckin’ capable of,” Daryl said, walking behind you out the front door and across the steps.

“You’re conflating past Negan with Negan now. I just talked to him, and I’m telling you—it’s like he’s been robbed of all his menace and power. He’s been sitting in that cell a long time, Daryl. I don’t think he’s the same and I don’t think he’s going to—to suddenly hit me over the head with a rock or something,” you said.

“But outside the walls? Already? Why dun ya just—just start with somethin’ in here first and see how it goes? That way there are other people around and I can stop by when I can and check in.”

You read the intense concern on Daryl’s face and then nodded. “Alright. We’ll stay in the walls today. But I think part of the problem with him is that he hasn’t seen a single different thing outside in too long. He’s going a little stir crazy in there and I can’t entirely blame him.”

“Yeah, well, he fuckin’ deserves it,” Daryl growled.

“He does. But Michonne is right… we should be trying to be better. Otherwise, we should have just killed him.” You paused, trying to come up with something for him to do that would give him a little exercise and change of pace. “I’ll have him help me clear out that area for the new garden plots. There are some plants to harvest over there anyway before we clear it. It’ll teach him something too.`”

Daryl nodded. “ ‘Kay. I’ll stop by and check in,” he drawled. “Just be careful. Dun let yer guard down.”

“You know I never do.” You turned and headed back toward Negan’s cell.

Negan rose from his seat on his cot, the tray from breakfast sitting empty beside him on the small side table. He watched as you withdrew a ring of keys from your back pocket and fiddled with them a moment as you stood in front of the cell door, eyeing the lock. Was this a good idea?

Negan took a few cautious steps toward you, watching your face intensely. “Am I… getting out on good behavior, warden?” he quipped, flashing you a half-smile. It seemed to draw you back out from your reverie.

“Temporarily,” you replied, finally fitting the key into the lock and turning it. The metallic clunk was striking. “If you can handle it…” you added.

The pistol on your hip wasn’t lost on Negan. He nodded. “I think so,” he said. “What’re we doing? Hard labor?”

“Not so hard,” you said. “But I would appreciate your help with something.”

Negan froze just after stepping out of the cell and fixed a queer look on you. “Appreciate?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Mhm…”

His eyebrows lifted. “You better be careful with the way you’re talkin’ to me, Y/N. I might just fall in love with you,” he chuckled. “I haven’t felt appreciated in… oh, I don’t know—how long have I been in here?” he asked, brushing a hand back through his hair.

“Didn’t Gabriel speak nicely to you?” you asked, shutting the cell door behind him, giving him a questioning glance.

“Well, sure. Or maybe not nicely. He was at least neutral,” Negan said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I think I ruined that though.”

You shook your head and sighed. “Yeah, he’s not pleased with you, Negan,” you agreed. “Look, this is just a test run. We’re staying in Alexandria today, but eventually… I’d like to get you outside of the walls on occasion.” Negan looked shocked. “Obviously, that’s going to take trust,” you emphasized. “But I think it would do you good.” You hesitated, wondering if you should admit this to him, but you decided it would be good for him to hear it. “You’re not the same as you were when you were locked in here. And—I intend on finding out if you can really be rehabilitated. Not that I’m ever going to forget what you’ve done… but there’s got to be more than this,” you said, gesturing to the cell behind him, “in your future. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“You’ve just explained exactly what has me so depressed,” Negan admitted. “I’ve spent most of the last however many fucking years wishing Rick had just killed me.”

Those words hung in the air like a toxic cloud. You gulped and couldn’t help feeling an ache of compassion at his words. Compassion for Negan. What a peculiar thought… You tilted your head toward the door. “Come on. Follow me and stay close. And let me be perfectly clear; I will shoot you if you try to pull any bullshit,” you emphasized.

He nodded, his expression surprisingly serious. “Got it.”

You led him out into the summer sunshine and walked through Alexandria until you reached the overgrown section near the wall that you planned to tackle for the day. The two of you had gotten plenty of stares as you moved down the street, but you noticed that Negan had mostly kept his head down. His shoulders were somewhat slumped and he made no witty comments on the walk, though you caught him closing his eyes to enjoy the breeze or staring up at the blue expanse of sky overhead multiple times.

He stopped beside you, his hands in his pockets, as you stared at the tall grass and brambles ahead and sighed.

“What’re we doin’, boss?” he asked.

“We’re going to start clearing this area out so eventually we can put in some new garden plots. But there’s a little more to it. We used to have some medicinal plants in here before it got overgrown. I’m hoping to find them and save them for transplanting, so we can’t just start ripping everything out.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know what’s medicinal and what’s not?” he asked.

“I’m gonna teach you,” you said confidently.

Negan laughed a little at the assertion. “Look, doll… I was a gym teacher in the old world. ‘Not Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman,’” he said.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That was a deep bench reference,” you said.

He smirked at you. “I was pretty proud of it myself,” he said.

You couldn’t help a dry laugh and small shake of your head. “It’s not that hard. We’ll work together to start and I’ll show you how to identify them. The grasses can all be pulled, but we’ll identify the broadleaf plants and get them ready for transplanting if they’re something we can use.”

Negan looked skeptical but shrugged. “Well, you’re the boss. Not like I’ve got a full schedule,” he said.

“Exactly,” you agreed. There was a reason you weren’t just having him pull all the grass and doing the rest yourself. Negan was smart and not having any mental stimulation was probably contributing a lot to his mental health issues. If you gave him a task that was a little physical and a little mental, you were hoping it’d give him a sense of purpose and productivity.

You got started right away, mainly just pulling the grasses and clearing a large area that remained dotted with forbs. It was summer and the respiration of the plants you were sitting in made the air humid. It wasn’t long before you were wiping at sweat along your hairline and stopping to push wet strands back out of your face. For a while, you worked in silence beside Negan, only speaking to instruct him, but he finally tried to start some conversation on his own.

“So, what the hell did you do in the old world anyway? Were you some kind of plant guru?” he asked, pausing to pull off his gloves for a moment and get a drink from the canteen you’d provided for him.

You paused, standing up to look down at him where he knelt in the grass. He was sweaty too, like you were, and his dark blue shirt was clinging to his back in the heat. “I don’t think I owe you my backstory, Negan,” you said. Your tone wasn’t unkind, but it was a little stern.

“Aw, come on. This is part of that trust-building thing you mentioned earlier,” he said, taking another drink. “I’m just trying to figure you out a little bit,” he said.

You crossed your arms and surveyed him. “So, you can better manipulate me when it’s beneficial to you?” you asked.

“What? No,” he said with surprise, and you almost believed him. “I mean—I currently have no concrete plans to manipulate you…” he admitted, a small bit of jest in his voice. “I’m bored all the time in that fuckin’ cell. I could sure use the conversation. Isn’t that what this is about? My ‘mental health’,” he quoted, shooting an expectant look at you.

You sighed. “What do you wanna know?”

Negan licked his lips and then smiled, thinking about what he wanted to ask, but before he could say a word, bootsteps behind the two of you caused you both to look over to see Daryl standing there.

You went to greet him, pulling off your gloves.

“How’s it goin’?” he asked in an undertone, glancing past you to shoot a glare at Negan.

You shrugged. “Fine. It’s been completely fine so far.”

Daryl nodded, but still looked suspicious. “He ain’t tried anythin’?”

You shook your head, dusting the soil from your gloves. “Nope. We’re just working.”

Daryl nodded, still clearly apprehensive. “Well, s’almost noon. Get him back to his cell by 1 and I’ll bring his meal down,” he drawled.

“I can take care of that,” you offered.

“S’fine. I wanna have a word with him anyway.” He put his hand on your shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze, giving you a small smile. “Yer doin’ enough for him. Be careful.”

“Okay,” you agreed, nodding. “See you later.”

When you turned around, you noticed Negan had been watching the interaction carefully. There was a thoughtful look on his face, but when you simply returned and got back to work, he joined you again in silence. You continued on for another hour or so, managing to clear quite a wide area by the time you needed to get Negan back to his cell for a late lunch. You walked beside him, both of you now dirty and plenty sweaty, and your hand strayed to the handle of your pistol again absently.

Negan noticed and broke the silence that had stretched for what felt like a long time. “You’re a fuckin’ great shot with that thing,” he said, nodding toward the gun.

“What?” you asked, turning to look at him, puzzled.

“I said, ‘you’re a great shot’,” he repeated. You still looked confused. “I noticed… during the war,” he said. “I mean—I noticed you but also your aim.” You stared at him, your brow furrowed. “You almost blew Simon’s fuckin’ head off,” he said with a laugh. “If he hadn’t flinched at the last second…” Negan let out a low whistle.

“How’d you know that was me?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Like I said, I noticed you.”

You looked… unsettled? Uneasy? Negan couldn’t quite define it, but there was some sort of tension in the air as you walked him back the rest of the way and finally locked him inside his cell again.

He gripped onto the bars and watched you turn away before he managed to get your name out. You turned toward him again, the high arch of your brow inquiring. “Thanks,” he said. “For today. It was the best fuckin’ day I’ve had in a while,” he admitted.

You gave him a baffled look. “I made you work outside in the sun all morning,” you laughed.

“Yeah… but I wasn’t alone. And I’ve had waaaaay worse company. Just—even if you decide you can’t do more than today, I want you to know that it mattered to me. Thanks.”

That look was on your face again, some mix of surprise and bewilderment. Finally, you sighed. “Daryl’s gonna bring you lunch. I’ll see you later, okay, Negan?”

He nodded, still gripping onto the cold, iron bars of his cell, and watched you walk out.

A short time later, Negan had washed his hands and splashed cool water from his basin over his face, dabbing at it with his small scratchy towel, when he heard the door open again. He looked up to see Daryl coming in with a tray of food and a scowl. He set it down by the slot at the bottom of the cell door and pushed it roughly through with the toe of his boot, almost spilling the water cup. Daryl’s expression didn’t change. It was stony and guarded.

Negan eyed him and then wandered over to grab the tray. He did feel hungry for once, something that had been rare for quite some time. When he straightened up, Daryl’s blue eyes were narrow and stinging.

Negan grabbed the apple off his tray and took a big bite. It was sweet and crunchy, satisfying and refreshing after being in the sun all morning. “Something on your mind, Daryl?” Negan asked, a faint smile on his lips.

Daryl stepped closer, right up to the bars. “Yeah. One thing. If ya fuck up, if ya try to hurt Y/N, if ya pull anythin’ I dun like, I don’t give a shit what Michonne or anybody else is tryin’ to do—I don’t give a shit about your rehab, I’ll put ya in the fuckin’ ground. Got it?”

That smile was still on Negan’s face, annoying the shit out of Daryl.

“I mean it, Negan. Ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” he said, taking another bite.

“Good,” he growled, and the archer left.

[pers1st]

you open yours

pt 2 of when every door closes

pairing: leah williamson x reader

notes: mentions of ed, j*rge vilda, lots of angst

Settling into Arsenal again was difficult, but it couldn’t have been more difficult than leaving, once more, for international break. The World Cup qualifiers were coming up quickly, and despite the fact that it felt as though you still hadn’t dealt with your early out in the Euros, there was no time to dwell on the past as Jorge Vilda made sure every player knew the gravity of the next few matches. With more and more players from Barcelona filling into the squad, you were subconsciously worried for your position. It was no secret that Barça was dominating European football, but somehow, for the qualifiers, you kept your head and spent every last second of every match on the pitch, even when the physios concluded you were very close to tearing your hamstring, much to the dismay of your teammates. It wasn’t that they didn’t want you to play- you had quickly proven to be a valuable part of the team, not quite the brick wall Mapi was, but an agile defender that solidified every win with perfectly-timed tackles and a good oversight of the play.

It was rather the fact that you so desperately needed a break, and everyone saw it but you. Every step you took on the pitch hurt, and if it wasn’t for María telling you to cut back on the painkillers, you possibly wouldn’t have even noticed if you’d torn your hamstring fully. You had, in addition, settled back into your club well enough to rely on nutritional energy yet again, with the help of your girlfriend, your teammates and the club’s psychologist, but all of that went to waste the second you saw Jorge Vilda before boarding the bus towards the team’s camp.

You weren’t done yet- Leah had told you as much after the Euros. You weren’t where you wanted to be, not with the Spanish national team, at least. A World Cup was the least you could achieve to compensate for everything you were going through, but during the camp, you and many other girls realized that there was a lot more you should, or well, a lot more you had to reach for.

So, to you, it wasn’t surprising when you came home with an open letter to the RFEF and a vision of how maybe, one day, playing for your country wouldn’t be your nightmare.

“Are you sure, love? I mean, aren't there like, really bad consequences?”, Leah asked confusedly, her hands around yours as you sat on the couch, you still wearing the same sweats you had worn on the plane.

You nodded, wandering back to the monologue Mapi had held about all of the possible outcomes of what you were about to do. Her voice had been hushed as she explained the ban you could face, which would affect all of your teammates, except Ona and Lucía, more than you. Not playing in the Spanish league wouldn’t hurt you as much, so long as Arsenal stayed your home, which you intended it to. Not playing for the Spanish national team- well, you trusted Alexia when she said that no one would face a ban, and you didn’t particularly want to think about what would happen if she was wrong. You were possibly throwing your national career away, and your stomach turned at the thought. But either way, you knew that playing in the environment that had been created recently, you would rot away anyways.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But what can be worse than this?”, you chuckled bitterly. Knowing well how dangerous it had been, truthfully, to play all those minutes, you knew that you would stay on the bench for a significant amount of time to recover, but you also knew that no matter what you, or your hamstring did, you would be called up for the next camp.

You couldn’t risk your career, not while you were this young. And if everything went according to Irene’s, Mapi’s and Alexia’s plan, you wouldn’t have to.

“If you’re sure, I am, too. And no matter what happens, I will support you. You know that, right?”, Leah asked, almost desperate to reassure you, but all you could do was nod absent-mindedly.

You were different, this time. Different from how you’d been after the Euros, but your girlfriend didn’t dare to ask what had happened for you to be this- reserved, almost. As if you still didn’t dare to speak, guarding your tongue harshly as if your manager was just around the corner, ready to jump at you for whatever it was you couldn’t say.

The night you spent tossing and turning didn't guarantee much sleep, but you were still surprised that your absence had woken Leah up, as she slung her arms around your shoulders slowly in her dark flat, the only light illuminating the kitchen from the little nightlight near the coffee pot. 

“Come back to bed”, your girlfriend mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your stomach warmed slightly at the gesture, but you were too encapsulated in your phone to really react to her presence, not letting her pull you back into false comfort. Nothing of what was about to happen, in merely four hours, would be comfortable. 

“Can’t sleep”, you gave back, your fingers tapping away on your screen as you replied to Ona’s message, who seemed to sleep as little as you did.

You knew that Leah didn’t know Spanish, and you knew that she was still staring at your screen, noticing how your phone lit up once more with a text that even you could barely detangle. Taking a deep breath, you clicked the call button right next to Ona’s contact, barely noticing how Leah detached herself from you to start a pot of coffee.

Ona’s words were messy, and you were barely able to understand anything besides the gut-wrenching fear that filled your apartment, all of a sudden. Her Catalonian accent was thick, and you knew that her emotion was taking over her, more so than it was affecting you. You had, sort of, gone numb.

“Ona, va a estar bien. No te preocupes”, you tried to calm your friend, who you could tell was biting back tears.

“Ale said it’ll be okay. Do you trust her?”, you asked as you didn’t receive an answer.

“Sí”, Ona mumbled, to which you nodded, forgetting the fact that she couldn’t see you.

“Then it’ll be okay. What are they going to do? Ban sixteen of their best players?”

“No sé. Maybe they are going to ban just me”, she huffed.

“No, Ona. That won’t happen”, you calmed her yet again, and stupidly enough, you actually believed yourself. 

The open letter went online while you were at training, which you were quite grateful for. None of your teammates had a clue, except for Leah, of what was about to happen, although they could all tell something needed to happen.

In the short twelve days the team hadn’t seen each other, you had lost a noticeable amount of weight, and hadn’t touched your breakfast, blaming your lack of appetite on the lack of sleep you had gotten. You stuck to Leah’s side like glue, more so than you usually did. And by the time the team was ready to step onto the field for the first training session of the year, you mumbled an excuse to leave the changing room into the wrong direction, and headed to the physio room without looking back.

After sending Jonas a text in the early morning, somewhere between your phone call with Ona and Leah dragging you back into bed, the physios were very well aware of your hamstring issue, and spent a lot of time analyzing your muscles and how bad exactly your injury was. It seemed as though it was quite bad, as most of the treatment was silent, and none of the physios reacted to how you flinched every time any of them even reached out to touch you, but you hoped they wrote it off as a mere reaction of you being in pain. You didn’t know if they could handle the truth. Didn’t know if you could handle the truth. 

Still, the events of the day couldn’t take your mind off the fact that your phone was likely exploding with notifications as the public and the RFEF reacted to your protest. Sixteen players were withdrawing. Sixteen. You didn’t believe Alexia, although she had promised there would be no serious, no negative

consequences.

And you were right not to do so.

Leah picked you up from the medical room, in which you remained long after the treatment, scrolling through twitter and multiple Spanish news outlets in hopes to absorb every single comment, every single word in reaction to your letter. 

“Hey, you”, she smiled softly as she found you lying on the bench, phone in your hands as it always seemed to be, allowing for it to drop onto your chest as you smiled back at her.

“Hey”, you mumbled back.

“How bad is it?”, she asked, and you didn’t know whether it was her calf or everything else she was responding to.

“Grade two tear. Eight weeks, at least. They don’t want to risk anything.”

The fact that your hamstring actually was a grade two tear should’ve surprised you more than it had, but at this point, you didn’t put it past the Spanish medical team to actually hide the information of your injury from you. You didn’t put it past Jorge to let you play on an injury that potentially worsened with every step you took.

“I’m sorry, love”, Leah sighed, gently moving closer to you.

“It’s okay. Home?”, you asked, hesitant to accept any kind of gentleness from your girlfriend. At this point, you weren’t sure whether you deserved it or not. That’s how far Jorge had gotten into your head.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go”, Leah smiled as she stuck out her hand for you to take, and you reluctantly accepted it, the warmth being unfamiliar to you.

It took a few days for the RFEF to formally respond to your protest, and in the meantime, you drove your girlfriend insane. She had no way of reaching you, although she tried her hardest. Holding you as she slept, only for you to slip out of her arms once you knew she was lulled in sleep. Getting up in the morning without you just to find you in the kitchen, drinking coffee and being glued to your phone as you over analyzed every detail that was revealed to the public. By the time Arsenal’s first match after the

international break came around, she was truly at her wit’s end.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. She won’t talk to me, won’t tell me what’s going on, it’s just- I really don’t know”, she tried explaining to Kim, who had, in the past few days, begun catching a glimpse of just how bad of a situation you were in. It was clear as day to the whole team that you were struggling again, but the others quickly grew used to your reserved nature, though it was so unlike you.

“What can we do to help?”, Wally asked, gently crouching down in front of your girlfriend and rubbing a circle over her knee comfortingly, her face as somber as Kim’s.

“I don’t know. I tried giving her space, but I’m not really sure it’s helping. It’s like she’s just drifting away”, Leah cried, gently wiping a tear from her cheek. She needed to be strong, now. For you. Crying would be no use.

“She’ll come back to you. Wait for the RFEF’s response, and see how she is afterwards. Maybe she just needs to reach a breaking point”, Kim tried to reassure her vice-captain, but the only reason Leah nodded was because she didn’t have a better idea, although she didn’t like the idea of waiting for you to crumble completely and being there to pick up the broken pieces. It proved, though, that this was exactly what you needed.

The official response of the RFEF came while you were sitting in the cafeteria, slowly picking apart the food Leah had gotten for you as an ice-wrap around your thigh forbade you from walking too much. Your phone lit up with a message from Alexia, and at once, you dropped your fork, instead focusing on the little device in front of you.

¿Has visto?

