#professor!loki

[five-miles-over]

I really like the way that @darkficsyouneveraskedfor poses the reader as someone who feels hardly noticed by quoting examples from her interactions with her roommates and her not having any friends. It really puts her in such a perfect position for this older figure of Professor Laufeyson to enter her life. With literally one interaction, the way he invades her personal space and he uses such theatrical language (at least that's the vibe I'm getting)

“I was carried away, I apologise, but you are… so beautiful and I see you are unappreciated for that, it strikes my heart,”

“I will have to keep you to those thoughts that keep me awake at night and those dreams that hound my sleep,” he declares, “and I will have to look elsewhere as I give my lectures, as hard as it should be.”

, he makes such a memorable entrance. I'm staring the next chapter immediately.

Professor Loki or Professor Thor?

Forbidden Lessons

Warnings: age gap, abuse of power, unwanted touching. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them.

Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!

His fingers tickle the back of your neck, setting you on edge, the blur around the notebook's edges coming into focus. You lift your head and look up, realising the lecture hall is empty. 

It was supposed to be a quick question. You didn’t expect Professor Laufeyson to sit in the seat beside you, a little too low for his long legs, and to lean in as he looks over your notes.

He peers down, pointing along your loopy writing with the nib of your pen. You hardly recall him taking it from you as he writes comments in the margins.

“I can offer some revised notes. I do post my PowerPoints on the course site,” he advises, playing with the back of your collar, rubbing the fabric between his fingers, “or you can visit my office hours. I do try to be as hands-on with those struggling.”

“Struggling?” you bat your lashes at him in horror, “I thought…”

“You listen well, yes, and you ask many questions but your last paper,” he shakes his head and closes his eyes grimly, “I know you can do better.”

“Oh?” your lips round as his green eyes flick open and meet yours. He’s close, very closer as his touch wanders from your collar and he draws you against the arm of the chair, gripping your shoulder as his thumb caress the top of your sleeve.

“You’re a smart girl but there’s a lot of changes that come with college,” he says, “I notice how… you sit alone. You haven’t made many friends, have you?”

“Well, I…” you look down, embarrassed. His fingers send a shiver through you. Should he be that close? “I study a lot and, um, my roommates are nice.”

“Oh, yes, but your classmates? They hardly seem to notice you. What a pity. I find it very hard not to, you know?”

“To what?” you squeak.

“To notice you,” he breathes as he leans in.

You turn away, burning from the heat of his proximity. “Professor, thank you for your help but I…” you pause as his lips meet your cheek. 

You gasp and stand, nearly stumbling as your hips hits the folding desk and pops it up. He catches your notebook as he rises too. He blocks your path as you grab your knitted bag and reach for the book in his hand.

“Pet, please, understand, I only want you to meet your true potential,” he holds it just out of your reach.

“You…” you touch your cheek and keep your eyes past him, on the door.

“I was carried away, I apologise, but you are… so beautiful and I see you are unappreciated for that, it strikes my heart,” he speaks gently and presents the notebook, “I will not keep you from going. I did not mean to frighten you. Take it, go off. I’m certain, as you mentioned, your roommates will be eager to have you back.”

You take the notebook and flip the cover over. You slide it into the bag slung from your shoulder and inhale. You can’t help a guilty wince. Your roommates are all too busy for you. Sometimes you’re certain they forget you even live there.

“Thank you, professor,” you cross your arms, “I’ll see you next week.”

“Of course, pet,” he uses that name again, “I put my number in your book and office hours. You’re more than welcome.”

He turns as you pass him, striding lithely with you to the door. You pause and face him again.

“I’m sorry,” you say, not certain why you’re apologising.

“No, please, I am,” he touches his chest, “I should know better. I can’t imagine you’d want your first kiss to be an old man like me.”

“First– I… how–?” you croak and cringe at your unwitting confession, “it is only… you’re my professor.”

“In another lifetime,” he nods with a frown, “I shall have to keep it as it has been. In here.” He taps his temple.

You blanch and your chest heaves in surprise. You're trembling in fear and shock. You should go but you feel like if you do, it would be an insult. To run off, just like that.

