#we should study him in psychology classes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

toshisdecadence · 1 year ago

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Another Notch on Her Belt

PAIRING(S): sub!yuta okkotsu x dom!fem reader (descriptions of: reader x suguru geto & reader x satoru gojo)

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon, watersports, humiliation, yuta is a virgin, reader gets massive play, rich girl!reader, cherry popping, nipple play (m receiving), forced orgasms, overstimulation, slut shaming, spitting, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dacryphilia, riding, 69ing, public car sex, spitting, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, stepping, trampling, cum eating, footjob, oral sex (m and f receiving), breathplay, yuta is satoru gojo’s cousin, smoking, alcohol consumption

WORD COUNT: 16.8k

SUMMARY: You, the resident maneater of the university, set your hungry eyes on none other than the shy and bumbling Yuta Okkotsu.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

There’s many things that Yuta was afraid of. Of all the things, they consisted of heights, public speaking, the ocean, his Algebra II teacher, Kanji lessons—you name it. If there were phrases a person should rightfully be frightful of, it should be along the lines of “you’re no longer eligible for your scholarship.” Perhaps “you have diabetes and we have to cut your leg off.” Or, his personal greatest fear—as he presumes to be what other people also fear: “We're so sorry, Mr. Okkotsu, but both of your parents have died in the car accident.”

But “pleasure to meet you”? It was just four simple words and yet Yuta felt the sensation of unmistakable dread and anxiety travel through his limbs.

It had been quite some time since Yuta had felt this nervous. The last time he felt this unsettled was right before his university entrance exam. He was banking on achieving a specific score in order to qualify for the full-ride scholarship for the psychology department. At that time, it was a matter of life and death to Yuta. He supposed others within the same testing room as him felt the same. Or at least, the ones who needed to worry about money. Despite his more comfortable upbringing, he did not come from money. Nowhere near it. His parents had to ask their absurdly wealthy relatives, the Gojos, to borrow extra money in order to cover Yuta’s prep school costs during high school.

Yuta did not pass the qualifying score for the full-ride, but he did achieve a score that qualified him for a partial scholarship, and his parents were happy for him. They worked hard to support and cover the tuition for their son, insisting that all Yuta had to worry about was his studies and his well being.

His university days had gone by rather peacefully. He had a small and closely-knit group of friends. He did well enough in classes to keep his scholarship, and he got to learn more about the mind as a student of the school’s psychology department.

Yuta was a very warm and friendly person. He was shy, yes, but he always meant well, and that caused him to be surrounded by people who enjoyed his company. Many people had often called him an angel. He was not only adorable, but he was also a good friend. He never had anyone he hated, nor anyone he wasn’t on good terms with. Yuta was the type of person who got along with anyone because of his gentle personality, and nobody could ever get mad at—

“Yuta?”

Your voice incites that panic and fear within him once again, and Yuta is reminded of the reason why he feels such a visceral reaction towards you. The reason why he feels so scared of you.

Right now, Yuta’s stomach felt like it could collapse in on itself. The large space of his cousin Satoru’s mansion suddenly feels infinitely smaller, like it would cave in and push him closer towards your body. The thought of this constricts his throat to the size of a straw. Yuta’s skin was warm from the beer running through his system, but somehow, he felt a cold draft come over him before you. Was he about to break out into a cold sweat? He didn’t even feel this tense even as he prepared to go up for public speaking. Or for when he debated on going up to the waiter at a restaurant and telling them they forgot his side of fries.

And yet you were looking at him with a blasé stare, as if nothing of importance had transpired between the both of you. You might as well have asked him to grab you some booze from the kitchen when he was on his way there. Yuta finds himself avoiding your gaze, finding interest in the stray spills of alcohol on Satoru’s marbled floors. You don’t budge. You continue to gaze into Yuta’s face, folding your arms over your chest.

Yuta felt like an ant beneath your lofty gaze. Like you were scrutinizing him, picking apart at his expressions and seeing through his feelings. Like you were waiting for the perfect moment to raise your pretty heeled designer boots to stomp on him.

“Sorry,” Yuta finally musters out, still avoiding your gaze. His slender fingers fiddle with his short nails, his head lowered.

“You’re pretty shy,” you hum. It wasn’t meant to be an observation, it was more of a statement, as if you had decided how you viewed his personality. Uncrossing your arms, you reach for the pockets of your brown vintage leather jacket, fishing out an opened pack of black cigarettes. Taking one and placing it between your glossy lips, you outstretch your hand with the pack of cigarettes to Yuta.