No, you hadn’t seen. Not yet, anyways, but at the notification, you reached for your phone, quickly opening the internet to search for an article reporting on the matter. It didn’t take long to find, and your stomach turned at the sight your eyes met.

El futbolista Y/N Y/L/N le prohíbe jugar al fútbol por España.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read the words over and over again, your vision blurring until the letters tumbled in front of your eyes, spinning in circles as you drowned out the world around you. You weren’t aware of how Leah, Kim and Wally were glancing up at you, didn’t register how Leah’s hand

caressed your knee as she noticed your breath quickening, didn’t hear the words of your teammates surrounding you, asking what was going on, as you kept skimming the article, desperate to know more.

You were the only player out of the sixteen to be banned. It was because you had just begun playing, had been cared for during your injury and were disrespecting your country for diminishing their efforts. If you’d had any air to, you would’ve laughed. But you didn’t have any. Leah’s eyebrows furrowed as she caught a glimpse of your screen, moments before you rose from your seat, clenching your teeth in pain as you got up and left the cafeteria, leaving behind a group of confused women, none of whom dared to find you, right now. None except for Leah. She was on her feet within seconds, calling after you to slow down as she could barely keep up with your strides. You didn’t care about the fact that you bumped into Jonas, almost making him tumble over as you were focused on your phone, didn’t hear how he called after you, didn’t hear how he called after Leah. You simply kept walking and walking until you found the media room, which you knew would be empty right now, and slipped through the door, letting yourself slide down the wall.

“Love? Hey, talk to me! What’s going on?”, your girlfriend’s voice rang through from what felt like a thousand miles away. You felt as though you were under water, waves washing over you and trapping you in your head. You couldn’t answer, couldn’t force any words out of your mouth as you, instead, choked on a sob.

Within seconds, you felt arms around you, pulling you into your girlfriend’s chest as you sobbed, struggling to breathe.

“I’m out. Leah, they banned me”, you cried out, gripping fists of her shirt as you desperately tried to fight the way your head seemed to spin. 

Leah’s soothing words fell on deaf ears as the noise around you was quickly becoming far too much, and you fell into your own little word, sobbing into her shoulder as she held you tightly. It felt like hours until you calmed down, but slowly, your breaths began to even and as you drew away from your girlfriend, your lips twitched upwards at the realization that she was still there.

“Hey, baby. You’re back with me?”

You nodded at that, slowly letting go of her shirt as you leaned your head back against the wall. It was pounding, as though knives were flying through your scalp, but you didn’t have the energy to complain.

“This isn’t forever, love. We’re gonna keep pressuring them, Alexia is gonna keep pressuring them, and one day they’ll fire Vilda and you’ll be back. Okay? I promise, it’s going to be okay”, she spoke, hands landing on your cheeks as she tugged your face towards hers. 

“And no matter what happens, I’ll be with you, for every step of the way. I won’t leave you, okay?”

“I can’t do this on my own”, you mumbled, the weight of the situation hitting you, though less quickly, more deeply now that you knew you’d need to face it.

“You don’t have to. I’m behind you, and so is everyone else. You don’t have to do anything on your own, my love”, Leah promised, bringing your head into the crook of her neck once again as she closed her arms around your fragile frame.

Leah’s words quickly came true, as you realized that each and every one of your teammates, whether it was from Arsenal or Spain, voiced their support for you. Whether it was Jonas in a press conference, Alexia via an Instagram post or Ona via countless text messages and insisting on coming to London to see you. Slowly but surely, you recovered from your injury and found your footing again, suddenly enjoying the time you got to spend with your or Leah’s family whenever she was gone for international duty. The World Cup was a totally different story, as you flew to Australia with Leah to watch every one of the Lionesses matches, but none of your own nation. You skipped the final as well, not able to let yourself daydream about being on the pitch again. Though you were happy for Ona, Alexia and your other friends, you couldn’t help the anxiety over the fact that Spain was just as good of a team without you, Mapi, Pina and Patri.

And although you were still anxious, you reluctantly accepted when the RFEF lifted their ban after Jorge’s sacking, proposing for you to wear your nation’s colors another time. 

[gunnerfc]

Roles Reversed | Katie McCabe x Arsenal Reader (18+)

Summary: You take Katie's mind of getting a red card

Warnings: a tad bit angsty in the beginning, bottom katie, top reader, oral (katie receiving)

WC: 1.7K

AN: this is technically part 2 to ‘consequences’ but you don't *need* to read it first!

You watched from the bench as the ref held up a yellow card directed towards Katie before she pulled a red card from her pocket. It was Katie’s second yellow of the night, meaning she was sent off for the remainder of the match. You could see her jaw clench as she made her way off the pitch, knowing the second yellow card was not warranted. 

You wanted to follow after her to comfort her but you knew it was better for her to cool down on her own before you talked. Your mind stayed only on Katie for the next twenty minutes, the game long forgotten despite still happening in front of you. The second the ref blew her whistle, you quickly shook hands with the United players and headed down the tunnel. 

You took a small breath before pushing the locker room door open, your eyes falling to Katie who was sitting in her cubby. She didn’t bother changing out of her kit or showering, the soft tackle and the ref’s cards still playing in her mind. You took soft steps toward her, doing your best not to scare her. 

“Babe…,” you mumbled softly as you sat next to her. She lifted her head slightly at your voice but she didnt respond.

“I’m sure the club can argue against the red so you won’t have to miss any games,” you tried to reassure her, your hand grabbing her as you spoke.

Katie pulled her hand from yours and without saying anything stood to grab her things to take a shower. You watched her walk away with a sigh, you knew this incident would bother her for a while. She’d only ever had one red card in her career and getting another wouldn't help how some people thought about her. 

You sighed once more as you got your things to take a shower, your mind racing with different ways to take Katie’s mind off the game altogether. Katie has, on many occasions, distracted you with different things in the bedroom. Maybe finally taking control in the bedroom would provide a good enough distraction and prove to her you can be more dominant after she said you couldn’t.

You could hear your teammates as they entered the locker room, a chorus of ‘Kyra NO!’ gave them away. You shook your head lightly as you finished your shower, quickly getting dressed before making your way back into the main locker room. Katie had finished before you and was sitting in her spot once more as she waited for you. She wordlessly stood from her spot as you finished up, a silent ask for you to hurry up. 

She didn’t bother saying goodnight to your teammates as she headed for your car, your teammates throwing you understanding looks as you said goodnight for both of you. Katie already had the car running when you joined her and she was quick to leave the parking lot once you were buckled up. 

The car ride home was quiet minus the light music from the radio, and neither of you made any effort to speak. You turned your head slightly in her direction, your eyes landing on her still-clenched jaw before they dropped to her tight grip on the steering wheel. You wanted to tell her it was just a card but you knew it meant more to her than that so you kept your thoughts to yourself. 

You were grateful when she pulled up to your place, the tension in the car was starting to get to you. You were both quick to exit the car, Katie grabbing both of your bags as you headed inside. The defender tossed the bags to the floor to be dealt with in the morning before heading to the living room. She sighed deeply as she dropped to the couch, her arms crossing as she tilted her up to stare at the ceiling. 

You joined her after a minute, putting a small amount of space between the two of you as you stared at her. You waited for her to speak but after a few silent moments, you could tell that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Do you wanna talk about,” you asked quality as you fiddled with your fingers.

“No,” she huffed, her staring contest with the ceiling never wavering. You sighed at her bluntness but slid closer to her, your hand moving to hold hers. 

“Can I take your mind off it,” you asked softly as you leaned in the place a light kiss to her jaw. 

Katie swallowed lightly at the tone of your words, licking her lips before her gaze turned to you. Your eyes locked with hers before you shifted to straddle her lap, both of your hands moving to rest on the sides of her neck. You smirked slightly before leaning to kiss her, both of you breathing deeply into the kiss. 

Katie moved her hands to hold your waist as your lips fought each other, her hands pulling you as close as possible to her. You made out for a few moments before you abruptly pulled away from her, Katie’s chest heaving slightly from the kiss. You moved off her, offering her your hand to pull her off the couch. 

Katie took your hand and let you guide her to your bedroom, her thoughts far from the game as she followed you. You stopped at the end of your bed, dropping her hand as you lifted your shirt from your body. Katie’s eyes immediately dropped to your bare chest, a light groan falling from her lips. 

You raised a brow as you nodded at her shirt and she smirked as she took it off, tossing it to join yours on the floor. You bit back your own smirk, knowing she thought she was in control which was the complete opposite. Your lips were back on hers, your chest pressed against hers as you slipped your tongue into her mouth.

Katie’s hands played with the waistband of your pants but before she could attempt to push them off you, you swatted lightly at her hands. Katie pulled away from you slightly in confusion but all you did was smirk. 

“I said I was gonna take your mind off it. Which means I'm in charge,” you teased, your smirk growing as you spoke.

Katie held back a teasing laugh but when she noticed your seriousness, she quirked an eyebrow but nodded anyway. Your hands moved to pull at the drawstrings of her sweatpants, your fingers teasingly tracing her skin before you pulled away completely. 

You mumbled a small ‘go on’ as you nodded to the bed, waiting for her to lay down before you crawled up the bed slowly. You straddled one of her thighs before leaning down to kiss her once more. You pulled away after a moment, shifting so you could push her pants and underwear down her legs, letting her kick them to the floor. 

You traced random shapes on her thighs as you placed small kisses down her body, moving down to make yourself comfortable between her legs. Katie’s breathing picked up as you kissed up her thighs toward where she needed you most. 

You blew softly against her dripping cunt, a low moan falling from the defender's lips at the cool feeling. You smirked to yourself at the noises your girlfriend was making, liking this side of her that you didn’t see often. You placed a light kiss on her clit, a louder groan escaping her lips. 

You dipped your head slightly, running your tongue through her wet folds as her hips bucked up. You wanted to take your time, determined to distract her and prove her wrong all at the same time. You looked up from between her legs as your tongue thrust inside her, your eyes locking with hers as she tilted her head down to watch you.

“F-fuck,” she groaned as she tilted her head back against the pillows, one of her hands moving to tangle in your hair, pushing you further into her.

You sped up your movements, your arms moving to lock around her thighs to keep them open for you. Your eyes fluttered closed as you tasted her, moaning into her as you kept going. Katie moaned at the vibrations, swear words falling from her lips as she moved her hips in time with your tongue. 

You let her grind against you, holding your head close to her as she fucked herself against your face. You held her thighs tighter as you went down on her, solely focused on bringing her over the edge. 

“Fuck, baby. Just like that,” her hoarse voice filled the room, her praise making you work harder. 

You could tell she was close as her hips stuttered in their movements and you didn’t let up. Katie came all over your mouth with a loud groan, her hips faltering as she let go. You kept your tongue going, helping her ride through her orgasm before pulling away from her. You looked up between her legs, your mouth and chin coated with cum.

Katie’s chest heaved as she stared up at the ceiling and you smirked at her ragged breathing. You moved up her body, your lips meeting hers in a slow, deep kiss. Both of you moaned at the taste of her on your lips. 

You pulled away after a moment when air became an issue, your smirk gracing your face once more. “Seems like I can be in control, wouldn't you say so babe,” you teased, watching as she rolled her eyes.

“It was okay,” she shrugged, though her ragged breathing and the loud moans you pulled from her told a different story.

You laughed sarcastically at her words and before you could process what was happening, your positions were flipped. “Let me show you how to do it right,” Katie teased as her lips landed on your neck, sucking harshly. 

You knew your time in charge was fleeting but you were confident you would be in charge again soon. Katie might be telling jokes to deflect from how much she enjoyed letting you be in charge but you knew she found it hot. You were successful in both things you set out to accomplish but as Katie’s hand traveled down your body, you didn’t care about anything else.

[missmarveledsblog]

You're not wrong but don't mean it's right ( Billy Butcher x reader)

summary : He didn't know it could happen not since becca died he never thought his heart could beat for another but instead of letting his heart win , he does everything in his power to push the woman away til he goes too far.

warning : billy well a cunt but a cunt with feelings even if he is a dick about it . triggering , angst , feels , pining ,self sabotage .

This wasn’t supposed to happen , it shouldn’t be even in the realm of possibilities of what should happen .  He’d watch as she moved from each one of the group now here he was watching as she crouched in front of Hughie . those gentle hands that cleaned up the kids cuts and scratches from their latest encounter with a some supe cunt . He watched over  the feather light touches , he secretly looked forward to that soft skin of  her  or the soft glances no matter how harsh he would be. Sometimes she  would shoot him a witty retort back made him want to laugh but he held it in .  maybe cliche as bollocks but he couldn’t take her into his life  or more so than she was already . Even when she patted hughie’s arm signaling the man he was done. 

“ fuck off love i’m fine” he gruffed.

 “ nah ya grumpy bastard it’s your turn so nut up and shut up” she crossed her arms.  Both stared down as the rest went to either rest or clean up .

“ I'm  fine cuts here and there nothing to get worked up over”  he gruffed, taking his jacket off watching as her eyes widened even then she made his  heart beat a mile a minute. This was not supposed to happen but he could stop it progressing or so he thought he could . 

Persistent little thing he would give her that as he sat in a chair , she approached carefully something about her seemly set the man off more than usual  which didn’t phase her in the least giving she’s dealt with scarier men than billy butcher all her life one of the ways she met frenchie though so it wasn’t all back that man saved her life and changed it for the better.  She started with the little scratches first  on his hands , then on his face . hum of a song he’d no idea what it was but he kept his face stoic  although he wanted to melt god he felt like some pansy from a hallmark bullshit movie. His eyes searched her for a flaw just one fucking flaw that could stop his feelings growing. He couldn’t have her. 

“ I need you take the shirt off” she said getting the supplies out of the bag watching as he rolled  his eyes .  “ or I could cut it off” she mused. 

“ bossy little cunt aren’t you” he scoffed unbuttoning his shirt only to hiss as  he tugged harshly since the blood congealed into his shirt. The action reopened in as she rushed to stopping it pressing the gause to the now open wound with a scowl on his face. 

“ you stubborn man , i know you don’t like me but i’m here to help so you can keep doing this shit so work with me , you don’t have to like it” she huffed getting the syringe ready . lifting the  gause up and cleaning around it . the moment he felt the pinch his whole body jerked and he shot her a glare again it was nothing compare to what she has dealt with before. “ sorry why don’t you ask me what evers been bothering you least you're distracted and you get answers and i can work” she sighed . 

“ what’s likes of you doing with frenchie” he asked easily, something that did actually cross his mind  a lot giving she was a flower in the garden of weeds .  she stood out the day he walked her into through the door full of smiles and sunshine . the nice clothes on her made her looked so far out of place well to do sort of girl . 

“ Likes me  what’s that supposed to mean” she snorted eyes locked on the gash on his shoulder.  So concentrated on making sure it wasn’t worse that it would be a hospital visit but luckily he only needed stitches so that saved her from another hard job that was for sure. 

“ posh  well to do sort … fucking watch it” he hissed as felt the skin tug letting him know she was getting started. 

“ far from i know frenchie from a bad time back in the day when shit was actually worse then now ” her voice hit his ear making a shiver travel throughout his boy . 

“ what party girl in college get your blow from im” he huffed . 

“ nah just a time i would rather forget look whatever idea you have of me i can assure you it far from it” she laughed making him both light as a feather and yet pissed off all in one go. 

“ let me guess daddy cut you off no more allowance how harsh” he scoffed. 

“ not accurate look, you don’t know me or what i went through you don’t scare me butcher i’ve met scarier and tougher men than you so give it up  and just accept i’m here” she rolled her eyes.

“ what you looking for  a daddy here princess , you ain’t gonna get one” he taunted seeing it was getting to her something that he could use to push her away from the danger that surrounded him , danger that got people like her killed . 

“ lots  like the rest of us so let me just” she bit her tongue not letting him get the best of her , not letting him scare her off.  

“ Daddy, tell you no more money” he taunted. 

“ nah daddy spilt my lip and told me that he’d give me something to cry about, said i was a whining little bitch that needed to be taught a lesson you happy?” she hissed cleaning up almost slamming the trash into the bag . 

“ i see it didn’t work maybe he should of tried harder, i mean he was right ” he smirked as she stood looking at him shocked. Yeah he said some shit but never to this degree or caliber . never have his words hit a nerve until today . she dropped the trash and grabbed her bag running out the door and as guilty as he felt or how he wished he could take those words back it was for the better . it was better she hated him and stayed away it  was safer . so why did it feel like he made a mistake? 

part two

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 20 Prompt: Sick Day

Tags: Established Relationship, Mentions Of Past Parental Loss, Eddie Munson Needs A Hug, Steve Harrington Is A Sweetheart

wc: 1290 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve doesn’t get it.

He’s seen Eddie in worse shape.

Death knocking on his door, tubes, and machines keeping him alive. In spite of the shitty cards he was dealt, he always had a smile on his face — cracking jokes with the kids, charming his way into extra pudding cups and sides of mashed potatoes. Steve’s pretty sure they mourned the day he was finally released because he had a way of making even the crabbiest doctors smile.

If ever there was a time to be miserable and wallow in the pain it was then.

And yet, a winter cold has managed to knock Eddie on his ass, turning him into the most miserable, helpless version of himself.

Steve hates it.

Not because Eddie is whiney and dramatic (he’s both of those things on a good day), but because he doesn’t know what to do to help.

Days and nights blend together as Eddie stays sheltered in his bedroom. His bed is a nest of blankets and pillows — half the time he’s burrowed under them, no doubt making his fever worse, and the other half he’s propped up on pillows, desperately hoping the elevated position will ease his cough. A hoard of half-empty bowls of soups and napkins full of nibbled-on crackers are scattered on his nightstand along with the cold medicine Wayne picked up three (maybe, four?) days ago. The one Eddie refuses to take because it makes him feel worse.

His usual unruly curls are flattening by the second and his cheek has a near-permanent indentation of his wrinkled pillowcase at this point. If it weren’t for his frequent trips to the bathroom, Steve would be worried about muscle loss and blood clots on top of the hundred other ways he’s worrying about Eddie right now.

Steve’s tried everything. His grandmother’s chicken noodle soup, coaxing Eddie into a warm shower, even phoned Ms. Henderson to see if she had any home remedies he wasn’t thinking of. Nothing seems to be working.

At a loss, Steve tiptoes into Eddie’s room hoping to find him sleeping beneath the covers.

He’s not.

“Eddie, baby,” Steve coos. Toeing his shoes off, he pads his way over to the edge of the bed and runs a hand over the corner of the bed in search of Eddie’s legs. When he’s certain they’re not there, he sits. “What can I do to help?”

Eddie groans and presses the right side of his face deeper into the pillow. A single tear races down his cheek as he sniffles. “Could you just lie with me?” he croaks, voice horse from lack of use and the sore throat he’s been fighting for the last few days.

“Course, baby. Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

He doesn’t wait for the answer and instead shuffles up the bed. Resting his back against the headboard, he kicks out his legs over the hoard of blankets and lets himself sink into the warm mattress. Once he’s situated, Eddie shifts until his back is pressed against Steve’s side. It’s weird feeling the heat that radiates from his body — he’s usually the one with cold hands and feet in the relationship.

“Didn’t want to get you sick,” Eddie mumbles eventually.

“Don’t mind getting sick, if it means you’ll feel better.” Steve means it. He would shoulder all the sickness and pain in the world if it meant that Eddie and everyone else he loves never had to feel anything but happy and healthy. If only the world worked like that. “Do you need anything?”

It’s silent in the room as Steve waits for Eddie’s response. So quiet, Steve wonders if maybe Eddie’s drifted to sleep and he’s waiting for a response that’s never going to come. But then Eddie shifts beside him, slowly rolling onto his other side so he can face him.

“I need my mom,” Eddie whispers just as the floodgates open, tear after tear falling from his eyes in that slow dramatic way they only do in movies. At least, Steve thought it only happened in movies.