“I will have to keep you to those thoughts that keep me awake at night and those dreams that hound my sleep,” he declares, “and I will have to look elsewhere as I give my lectures, as hard as it should be.”

Your eyes sting, as if you could cry. How horrible you feel for him. That you never meant to inspire the feeling in him, yet never expected any to yearn for you so passionately. It is both startling and sweet.

But he is still your professor.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and reach behind you for the door, “I didn’t mean to…”

As you turn, he grabs the handle above your hand. He keeps you from pulling it and traps you against the wood. He presses his body to yours and inhales your scent.

“I just want to remember how you feel,” he hugs you with his other arm. He wiggles his hips and you feel the odd prodding against you. You quiver as he lets you go, opening the door as he parts, “good night, pet.”

You quickly move to flee, stepping back into him before scurrying through the door. Your chest tamps as you hold your breath and your soles scuff loudly in the empty hall. You stop at the corner and look back at him.

He watches you with a smirk, his hand resting on his belt, a lewd suggestion as he slowly closes the door.

[faramirsonofgondor]

Any queer man in fiction can’t have a healthy relationship. All they know is pining, divorce, cause the apocalypse, wear silly costume, fight they homo boyfriend, trauma, be disastrous, eat hot chip & lie.

[spideysenze]

don’t think i posted this here

[lokigodofmyheart]

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

Day 1 - Sex Pollen (Tony Stark)

Day 2 - Restraining/ shadow play (Loki)

Day 3 - Threesome (Loki and Bucky)

Day 4 - Temperature play (Loki)

Day 5 - none

Day 6 - Roleplay (Severus Snape)

Day 7 - Toys/Public vibrator (Tony Stark)

Day 8 - Edging/orgasm denial (Bucky Barnes)

Day 9 - Pegging (Loki x Reader)

Day 10 - Blow job (Loki x Reader)

Day 11- 20 - none

Day 21 - Sex Pollen (Severus Snape x Reader)

Day 22 -

[guardianjameslight]

No trope hurts more than friends/brothers to enemies.

[peachyjinx]

Sharing an excerpt from "Lay Your Hands On Me", my Professor Loki multi-chapter fic coming out in 2025. I decided to finish writing it before posting, which sucks for me- I want to share it! So here's a little taste, I can't wait till I can share the whole thing with you guys 😘.

LMK if you want to be on the taglist for it! 💚

Loki swiftly walked through his foyer, and with a practiced flick, his keys spiraled through the air, landing with a clink on the small table in the corner. He had spent his whole drive home thinking about Charlotte. His guilt over their confrontation gnawed at him—a subtle sting beneath the surface—but it paled in comparison to the more insistent throbbing in his pants.

The house was silent around him, and he could almost hear the blood pulsing in his veins, each heartbeat a drumroll punctuating the thoughts of Charlotte that danced provocatively through his thoughts. 

He quickly made his way to his bedroom, unbuckling his pants as he walked into the shadows. The dim light offered a sanctuary of sorts, a place where he could entertain these thoughts without the piercing clarity of daylight to cast judgment upon them. He laid down on his large bed with determination to relieve this pressure, this ache that was inside of him. 

She was smart, passionate, and fiery, and he liked it. While at first she irritated him, he now felt his whole body alight with lust. That fierce glint in her eyes sparked something primal within him, igniting a flame where only embers had smoldered for far too long. The way she had bent over and pointed her finger at him angrily had caused an involuntary shudder through him, and a twitch of arousal he couldn't suppress.

"Once," he whispered into the darkness, a promise or a plea, he wasn't certain, as he released his pulsing cock from its confines, the cool air of the room kissing his heated skin.

Would it be so bad if he slept with her? 

You can’t fuck the students. They explicitly told you that when you were in training. 

Loki chuckled to himself as his length hardened more while his large hand stroked it. Of course he'd be attracted to a student. This was simultaneously the best and worst thing that could happen. A temptation, a change in this monotonous life. The hunger within him stirred, a restless beast prowling the confines of his soul. It was desire, pure and unadulterated, mingled with the tang of danger. 

Oh this is bad, he thought to himself with a wicked grin, as he tightened his grip on his needy cock while he rhythmically pumped it.

--

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Professors Masterlist

Steve Rogers and Peter Parker

Late Bloomer 💚 2 💚 3

Thor and Bucky

Sweet Like Candy 💗 2 💗 3

Loki and Tony Stark

Like a Stone 💛 2 💛 3

Walter Marshall and destroyer!Chris

Know Your Place 💜 2 💜 3

Lloyd Hansen and Nick Fowler

Learn the Hard Way 🖤 2 🖤 3

Andy Barber and Cole Turner

Habits 🧡 2 🧡 3

Lee Bodecker and Ransom Drysdale

Words Like Honey 💛 2

Colin Shea and Rafe Cameron

Smile Like You Mean It ❤️ 2

[soraya-snape]

I don't know how many times I have heard a Marauders Stan tell me and other Snape Fans that we only like him because of Alan Rickman. Which is funny because they are the exact same people who only like the Marauders and also death eaters like Regulus because of their hot fancasts. And I don't even have a problem with it because yes Alan Rickman did play a part in me liking Snape and I believe you can like pretty much every fictional character because they are fictional. The difference is that I don't excuse Sev's behaviour because I think he looks good unlike these Marauders Stans.

[kmartkiddieisle]

Saw some absolute diva out there say

“cherik walked so lokius and sambucky could run”

And gabriell.ee22 if you’re out here I love you.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

“What about Evan Peters as Pietro Maximoff lol? I’d obviously vote him!” ——> precisely why he’s not on the poll

[five-miles-over]

Okay, that quickly escalated. Professor! Loki is starting to give me chills whenever he opens his mouth. I'm not sure whether to be amazed by his boldness in touching the reader or extremely frightened...

Either way, I'm hooked to this story. I know it's not right, I know this would be so wrong IRL but I am so easily immersed into the world of this story.

Please tell me that there is part 2 for Forbidden Lessons

Forbidden Lessons II

If you insist!

Warnings: age gap, abuse of power, unwanted touching, fingering, gaslighting. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them.

Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!

Your hands shake. You clasp them to keep still. It’s the first time you’ve been alone with Professor Laufeyson since… then.

You tried to avoid it. Tried to learn on your own but you can’t keep getting C’s. Despite your best effort, that’s all you can muster. You don’t know what makes you more nervous; your GPA or him.

The door clicks shut, making you flinch. He brushes by your chair, facing his desk, and the neat stacks of books next to an equally tidy pile of papers. He flutters through them and pulls out one in particular. He turns to you and holds it out.

“Thank you, Professor,” you say as you take it and slide to the edge of the chair.

“I didn’t expect you,” he replies as you flip past the cover page.

“I… I need help,” you admit as you eye the red ink in the margins. A lot of help, you think to yourself.

“I’m happy you came,” he says as he paces decisively away from his desk, rounding the chair as his gaze rests on you, “I was afraid… you wouldn’t.”

You chew your thumb. Stupid mistakes. All of them. You turn to the next page and shake your head.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” he says as he nears the back of the chair and places his hands on your shoulders, “relax, pet.” He squeezes as he urges you back, “I’m here to help. To do whatever I can to please you.”

Your throat constricts. His hands travel towards your neck, framing the bottom of it as he bends to read over your shoulder. He drops a hand away and points at the opening of your second paragraph.

“What we must focus on is conciseness. Being straight to the point,” his hot breath glosses down your neck and settles in the weave of your sweater as he speakers into your ear, “being honest.”

“Professor,” your hand trembles and the paper loudly reflects the uncontrollable tremor.

“I am trying, pet, to resist,” he drags his fingertips up the sides of your neck, a shiver rolling down your spine, “but it is difficult.”

He draws away reluctantly. You watch him stride around, long steps as he tucks his hands in his pockets and exhales. He turns to stand in front of you. You can’t look at him, you won’t. You would melt at the very sight of those green eyes.

He lowers himself to his knees before you, gently slipping the paper from your grasp. He drops it to the floor and takes your hands in his.

“I know it is wrong but I have never wanted anything more than you,” he raises your knuckles to his lips, like a scene from an Austen romance, “I know you. I know how it feels to be ostracised, to be the odd one out, to be… alone.”

“Please,” you quiver, staring at his long pale fingers, how they seem to bask in the feel of just your hands.