His heart seizes in his chest as Eddie reaches for the soft sweater he’s wearing. Doesn’t complain when he buries his face into it, staining it with tears and snot and whatever else as Eddie’s body shakes under the weight of his tears.

Christ.

He doesn’t get it, not entirely. His own mother was never the nurturing type — she’d slap down medicine on his bedside table and leave a list of places she’d be if he needed to reach her, but that was it. Never once did she rest her hand against his forehead to check his temperature, let alone sit at his bedside.

But he knows Eddie’s mom would have done those things. Probably did do all those things judging by the way his boyfriend is sobbing in his arms right now.

Admittedly he doesn’t know much about Ms. Munson — he’s gathered it's hard for Eddie to talk about her. But he knows enough to know the world lost an incredibly kind soul way too early.

“Eds,” Steve sighs, scooting down until he’s lying down with Eddie firmly curled up on his chest. He gets both arms around him, squeezing him tighter. “I wish I could.”

“She always—” Eddie hiccups, wincing as the motion burns his already aching throat. “She always used to lie down with me. Run her fingers through my hair until her ring got caught in my curls. Then she’d move to tracing up and down my arm.”

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice. He lets one hand drift into Eddie’s tangled curls, scratching his scalp before gently carding his fingers through a few strands. His other hand ghosts up and down his arm, goosebumps erupting in his featherlight touches wake.

“Like this?”

Eddie melts under the contact, nuzzling deeper into the warmth of Steve’s sweater. “She made the best grilled cheese sandwich when I was sick. And she’d cut them in weird ways. Let me eat them in bed while she told some story she made up on the spot.”

“Well, m’no storyteller. But I can make a grilled cheese. Probably not as good as your mom's though.”

“No,” Eddie agrees, the smallest smile tugging at his lips as he looks up. “She had a secret ingredient she never told me.”

“Bet it was love.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, shaking his head, “That’s lame.”

“Yeah, it is. She wouldn’t have had a lame secret ingredient.”

“She was the best,” Eddie sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before they flutter open again. This time he wiggles out of Steve’s embrace and moves his head back to his pillow before grimacing at the wet stain left behind on Steve’s sweater. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Eds. S’just a sweater.”

“I know. I just…” he groans and rubs circles over his eyes with his fists. “I always miss her more when m’sick.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, pulling at him until Eddie’s back on his chest and his hand is back in his curls. “You can tell me about her, you know? Whenever you want. I like hearing you talk about her.”

“Maybe when my throat doesn’t burn like Satan’s living room.”

Steve laughs.

There’s his boy.

“You know, that medicine over there might help with that,” Steve teases, gesturing to the untouched medicine.

Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust, shaking his head.

“Alright, you big baby,” Steve chuckles. “Why don’t you get some sleep then?”

“Will you stay?” Eddie asks, already fighting sleep judging by his fluttering eyelashes.

“Course I’ll stay,” he whispers. “I’ll even make you a grilled cheese when you wake up.”

“Full of love?”

“Yeah, Eds. Full of love.”

[kaeddehara]

♱ . ⋆ SLEAZY CHILDE — NSFW

ꨄ︎ . ⋆ warnings —» NSFW + MDNI!! + unprotected sex, cursing, reader is just horny, childe x fem!reader

ꨄ︎ . ⋆ notes —» back on my pervert childe shit

“childe come over here!”

“alright i’m going…”

he mumbled back into his mic as you opened the door to this room. the lights were dim, only the light off his tv was lighting up his room. his looked at you for a second before getting back to his game.

“hey i’ll be back in a second i gotta—“

you shook your head as to say no to what he was saying which confused him. the rest of his teammates waited for child and he muted his mic to say hi to you.

“you don’t have to do that ajax”

“why not? i mean my girlfriend just came home i need to show her some attention yeah?”

you giggled while beginning to sit on his lap, back on his chest.

“you can show me some attention later, keep playing your game or i will for you”

you teased at him while handing him back his controller. his cheeks were flushed but he took the controller back from you and unmuted himself, continuing talking with him teammates.

it was cute, you thought. he was cute all focused on his game. he looked cute for the occasion too. his thick framed glasses and messy ginger hair laying every other way. but, especially wearing like grey sweatpants which made his lap look so much more enticing.

as he continued to play his game, you began to feel the waves of need start hitting you quickly. maybe it was because you could hear childes voice right next to your ear or maybe because you could feel the slight bulge in his lap. either way, there was no better opportunity than now to tease your busy boyfriend <3.

turning your head to the side to face him, he made eye contact with you momentarily before switching his gaze back to this monitor. didn’t matter what he was looking at, as long as you had access to the pretty pale skin on his neck. leaving soft, wet kisses along his cheek and jawline, slowly working you way down to his neck. you noticed his breathing becoming heavier, knowing what an effect your lips do to him. your hands wandered a little, now facing yourself back towards his monitor as you reached in between his legs to feel him up. childe instantly tensed up which almost made you giggle but you maintained your composure.

childe couldn’t help but adjust himself in his seat when you ran your fingers along the outline of his cock like that. you started to notice how much he’d been struggling to talk to his teammates now that his has a distraction.

“i thought we agreed on your attention later”

“i can’t wait ajax, need you now”

“hasn’t even been that long and you’re already so needy”

a cocked smirk had made its way onto his lips and you couldn’t stand it one bit. deciding to take actions into your hands, you wanted childe now whether he was gonna give it to you or not.

his sweats barley even pulled down to reveal the bottom of his toned stomach and a ginger happy trail leading from his naval all the way down to his pretty cock. once you pulled him out completely, you didn’t even need to prep him he was so hard, too beating red and begging to be dealt with. the urge to wrap your lips around him was strong but you were aching for more and quickly discarded your clothing. only leaving yourself in your panties which you moved to the side. teasing your fingers through your wetness and around your clit just to prep yourself further.

you could tell childe was getting distracted not only by his voice, but his pretty blue eyes as well. his gaze was always so deep and heavy, it felt as if it was heavy with lust.

leaning your back onto his chest yet again, you tilted your head to the side, giving some more gentle chaste kisses to his neck. you could tell childe was reaching his limit for how much longer he could resist but still maintained his composure.

“doing a good job ajax, and still so hard for me too”

you teased dangerously close to his mic which he’d gone silent on. stroking his cock gingerly while you innocently looked into his eyes. his gaze turned to you again, it was piercing and almost felt like a warning.

you opened up your legs, putting them over childes in a straddling position. moving your hand back down, you teased with yourself more, dipping your fingers inside yourself and getting your fingers all messy just from a little touching.

finally pushing childes beating tip inside yourself, the feeling itself making your head tilt back onto his shoulder and let out soft whimpers. it didn’t take long for him to bottom out, your chest heaving and gaze left hazy.

as you began to roll your hips to get some friction going, you quickly realized how meek it was in comparison to how childe usually fucks you. even while you’re on top, you can’t help but need more. then again, he’s so worried about his stupid game and stupid friends he can’t even be bothered to fuck you properly.

your thoughts were clouded until you felt childes hips make contact with your skin. gasping slightly in surprise, you rolled your hips again only to feel him meet you halfway and have that warm oh so pleasurable feeling fill your stomach.

“oh fuck…i can’t take much more”

you moaned out upon feeling childe grab your hips and thrust into you with ease. now noticing how childe had put his controller down to the side of both of you and gripped your waist.

he leaned you back even more so he could work his hips into you even deeper. a hand on your waist coming off to rub your clit and practically make your eyes roll back. what used to be your gentle whimpers now turned into loud moans that he couldn’t help but drink in.

“hah…sorry i can’t focus when you feel this fucking good”

“y-your game…you’re gonna lose”

“i couldn’t care less, let me make you feel good”

[pparadiselost]

the death of a wallflower.

university professor hinata shoyo x university student fem reader your crush on the hot new professor gets out of hand. warning(s): nsfw, unhealthy relationship dynamic (teacher x student), named best friend oc, reader has an unnamed ex, pov change for one of the scenes, non-virgin reader, use of american university setting minors do not interact.

XX UNIVERSITY

XX SEMESTER

WEEK 2

“no, like, our new professor is seriously so hot. like, forget-your-shitty-ex kinda hot. ugh, just wait till you’re in class! you have to believe me!”

minnie’s words echo like the foreshadowing of some porno as you gather yourself outside of the classroom. leave it to your roommate and self-proclaimed best friend to describe the newest professor at your university as “hot,” when most of the faculty are pushing 70 and have the self-awareness of a brick. you honestly have no reason to be this nervous before lecture, but while it might be the start of a boring week two of the semester for your scholarly peers, it’s your first day.

it’s also just your luck to end up with the world’s most horrendous stomach bug right before the semester started. after a few heated email exchanges and a lot of heavy-lifting from minnie, your advisor and dean begrudgingly excused you from classes until you were feeling better.

and now here you are. you took the liberty of showing up to class just a few minutes early to try and talk to your professor to see what exactly you missed, and maybe find a seat. you assumed at this point everyone had their unofficial “official” seats, and you were praying that you could score one somewhere close to minnie.

whatever.

you shake your head like a dog to clear whatever doubts tumbling around in your skull. you’ve dealt with your share of mean professors before, and between forcing yourself to go to class and puking on the floor and dealing with whatever screaming gripe they’ll give you now, you had sagely decided the latter was the better option.

you brace yourself, and you tiptoe into the classroom.

the door squeaks open, and you shuffle inside, almost scared to see what’s on the other side of the door. the classroom is empty, unsurprisingly, and the fairly sized classroom zooms in on a central point: at the professor’s desk. a bag is slumped next to it, and some papers are placed into somewhat neat piles on the desk. a projector illuminates the blackboard behind with its default display.

“ah, welcome in! you’re early!”

you nearly jump out of your own skin at the energetic voice that greets you. standing a few paces from the desk is a young man, dressed crisply in a white button down and formal pants. your eyes crawl up his physique, trailing over the undone button at his throat and the sleeves tastefully rolled up to reveal his toned arms. they’re all classically handsome features, but nothing to write home about—nothing a quick swipe on tinder won’t satiate. 

you step a bit closer. “uh- good morning… i’m a student in your class. i think i emailed you about this a while back, but i was the one that got really sick last week and couldn’t come in.”

you braced yourself for the tirade that you were so used to, the mountain of homework and make up lectures that were bound to be awaiting you. god, you weren’t some kind of study freak, but no one ever likes starting the semester on the wrong foot, especially when that wrong foot means making up a week’s worth of classes all across the board. 

except the tirade never really comes. the man laughs, “so that’s who you are! gotcha, gotcha. well, i can say for sure that it’s much better to see you in person rather than the little yearbook picture i have on my class roster. um… minerva, was it? she said she’d fill you in on the notes that you’ve missed.”

you perk up. “yeah, minnie’s my roommate. and she’s helped me catch up the best she can.”

“awesome! it’s good to hear students helping each other. i mean, that’s what having classmates and roommates is all about anyway,” he continues. you can’t help but notice the charm in his voice, the light rhythm that makes it feel like he’s dancing with his words rather than rambling. “reminds me of my own roommate. tall guy. super awkward. only cared about volleyball. he had this god awful middle part that chased away any girl that remotely found him attractive.”

you fight back a small giggle. he was funny. “i’m glad to say that minnie isn’t anything like that. if anything, i’d say she’s the opposite…”

“oh?” your professor quickly quips. “bit of a boy magnet, is she? i’m just messing with you. but yeah, like i said, it’s lovely to finally meet you. if you have any troubles, don’t ever feel scared to reach out to me. i’d rather that i know what’s going on than to be left guessing, and i promise you whatever ‘stupid’ thing you’re worrying about, i’ve definitely done dumber in my own undergrad years. sound cool?”

your eyes trail upwards again, from the outline of his small waist and broad chest. your mind wanders momentarily, wondering what his workout routine must be. you gloss over his smooth face, marveling at the smooth skin and the sunshine-like smile that tickles his mouth. he really couldn’t be that much older than you, despite being a professor, and if you saw him on the streets, outside of this academic setting, you would have never guessed him to hold such a position of authority with a face this young. his eyes are just like yours, lively but with a tinge of timidness that invites you to probe a bit deeper, a bit closer. and his hair: it’s the most beautiful, sensual shade of sunset orange.

it isn’t like your breath is being taken away in one fell swoop. rather, it feels like he’s coaxing it from you, stealing it away subtly so that you’re left to lean in, fiending for it like a fish caught out of water. 

your gaze meets his, and you’re shoved back down to the correct plane of reality. fuck—you were not about to be caught staring like a creep at your professor on day one on all days…!

you nod shakily. “it’s nice to meet you too, professor-”

“-hinata,” he finishes, beaming even wider at you. “although, i told the class they can call me shoyo if they want to. i’m still pretty new to the whole teaching thing, so being called ‘professor’ feels a bit weird.”

“ah,” your voice drops in volume a tad, “i’m personally more comfortable with ‘professor’, so i’ll stick to that, i think. if it’s okay.”

he holds his hand up in mock surrender. “totally chill. whatever rocks your boat. if you don’t have any more questions, then make yourself comfortable. i think minnie tends to sit… over there, if you wanna get settled down. i know you already got the notes from her, but i promise you didn’t miss much in the first week, so don’t sweat anything.”

“thank you!” you breathe, getting ready to turn on your heel and march to the area professor hinata pointed out. something inside your rib cage trembles as if shocked with electricity, an anticipation for a breath of fresh air that only the beginning of a new semester could bring. you don’t know what to call it exactly. it isn’t quite excitement nor is it giddiness, but a liminal middle ground in between all of it where dread, the need for poise, and opportunity intermingle.

“hey.” 

you glance over your shoulder at the sound of your professor’s voice. your professor grins at you, and in that split second, at you alone. his eyes twinkle fondly.

your breath catches in the back of your throat. 

“let’s have a good semester together, you and i.” 

the brown of his irises feel as if they’re going to swallow you whole. 

you tear your eyes away. 

…

…

…

“sooooooooo,” minnie practically slams your dorm room’s door shut and corners you in the small excuse of a room that you call home while at school. her eyes are brimming with the mischievous glimmer that you know all too well, and she stares you down with the most expectant look on her face. “isn’t the new professor hot? exactly like i told you?”

you dump your bag on the ground, crawling into your bed and immediately finding your place under the sheets. it’s been a long first day for you, and despite feverishly praying to whatever divinity was up above that the rest of your professors would be as kind as professor hinata was, it looks like your calls went wholly unanswered.

you massage the slight ache in your shoulders. “i mean, yeah, he’s an attractive man, and i guess he’s pretty nice. but nothing super out of the ordinary.”

minnie sticks her tongue out, and she pretends to boo you. she huffs her chest out and plants her hands squarely on her hips, clearly not impressed by your review of the new eye candy she’s scoped out. “you’re no fun! i bet you’re only saying this because you’re still hung up about that pathetic scum of a human being you call an ex. c’mon! the best way to get over a shitty boy is to simply find another one!”

something inside your chest twinges with a dull ache, and you flop back onto your bed. “as much as i would love to share your optimism, i don’t think hopping from one boy to another will make me feel any less shitty about this breakup.”

“well, you gotta give me something to work with! and besides,” she sidles up to the side of your bed, and she leans in close to your face, as if she’s whispering a secret to you. “professor hinata isn’t a boy. he’s a man.”

you hold back the urge to throw a pillow at your roommate. you’re grateful that you have minnie to get you out of your own mind sometimes, but at the same time, she better be grateful that she has you to ground her to reality. 

“he’s our professor, minnie!” you pretend to scold her, but you fail at holding back an exasperated smile. “i’m all for you homie hopping through whatever ligma sigma dickma frat you’ve got your eyes on, but faculty are strictly off limits!”

“hey, be nice to me!” she laughs back, reaching over to poke at your cheeks. “doesn’t professor hinata look super young though? like he can’t be that far off from our age. that doesn’t make it that bad, does it?”

you shake your head. “i don’t care how old he is! pursuing your professor is a huge no-no!”

“ughhhhh! i’m trying to find the silver lining for you here! i’d much rather you drool over your hot professor than mope around in bed over your ex all day, okay? besides, it’s not every semester that we get to have a class together AND have a professor that doesn’t dress like fucking paddington,” she groans dramatically. she’s basically swooning at this point, acting as if the notion of a new, handsome romantic prospect for her to chase after and you being disinterested is the end of the world for her. you’re used to this song and dance by now, and you know she’s being theatrical just to get on your nerves. 

it’s funny to you. minnie has a talent for making you laugh over the stupidest things. you barely stifle back a giggle. “leave paddington out of this! the poor guy has done nothing wrong.”

“you get my point!”

you settle back into your cozy spot on your bed, snuggling into your sheets. you don’t want to open up the can of worms that catching up on homework would be just yet, and as fantastical as minnie’s romantic endeavors could be, they make for a good distraction from all the responsibilities you don’t want to face yet. she glances at you lovingly, her fingers drumming against your rackety bed frame.

“but you do think he’s hot, yeah?” she starts. you snort.

“i said i found him to be an attractive man but nothing special, minnie.” you chew over your words, and your eyes flicker up to the white expanse of your ceiling. your mind conjures up images of your new professor, and the relief you had felt when he had treated you so warmly.

he was such a sunny young man, and true to minnie’s guess, probably not that much older than you were. most definitely fresh out of school and figuring things out for himself, your quick interaction with him before class felt more like talking to a classmate or a teacher’s assistant at best, rather than a well-educated professor trying to test his craft and wrangle throngs of antsy college students. you liked talking to him. 

“i’d say he’s more charismatic than hot,” you offer up. minnie guffaws at your answer, and it’s her turn to roll her eyes.

“fine, fine, i get it! you’re not going to bite at whatever temptation i throw at you. that’s my roommate for you, always the toughest nut to crack,” she sighs and shakes her head at you as if you’re hopeless, but you know she means well. there’s nobody else in the world who would care for you like this, go this much out of her way to make sure you don’t feel alone. 

it’s almost enough to dispel the thoughts of your new professor from your mind. 

almost.

your heart softens around the edges when your mind pushes the image of him alone with you into your mind. just that one cadence, no longer than thirty seconds at most, when it was only the two of you in that empty classroom, with no other soul in the room to shield you from the incoming stranger wedging his way into your life—just you and him, caught in that suspended moment.

he’s still so beautiful in your memory. 

“-anyways,” minnie’s loud voice jostles you from your thoughts. heat rushes to your face in embarrassment, as if you had been caught doing something bad red-handed. she doesn’t seem to notice, and you choke back your guilt on losing track of yourself over your new professor in favor of whatever minnie’s spouting next. she purses her lips in thought. “i’m feeling kinda peckish, so what do you say about getting takeout for dinner?”

“we have food in our fridge,” you curtly remind her.

she groans in utter defeat, flopping onto you over the side of your bed. “you’re such a goody two shoes! what in the world will ever get you to break?”

…

…

…

WEEK 4

what in the world, indeed. 

you fidget listlessly inside professor hinata’s office. you’ve never seen him with glasses before, but a pair is perched slightly crooked on his nose as he clicks at the big monitors on his desk, probably pulling up whatever answer you scrawled out on the google form he had sent out a few days prior. you’ve always been a little antsy whenever meeting with a professor in general, but make it a mandatory one-on-one meeting with a certain professor that seems to make your heart act up and you’re vibrating so hard that you might as well cause an earthquake.

“so…,” he starts, skimming your response, “i really like what you wrote here. think you can tell me more about what you have planned for your final project?”

you lick your lips and swallow, and you’re suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is. “uh, yeah. i’m sure minnie’s already told you most of it-”

you stop dead in your tracks when professor hinata raises a hand, cutting you off. you pause, a prickle of dread swirling in your stomach.

he smiles apologetically. “sorry, i really don’t like interrupting students. but this is your final project, and i want to hear your ideas. not minnie’s. i know you wrote that you two want to do it as a pair, and that’s fine. but your ideas are just as valuable as yours are, and this time is reserved so i can pick at your brain, not hers.”