He trails down your wrists and slips his hands beneath yours, stretching his grip around your thighs, tracing a pleat in your long skirt. Your lips part as your insides knot. Why? Because it is wrong or because you like it? It’s hard to tell.

“Professor,” you sit, frozen in indecision. Paralysed by your self-doubt.

“I only want to make you feel good, like you deserve,” he soothes as he follows the length of your skirts. 

The dry air of his office flows up your stocking as he drags his fingers up your leg. You squeak as he nudges your knees apart, crawling up your thigh. He follows the seam along your crotch and you latch onto the chair.

You shiver as his other hand cradles your chin, drawing you forward. His lips meet yours, adding to the spark deep inside you. You want to push him away and go. You want to run and hide. But your body won’t listen.

His tongue glides over your lips and pushes between them. He groans as he grips your chin firmly, kissing you deeply as he pokes along your stockings.

He breaks through the thin fabric and rubs along your panties. You quiver as he stokes the sensation coiling within. You give a pathetic mewl as you close your eyes tight, both stuck in the moment and clawing for an escape in your mind. 

He slips two fingers beneath your panties, delving between your folds, stirring a tingle that radiates up your stomach. You puff as he parts from your lips, pushing your head back as you cling to the chair. He flicks up and down, a spark pinging around your pelvis.

You squeak as you spread your legs wide. He moves closer, snaking his arm around you as he curls his fingers over your shoulder, leaning his head against your chest. He holds you there as he plays with your bud, rolling his fingers as he pants into the wool, his hot breath mingling with your sweat.

“Does that feel good, pet?” he slithers, slightly muffled.

“Mhmm,” you hum and heave.

“Yes? It doesn’t feel wrong, does it?”

You whine as his fingers speed up, the slickness easing his motion as ripples spread along your thighs.

“Does it?” he repeats.

“N-n-nooo,” you squeal and turn your chin up, back arching as you feel the tension twist.

“You can do it, pet, don’t be afraid,” he purrs as he presses firmly, shaking his whole hand as he toys with you, “cum for me, pet.”

You cry out, a strangled noise that scratches from your throat. Your shallow breaths have you babbling as you fall back, quaking as he guides you through the sharp rise and fall of your orgasm. You whimper and blink at the ceiling, vision speckled and head spinning.

“You’re even more beautiful when you cum,” he says as he slips his fingers from beneath your panties and frees his arm from beneath your skirt. You lift your head to look at him as he gets to his feet, pushing his fingers into his mouth He gives an enthusiastic hum as he pulls them out slowly, “you taste even better than you look.”

[illyanarasputinfan]

Exceptional X-Men #1 (2024) Marvel Comics

Variant Cover Artist: Scott Koblish

[aishiteruhayama]

Calling All TV Fans! Please Help Me Graduate 🎓📊

Calling all TV show and anime fans, please spare 2 minutes to fill out this survey about fandom communities on social media and help a girl (me) graduate 😭

all your answers will be anonymous!! thank you so much in advance! feel free to share this with anyone who loves TV shows and is active on social media. 😊

[loki-ioki]

Finally got around to finishing my Sada and Turo horses.

[mutantontheloose]

Guess who couldn’t sleep again?!

Meeee

@serenastark-official

@justawhitewolf

@americas-favourite-fossil

@captain-s-falcon

@sort-of-magneto

@professorcharlesx

[happy74827]

The Devil's Tango

{!!SPOILERS!! SEASON 4 EPISODES 1-6}

[Rhys Montrose x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: A certain professor is not very supportive of your relationship with the mayor-in-running.

WC: 2,741

Warnings: It's You... the show is warning enough.

The amount of people I see begging for an x reader of this man, and that no one had done it yet is actually hilarious. You would think after the first reveal, the whole fandom would jump at the sight of this man.

Though, realistically speaking, it's probably because he's one of those characters that are so hard to get right. Plus the fact that Part 2 didn't help in his favor at all.

I do plan to write more of him, so this is just a little tease if you will.

『••✎••』

“Hello, you.”

You jumped out of instinct, snapping your head towards the hoarse voice behind you. The chalk that you were currently using flew right out of your hand, soaring to hit the shadow that was now in front of you. Before it could hit your mystery stalker in the head, however, swift hands caught it just before impact.