“r-right…,” you murmur. your heart flutters the slightest bit when you realize he’s paying special attention to you, but you shut any excitement down immediately. you were a goddamn adult and a college student. what kind of person would you be if you couldn’t hold it together around your professor, who 100% without a doubt saw you as a pupil? you mentally scold yourself for finding your instructor’s undivided attention appealing.

“like you said,” you start up, your voice still quiet, “i thought it’d be nice to do a joint research thing with minnie, and we wanted to focus on our campus’ experience with single versus shared dorm life. we figured something like that would be easy to find professional data for on a much larger scale, so we can compare and contrast with our own findings.”

he hums to himself. you keep your eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind him, not wanting your eyes to wander. it isn’t like professor hinata always comes to class impeccably dressed in a suit and tie or anything, but he also has a horrendously good sense of fashion that makes you instinctively shy away a bit. he’s dressed nicely today too: in a sweater with a white button down underneath that peeks over the collar of the sweater and what should be loose black pants that fit tightly around his thighs. you hate yourself for noticing these details. 

“that sounds like a pretty solid plan to me. i like how far you’re thinking ahead. research like this usually takes a lot of time and energy, so it’s good to have a vision for what you plan to do at the end. do you have any thoughts as to how you’re going to collect data? i suppose reaching out to housing would help with pure numbers, but for tackling the more social and emotional parts, you’ll need to do that yourself.” 

you’re keenly aware of when he glances towards you, his gaze burning into you like a magnifying glass held up to the sun. god, you shouldn’t be so on edge around him, and yet something about how casual he is with you and just how sweet he is with you makes you that much more stiff. you don’t dare meet his eyes.

maybe it’s that vulnerable intimate one-on-one that’s making you so much more aware of his presence, or maybe it’s the close confines of his office, but you know you’re going to waver if you make eye contact with him. 

“minnie and i wanted to conduct physical surveys. we were planning on contacting the different r.a.s of each housing building and asking the school for the information to off campus housing managers. that way we can distribute questions as far as we can,” you recited stately. “we even considered maybe putting in a raffle reward for responses, which would incentivize people to actually respond instead of ignoring it.”

professor hinata whistles. “i’m impressed. you two have really thoroughly thought all of this through! you never fail to impress me with how much attention to detail you put with your schoolwork. i wish all of my students were as diligent as you were sometimes.”

you bite down on your tongue, and it takes all of your willpower to not let some kind of fucked up glee swell inside your chest. “thank you, professor. the idea was originally minnie’s idea, but i was the one that really did most of the work ironing out the kinks.”

he laughs heartily. “i can imagine. between the two of you, i can tell that you’re the more responsible one by a long shot. don’t get me wrong: minnie’s a wonderful student. but at the end of the day, it’s still you cleaning up her messes, isn’t it?”

“yeah,” you bashfully admit. you can’t even count the number of times you’ve been the one to pick her up from her drunken escapades or be the one to force her into bed after holding her hair while she pukes. as much emotional stability as she gives you, she does need a tad bit of mothering. “but she’s still a great friend. i couldn’t ask for a better roommate. we might have opposite personalities, but we balance each other out perfectly, i think.”

“that’s good to hear! it’s always nice to know my students are getting along. especially quieter ones like you.” he leans forward in his seat, almost as if he’s whispering a secret to you. “us professors aren’t allowed to have favorites, but it’s human nature to always root a little for the well-behaved underdogs.”

you swallow a bit more harshly. there’s a lump in your throat. you really, really need to do something about whatever you feel towards your professor, because you know deep down that it’s wrong to keep wanting his attention like this. he’s being friendly and watching out for you, because he knows you’re the plain mouse-like student amongst a sea of wild young adults carving their way in the world. he’s only helping you, only complimenting you because he’s genuine and wants to see you do well, and you’re hoarding that attention and craving it like a man starved.

“she’s done a lot to get me where i am right now,” you admit, wanting to deflect. “i broke up with my now ex-boyfriend over the summer, and she did so much to make sure i was doing okay. i know you probably don’t care that much about messy college student drama, but… she has my back until the end.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i don’t mind. trust me, professors love hearing about student drama as much as the students do. also if it helps me get to know you better, then it doesn’t hurt, does it? having more information, no matter how silly, is better than knowing nothing about you at all.”

“i mean, it really is silly.” you’re trying very hard not to look him in the face. your eyes flit everywhere but, looking at your hands, the neckline of his sweater, the peeling wallpaper, anything. “i really liked that guy, and he ran off and cheated on me. i caught him red handed and did the right thing by confronting him and immediately breaking things off, but it’s not like you can wake up and decide that you don’t like someone anymore, no matter how awful he was to me.”

“i’m sorry that happened to you. it’s never fun to feel betrayed by someone you trusted, especially romantically.” he taps his fingers together.

you wave him off, shrugging. “i’m a lot better about it now! it hurts every now and then, but i’m choosing to focus on myself. i did nothing wrong, and it’s better for me to have cut him off than to turn a blind eye. and minnie’s always inviting me out to all sorts of things to take my mind off of it too.”

“that’s good. i wish i could say relationships get easier once you become an adult, but… there’s no cheat key to things like love. you gotta roll up your sleeves and do the nitty gritty work.” he feigns rolling his sleeves up, and he shakes his head. a blur of orange flickers like candle light in the corner of your eye. “even full grown adults do terrible things to each other. but just like you said, it makes you appreciate the bonds that stay true to you even through your hardships.”

“clearly,” you breathe. your voice is airy, almost strained. god, he was just so easy to spill your heart to. why couldn’t your ex be like this? professor hinata is thoughtful, intelligent, and emotionally mature. you need to step away, need to keep your distance, but even your attempts to deflect yourself away from the growing attachment you have to your instructor only ends with him expertly spinning things into his favor.

he chuckles to himself and leans back into his seat. “my mom would always say that it’s better to be single and free than to be miserable and tied down. besides, you’re only in college! the big wide world is waiting for you! i promise you, there are far better guys out there that can treat you the way you deserve to be treated. one failed college relationship isn’t going to doom you for the rest of your life, okay? take this one from your prof.”

“i’m sure.” 

you don’t doubt his words. the little resolve, the sliver of morality lingering inside your turmoiled brain, is crackling. it’s wrong to lean this forward towards your professor, to grasp and grip at the stray straws you can see, and yet, it feels so good. the heady silence that settles over the two of you is reminiscent of your first meeting with him, back to the moment when it was only you and him in the same way it is now. 

but things are different today. he knows more about you. you’ve learned to trust him. he’s always respected you, but it’s clear that he treats you like an adult on equal footing with him rather than your other professors who act as if you were born yesterday. he genuinely cares for you.

you subconsciously steel your stomach, and you sneak your eyes upwards from the hemline of his sweater. your gaze trickles cautiously over his broad chest and his neck, over the detail of his lips and nose, apple-like cheeks, before eventually meeting his inquisitive one. you unintentionally let out a choked sigh, like the wind is being squeezed out from your lungs.

his eyes light up and smile at you, as if to say “finally.” 

you can’t breathe.

you want to lean in; you want to close that impossible gap that tenses and pulses between the two of you. what kind of tension is this? something so forbidden, so magnetic, so undeniable yet unavailable for the taking… it feels like torture, to see your meek reflection staring back at you in the wide sclera and captivating brown irises of professor hinata’s eyes, and to be able to do nothing about it. this was the devastating nature of attraction, knowing that your personal insanity might amount to nothing the very instant you handed your fate over to another.

knock knock knock. 

you nearly splutter over your own inhale before jerking away back into your seat. a loud knocking noise repeats itself around the small confines of his office, and you’re left stunned, your heart hammering like a death toll inside your tense ribcage. you drop your face down to the floor, not daring to tear your eyes away from anywhere other than the anchoring, humiliating safety of the ground.

“ah, looks like our time is up. it seems like the next student is here,” professor hinata explains, much to your simultaneous dismay and relief. this isn’t a line you can cross, and yet you crossed some kind of personal boundary you set up for yourself right there when you snuck a glimpse into your professor’s eyes. 

“i-i’ll get going. thank you for the meeting,” you stammer, hurriedly grabbing your things and almost stumbling over your feet to get to the door. “i’ll keep working on my project- and uh- i’ll reach out to you if i have any questions…!”

you don’t know what kind of face he must be making, not when you don’t have the courage to look at him again. you sprint out of the door, away from the tense sparks that lay dying out into fumes between the two of you, surely a machination of your deprived brain. the hallway echoes with the sound of your footsteps as you half-run-half-speed-walk away from the office, wanting to go anywhere else as quickly as your clumsy feet would take you.

how could you be so stupid? not only do you end up blabbing about a bad breakup to him, revealing that you’re single, but you’re idiotic enough to think that his goodwill is something you can entertain into something further.

you hate to admit it.

you’re falling in love with your professor. 

…

…

…

WEEK 7

“you should go out with me this weekend.”

“i’ll think about it.”

“pleaseeeeeeee? i basically have my outfit picked out, and i’m dying to get a matching one for you! it’s been so long since you let me dress you up, and i’m itching to do something fun with you for the weekend! please? pretty please? with sprinkles and oreos and whipped cream and cherries on top?”

you groan, tempted to slam your head into your desk. “minnie, i said i’ll think about it. i’ve already seen the five million instagram dms you’ve sent me begging to go to whatever frat party is being thrown.”

“it’s sig-chi,” she reminds you, as if that’s the important part. some of the students next to you shoot the two of you odd glances, and you flash a weak smile, inwardly apologizing for minnie’s obliviousness when it came to blurting your business. it wasn’t like the entire class heard, thank god, but the noise levels weren’t high enough where you could act a bit more stealthily. you wish it was, even if it was only to spare you from whatever social embarrassment your mostly well-meaning roommate was bound to put you through.

you turn your attention back to the work you’re trying to get done. you’re grateful professor hinata gives you time in class to work on your final projects. after that fateful instance in office hours with him where you came face-to-face with your feelings, you haven’t been able to really act normally around your instructor. fearing for your own sanity, you’ve done everything you possibly can to avoid interacting with him one-on-one. it’s not like something like that is particularly difficult to do, but your heart still skips a beat and lodges itself in the back of your throat when he catches you in the hallway, greeting you with a light “good to see you!” before squeezing past you.  

your cheeks sting with heat when you think about him. you bite down only your tongue, willing for the dull pain to ground you. minnie hums absentmindedly next to you, completely unaware of the hell that she’s partially responsible for, and she taps away at her phone. 

“hey, hey, look at this! isn’t this outfit sooooo cute? it would look perfect on you! and if i order it today, it should get here in time for the sig-chi function!” she sticks her phone screen in your face, and you instinctively recoil away. 

your blood runs cold when you see the outfit she’s showing you. it’s a cute sparkly little number, except for the fact that it would cover barely anything if you were to put it on. one wrong move in it, and your whole chest and ass would be out for the world to see. and that’s not including the already exposed midriff it would entail. “it’s cute, but- i don’t know if i could wear something like that…”

“nonsense! i can see you perfectly in it! it’ll be awesome!” she quickly cuts you off. “a cute but still slutty outfit is key to every good party! i bet you’ll have all of the guys in there chasing after you in this. oh, the color will sooooo make your eyes pop, and i think i can really make your features shine with a bit of my make up too…”

you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. embarrassment prickles like red-hot thorns underneath your face, and you try to grab at minnie’s phone. “minnie! you know i don’t wear things like that!”

“exactly! it’s all the more reason why! i’m trying to help you make your debut on the university dating scene,” the girl responds as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you’ll be thanking me once you have a drop dead gorgeous six foot something basketball player wrapped around your little finger. trust me, i’m the expert in these kinds of things.”

“that’s not the point!” you hiss. ugh, you should really know better than to talk reason into her during one of her frenzied rants. you have absolutely zero intention of actually going out to one of these sleazy frat parties, let alone wear a skimpy outfit in order to bait a boy! you need time and patience to heal your broken heart, not… her wild schemes. you would rather bite off your tongue than go through whatever public humiliation ritual is involved with flirting at a frat party.

“ladies,” a deep yet sunny voice cuts through your annoyed inner monologue like a hot knife through butter, “i hope we’re actually getting work done. you wouldn’t be goofing off in my class, would you?”

your blood turns into ice for the second time within minutes, and when you peel your eyes up from your desk, your fear comes true when you see professor hinata standing there. his hands are on his hips, and despite his teasingly scolding tone, he’s sporting a bright smile.

you curse yourself inwardly, and you’re mentally scrambling to make an excuse.

“professor! look at this! wouldn’t this look so good on (y/n)?” minnie’s a step ahead of you. you audibly splutter over your breath, and you shove your head into your hands. she giggles as she sticks her phone in your professor’s face, and you’ve never been more mortified in your life.

professor hinata’s eyes widen at the more-lingerie-than-actual-clothing that’s being bombarded into his eyes, and he coughs, waving his hand. “woah, i’m not sure if i’m the right person to be asking that, minnie! why don’t we save the party talk for after class?”

she pretends to be exasperated, and she jokingly rolls her eyes. “ugh, you two are hopeless! you have to help me out here, professor. i’m trying to get (y/n) to loosen up a bit and have some fun with me! isn’t it true that you feel loads better when you do a bit of dolling up?”

“well, yes, but it looks like (y/n) here isn’t too keen on that idea. take it easy on the party going, and let’s focus more on your final project. trust me when i say your deadlines will be creeping up on you fast,” he easily brushes minnie off. she smiles brightly and nods, and only then does she finally turn to her computer and start compiling her research.

you want lightning to strike you down and burn you to a crisp. you peel your head out of your hands, and your weary eyes meet your professor’s. he grins understandingly at you, and he reaches forward to squeeze your shoulder empathetically.

“...!”

you grit your teeth, your eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights as electricity courses through your body. the skin where his hand just was feels like it had been burned, thrown completely off guard by the sudden contact.

“are you doing okay?” he whispers. his voice is soft and quiet, coaxing you out of your panicked state. it’s a voice reserved solely for you, one that only you can hear, and your blood is being weighed down by figurative iron when your heart flutters. “take it easy now. don’t let her goad you into doing something you don’t want to do.”

your lips feel clumsy. “she means well. i’m fine. she talks big, but she won’t actually do anything without my express permission.”

he’s more of a danger to you than minnie will ever be. you wish you had the courage or brainlessness to blurt something like that, but the bitter revelation stays curled up into the flesh of your still tongue, burning and scalding you like the unspoken confession it is.

“that’s good to hear. take care of yourself though. if she keeps fretting over you, you’ll make me worry too, you hear?” his nose crinkles a little when he squeezes your shoulder again. did he always have freckles? or are you only noticing them now that he’s up close and you have nowhere else to focus except for his face? you hate it, hate this tension, hate the way you can’t control yourself despite knowing better.

you hang your head, forcibly tearing your eyes away from your handsome professor. you lie through your teeth. “i’ll be okay, professor.”

…

…

…

“ohhhhh, fuck…!”

shoyo double, triple, quadruple-checked to make sure that his office door was firmly locked around him. it would be the literal death of his academic career if someone were to catch him doing what he was about to do, and he wasn’t that keen on throwing aside his future just yet. 

he had made a beeline for his office the moment class let out. it took every bone in his body, every last bit of willpower he has ever known in his entire life to keep his sunny facade up and to make sure no one would see his mask slip. he can’t afford it, and yet he’s still gambling too riskily. he’s cutting it too close to safety to relax fully, but he can’t stop.

his cock twitches and strains in his pants, begging for his attention. he leans his back against the firm wooden door, his breathing shallowing as lewd images flash behind his eyes. fuck—he really should know how to control himself better than this, actually listen to the angel in his brain telling him that he should really quit being so attracted to his students.

correction: student. 

correction again: you.

his fingers unconsciously unbuckle his belt, and his pants drop down to his ankles. he grits his teeth, a strangled breath escaping his clenched teeth as he palms the prominent bulge in his boxers. it was one thing to ride out his delusions on his own, savoring the forbidden dregs of toeing the line between professionalism and a taboo romance. 

you played the part so well too. like a frightened doe that would run away if he moved too quickly, you were good at keeping your walls up and fending off his quiet advances enough. the push and pull had him reeling: part of him wanting him to do better and to act properly as a new professor should, and another wondering how much cuter you’d be bent over his desk and your pretty cunt stuffed full of his cock.

“...shit-,” he hisses as his hands slip underneath his boxers. it only takes a few strokes for his cock to fully get hard, and the cool air of the office hits his sensitive skin like a flurry of ice. heat courses through his body, and he feels awful.

he shouldn’t be doing this. he shouldn’t be getting aroused by his student and jerking off in his office, but here he was. the last straw was seeing your roommate pitch that damn slutty outfit. you looked so innocent and so sweet, clearly not a party animal, but how often did your roommate swing you around? did you get down and wild if pushed far enough? shit, was your good girl thing just a ruse to get brownie points with him?

“fuck- fuuuuck…!” he starts stroking himself, palm swiping from base to tip, squeezing his cockhead a hair. dull pleasure swirls deep inside of his stomach, and he moves his hips into his palm, the friction downright addictive.

he imagines you in that outfit, your tits and ass basically out for the world to see. maybe you’d let your friend drag you out to her silly party. maybe you’d act shy there too, skirting around the sidelines of the dance room, sipping nervously on your drink. maybe the alcohol would make your head buzz a bit and you’d get a bit bolder. maybe you’d let some douchey frat bro feel you up, that dumb bastard not knowing how good he has it by getting your attention.

shoyo groans under his breath. god, you shouldn’t be wasting your energy and time on stupid college boys. all they would do is exploit you and leave you for dead, even though you were clearly the best thing to walk into their lives. 

he thumbs over his weeping tip, moaning throatily as he presses into his slit. his chest rises and falls, the electric feeling making his knees go weak. touching himself never felt this good. nothing came close to that buzzing high of being deprived of you.

his mind doesn’t stop wandering. raunchy thoughts of you dancing floods his brain. he imagines you grinding up against him, your soft ass pressing up against his crotch. he’d buck his hips against yours, let the heat mount as his hands wander over your body, that skimpy outfit of you doing nothing to protect you from him. you’d glance back at him, feeling his strong chest up on your back, the muscles of his arms tensing when you pull him flush against you. your eyes would have that drunken haze to them, intoxicated off of whatever was in your cup and getting down and dirty with your professor. 

it reminds him of his own idiotic undergraduate days, ones he thought he matured past when he became a proper working adult. clearly not, if the thought of dancing with you and feeling you up has him furiously fisting his hard cock. 

he needs to be inside you. he doesn’t want to feel his hand on his cock anymore. he wants to ruin that pristine image you have. he wants to see you crying and moaning, going from his stellar unassuming pupil to some cock crazed slut, begging for him to fuck you harder, to fuck you deeper, completely at his mercy. he wants to see your clothes in tatters with nothing to shield you from his almost animalistic lust, for you to see him as a proper grown man who wants to pamper you as much as he wants to ruin you rather than some stuffy professor.

it’s downright problematic how much he needs you. it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. no, he’s a gentleman. he wants you to want him, even if it’s only to ease the guilt nagging at his heart. you’re too smart for your own good, and yet when you’re surrounded by all these bad apples nipping at your heels and waiting for you to stumble, it’s no wonder that you’ve become so holed in.

you simply need someone who’ll treat you right. who’ll make you shine. who’ll be a proper lover, someone that can actually step up to that mantle.

“hah- god fucking dammit…! fuck- fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck- shit…! fucking hell, god- fuck!” his grip on his cock tightens, and he thinks his body is going to break. the dopamine buzz in his mind is almost explosive, and he knows he can’t control himself for much longer. he's close, so close, egged onto the edge by fantasizing about the thought of his student in a revealing party outfit. 

what kind of scum did that make him? if his mind was any clearer, he might know, but it isn’t. all that his sex-riddled brain can make out is how badly he wants your body. he craves the weird sick satisfaction of being the one to stretch out your sweet hole with his girthy length, to fill every little bit of your womb up with pumps of his hot cum, to pleasure you so thoroughly that he’ll ruin sex for the rest of your life—unless it’s with him, of course.

you flicker behind his eyes again. your body trembles against his as he pretends he’s thrusting into you rather than his pre-cum drenched hand. your cunt quivers and tightens around him, and your face is stained with your tears. mascara runs down your cheeks, and your lipstick is smeared messily all over your mouth. your legs shake around his hips as he fucks into you, tip easily squeezing and abusing that sweet spot deep inside your body.

“what a pretty girl.” he’d praise you, take his sweet time making sure you get all the loving you deserve. “how could someone as pretty as you stay out of my sight for so long?”

the image of you in his mind bucks your hips back against him, and the pleasure that explodes around his cock has him weak in the knees. he’s so close, so close to giving you his seed, to marking you as his. he’s humping into you desperately, wanting you to feel that impeccable stretch, pierced and plowed by him, driven to madness by his infatuation.

“i’m here! i’m yours!” you pant out. you’re starstruck. smitten. everything he’s wanted.

“-kgh…!” 

warmth overtakes his entire body, and strong ropes of cum escape from him. he grits his teeth, clenching his jaw and willing himself to keep his moans to himself. he’s dead meat if he gets caught masturbating to the thought of his student in his office. cum spills out all over his office floor and coats his hands, spilling and spilling like the pent up frustration bottled away in his heart. he furiously strokes himself through his orgasm, and sparks fly in his brain, pleasure coursing through his veins like one giant shockwave.

he throws his head back, gasping for air as his cock sputters, the last drops of virile cum leaking out and covering his fingers. his cock slowly softens in his hand, and he sucks in deep inhales, the cool air soothing the heat enveloping his entire body. 

shoyo’s mind feels fuzzy and distant, like he’s been shoved out of this plane of existence temporarily. his limbs are weak, and his abs tense and coil in on itself as he forces himself to steady his breathing. his vision is blurred slightly around the edges, but the world emerges back into focus with each passing inhale and exhale.

he hasn’t even fully come down from his high, but he knows that the lack of guilt he’s feeling is wrong. he should feel bad, he should feel dirty, he should feel like he’s done something criminal. what professor jerks off to his student and doesn’t feel any sort of post-nut clarity? he swallows heavily, but the knot in his throat that should be there is nowhere to be found.

he doesn’t want to give his growing interest in you any more attention than it needs. the last thing he should be doing is fanning the flames, and just now, he fed the monster when he should be depriving it, starving it.

his gaze crests downwards, towards the pristine streaks of pearly cum all over his hand and the floor. he knows he’s beyond saving when he bitterly wishes all of it could have gone inside of you and your sweet pussy instead of being wasted on nothing.

“...let’s clean up,” he whispers to no one in particular. he hates the apathy he feels, reaching almost robotically for the kleenex he kept on his desk, not a single prick of guilt or wrongdoing stirring in his body as he moves clumsily through the aftershocks of his orgasm to rid the proof that he had even touched himself to the thought of you to begin with. you don’t have to know that he ever jerked off to you or the fact that his desire for you grows and festers like a rotten wound inside of his heart. because that is what it is in the eyes of everything that is moral and good: rotten.

but what you don’t know can’t kill you.

…

…

…

WEEK 10

you had dreaded the next mandatory meeting with professor hinata for a while now. you had done such a good job of keeping a low profile for a while now, only ever addressing your instructor when it was absolutely necessary and whatever interactions you needed so that he wouldn’t pick up on the fact that you were purposefully avoiding him.

you had also done a good job at keeping minnie’s eagerness at bay. your final project for professor hinata’s class was a very handy excuse to avoid going out to parties with her, and crunching the data also did an exceptional job at keeping you busy instead of moping about in your room alone.

you’d think at this point in the semester you’d have quit being so hung up over your ex and your general failure of a love life, but seeing that your romantic prospect was a crush on your professor that you were actively trying to get over for your own sake, clearly things weren’t looking great for you.

but this was something you couldn’t escape. you sit on your hands to keep yourself from more or less bolting out of professor hinata’s office. his eyes are glued to the monitors on his desk in good professor-like fashion, scanning over the work you’ve handed in for him to check.

you’ve done this song and dance before. you’ve been stuck in his office before, too scared to make eye contact with your professor out of fear as to your heart betraying you. you have to keep a firm grip on yourself, and you look at your professor but make it a point not to look at his face.

“man, i know i say this every time i look over your progress, but you really do outdo yourself. you deserve a pat on the back,” he remarks, smiling proudly as he leans back in his seat. “you’re definitely in a good place for where we are in the semester, and as long as you keep at it, i’d say you’ll easily get an a for your final grade.”

“thank you,” you quietly state. he’s dressed simply today, in a black turtleneck and jeans. it makes his bright orange hair stand out that much more, and you try with all your might not to stare too hard at the obvious outlines of his toned pecs and waist straining against the fabric of the sweater.

he looks good today too. you want to eat your own fist and curl up into a ball to cry. it was like for every step forward your determination took to keep yourself in check, professor hinata threw a screwball at you to make you take two steps back.

you wish things would go as smoothly as it did the last time you were here, vulnerable to his scrutiny and left with your own flimsy defenses. the same thick tension hangs in the air again, and you pray that you won’t act out of place.

“so,” his voice cuts through your thoughts, like it always does. he knows how to catch you right off guard, wedging himself right into the split-second crack in your judgment. “all i’ve got to say is that i’m excited to see your actual final all put together. your findings are going to be really interesting, and i’m also looking forward to comparing what you find against whatever conclusions minnie draws from the same data. i don’t mean to get so personal again, but the two of you are so different that i wonder if your findings will be that stark too.”

you inhale, fixing your eyes on a spot behind him as if it was ritual to ground yourself that way. “i won’t spoil too much of her stuff, but she also has some pretty cool ideas. she’s told me some things that i wouldn’t have thought to consider in her part of the project, so… just something to get you more hyped!”

he chuckles, the low cadence of his voice making your heart flutter a beat. “i’ll take your word for it. i hope she’s treating you well. i know that you know your bond with her better than i ever will, but i really hope her energetic personality isn’t too overbearing for you. you come to me if you have any issues, okay?”

“i appreciate it. but i’m fine, really. she’s a lot, i know, but she means it out of love,” you reply methodically. this isn’t the first time someone has scrutinized your relationship with her, often misconstruing her enthusiasm and your more quiet personality to her mistreating you. sure, you two don’t see eye-to-eye about everything, but you wouldn’t hold her so close if she wasn’t someone who would see things through thick and thin for you. 

he nods. “alright, i trust you. but it never hurts to be vigilant. take it from someone with a bit more life experience than you do: people can still hurt you and claim that it’s from a place of love. this isn’t to say that minnie’s a bad person, but you and i have something special. i want you to stay safe.”

something lodges in the back of your throat. your mind swirls dangerously, and you can’t think. special? you and him have something special? you almost laugh unconsciously; it’s like despite all the work you did to keep your heart under lock and key, he’s determined to burrow his way in there. 

you hate how easily you crumble. all it took him was one well timed sentence with that stupidly charming voice of his, and it made weeks on weeks of self-imposed deprivation disappear like dust.

“don’t worry, i’ve been doing a lot of work to take care of myself. do you remember that ex i told you about? after him, i did a lot of work reevaluating the people closest to me and whether or not i trusted them blindly,” you hesitate, pursing your lips and sucking your cheeks in a little. you comb over your next thoughts carefully. talking with professor hinata is a mental game of its own, and you feel like you’re playing against an impossible opponent. “there’s… definitely a more eloquent way for me to have phrased all of that, but… you get the point.”

“i do. god, you poor thing. how could anyone hurt someone like you like he did? i know i’m biased as your professor, but even then… you’re so bright and kind. he really fumbled. that’s my two cents.” his shoulders shake a bit as he laughs, the sound coming from somewhere deep inside of his chest. your stomach feels queasy, and every part of your body wants to swoon. your attraction to him is trouble. it’s fatal. 

you dig your nails into the flesh of your palms. the stinging pain does little to bring you back to your good conscience, but it’s something to focus on other than the hazy lapses in judgment that dance inside your mind. “it’s all growing pains. this is what being an adult means, doesn’t it? you said so yourself last time we talked. there’s bound to be someone better out there in the world.”

you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s looking at you. the office feels constricting and so much smaller than you remember it to be, as if the walls are actively moving in closer and keeping you trapped in there with your deathly charismatic professor. 

“yes.” his voice drops a bit in volume, and it sounds almost intimate. “yes, i did say that.”

something possesses you. it creeps in quietly, like a drop of ink dispersed into a glass of clear water. no, you shouldn’t say that; whatever was plaguing you had taken root months ago. whatever you were trying to save was just a remnant of the ruin in your head. you swallow thickly, almost like you were trying to press your logic, your goodness, your moral conscience back down into nothingness.

you lift your face. his sweet eyes are there to greet you, and they light up when you meet his gaze. his eyes are warm and welcoming, and you’re instantly entranced. he’s beautiful, insanely beautiful, and the brown color has you floored. you want to reach out and cup his face, and you want to just stare into his eyes forever. it’s like he’s a siren that’s called out to you specifically, tempting you to inch closer and to let him take you away, entranced forever. your lips start quivering. you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t reflect and let out one last pathetic struggle to cling to what you know to be right.

maybe things would have been different then. maybe if you tried harder, you’d have picked the morally correct thing. maybe you’d walk out of professor hinata’s office unscathed, your relationship tense but still at the boundary it should be at, and you’d graduate and put your crush behind you as nothing more than a silly infatuation. 

but you don’t. some repressed part of your mind slips. the words tumble from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“i wish it could be you.”

you instantly throw your hands over your mouth, your eyes widening in shock. regret flashes through your entire being, and your face burns with shame. professor hinata gasps softly, but he doesn’t say anything.

“sorry-,” you fumble, your stomach twisting into horrid knots. panic shoots through your brain, and you’re screaming internally at yourself. you want to say something, anything, apologize profusely, but the gears in your head won’t turn. your entire mental processes are overrun with nothing but sheer panic, and you feel like your brain has turned into a piece of useless metal. “i-i’m sorry…! i didn’t mean it like that- i wasn’t thinking… i just- i don’t know what came over me.”

“hey, hey, calm down.” he reaches forward, leaning over his desk, and a firm hand plants itself on your knee. you almost jerk away from him, like his touch would hurt you, and your professor can see the wild, feral fear in your eyes.

it’s one thing to deal with your illicit feelings on your own, but to accidentally blurt them and make them known to him? to professor hinata? the very object of your forbidden affections?

“it’s okay. it’s okay. i’m being serious, it’s alright. there’s no need to freak out.” his words cut into the blinding flurry of thoughts in your head. “talk to me, here. you good?”

you nod frantically, forcing a deep breath in through your nose. “i’m fine. i’m okay, i promise. i… please ignore what i just said.”

he retracts his hand. he swallows, and you can see his adam’s apple bob underneath the neckline of his turtleneck sweater. you should know better than to look into his eyes again, not when every time looking into his face spelled trouble for you, but when you stare up at him helplessly, he looks nothing like the bubbly, carefree professor you knew.

his pupils are blown wide open, and there’s a kind of intensity settling inside of his eyes that you’ve never seen before. his lips are parted just slightly, like he’s about to say something but the words are caught on the tip of his tongue. a shiver tiptoes down your spine. he looks like a man haunted, the once cordial candlelight-esque brown of his irises running big and reckless like a wildfire. 

you don’t recognize this side of him, but you don’t dislike it either. you lick your lips quickly, suddenly aware of your extremely dry mouth.

he lets out a deep exhale through his nose. “...i need you to listen to me.”

“i am,” you squeak back. your mind flashes back to minnie, to your superstar queen bee of a roommate. how would she navigate something like this? knowing her, she would navigate this gracefully. she could probably play it off as a joke and laugh around with professor hinata. she could bat her eyelashes and charm him, maybe pass this off as a bit of awkward flirting and walk away scot free. you’ve never had the same social grace that she manages to pull off so effortlessly. 

“i… i apologize if i’m reading too much in between the lines.” he sounds strained, as if he’s holding a part of him back. his eyes are locked onto you, honed in as if you’ll skirt away out of his sight. “but i don’t think either of us can ignore whatever it is we have going on. i want to make myself clear here. i am your professor, and you are my student. the mature, responsible thing for me to do as your instructor is to ignore your remark and to move on. if that is what you want, then i will let you walk out of my office. we can pretend nothing happened. everything that happened here stays between us.”

you pause, and you wring your hands together. you know that that’s the choice you should take. that your relegated role in this song and dance is to be the good kid and to never stray away from your place as a nobody bookworm with good grades and nothing special. and yet your mouth moves, “...is there another option?”

he clenches his jaw. he has to be at his limit, just as much as you are. you see the edge in his eyes, flaring like sparks, waiting for you to touch and him to come away burned. you don’t care. you’re hurtling straight at the point of no return, and you’re burning up, beautiful and flaming and waiting to be consumed into nothingness.

“i… we take care of this whole thing. but i want to make sure you want this as much as i do. i hope you understand the gravity of what this means for both of us. it’s very, very wrong for a teacher and a student to be in love with each other.” professor hinata takes a big breath in, and he shoves his hand through the wild tufts of his orange hair. “but if you are insistent on pursuing this route with me, so long as you’re willing to accept your responsibility, then…” 

he stops, and he whispers the last part, barely and only loud enough for your ears, “...i can’t say that i can refuse you.”

your hands curl into decisive fists in your lap. so this is where you are. these are the conditions that life has mercilessly thrown at your feet. your heart and brain are at odds with each other. your mind screams at you to think of your future, that your life would certainly be ruined if anyone would find out that you had an illicit relationship with your professor. and what about him? it would spell a certain social death for him too if he were to be found out.

but your heart begs. you’ve ignored its cries for basically your entire life now, always picking the expected thing, pushing down your own wants in exchange for the security and the safety of a quiet life. this is one time in your life that you’ve truly wanted something, truly yearned for it with your entire existence. how is it fair to deny this from yourself? haven’t you given enough up? you gave up sociability when making friends with minnie, gave up a chance at normalcy when breaking up with your ex, and now love with professor hinata?

“i know there’s a right answer, professor hinata,” you hang your head. uneasiness claws at your ribcage, but the desire bubbling up inside of you hurts even more. “but i’m sorry. i don’t think i have it in me to be good anymore.”

he waits a beat, and the silence hangs above you like the weight of a million sins. the laugh he lets out is airy, relieved. “i was hoping you’d say that. well… come here. let me have you.”

you don’t know how you don’t trip over your own feet as you get up. you walk over to him as if in a trance, looking down at your professor with shaking eyes. he looks so confident as he grins up at you, legs spread slightly in that old office chair of his, every part of him just as inviting and tempting as the day you first laid eyes on him.

you’re practically crawling into his lap, and his strong arms are around you. his mouth is instantly on yours, and you gasp, the feeling of soft lips consuming you entirely. this wasn’t your first kiss by a long shot, but it was your first kiss with him. and god, it was everything those stupid romance movies made a kiss out to be: electric, addictive, leaving you dizzy and giddy and reeling in his embrace.

you’re glad he’s there to hold you. you place your hands shyly on his chest, warmth pooling in your stomach when you can feel the strong tension of his muscles. you never realized you were this downright touch starved, basically melting into putty in his hands as he kisses you over and over again, the hushed sounds of your lips locked together and breathless pants filling the room. 

your head spins. this must be the charm of an experienced lover. his touches mold into yours, adjusting to you and making you feel as if you can put your trust wholly into him. his tongue laps at your lips, and you let him in, let him swirl his tongue deep into your mouth. you feel so full on the inside, your chest swelling with everything you’re repressed coming out now in droves. his tongue moves around yours, and your ears drink up the lewd sounds of your french kissing. 

his hands grasp at you firmly, memorizing your touch and the way your body feels under his palms. his thick thighs make for the perfect seat, and you cling to him as he kisses you. making out with him feels like an eternity but also as if no time has passed at all, whisked away into the special place meant solely for lovers, sincerely lost in your own world with him. he feels so good around you and under your skin, even better than the fleeting fantasies you might allow yourself to have.

a strand of saliva connects the two of you when he pulls away from you finally. your chest heaves as you gulp down oxygen, your fingertips shaking as you curl them into the soft fabric of his sweater. 

“you…,” he gasps, unable to tear his eyes away from your clearly shaken form, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that to you.”

heat nestles deep inside your stomach. it’s wicked and possessive, but you want to be special to him. and now you know that you are, your desire to have more of him is insatiable. something throbs and pulses within your core, and it’s pitiful just how weak you are to him after a handful of well-executed kisses. fuck having any kind of stupid romance with some dumb college boy your age: none of them could even dream of leaving you this stunned and your body itching for literally anything more.

you grasp at him. “please- please, more- kiss me again… i need it- i need more-”

“-shhh, i’ve got you, pretty.” he moves in so close to your face, his lips only a breath away from yours. you’ve never had someone kiss you so carnally before, his desire emanating off of him in thick waves. you’re probably no better, begging for your hot professor to make out more with you as if his tongue wasn’t down your throat mere seconds ago and as if it isn’t his spit that’s coating your lips thickly. 

it feels right. there’s no other way for you to describe him kissing you again. his lips move so gently against yours and yet brims with a kind of brutish need. it’s like he doesn’t want to scare you away but can barely contain himself, not when he has you right where he wants you. you don’t mind. you want him to be greedy, and you want him to take you wholly. 

you’re so happy, and you love it when his tongue is in your mouth, guiding your clumsy movements. it’s lewd kissing you’ve only seen couples do through the drunken haze of some seedy frat basement during a crazy party or in a raunchy porn video, and you get it. it finally clicks inside your head why people go crazy for these kinds of things, why people lose their minds when they’re unable to fully get a grasp over their own sexual needs. it’s like an awakening for you, as if some monster that had been caged in your heart is now breaking free of its restraints.

you moan shamelessly into professor hinata’s mouth. you need more. just kissing isn’t enough, only having his tongue in your mouth isn’t enough. the pounding between your hips won’t go away, and if anything, it’s getting worse with each passing second. he’s turning you on, and your body refuses to listen to you. but why should you hold back? he’s right there for you, and you’re willing to give yourself to him without any room for regret.

“please-,” you sound so needy, so desperate, so unlike any part of the removed personality you kept around your professor. “touch me more… i need you, professor-”

“-don’t call me that,” he whispers against your mouth. “shoyo. call me shoyo. i’m not your professor right now.”

“shoyo,” the name tastes like sticky sweet honey against your mouth, “touch me, shoyo.”

his hands snake down to your waist, and he looks at you expectantly as his fingertips slip under your shirt. you shudder when his fingertips press firmly into your skin and flesh, like a reminder of what you’re getting yourself into. “good girl. do you want me to go all the way with you right now?”

“yes! god, please, yes- shoyo, take me.” you bury your head into the crook of his neck. his calming scent floods your nose, and you think you’re going into heat. “i’ve never needed someone more in my life.”

something hard presses up against your crotch. he grunts, “that’s a dangerous thing to say to me.”

you let him lift your shirt away from your body, coaxing it gently over your head before tossing it somewhere onto his office floor. your body heats up, blood pumping under your skin. you prickle slightly against the cold office air, and you bite down a bit on your tongue. his hands crawl up the expanse of your stomach and up to your chest, and he looks at you as if he’s been starved.