“I… think you dropped this.” The sarcastic tone of an expired New Yorker made your fears fly away as your piece of chalk had. As you turned to meet the familiar brown eyes, you couldn’t help but give a slight smile.

“Oh, Jonathan,” You raised a hand to your chest, letting out chuckles in relief. “You scared me there, I wasn’t expecting anyone to visit at this hour.”

He stood in front of you blankly for a moment, as if someone had hit him with a “time freeze” superpower. You paid no mind to this of course, as it was a typical Jonathan Moore quirk. He clearly was very into his mind.

It almost reminded you of a certain… someone.

Jonathan snapped back to the present in no time with a soft, closed smile forming on his face. Within doing so, he handed you back your murderous chalk, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Oh, no… no it’s totally my fault.” He apologized profusely, nudging his elbow towards the door. “The whole “not knocking” thing seems to be a nasty habit that only I can’t seem to get rid of.”

You nodded along to his apologies, despite already forgiving him the second you saw the familiar curls that fell down his forehead. It was pretty hard to hate the man that shared the same passion for poetry and was one of the professors that was teaching the same subject as you had.

“So, Jonathan,” you started, moving to lean your back against your desk. Your daily planner was down by your hips, along with the chalk. “What brings you to my classroom? Are you looking for some new recommendations?”

His face slightly faltered to the point where no normal, unobservant eye could witness it. The lip quiver, the slight wobbling of his left leg… they were all telltale signs of compressed emotions that an average joe wouldn’t think twice about — specifically, those who only knew the person on a surface level.

That wasn’t you, of course. You were observant to the point where it annoyed you. The constant paranoia that followed everyone’s movements practically ate you alive.

After a heap of silence, Jonathan sighed with his head facing downwards, his dark chocolate eyes refusing to look at you.

“It’s about Rhys Montrose.”

Your eyebrow raised in confusion at his words, your hands subconsciously resting on the desk, with your planner and chalk beside you. It was now you who had that blank daze.

“I…” You were absolutely speechless to the point where you could feel your jaw drop slightly. Jonathan knew Rhys? You’ve of course mentioned your relationship with Rhys to Jonathan himself, but you had no idea they had actually met. Honestly, you were still having a hard time believing that the nerd had met Lady Phoebe.

You straightened yourself, using your arms as leverage, as you looked at him with furrowed brows. “With how busy he constantly is now, I wasn’t even aware-“

“He’s not what you think he is.” Jonathan cut you off, his eyes shooting you to meet with yours. They were full of… worry?

“Jonathan, what are you—?“

His hands reached out to your shoulders, his body encasing you between himself and your desk. With every step he took closer to you, the more your eyes widened with confusion.

“You don’t know him, not like you think you do,” Jonathan whispered, “He’s a danger to society.”

You pulled his arms off of you, completely shocked by his tone. His phone buzzed as you looked at him bewildered, but he ignored his new text message. All he was focused on was you, just you.

“A danger to society? Jonathan, he’s just running for mayor.” You scoffed, turning back your attention to the chalkboard from before the librarian arrived. “You know, I didn’t take you for a man that’s into politics.”

“It’s not about fucking politics!” His hands slammed down on your desk. It caused you to jump, turning back towards the man only to find him mere inches from your face.

You tried to back away, but he pulled you right back in. “Jonathan—“

“You’re not listening!” His hands grabbed at your arms, his eyes darkened underneath the light you both stood under. “Rhys is a danger to society, he’s a danger to you.”

Jonathan continued to shake you and yell words into your ears, but everything around you went mute. The slightly muffled conversations from students down the hallways were silenced. You saw Jonathan’s lips moving, frantically, but you couldn’t hear. You didn’t want to hear.

“Jonathan, I think you need to leave.” You muttered to him coldly. It was a tone that would get anyone to stop and think, and he did just that. He paused, and it was then you gathered your strength and shoved him off of you for the final time. He stopped abruptly, his eyes questioning you.

He begged and pleaded with you to hear him out, but you refused. You refused to even glance in his direction. You were rarely an angry person, you usually kept it bottled up to come out in soft rants, but you were afraid if you said another word to Jonathan, you might just go ballistic to the point where you’d risk losing your valuable job, something you couldn’t afford to lose.