“god, you drive me crazy,” he breathes. your voice catches somewhere in the back of your throat. you can feel the warmth of his palms hovering over your breasts, the thin fabric of your bra doing nothing to protect you from him. “to think you’ve been hiding from me this entire time, right under my nose…”

you gasp when he gropes you through your bra, his hands molding against your breasts. you fill his palms out so easily, and you grind down against his lap, sparks flying inside of your mind. you grip onto him again, breathing needily against the crook of his neck as he plays with your chest, letting you adjust to the feeling of his heavy hands on your body. 

he touches you so sweetly and so beautifully. not like the clumsy horny ways boys your age would, but with confidence and reverence, like he purposefully wants to take his time with you. you whimper when his fingers hook into the cups of your bra, and you let him yank it down to fully free your chest. 

your pussy throbs when his hands are on your bare breasts. he massages the soft flesh, chuckling softly whenever he hears you keen and choke out a breath into his neck. his fingers find your nipples quickly, and heat flares under your cheeks and inside your gut when he pinches at them gently, your body reacting faster to his touch than your mind can.

you grind down onto his lap, feeling his hard bulge in between your thighs. you need more, need something inside you. 

he grits his teeth when he feels you trying to hump his clothed cock. “careful, sweetheart. i’m trying to take my time with you.”

his hands move to your back, fully undoing your bra and letting it drop forgotten to the floor. you don’t care. you want him all over your body. you want his calloused hands all over your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples, filling out his hands with your breasts, like your body was made to match his. 

“i know-,” you sound shaky. you are shaky, barely holding yourself together. you clench your eyes shut as he plays with your tits again. pleasure surges downwards every time he plays with your sensitive nipples, rubbing his fingertips into them or just letting the skin-to-skin contact get to your head. “i just- i can’t- i can’t control myself anymore, shoyo-”

“i got you, i got you,” he laughs. if only you could know his own madness, the insanity that runs rampant in his mind knowing that he can have you in any way he wants. “shit, and i thought i’d take it slow. be a good gentleman for you. clearly that isn’t making the cut.”

you let out a small shriek as he lifts you from his lap, and the next thing you know, you’re slumped over his desk. your bare chest is against the cold wood of his workspace, and he hovers above your back, your ass against his crotch. you whimper into his desk, and your breath fogs up against the polished wood.

your cunt clenches painfully around nothing as he grinds his hips into your ass, his erection rubbing all over your thighs and butt. your saliva pools inside your mouth when you hear him groan and buck his hips into you, mimicking the motions of penetrative sex as he drinks up the friction. his hands hold firmly at your hips and waist, anchoring himself to your body.

he doesn’t need to do much. if you can already feel him this prominently, just how big was his dick? 

“i-i can feel so much of you already.” you glance back at him. the thrums of arousal inside you are almost unbearable. you don’t feel like yourself, only like a husk of person fiending for release. 

“yeah?” his grip on you tightens slightly, and he peers down at you. “fuck- have you had sex before? is this your first time?”

“no, it isn’t- i’ve had sex before- with a few guys on campus and mostly with my ex…,” you trail off, not wanting to think about it any further. “it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t count.”

he chuckles, shaking his head at your small joke. “can you feel how hard i am? how big i am?”

“yes,” you exhale. you want him inside you. you want him to take your pants off already and stick his cock inside your cunt. you want him to make a mess out of your insides, to take the weeks of pent up lust and to let it loose. you want your pussy to be ravaged by him, for him to not stop until you’re a wreck underneath him. “so big… i want it so bad…”

“am i bigger than your ex?” it’s a question posed dangerously, a blade wrapped in cloth. you dip your face down so that your forehead touches the wood. you nod shakily, glad that you have his desk to hold onto for support so that your knees don’t give out. 

he smirks. the ends of his mouth curl upwards into a cruel smile. it’s the satisfaction of a predator right as it’s about to sink its teeth into its prey, relishing the sadistic thrill of knowing that his influence, that his power remains on top.

“forget everything about that boy,” he spits the last word, as if it’s something bitter. “you feel me? feel this cock? yeah, i know you do. this is how big a real man’s cock is.”

you might as well have had the wind knocked out of you. his hands make their way to your pants, and you move with him, letting them fall by your ankles. your panties follow suit, and you’re left shivering with anticipation against his desk, fully naked. nothing can protect you from his wandering eyes now, and while you can’t see him, you can feel his gaze boring into your exposed cunt. 

you can feel how wet you are, your imagination doing the most in making you feel like you were going to overheat while making out with him. your slick drips out of your hole, and your cunt weeps, begging for something to fill you up and get rid of that incessant ache in your belly.

“turn over,” he commands you. any sense of the warm professor you used to shirk around is gone, replaced by an intensity entirely foreign to you. you comply, and you gasp when shoyo sinks down to his knees. his hands are on your knees, and he pries your legs apart to slot himself. you’re fully laying on his desk at this point, and his face is mere inches away from your hole.

“i-...” you don’t know what to say. you feel like you’re going to choke on your own breath, embarrassment at having a man so close to your pussy threatening to consume you whole. 

shoyo, on the other hand, is utterly entranced. the sight of your bare cunt has him bewitched. his cock throbs painfully inside of his pants. the little tease he got from you trying to grind down on him and then rubbing himself against your ass has done nothing but wet his appetite, and he knows how much he’s been waiting painstakingly for this moment.

your voice dies out in the back of your throat when he grabs your thighs, and before you know it, his mouth is on your cunt. he kisses your pussy, and you nearly buck your hips into his mouth. his tongue laps in between your lower lips sensually, coating his mouth in as much of your juices as he can. his grip on you is firm, making sure that you can’t wiggle away from him. he wants you to feel every single second of him eating you out, make sure you feel his tongue against every part of your hole.

his tongue captures your clit, swirling slowly around the sensitive bud. you clench your eyes shut, and the first shockwaves of pleasure shoot straight to your brain. “ah- shoyo- fuck-!”

he keeps kissing and sucking at your clit, determined to shower you with so much attention. he takes his time. he flicks the tip of his tongue against the bud, leaving you recoiling against the cool material of his desk, and he presses the broad of his tongue against it, letting you grind down how you want into his mouth. he mimics your movements, and you’re left gasping and mewling when he moves down. teasing your clit turns into broad licks up your slit, and your thighs shake and threaten to close around his head if it weren’t for his firm grip on you.

his tongue circles your hole, and he smirks into you when he can feel you quiver and clench around him. he’s snaking himself all over your cunt, lavishing each part of your pussy with a good dosage of love and spit. every time he drags his tongue against your slit, threatening to slip into your hole but not quite, you’re left reeling in the aftermath. you need something inside you, anything. you’re so horrendously turned on, and as much as the clitoral stimulation has you seeing stars, you need more.

“shoyo…” god, he loves it when you moan out his name. he just can’t get enough of the way the syllables roll off of your tongue, and you choke out his name, elongated the sound and clinging to his name as if he’s the only thing you’ve ever known. 

your pussy continues to drool for him, and he’s smacking his lips, drinking up every drop of your juices as if he can’t get enough. it’s a perfect reminder of how much he wants you. he thinks you’re perfect, a gift sent down from whatever divinity might be out there, hand-crafted to take his love and to love him in return. you taste heavenly on his tongue, your slick coating his mouth thickly. with each swallow, it’s like you’re becoming a part of him, and it makes him dizzy.

you tremble under his touch. he keeps capturing your clit the way you like it best. he teases you, lets you feel pleasure. the pleasured hums of his voice vibrate against your clit, constantly stimulated by his tongue and lips. the throngs of arousal inside your gut keep mounting, growing, twisting and coiling it on itself, keeling to be freed, to be let loose so you can cum all over his mouth as if you’ve lost all control of your body.

“feels good-,” your breathing shakes as you reach down, grabbing a fistful of his bright orange hair. the man moans in such a depraved manner against you, and you clench painfully, your pussy feeling as if it’s contorting into a way physically impossible from how sheerly aroused you are. “make me cum, please! ‘m so close- wanna cum- wanna cum in your mouth, shoyo…! you’re making me feel so good!”

“yeah?” he detaches himself momentarily. he licks his lips and swallows, chest heaving at your sweet taste overwhelming all of his senses. his brain is screaming for him to fuck you, but he doesn’t want to. he wants to see you feel good from just his mouth first, to coax one orgasm out of you so that your nerves are properly awakened. that would make fucking your pussy out on his cock so much more worthwhile. “am i making you feel good, pretty girl? enough to beg for it?”

you nod feverishly, even though you should know that he can’t see you. your drenched pussy speaks enough for itself. he’s too good at this, the experience under his belt shining through. there’s no stupid boy your age that would even think of doing you a courtesy like eating you out until you’re shaking, and here’s shoyo, eagerly lapping at your cunt without you even needing to ask. 

“cumming- gonna cum- please, please, fuck…! your tongue feels so good- love it so much when you lick at me like that…,” you whimper. your back arches against the desk, and your body twitches, wanting to ride his tongue and make a mess all over his mouth. shoyo doesn’t stop his relentless movements, and he continues to suck at your clit. 

arousal curls and unfurls like a pulse deep inside your stomach. you’re teetering on the edge, and you feel like you’re going crazy. your mind is turning into jelly, your wildest fantasies about your professor coming true right before your eyes, and your pussy can’t take everything happening to you. you shut your eyes again, gritting your teeth and bracing yourself for the orgasm that you’re sure is going to slam into you like a brick wall.

his tongue slithers expertly against your drenched cunt, and he presses a sticky kiss to your clit. your stomach curls inward at the intimate touch, with him pleasuring you as if it's his given duty as your lover, and that’s all it takes.

“shoyo!” you cry out, your thighs nearly wrenching themselves out of his hands. “i’m cumming- fuck! fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-...! fuck me, fuck me, please! ah- i’m cumming…!”

he keeps on pressing his mouth all over your pussy as you cum on his mouth. red hot pleasure floods your entire body, sweeping you away from head to toe, and your thighs quiver like mad. your body feels so hot, so overwhelmed by a pleasure you’ve never had before, and your vision spins. you can’t think, not when every inch of your body has been tossed into overdrive so effortlessly by him, and your inner walls twist achingly. 

you wish it was his cock you were cumming on. you’re breathless and succumbing to how good it feels to have your hole ravished by his mouth, and he eats you out through your orgasm. he’s determined to swallow up every drop of your slick, and it’s not until you’re whimpering again and pushing his forehead back weakly that he detaches himself from between your legs.

“shit, you taste so fucking sweet,” shoyo groans. he sounds almost disappointed that you pushed him off of you, your slit tingling and desperate for something bigger. the lower half of his face is shiny with your juices and spit mingling together, and he licks his lips, making sure not to let a single drop escape him. “fuck- i could eat you out all day if you’d let me. pretty girl’s got a pretty pussy too.”

your hole flutters in excitement at his praise. heat and embarrassment at the sudden intimacy flickers underneath your face, and your head is still buzzing, not fully done with your sexual high. your chest rises and falls as you rest on his desk, splayed out for him to admire as he gets up from his knees and undoes pants. you can hear the shuffling of fabric and metal as he takes off his belt and pants. your mouth goes dry as you think about his cock and how big it felt when the two of you were grinding and humping each other for a split second, and now you’re finally getting him to fuck you on it.

he lets out a low, throaty moan as he takes the last of his clothing off, and his cock is nice and hard, drops of pearly pre-cum dripping from his tip. he’s aroused that it hurts, but there’s something about seeing you still recoiling from your orgasm, the rush of pride he gets knowing that he got you off using just his mouth, makes the pain of waiting a bit longer to fuck you so much more worth it.

“how are you feeling? you doing okay?” he asks you. he grabs his cock, stroking himself a few times from base to tip, his thumb sliding over his sensitive slit to spread his pre-cum all over himself. you nod wordlessly, starting to come back down to your plane of reality as you let him slide himself in between your legs again.

you freeze when you feel his cock against your slit, and he rubs himself up and down in between your lower lips. the dull pangs of arousal are bubbling up in your gut once more, and your slick is mixing with his pre-cum to coat his cock in a makeshift kind of lube.

“d-do you have any condoms…?” you eke out. it’s his bare dick against your body right now, and as intoxicating as the thought of taking him raw and letting him stuff every inch of your womb with his cum is, you still have to think straight.

he grabs at your hips, bringing himself flush against your body. a moan catches in the back of your throat when his tip grazes against your sensitive clit, and he chuckles to himself when he sees you twitch. “not at the moment. i’ll take care of you. can you trust me?”

there’s a lump in your throat, and some deeply dead part of you sobs out that you should be responsible. but you don’t care, not when you’re this close to finally having him inside you, not when he promises to take responsibility for you. you move your head, unable to fully meet his eyes, and you nod your head yes.

“good girl,” he laughs sweetly. “you ready for me?”

“yes! please, i want you inside me… want you to fuck me…,” you whine, your head lolling onto the desk underneath you. your pussy clenches at the thought of his raw bare cock rubbing against your insides, your walls clinging to every inch of his thick cock, and you’re so, so ready to take him.

he grips the base of his cock, and he lines himself up. he watches, enraptured, as your hole pulses around his cockhead. you groan needily as he fucks his tip in and out of you, just to watch your pussy cling to him, wanting to pull him in fully. you’re just about to whine and complain when he finally pushes himself in, and your breathing dies out in your chest as your walls stretches out to adjust to him being inside you.

“...fuck-! ah- you’re so big-,” your voice immediately starts slurring as he pushes past the resistance. it burns yet it feels deathly euphoric to have something stretching you out like that, to feel every bit of your pussy being invaded and stuffed out onto shoyo’s girthy cock. you’re coaxing him in effortlessly, and his fingers curl into the flesh of your waist and hips as he tries to ground himself.

he sucks in a harsh inhale through his gritted teeth, his eyebrows furrowing. you’re so tight and wet and downright heavenly wrapped around his length. he can’t stop looking between your legs, right where the two of you are joined together for the first time, but you’re squeezing and fluttering around him just right even though all he did was put it in. it’s taking all of his concentration not to waver and lose himself in the feeling. 

jerking off desperately by himself doesn’t even come close to how good your pussy feels. he could stay like this forever, feeling your velvety walls pulse around him, wanting to pull his cock in even further until he swears his tip is kissing the entrance to your womb. he takes in a deep breath, and he does his best to clear his head so he can start fucking you properly. 

“you’re so fucking tight… shit, did you want my cock that badly?” he manages out shakily. “fuck, it’s like your pussy’s milking me already, sweetheart.”

“mhm… it’s so, so big…,” you murmur, dazed. “never- never had cock like this before- you’re filling me up… feels like you’re in my stomach.”

“yeah? does it feel good?” he’s waiting for you to give him the all clear. your face is scrunched up, and as desperate as he is to start fucking into you like an animal, he knows better than to be a ruffian. your pleasure always comes first. that’s what real men do.

you nod weakly for what feels like the millionth time. your nerves are on fire, your previous orgasm only accentuating how much you can feel him pressed against you. his cock rubs just right against your sensitive walls, and you can’t imagine what actually having him thrusting into you is going to do to your body. “yes- so good- i’m gonna lose my mind, shoyo…”

“good answer.” he reaches over to move a strand of your hair away from your face. “i’m gonna start moving, okay? if something hurts or doesn’t feel right, you tell me right away. i’m here to make you feel good, and nothing else.”

your heart skips a beat. in a sea of fuckboys and idiot college boys that couldn’t care less about your well-being, someone like him feels less like a real person and more like a character straight from a fairy tale. “okay- you can fuck me- i want you to fuck me.”

he draws his hips back and thrusts slowly into you. you gasp, acutely aware of the sensation deep inside of you. your pussy revels at how he rubs against you, gripping onto his cock for dear life as he fucks his length in and out of you. it’s such a painfully slow pace, but you savor the feeling, savor the new stimulus of having your professor’s cock buried deep inside you. you want to commit to memory, because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever had before.

heat flares back up inside your belly again, settling and slithering in repeated coils between your hips. your vision blurs once more, and arousal creeps back into your mind, threatening to overtake every single one of your conscious thoughts. “faster, shoyo- wanna feel more of you- you’re torturing me…!”

“sorry- i can’t help it,” he laughs bitterly, his voice hushed and under his breath. “can you blame me for being obsessed with you? fuck- you’re so tight, hugging me like this… it’s like you were made to take me.”

your stomach curls in on itself at the sweet praise. you hate how easily he toys with your heart, how easily he can make you swoon and fall for him all over again, leaving you dancing and squirming right underneath the palm of his hand. literally. you swallow deeply, and it feels like there’s no inch of your body that the unbearable heat hasn’t spread to. 

“faster, please- i need you so bad!” you sob, nearing your limit. cumming from his tongue was only an appetizer, and you’re hungry for more. you’ve starved yourself long enough, and his slow pace isn’t doing any favors for you. you roll your head left and right on his desk, unable to control yourself.

“you want it? prove it to me.” his voice drops a few notes, and your cunt unconsciously clenches at how dark his words sound. it’s yet another potent reminder of the man buried inside of you right now, a real man who’s determined to make you his, prince and criminal, craved and craving, dreamy and filthy all at once. “look me in the eye then. look me dead on as i fuck you.”

you let out a loud moan. his words are fucking dirty, and when he rolls his hips into you, drinking up the excruciatingly addictive way your pussy clings to his dick, you think your body is actually going to give out on you. it’s not like he’s asking for you to do anything obscene or impossible, but there’s something so disgustingly erotic and intimate about him asking you to look him straight in his face—in his eyes—as he makes love to you.

the desk is warm underneath your body, all warmed up thanks to your body heat. it’s become your subconscious refuge, taking all of your thrashing as he had his way with you, and you don’t want to think about the sure mess you’re bound to leave in your wake. your breathing trembles as you forcibly turn your face towards his, ripping your wavering gaze away from the safety of whatever else you were staring at.

your eyes meet his, and he smiles at you adoringly. there’s no more running away from him, nowhere to escape to, your eyes locked together and dancing in his pupils. you’re rendered breathless again at the vibrant color, like your own life is being squeezed from between your lips. you can’t move, and your chest feels like it’s about to cave in on itself, your ribs giving out and your heart melting into a puddle of useless muscle and putty. but this time, strangely enough, you welcome the helpless feeling. he’s got you wrapped around his pinky finger, and you finally realize that you never stood a chance. 

that very first day, in that fatefully empty classroom, when you first met eyes with him, you were a fucking goner. you always were. always had been. and it was all his fault, all professor hinata’s fault. 

all hinata shoyo’s fault. 

“good girl.” he looks at you in a way only a lover would. his eyes soften around the edges and crinkles up as he grins. “don’t ever look away from me.”

“i won’t,” you promise. it’s the last thing you could dream of doing. not when you want it so badly, and not when he’s asking you verbatim. how could you deny him of the very thing he’s asking you to do? especially when it’s something that you’ve always been mustering up the courage to do? this is your big leap forward, your chance to prove to yourself that you can change.

he leans forward, and he lets you wrap your arms around his neck. you refuse to drop your gaze from his face, admiring every small detail of his features and letting yourself drown fully in the wide expanses of his eyes. he presses one last romantic kiss to your mouth, and that’s the last warning you get, the last bit of sweetness and gentleness you get. 

he draws his hips back, and he slams himself back into you roughly. you choke out a small moan, pleasure flooding your head. he doesn’t give you any time to recover from the recoil before he’s thrusting wildly back into you again. your hole is already slick and dripping wet from his teasing and your previous climax, and it makes it all the more easy for him to slide his length in and out of you, pace picking up speed and leaving you crying out as your surprise quickly morphs into electric pleasure.

“shit- so fucking tight- god, you’re going to kill me,” he grunts. you mewl and moan incoherently, clinging to him for dear life as he fucks into you over and over again. his tip prods against your deepest parts, and surges of pleasure climb all over your nerves. his hips slam against yours, and his balls slap against the curve of your ass. lewd, wet lovemaking noises echo throughout the small office, and it echoes even louder against your ears. 

it feels good, it feels so good. you never knew pleasure like this was possible, that it even existed. you thought you knew everything there was to sex already, but clearly not, if shoyo has you practically melting in his arms, your limbs numb and surrendering wholly to how good he’s making you feel. your walls keep fluttering around him, and every thrust has you crying out. 

“fuck- you feel so good- shoyo- shoyo, i’m losing my mind…!” you gasp. your nails dig into his back, and you claw at him like a feral cat. your thighs quiver around his hips, but he doesn’t let up his brutal pace. with each roll of his hips, it feels like he’s knocking the wind out of you. he’s determined to fuck you stupid, and it’s working. your grip on reality is slipping fast, with the throbbing pleasure in your head taking precedence over everything.