So, you told him to get out of your classroom once again and eventually he was forced to listen. He left when your familiar, upbeat students came pouring in one by one.

Despite the almost psychotic break dearest Jonathan had beforehand, class had gone rather smoothly for you. The students actually engaged with one another and focused completely on the short story at hand.

Not once had they gone off-topic. Then, of course, the devil shows up with a knock at your door, disrupting everything. It was one of the things you’ve hated the most, as you found it terribly rude, but your forgiving nature came into play when you realized it wasn’t the man you believed it to be. When you turned your head, it was Rhys who stood there with his hands crossed against his chest. He wore his signature suit and tie, which both complemented his figure and his eyes.

You gave him a slight smile in return, but the look he gave - the blue eyes devouring yours - had you following him outside the classroom rather immediately. You trusted your students enough to behave themselves.

Once outside the view of your students, Rhys gingerly wrapped his hand around your arm, guiding you to a secluded spot in the hallway that was sure not to draw attention. With Montrose's face being blasted everywhere as the mayor-in-running, it was hard finding privacy in public.

You were about to ask what it was that had him so upset to the point where he chased you down at work, but he beat you to it.

"Hello, darling," Rhys's voice sounded almost strained, tired even. It had been a while since you last saw him, not to mention that his friend Gemma had just recently become another victim of that so-called "Eat-The-Rich Killer," though Rhys had "admitted" that she wasn't his friend. If you recalled, he used the words, "Oh, piss off, you manky hypocrite" when he had last spoken with her. Still, the bags under his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept much the night before.

"Ah, nice to see you haven't changed your habits." Rhys covered his tiredness with a knowing smile as he gently leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "Maybe a psychology degree would be a better fit for you."

"Sorry," you apologized, looking slightly down. "It's just... not that I'm not glad to see that you're back, I really am, but are you okay? You look like you haven't slept for days, and you usually don't drop by the university unless there's a problem."

Rhys licked his lips, letting out a breathy laugh as he raised his hands to his hips. The tiredness in his eyes went away for a moment, resulting in him staring at you amusingly. A look that only took you a few seconds to realize you'd analyzed him once again.

You couldn't help but internally groan at yourself, but he only shot you another charming smile. It was one so enchanting that it made you swoon at the sight.

However, he eventually dropped that smile and sighed, caving into your concerns.

"I've had a long week," he confessed to you. "Oddly enough, I couldn't work my usual charm to get through to some... certain people, but I'm optimistic. Nothing a little persuasion won't fix."

"Me too, it's been a crazy morning." You agreed with a sigh. The incident with Jonathan within the previous hour was still fresh in your mind, haunting you to your core.

You never felt threatened by Jonathan, but as you recollected the scene, his body towering over yours with the desk blocking you from escaping. His arms held you, keeping you captive as he screamed about the man - the man who you loved with all your heart - wasn't the man you knew. That he was a façade, dishonest... an apparent danger to you.

Of course, you didn't believe Jonathan. You trusted Rhys with your life, but nothing about what Jonathan said sat right with you. He couldn't have known Rhys for more than six months, so why did he act as if he knew him better than you...

Rhys whispered your name, calling you back to face him. He was closer to you than he was before, with eyes that held his growing concern. As his hands gingerly reached out to caress your shoulders, you wanted to tease him about how he was now the observer, but you stayed quiet.

He didn't like that.

"Darling, what is it?" he pushed softly, his accent adding gentleness to his tone, "What happened?"

"It was… really odd," you muttered, your mind flicking back to your classroom, the way Jonathan's hands slammed down on the desk with sudden rage, how badly it made your heart skip a beat. "My coworker, Jonathan, he—"

Rhys cut you off. "You said, Jonathan?"

"Yes," you nodded.

"As in… Jonathan Moore?”

Huh, it seemed Jonathan wasn't lying to you about it after all. They really do know each other. The more you thought about it, however, made you wonder why Rhys never told you about him. He must have known you both worked in the same building.

You nodded to his question once again, lowering your eyes down toward the glassy floor beneath you. You didn't have to look at Rhys to know he was listening intently.

"Usually, Jonathan comes in to give or receive book recommendations, but today he was acting… really off," you glanced back up at him, as you began to quiver. "He was stating things about you, and shouting at me, and I… I don't know. It really threw me in for a loop."

Rhys' head snapped up at you like a lightning strike. His eyes no longer contained the concern he had held before. They darkened, as well as his voice.

"What did he say to you?"

"Something about how you were a danger to society, and apparently a danger to me," you shivered at the memory. "He shouted a lot of things really, but I canceled out the majority of them and threw him out, metaphorically of course."

Rhys mumbled under his breath. Unfortunately, it was something you couldn't quite pick up on. The only thing you could do was watch as he sucked on his tongue, making a face as though he was eating sour candy, before glancing up to meet your eyes again.

You stayed quiet, observing his newfound attitude. His jaw was clenched, with arms shifting towards the wall to encase you within them before letting his head fall and lean into you. He practically did what Jonathan did but with the wall instead of your desk, and despite the similarities, you weren't scared of Rhys. His eyes fluttered closed with his �� now loosened tie — dangling out in front of you. His lips were only inches away from the base of your neck, and you couldn't help but take in his signature scent of grounded coffee grinds.

"Rhys," you whispered softly towards him, ruffling up his short hair slightly. He let out another sigh that unclenched his jaw and pushed himself closer to you. You couldn't help but notice how relieved he now seemed, letting out gentle, smooth huffs of air to take in the moment.

Unfortunately, as much as you'd like to stay like this — being you haven't had him for a week — you still had a class to teach. Regrettably, you forced yourself to peel away from his arms, whispering short apologies and promises to see him later.

You didn't look back as you retreated back to your classroom. Upon returning to your desk, you turned to see that every single one of your students either gave you a smirk or a knowing nod, and you couldn't help but threaten them with a pop quiz that you were positive they weren't prepared for. As expected, it shut them right the hell up.

Ah, the power of being a professor.

———

When Jonathan arrived home that night with his now empty red takeout bag, he couldn’t help but sense the feeling that he was being watched. His feeling turned out to be correct when he went to unlock the door of his apartment, only to find it already unlocked.

The professor froze momentarily, hesitating whether he should enter unarmed or retrieve a nearby weapon. But being in sight of absolutely nothing, he had no choice but to grudgingly step inside.

As expected, when closing the door behind him, the lights of his living room flickered on and within the light revealed the man he most desperately wanted to kill.

The unwelcome man sat on his chair like he owned the place. A martini resided in his hand as he gave a sarcastic smile. The yellow light mixed in with the fiery flames of the fireplace reflected the same unnerving expression.

“Hello, Professor Moore,” the man spoke with amusement as he turned to face the bearded killer. His accent had the falsified name rolled off in a tease.

The owner rolled his eyes as he dropped the bag he held down at his feet. His keys were put safely back into his pocket. He should’ve known this would happen.

“Despite how much I would love to carve out your marvelous attractive eyes,” the man stood up, swirling the drink in his hand as he approached the professor. “I have to admit, Joe, I underestimated your intelligence. I knew you were smart, since the very beginning mind you, but this was just… impressive.”

Joe ground his teeth. “What do you want with me, Rhys? Why are you even here?”

“Two things, really,” Rhys smacked his lips together, nodding his head as he looked down for dramatic effect. When he glanced back up at the professor, his amusing smile was gone. His hand stopped swirling the martini, keeping it eerily still, and his eyes darkened almost instantly.

“Remember what we talked about, Joe, with the replacement. I want it done within twenty-four hours. If not, as I said earlier, you’ll be going down for everything.”

Joe’s breath hitched as Rhys stalked closer to his body. The piercing blue eyes caused the professor to freeze in his thoughts, forcing him to watch for Rhys’ unpredictability.

“And if you ever come near my girl again,” his voice was ghostly, sending chills throughout Joe’s entire body. “I’ll be the one who throws your ass in the cage.”

As if he were a light switch, Rhys pulled his lips into a grin within seconds. In a calm manner, he forced his half-sipped martini into the professor’s hands before seeking himself out.

For the first time in a long time, Joe Goldberg felt uneasy.

*Rhys x reader being nonexistent on Tumblr*

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