“go crazy for me then. you feel me inside you, don’t you? good. then you can feel firsthand how fucking crazy you make me.” he grabs your hips, and he angles them ever-so-slightly before ramming into you. you grit your teeth as a tense cry escapes from you.

the new angle has you seeing stars. you’re scratching at his back, your insides lurching and reeling and being stirred up like wild. “you’re so deep… so deep inside me! nnmgh…! you’re gonna make me cum so fast- make me cum again-“

“shit, already? am i fucking you that good?” his stomach is doing flips. you’re a sight for sore eyes, refusing to look away from him as if your life depended on it. his abs strain against him as he enjoys the experience of having sex with you, sex with the student that’s been dancing around him forever. you’re splayed out like a piece of art underneath him: all sweaty, breasts bouncing, legs spread with your soft cunt eagerly taking every inch of him.

your foreheads are basically touching when you nod your head. “yes! no one’s ever made me feel this good before- never had cock like yours-“

he almost laughs. oh, he’s bet you’ve never had anyone like him. what would your ex, your past flings know about pleasing women? all he wanted was to make you go crazy like this. he wants to sink you deep into pleasure, and he wants to make it so that you don’t ever think about other men after he’s done with you. he wants you in your entirety. he can’t do halfway.

“i told you already,” he purrs. his words drip off of his tongue like sticky syrup. “it’s because you’re having sex with a man this time. not with a boy. a real, grown man. someone that can take care of you. someone that can treat you right.”

it’s hard to think. he speeds up, leaving you fighting to keep your eyes open. the intense look in shoyo’s eyes are nothing like your own fucked out look, but at the same time, you’re sure the intoxicated gleam in his is the same as yours. is it love or desire that connects you two?

“most importantly…” his fingers dig into your flesh, securing your hips in place and leaving you at his mercy. you can feel your juices leaking out, coating your ass and making wet sounds whenever his hips smash into yours. he cranes his head, and his lips are almost on top of yours, threatening to close the gap and brush his lips across yours. “someone that can actually fuck you.”

oh fuck. you don’t stand a fucking chance against him. all of the sensations are rapidly racking up in your body, and with how deep he’s thrusting into you, you can barely hold onto yourself. you’re gonna cum soon again, you just know it. you feel the tightness inside your belly, and with how effectively he’s seducing you, whispering all kinds of lewd things and making sure that you keep your eyes locked on him while fucking you, you have nowhere to run away.

“i can’t take it- so rough- can’t take much more-,” you whimper. your mind is going blank, and all that you can think of is him. his body feels heavy and good on top of you, and having you scratch his back out of pleasure only spurs him on. he can feel you slipping and losing control of yourself, and he rocks you close to himself. he wonders if you can feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, huffing short breaths as he keeps up his steady yet brutal pace.

he looks at you, and a smirk dangles off of his face. “yes, you can. you can take it. i know you can. you’ll be good for me, won’t you? let me make you feel good.”

your breathing hitches. it’s taking all of your mental strength not to topple over the edge right now. everything’s rushing too fast to your head right now, and all of your nerves are standing on edge, enthusiastically lapping up the pure euphoria coursing through your veins. but you want to make shoyo happy, you want to cum together with him, and as much as he said this lovemaking session was about you, you want to be able to match the pace he set.

“for you- just for you-,” you struggle to get the words out, the final syllables slurring together into a slight babble. so much for your usually well-put together, prudent academic facade. any trace of the well-trained, well-behaved student is long gone, replaced by a dirty, senseless, corrupted, and lascivious soul that lives and dies for shoyo’s love. “wanna be good- wanna be good only for you…”

“good. you’re mine. all mine,” he murmurs. the pleasure is sharp and dull all at once, all consuming and delicate, sinking you down into the murky waves inside the recesses of your mind only to drag you back to the surface, leaving you shuddering and grasping as if you had been drowned for real. shoyo likes it. he adores the reactions he gets out of you.

this is a kind of pleasure only he can give you. you’ve never had this with anyone else before, and he’ll make it so that you can’t find it from anyone else, not unless it’s with him. these faces you’re making, twisting in ecstasy and crying out with a voice like a songbird, are for him to enjoy only. they’re exclusive to him, only meant for his eyes, and he consumes it, fiending for more.

“shoyo- can’t- ‘t’s too good- i’m going crazy…!” you strain to breathe, your chest feeling inhumanly tight. parts of your brain light up like wired lights, blooming and flickering. you’re terribly close, and you know this one is going to take you whole and blow out any sense of being in your body. “shoyo- shoyo…”

“fucking christ- if you moan my name like that… you’ll make me want to do horrible things to you. so much more fucking worse than what i’m doing to you right now, sweetheart. this is just the start right here.” something pricks at your hips, and he digs his nails into your hips. he never thought himself to be such a possessive man, but he can’t deny the insanity that’s taken root in his brain for weeks now. it does something to him, to have his dick inside of you but to also hear you calling for him. him, him specifically, his name, emerging from your mouth as if he’s someone you revere. maybe at one point you did, but his yearning to have you turned him into something monstrous and all too human.

but perhaps that same madness overtook you and that was what brought the two of you together. shoyo finds it funny: the idea of something as sacred as love growing from something so depraved. and yet he’s fascinated by it, fascinated by the possibility that you’re no better than him, that your respect for him may just as easily be swapped for a kind of convenience to quell your own heart.

he doesn’t know what it all means. now isn’t the time for him to get philosophical. he’s balls-deep inside the pretty student he’s been pining over, and he’s so close to getting you to cum. wouldn’t that be a better reward than anything else he’s carefully built up? years of self preservation and swallowing down his personal desires for what’s “best” for his future be damned, he wants you. he wants you, he wants, he wants you.

you wonder if this is the end of your rope. you’re so close, so near the edge, and you’re clenching so desperately around his cock. you’re eclipsed entirely by the sight of your frightened and frantic reflection in his wide eyes, and you barely recognize yourself. so this is what you look like when you’re being mercilessly railed by your hot professor. your mouth is agape as you moan out for the male on top of you, face flushed and sweat beading your forehead like some kind of crown. 

“gonna cum- gonna cum! shoyo- just a bit more-” your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. your body isn’t yours at this point, having given up in exchange for the fire that burns your core, the snakes inside your belly hissing and twisting and pulsing. “i’m cumming- gonna cum- i can’t hold back anymore-!!”

“go ahead,” he whispers. his mouth itches to kiss you, to swallow up your wounded gasps. he wants to feel your body go slack again like he had done once before, to push you into that wonderful place where nothing and everything was real at once. he’s sure your body’s overrun with complex sensations and pure euphoria, and he loves watching you turn into a shell of yourself. “cum on my cock, pretty girl. you’ll be mine, won’t you?”

you barely nod your head, and shoyo’s drawing his hips back and snapping them back into you at a particularly rough angle. you tense up underneath him, back arching and limbs going stiff. your eyes widen, gaze still connected with him, and your body fully gives out.

“sh- shoyo…!” your voice is shrill as you sob out one final moan, and your orgasm grips the entirety of your body. it feels good, it aches, it throbs, and it demands so much of you. your velvety walls clamp down on his thick cock like a vice, milking him and clinging to him, and your climax refuses to give shoyo a chance to breathe. he digs his ankles into the ground and keeps thrusting wildly into you, wanting to keep the flare swallowing you up going for a bit longer. he grits his teeth as you squirm underneath him, and you can barely keep your eyes open. you want to clench them shut and throw your head back so bad, but whatever little control you have remaining on your conscious keeps them open, just for him.

you’re fighting against the currents swirling and whirlpooling inside your brain. whatever heat was bottled up inside your body rushes out, and you’re cumming all over shoyo’s girth. he’s keeping you stretched out, and your stomach feels like it’s going to cave in on itself. it’s nothing but pure bliss, the kind that makes you feel as if you’re floating, and you’re rendered breathless, each inhale precious and fleeting and almost incognizant. your vision swims, and tears settle on your waterline, just threatening to topple over. your field of sight is blurry, and yet even amongst all of the chaos, you can make out the dapples of brown in shoyo’s eyes, forever in tandem with him as if he were a planet in orbit around your sun.

you’re gasping for air, finally having gotten the release you had been chasing for what felt like an eternity. shoyo breathes heavily and raggedly, as if he had run a marathon, and he’s barely holding on himself. your insides are fucking massaging him, stroking his cock all over, squeezing and hugging and rubbing all up against his sensitive length.

“shit- fuck-,” he chokes out. fuck- he didn’t expect that seeing you cum would take so much out of him. his mind is teetering, and his muscles strain against him, his abs prominent. you’re refusing to let go of him, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can genuinely hold on for. he should be responsible, at least try to pick up the pieces of the mess that you two made, and pull out, cum into a napkin or a trash can or his hand or literally anywhere inside of your sweet cunt, but whatever resolve inside his chest whimpers as if he’s killing it when the thought brushes against his mind.

he wants to cum inside you. he has to. he needs to go that extra step, cement himself physically into you, promise to take care of you again and again for whatever happens next. he’s a real lover, someone who’ll take all of your brokenness and insecurity and fear and make them dissolve and melt away as if it were sugar. he’s sure they’d be equally as sweet to, so long as it came from you.

“god- fuck- take me- i’ll take care of you- take care of anything that happens next- fuck- just… just stay with me-,” he breathes out, body shaking. a cry catches in the back of your throat when he fucks himself in as deep as he can go, his cockhead pressing right up against your cervix. he buries himself into you, and he leans forward, capturing your lips in one last deep kiss, tongue swirling in your mouth and filling up your senses entirely with him.

your moans are muffled by him when you feel him cum deep inside you. something hot and heavy floods your cunt, pumping into you in generous spurts. it’s warm, and his cock takes on a second pulse inside of you, like a heartbeat as semen trickles into your womb and all through your cunt. your body feels hot, every inch of your pussy drenched and coated with shoyo’s cum. a few stray drops escape from you, but with him pressing his body flush against you and his cock still stuffed inside your cunt, most of the cum remains plugged inside you as he gasps for air, his high overtaking him.

“fuck… fu-uck,” his voice is gruff and airy. “god- you keep fucking milking me- shit, i came inside too- oh god…”

he nearly collapses on top of you, and his chest is on yours. the two of you lay there, breathing deeply and just enjoying the post-sex warmth of each others’ bodies. you’re still buzzing slightly, your head heavy as if you had just woken up from a long nap, but regular feeling is starting to seep back into your limbs. your body is pulling itself out from the haze, and while exhausted and quite literally fucked out of your mind, you’re regaining control over yourself as the minutes pass.

you admire shoyo’s form, the beautiful curves of muscle all over his back and shoulders, the lines on his face that could come only with age. it’s too early for you to worry, too early to really know the true consequences of your actions, and yet, there’s something bittersweet at the tip of your tongue when you look down adoringly at shoyo. morally, you know that this can’t continue. the best course of action you could have taken was to not fuck him, but now that you’ve gone and crossed that bridge, the next best thing you can do is to nip this in the bud and to avoid making a habit of this.

but you already know that you’re not strong enough to do that. you can’t go back, not when you’ve had a taste of everything you’ve already wanted.

you wrap your arms around shoyo a bit tighter, and you hold him closer to your heart. he buries his head into the crook of your neck, the shaky eye contact that you had kept up with him now broken. he inhales deeply and takes in your scent, and you wordlessly both celebrate and mourn everything that had built up and broken in between you and the man you had pined after for so long.

“...i’ll go buy some plan b for you.” he’s the first to break the silence. “there are some napkins in my office that i can clean you up with. you stay put. i… i lost control of myself there, and i don’t want you to strain yourself. do you think you can eat and drink a bit?”

your mind is nowhere near as clear as you’d want it to be, but you rasp out quietly, “yeah. i’m okay.”

“do you have any classes after this? fuck- i lost track of time too. i can write you a note and email whatever professor you have after me. i’m sorry- i really shouldn’t have gotten that carried away.” shoyo peels himself off of your body, and a whimper of protest dies out in your mouth. 

“i don’t have any classes. i’m basically free for the rest of the day, so you don’t need to worry about it. i- uh- i appreciate it though…” your arms feel cold and empty without him, and he maneuvers himself to grab a wad of napkins to position underneath your ass to catch the cum dripping out of you as he drags his now soft cock out.

you simultaneously feel empty and full all at once. his cum still undoubtedly lingers inside you, but without him physically in you, you feel as if something big has been sucked out of your soul. your stream of consciousness meanders to the idea of soulmates, and if this is what it must feel like.

you don’t know how to breach any further though. he’s immediately flipped his professional switch back on, cleaning both of you up without any further words, and you don’t think it’s proper though to keep demanding more from him. in his eyes, this might be nothing more than a bad lapse in judgment and not something he wants to keep pursuing in the same way you want to. 

a lump forms in your throat at the thought, and your heart shakes. your heart physically hurts. it aches and throbs as if it were torn apart, the stringy sinews and muscles begging for at least a bone to be thrown your way.

you hang your head, swallowing your despair back down the best you can. it’s not your place. it’s not your place.

he hands you an unopened water bottle, and you mutter a solemn word of thanks before cracking the lid and gulping a few mouthfuls down. he’s bent over and collecting all of your clothes, mixed together with him, and despite still being naked in front of him, you don’t feel any shame at all. this whole charade shouldn’t have felt as good and guiltless as it does, and you don’t want this to leave on the melancholy note that it is.

but as shoyo slips his sweater back on over his head and adjusts his hair, it’s hard not to mistake his professionalism for distance. you’re aware that you aren’t proper lovers, no boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, but what kind of sane human doesn’t yearn for a sense of connection and reassurance after something so intimate? all you want is to cuddle with him for a few minutes longer, have him smile sheepishly up at you as he peppers kisses onto your face, his big calloused hands holding you firmly.

you set the water bottle down. reality is never as clear cut nor as easy as fantasy is, and at this point, that should be a revelation you’ve carved into your heart by now. you steel your resolve the best you can, the one thing you’ve learned better than any other lesson your painful years of adulthood have taught you, and you reach for your own clothes.

you look messy with your clothes haphazardly thrown on and trepidation clinging like a fog to your psyche, and you’re ready to basically skitter out of his office as you always do and keep your head down until the semester ends. then you’ll be out of his hair and hopefully this would be nothing more than another minor heartbreak for you to get past. 

“where are you going? if you don’t mind staying put for a little bit longer, i’ll go fetch the plan b.” a hand lands on your shoulder as you prepare to leave, and you stop dead in your tracks. you look over, and shoyo looks down at you as if he’s confused. 

you hold your breath. you know better than to hope, and yet the flash of emotion that flies across your chest is undeniable. “you… don’t want me to go?”

his face immediately morphs into a deep frown, and his brows furrow. he looks horrified, as if you had picked out the worst words for the situation and spat them at his feet. “no! of course not. who do you think i am? why would i kick you out right after having sex? after harping on for so long about treating you right? gosh, you think so lowly of me. i was only cleaning up! here, there should be some snacks i keep stashed away in the second drawer over there. i’ll be zippity quick with the plan b run, i promise. get something in your tummy in the meantime, and then we can chat.”

chat? the word dangles above you like a loaded bullet. not everything is some kind of fucked up mental game, but it stuns you how he constantly manages to stay a step ahead you in everything.

you want to ask about what. about the future state of your relationship? about how both of your lives are going to undoubtedly be marked in a different way now because of this? about how the rest of the semester is going to go? about how you might never be able to muster the courage to show your face to society again, depending on how the conversation proceeds? there’s a whole slew of questions waiting to be asked, but when he beams at you, his smile more boyish and endearing than anything else, it’s like he simply melts away all of your anxieties.

it’s downright unfair, the sheer effect he has on you. but you don’t want it to stop, ever. you want him to continue confusing you and amazing you, leaving you questioning yourself and all of your worldviews. you don’t understand him, not one bit, and yet it feels like you know too much, used too much of your wiles to force him into showing his hand and leave both of you at some kind of stalemate. 

“what comes after that then?” that’s all you manage to blurt out amidst all of your fluctuating emotions. you don’t want him to leave, don’t want the beautiful man to slip away from your fingers after you only just got to keep him, no matter how short or necessary it might be. you’re not thinking straight, but what part of any of this came from logical thinking anyway? good behavior only got you so far, and good behavior isn’t going to keep him.

he grins, a smile that could rival sunshine even through your internalized storm. “that’s easy. you said you were free, yeah? i drop you off at home for a little bit so you can properly get cleaned up and get a fresh change of clothes. then i pick you up again, surprise you with a big bouquet of roses, and i buy you a nice dinner. dessert and drinks included. then i drop you back off home, and if you’re down for it, we do that a few times. then, y’know… i ask you out properly on our third or fourth date.”

your heart flutters in your chest. your heart has always been a caged bird, the last part of yourself you could never fully tame. stuffing it in a constricted box and ignoring it has gotten you only so far, and shoyo presses the key to the cage into your hand and coaxes you into unlocking and opening up the impenetrable door. your eyes widen slightly. it’s too early to get your hopes up again, but at the same time, when he’s stating his interest and desire to make something serious out of this, to actually take you on as a proper girlfriend and not as a one time fling, to go the whole nine yards and make it the romantic experience you’ve always wanted deep deep down, you think it’s only fair that you let yourself have this.

after years and years of repression, you’re getting your first reprieve. the first sign of spring after what felt like an unending winter, the long awaited gulp of water after wallowing in the murky depths, the fabled light at the end of the tunnel, a reminder that everything truly isn’t as hopeless as your twisted mind likes to make it, that you’re just as deserving of goodness and love and rightfulness as much as those around you, no matter how vehemently you once denied it against the very wishes of your heart. you’re done stifling your own desires, and while it won’t be something you fix overnight, you’re sure it’s shoyo that drew out those first steps.

“i don’t like ruining the surprise like this, but… i’m sure you don’t mind. still, do me a favor and act surprised when i do bring you flowers and take you out on a dinner date, okay?” he winks at you, laughing to himself. he looks so happy with himself, truly giddy like a boy waiting to ask his crush out. you don’t know how he can go in between being the cool professor you fell for and the man that charmed you so effortlessly, but you aren’t complaining. you want to acquaint yourself with every side there is to shoyo and to fall deeply in love with each and every part of him you discover.

you smile back softly in return. you play the innocent card, and you tilt your head slightly in a show of fake confusion. “don’t worry. date? what date? aren’t you running out to get me just plan b?”

“atta girl. you always catch on quickly. it’s that smart mind of yours,” he laughs again, louder this time. his voice reminds you of bells ringing in the morning sun. each syllable feels like he’s thawing you out, and it’s something to be venerated with every part of your soul. he approaches you to steal a kiss from your lips, and the touch is so sweet and gone too quickly. you want another, but you know he’ll be back soon and you’ll have as many kisses as you’d like, as many as he’d let you have.

he cups your face with one hand, and his thumb rubs over the apple of your cheek. it’s such a gentle touch, and yet it makes you feel weak in the knees, like your body feels a sense of magnetic attraction to him that makes you want him to hold you and nothing else. he leans down ever so slightly, enough so that he can look at you directly in your eyes again.

you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way he leaves you breathless when he gazes at you, the intense look always leaving you stunned and glued in your place, the same split second that proved to be the first taste of the forbidden fruit. something bristles and hangs in the air, like electricity, and this time, you recognize it to be the anticipation of getting something you’ve wanted, like an excitement gripping at your throat, and the happiness of your heart beating not just for you but for someone else, for the very first time.

shoyo grins at you, at you alone. his eyes twinkle fondly.

“i love you,” he whispers without any trace of doubt in his voice.

your lips move, “i love you too, shoyo.”

you don’t blink. you won’t blink so long as he’s looking at you.

and you swear to never look away from those beautiful, beautiful eyes.

author's note: i owe @thomae a million thank yous for letting me write her idea! thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me bounce all of my ideas off of you and bothering you incessantly about this fic!! it ended up getting a lot longer than i originally intended (×﹏×) but regardless, i hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!! (´ ε ` )♡ please stay safe in the new year, and if you enjoyed my writing, you can show your appreciation by donating to the humanitarian cause in gaza!

[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fight The Feeling

Pairing: Wriothesley x reader

Content: mild injuries and medical themes, cursing/sexual language and innuendos, technically coworkers to lovers, not exactly a clear confession, ongoing situationship, reader is a doctor, reader is said to be pretty strong or good at fighting, not really proofread 😅

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: i wrote this several weeks (or months?) ago and i decided to finally finish it up so i could share it! maybe not my best work but i do want to kind of branch out into other fandoms that i enjoy (one piece will forever by my main though!) hope you enjoy!

Sigewinne knocks on the door to your office- a private room within the infirmary of the Fortress of Meropide- before opening it.

“Doctor l/n! His Grace has sustained a serious injury to his shoulder!” she shouts at you while wheeling the man in question in on a stretcher.

He doesn’t look to be in lots of pain, but then again he has a way of putting on a facade even when he is.

You sigh, “Thank you for bringing him here, Sigewinne.”

While pulling on your gloves, Wriothesley stands up from the stretcher, much to Sigewinne’s annoyance.

“Your Grace, let them help you-“ you try and fail to have him sit back down.

He waves you off insisting that ”It’s just my shoulder that’s messed up,” and “the rest of me is perfectly fine.” The Duke says that last part with a secret wink in your direction.

You roll your eyes; he’s always so insistent that his injuries are of no importance and it kills you. With a hand on his good arm, you insist, “Sit, Your Grace. Please.”

He smiles gently and complies, lowering himself onto the patient bed in your office instead of the stretcher this time. “Just for you, Doc.”

You look down at Sigewinne to thank her again, and she leaves your office.

“I can’t believe you entered another fight in the Pankration Ring.”

“I was bored, finished all my paperwork-“

“And so that’s a good reason to go and injure your shoulder?” You gently press at his shoulder to examine it. He winces and you frown- no matter how annoying it is, seeing him in pain is what really bothers you.

“Well, you know how it is down here. Not much entertainment wise- hiss” he sucks in a breath as you touch a particularly tender spot.

“Sorry…” You mutter as you continue cleaning a small open wound on his shoulder. It’s superficial, but it needs to be dealt with before you can bandage his arm for it to stay in place.

“-besides fighting. And you, of course.” Wriothesley lays a hand on your side with a featherlight touch.

But, you resist the temptation to lean in to him in favor of getting him bandaged up first. “Not now.” You hiss and push his hand away.

“Aw, c’mon. You haven’t missed me? You’re not worried?”

“I saw you just this morning… And I always worry about you, because the moment I’m out of sight you go and do stupid shit like this, so I can’t say I’m any more worried than usual.”

Something in your scolding causes a grin to break out across his face. You turn to grab the bandage wraps from your cabinet, and when you turn back around to see him smiling, you frown. “What?”

“You care so much.”

“I’m a doctor. It’s part of the job.”

“Sure, but you wouldn’t be staying all the way down here in the Fortress if it was just a job.”

“Wriothesley!” You scold him once again, scandalized.

“I mean it, y/n.” He lifts his arm for you as you move to start wrapping the bandage around his shoulder. “You could live in any nation you want; and you could be… Well, any kinda doctor you want. But, you’re still here.”

“I like my job here.”

“Tending to wounded boxers?”

“It has its benefits. Plus, you gave me this nice office and my own lab. I have everything I need to conduct my own research on my own time.” You tie off the bandage and meet his intense stare. “I like it here, Wriothesley, really.”

“And I like you, y/n. Really.”

You look back down and start to roll down his sleeve for him. Such a simple gesture, but it exemplifies just how unprofessional your relationship with the Duke has become. “…You can’t just say things like that.”

He grins his wolfish grin again, “Why not? Can’t handle the truth, Doc?”

“It’s not the truth, and it’s not funny enough to be considered a joke. Therefore, it’s a lie.”

“You wound me, y/n. You’re telling me you don’t feel the same for me?”

“No. You’re my boss.”

“Barely. And we’ve slept together before, what’s wrong with admitting you like me?”

“Still; technically my boss.”

“Then, I give you full permission to admit to your feelings for me.”

“I don’t- I don’t have feelings for you.” You button the cuff of his sleeve and start to pick up the spare bandages and whatnot.

“Now who’s lying?”

You choose not to justify his question with an answer, ignoring him as you turn back to the supply counter and cabinets. He waits patiently while you pretend to organize your already very neat storage area.

“I’m sorry for fighting again.”

There’s a pause in your frantic organizing, then shake your head with a dry scoff. “Well it’s hardly fair. You’re stronger than most of-“

“Most? I’ve been the reigning Champion of the Pankration Ring for years-“

“And yet,” you turn back to look at him with a falsely sweet smile, “I can still beat your ass in a duel.”

Wriothesley laughs, “Oh yeah? What about the first time we dueled? You didn’t put up much a of a fight then-“

“I hadn’t been expecting my new boss to challenge me to a duel.”

“Couldn’t resist; you seemed like a worthy opponent.” True. “You know, when we first met, I thought you were the most beautiful doctor I’d ever seen.”

“Hm, except you thought I was a new prisoner, didn’t you?” You correct him, already knowing the story.

“… A very stunning new prisoner.” This earns a giggle out of you, and Wriotheseley takes it as an opportunity to continue. “Can you blame me? The only new people we ever get down here are prisoners.”

“True, true.”

You finish pretend organizing your supply cabinets and make your way over to stand at the foot of the patient bed. But instead of making another flirtatious comment, Wriothesley pats the spot beside him- he’s sitting upright, so there’s plenty of room. With an overdramatic sigh, you comply. When you do, he give you a satisfied, albeit surprised smile.

Choosing to ignore the fact that you’ve just given in to one of Wriotheseleys attempts at getting closer to you, you ask; “And now?”

“Huh?”

“Your opinion of me compared to when we first met.”

“I think you’re a lot more than pretty, now.” He punctuates with a wink.

You playfully punch his arm, not nearly hard enough to actually hurt the man though. Still, His Grace exclaims in pain.

“Oh shut up, that wasn’t even your bad arm.”

“Only if you kiss me.” The force of your punch seems to be forgotten as Wriothesely’s icy blue eyes bore into your own.

Your mouth gapes. This isn’t the first time he’s asked to kiss you. And you have, on several occasions, on late nights when the two of you are both lonely and bored of work. Or during meetings in his office that lead to something less than professional. Still, you don’t usually indulge him when you are in “work mode,” as you are now.

“What?”

“I’ll shut up,” he takes the hand closest to him and wraps it in both of his, not even wincing when he moves his injured arm to do so, “but only if you kiss me.”

And, much to Wriothesley’s and even your own surprise, you do exactly that.

[itsjaywalkers]

for the prompt game: ROSEKILLER 57 WITH BOXER AU IVE BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS MOMENT……….. (also i hope you’re having a fun day off laurie hi hi 🥺🤍)

HI HI SAINTS BELOVED <333 i actually didn't get the day off bc i'm an idiot and i couldn't say no when my coworker asked me to change shifts.. but at least i got home before 10pm which . is unusual for me lmao . and today's shift was actually kinda fun so !!

anyways, hope you're having a lovely day and that u enjoy this silly lil thing <3 first peek into boxer au rosekiller <3 (i went a bit overboard but they've been plaguing my mind and u don't deserve less)

57. "Teach me to fight."

It's been more than half an hour of hitting the punching bag nonstop when Barty finally decides to take a break. It's not even because he's actually tired, despite the sweat he can already feel dripping down his back and his face. It's because his bad shoulder—the right one—dislocated during the last combination he tried, and after Barty puts it back in place, he's gotta wait a little bit before going back to training.

This happens way too often for comfort, but it's not really painful anymore—it never really was, or maybe Barty has simply dealt with much worse. Besides, the longer he ignores it, the more serious it'll get, which means he'll have an excuse to go get another check-up.

His manager already warned him when he first got the injury after that stupid fight with stupid Potter. Barty began to grow restless during recovery time, and then decided his shoulder was fine when it stopped hurting.

Obviously, he was wrong. Except, it only dislocates when he goes too hard, and he's learnt how to put it back in place without issue, so really, technically, he was sort of right. What does his manager know, anyway? As long as Barty continues winning and putting money in that fucker's pocket, there shouldn't be any complaints.

He pulls up his tank top and dries off some of the sweat on his neck and the side of his face, while rolling his shoulder gently, testing the waters before he goes back to punching, when the hairs at his nape begin to stand up.

There's no noise, no sudden sounds. Barty doesn't hear the door opening, or closing, and yet, when he turns around, smirk already pulling at his lips, he isn't surprised to find someone standing right behind him.

"Hey, Rosie," he greets the other man, who blinks at him, completely deadpan. "I didn't know you were still around. Long shift today?"

"Yes, you did," Evan responds, that cool tone of his sending a pleasing chill down Barty's spine. "Know, that is. I'm pretty sure you've got my schedule memorised."

Barty takes a few moments to drop the hem of his shirt, because he notices the way in which Evan's gaze drops to his stomach and stays there for a handful of seconds. His expression doesn't change, there isn't even a flicker of something in his face, but the attention is more than enough for him.

"Well, you left your email open and your laptop in my near vicinity." Barty shrugs, eyes running up and down Evan's body. He's still wearing that sexy white coat of his, the shirt underneath it perfectly buttoned and tucked inside his jeans.

There's barely any skin showing, because Evan is a little weirdo, but there's some ankle peeking, since the pants are ridiculously tight on him and the legs keep riding up slightly.

Honestly, it's like he's doing it on purpose. Barty can't be blamed if he ends up hard under his sweats. He can already feel some blood rushing south just at the sight of that tiny sliver of soft brown skin.

"And you downloaded my rotas?" Evan guesses, tilting his head to the side.

"Nah," Barty says, crossing his arms over his chest, flexing a little. "Didn't have to. I've got a damn good memory. I read over them for a couple of minutes until they stuck."

Evan nods, not fazed in the slightest.

"That's why you only come in when I'm on shift," Evan states, and it's not a question. He doesn't seem surprised, or freaked out, but then again, he barely shows any emotions. Apart from irritation, that is, and that one's reserved for when Barty is being especially pushy. Or especially horny.

"I don't think I've ever seen any of the other nurses a single time in my life," Barty tells him with a chuckle.

"You have," Evan retorts, and his eyes narrow the tiniest bit. Barty feels a pull in his stomach. "You were talking to Betty three weeks ago, after your match against Black. The bad one. You let her check your shoulder."

Barty lets out an incredulous laugh, not sure on where to focus first, going dizzy with how badly he wants this freak of a man.

He's obsessed with the way in which Evan always seems to get the urge to clarify which Black he's talking about, as if it's not obvious, considering only one of them fights. How he's always so precise, never allowing any ambiguity into his sentences. How almost nothing seems to hold his focus apart from his experiments and medicine and his patients' injuries, and yet, here he is, remembering when Barty talked to someone else momentarily.

"Did I?" Barty asks innocently, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his shit-eating grin at bay.

"Yes," Evan responds, a little furrow appearing between his eyebrows. "She was touching you."

"Was she?" The corners of Barty's mouth are twitching so much he's sure he must look like an absolute maniac.

"Yes," Evan repeats, some exasperation slipping into his voice. "She wasn't even doing it right. She kept kneading the muscle in the same place, instead of checking the ligament, and she did this for more than five minutes, even though it takes seconds to find out about a dislocation—"

"Rosie," Barty cuts him off gently, watching, with no little amount of delight, how Evan's frown worsens. "I didn't even know her fucking name. I couldn't give less of a fuck about stupid Betty, or whatever the hell she's called."

Evan blinks slowly. "But you—"

"I was tired and sore after that match, my shoulder was bothering me, and she was there. My manager told her to check my shoulder, just in case I had fucked it up beyond solution, but if I had known you were around she wouldn't have laid a single finger on me."

There's a beat of silence, Evan's dead eyes searching all over Barty's face, assessing and determined. He smirks at him, which results in Evan huffing and looking away.

"Don't do it again," it's what he ends up mumbling, and if Barty didn't know any better, he'd dare to say Evan is close to pouting. "You're my patient."

Barty raises both eyebrows, a deranged smile splitting his face while he perks up like a goddamn dog. "Is that jealousy I'm hearing, Rosie?"

"No," Evan drawls, straightening up. "It's just the truth. You're not my only patient, you know? But if you're getting treated by me, then you're not allowed to see any other nurses."

"Damn, way to make a man feel special," Barty scoffs, but he does actually kind of mean it. Which he's aware might be a bit pathetic, but, well, he'll be whatever the fuck Evan wants him to. "Wasn't interested in seeing any other nurses, anyway."

"Good." Evan nods, almost to himself, and Barty has to make an active effort not to coo. "Are you done training?"

Barty blinks a couple of times, slightly taken aback, both by the sudden change of topic and by Evan entertaining conversation. Normally, talking to the other boy feels like pulling teeth—oh, man, Rosie would fucking love this comparison—which Barty doesn't mind because he finds it incredibly fun. Unless Evan is going on one of his medical rants, and yeah, Barty shouldn't find it as attractive as he does, but it's not like he's ever worked like he's supposed to.

But this? This is new.

"Not really," Barty answers, still feeling off-kilter. He shakes his head, forcibly pulling himself out of his mind. "Why? You wanna join me, Rosie?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Barty snorts, assuming that it's a joke, even though he's more than aware that Evan doesn't do jokes, because his humour is way too dark, and rarely finds funny what others do. But Evan's expression doesn't change, and Barty nearly chokes on his own spit.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've never been interested in boxing," Barty points out.

"That's a lie. I watch every match," Evan argues, lips pursed.

"Because you're job kind of forces you to."

"Also a lie. I need to be there when I'm on shift, in case they call for me, but I'm not required to actually watch."

"Yeah, but you still do, because your pretty little morbid head goes absolutely feral at the prospect of seeing some blood."

Evan scrunches his nose, as if disgusted.

"You're wrong," Evan lies, expression giving absolutely nothing away. Really, if Barty didn't already know the truth, he'd be inclined to believe him. "It's got nothing to do with that. I like boxing."

Barty huffs, the noise filled with amusement. "Sure you do, Rosie."

"I really do," Evan insists, always so ridiculously stubborn.

"I don't know who you're trying to convince, but—"

"Teach me to fight."

Barty sputters, brows almost reaching his hairline, and he gapes at Evan, who's still staring at him. He seems unaffacted by Barty's dramatics, but then again, he's unaffected by almost everything.

"The fuck?" he manages to spit out at some point.

"Teach me to fight," Evan says again, a lot slower, as if Barty is some kind of idiot. God, he wans to fucking devour him.

Barty isn't sure of what's going on right now. Evan barely interacts with him outside of their appointments, it's always him reaching out, so he doesn't understand what prompted this. What Evan is hoping to achieve.

"Why?"

"I told you, I like boxing."

"Yeah, okay. And the real reason?"

Evan's tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, and it's so, so hard for Barty, not to make a very inappropriate joke.

"I'm testing something," he admits, albeit bedgrugingly.

"Ah, so you want me to be your guinea pig," Barty sighs a bit dreamily. "That sounds more like it."

"Sure," Evan agrees with unsurprising ease. "Will you?"

"All you had to do was ask, Rosie."

They get to work right after that. Barty doesn't even bother with suggesting a change of clothes, because he's aware of how well that'd be received. The fact that Evan chooses to take the white coat off is already more than Barty expected.

He tries to show him how to stand, how to do a basic punch. Evan knows most of the basic theory, mostly due to how often he deals with boxing injuries, but he's absolutely helpless when he has to act it out himself.

It doesn't matter how often Barty corrects him; he keeps slouching, stance all wonky. He lacks strength, and he takes a bit too long to protect his face after doing a jab.

The main issue, though, is his obvious lack of interest.

Evan seems to be distracted by something, too inside his own head, and when Barty is about to point this out, poke some fun at him in hopes of getting Evan to snap, the other man speaks again.

"That's enough," he declares, tone leaving no place for argument. "Let's spar."

Barty chuckles, disbelieving, but then Evan is sending a glare his way, and he raises both hands in mock surrender, giving in immediately.

He'll do pretty much whatever the fuck Evan wants him to, really.

They both get into position, and regardless of how much Barty is holding back, trying to give the other man a chance, is actually kind of laughable, how easily he overcomes him.

One moment they're exchanging soft blows, and the next Barty has Evan pinned to the floor, his legs and arms completely immobilised as Barty grins maniacally from above.

"Happy now, Rosie?" he teases.

Evan presses his mouth in a tight line. "Not quite."

"Oh, really? Because I'm starting to think this was all a ruse to get me on top of you."

Evan rolls his eyes so hard Barty worries they might get stuck inside his skull. "I'm afraid that's more your style. And anyway, I don't think it's wise to understimate your opponent like this."

"It's nothing personal, Rosie, but when victory is already mine, I—"

Barty never gets to finish. Evan raises his head so quickly his brain barely registers it, and then he's sinking his teeth hard where Barty's neck meets his shoulder. Until he breaks skin, until he draws blood, until Barty lets out a pained groan and his body goes slack, more in surprise than actual hurt.

A moment later, their positions are reversed. Evan is straddling him, mouth still attached to his skin, and Barty is lying on the cold ground, dizzy and a little bit breathless.

He doesn't know how long they stay like this—definitely not enough—but after a while, Evan lets go and sits up a little, lips stained red. It's dripping down his chin, and when he parts his mouth a little, panting softly, Barty finds out that his teeth are also crimson with blood. With his blood.

Barty groans again.

"You're hard," Evan comments, painfully nonchalant. It's that same casualness he used the first time Barty had an erection during an appointment, after Evan had pulled at the stitches on his leg and stuck his fingers inside Barty's wound.

"Yeah," he breathes out, half-delirious. "Yeah, no shit."

Evan hums, cocking his head to the side, analytical gaze running up and down Barty's body and making him twitch in his pants. The fact that Evan can feel it right under him, between his legs, forces Barty to swallow down a moan.

Barty is about to say something incredibly stupid to maybe, hopefully, alleviate the tension, when Evan leans down once more; this time, slower, more careful.

He's prepared to feel the sting of a bite again, toes curling in excitement, but it never comes. Instead, there's something wet and tentative and soft lapping at the open wound, gathering all the blood there that is still coming out.

It takes Barty a moment to realise it's Evan's tongue.

The knowledge hits Barty like a motherfucking bus. He can't stop a low moan from coming out now, or his hips from thrusting up, searching for something, anything, that Evan might give him.

Surprisingly, and instead of pulling away, the other man makes an odd noise against his skin, and Barty thinks he's imagining it when Evan presses down on him.

He freezes up after that, but only for a second, Evan's licking never stopping. But then Barty moves again, more purposefully, rubbing his erection against the apex of Evan's thighs.

The response is immediate, although definitely unconscious. Evan grinds back experimentally, with no coordination or finesse, dropping another sound into Barty's bleeding wound.

His eyes widen when his brain finally catches up properly, hands coming up to grab at Evan's hips and halt his movements.

"Rosie, are you..." Barty stops, swallows harshly. "Are you turned on right now?"

Evan laps at the blood a few more times before straightening up again, staring down at Barty with unblinking eyes and red all over his face.

"Fuck, are you—?" A laugh, strained and bordering on hysterical. "Are you wet?" He doesn't even need to check to know the answer.

Evans nods, almost imperceptibly. "Apparently so."

He has half a mind to turn them over and fuck Evan into the floor. Until Evan is a whimpering mess. Until he's crying, begging, unable to do anything but fucking take it. Until he's sore, and hurt, and full, but still asking for more. Until he can't say anything else apart from Barty's name, until he's—

"Bloody hell," Barty whispers, shutting his eyes tight and letting out another cackle.

Oh, he's going to die. He's absolutely going to fucking die.