His trembling hands gesture to decline, his dark eyes widening. “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but you tuck back the cigarettes in your pocket. You take out a silver lighter afterwards, bringing the flame to the butt of your cigarette and putting it away. You inhale, your cigarette’s embers burning bright red before you pluck it from your lips. A billow of smoke spills from your mouth, and Yuta looks into your eyes. He’s drawn into that indifferent gaze of yours that he’d caught in an accident once before, and the memory forced him still once again.

“Don’t apologize for things like that,” you say in that pleasant and even tone, in that same calm hum as if you have him all figured out. “You should stop doing that.” A puff of smoke billows in the air, and your eyes flicker over to him, pinning him with your dismissive gaze. “It makes your apologies seem less genuine.”

He looks into your pretty eyes, those irises glinting with mirth that makes him feel as if you view him as someone that brings amusement to you. He thinks his knees might buckle under your direct attention.

Nonetheless, Yuta finds himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about you yet. But he was certain that it wasn’t a positive emotion. He looks into your eyes—those same blank eyes that makes him feel as if you view him as someone beneath you, and for the first time, he speaks with a less than civil tone.

“You talk like you’ve known me all my life.”

The small smile deepens on your lips, and somehow it changes the fear that bubbles within his stomach to one of slight indignation.

“I don’t need to know you all your life to understand you as a person,” you state, bringing the cigarette to your lips once again. The embers burn bright as you inhale, never once breaking eye contact with Yuta. “It’s as clear as day. You’re one of those good boys. You never color outside the lines.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, but his eyebrows pinch together.

You don’t add any further commentary.

Not long after, a friend of yours swings by and drags you along to meet some friends, leaving Yuta to gaze at your retreating figure, disappearing within the crowds of people, the trail of your smoke leaving a sour crinkle in Yuta’s nose.

The first time Yuta saw you was a moment he’d never forget.

He recalls it vividly. God, how could he ever forget that? It took place an hour after his lecture had ended and Yuta was passing by the empty hall. It was a Friday, late in the afternoon, and by this time, this area of the building was usually empty as no professors liked to occupy this spot. The halls were quiet, the only sounds coming from Yuta’s faint footsteps as he walked. His face was weary from a long day, bags decorating the skin beneath his face, his lips almost chappy.

The moment Yuta peeked through the doors of the lecture room at the end of the hall, his steps halted to a stop when he heard a faint sound. He turns to the direction of the sounds, his brows pinched together. It was coming from the lecture room. He thought it was weird, who else would be here at this time of the day? There were no more classes left on this floor.

He steps forward with trepidation. His hands grip the cool metal handle of the door, and he twists it, cracking the door open slightly to allow one eye of his to peek in.

The visage he was greeted with was one of utter debauchery, his breath stilling in his throat.

You were straddling a large man’s thighs with your black skirt hiked up your thighs. He catches the shimmer of black tights pulled taut over your shapely legs. You were fully clothed, almost pristine, save for the half-naked man beneath you. The man looked like a positive mess, his pants pulled down to his knees, his button up shirt wrinkly with a few buttons popped open. Your attention was focused on the man before you, dipping your manicured nails into his mouth.

“Suck,” you order, and the man follows. His tongue laps up at your fingers, moaning around your fingers with teary eyes, gazing up at you in need. A scoff leaves your plush lips as you let your free stray hand trace the well-sculpted planes of his broad chest, your fingers lingering on his puffy nipples.

“Look at these,” you coo, harshly grabbing the man’s perky nipple and twisting it. This earned a sharp intake of breath from the man around your fingers. “Don’t you think you need a bra, hmm?” A muffled moan comes from the man’s mouth. “You’re sucking my fingers even harder now.” A humorless laugh leaves your lips, your head cocked to the side. “You like to be treated like a bitch? You like being my slut?”

The man gives frenzied nods.

His response seems to disappoint you, and you pluck your fingers from his mouth, a wet squelch echoing throughout the lecture room. Lifting yourself from him, you fix your skirt and stand tall, looming over the seated man. His dick stands erect, flushed and red, twitching pitifully, and you gaze at it with indifference.

“Men like you don’t deserve to get anywhere inside of me,” you say with disinterest. “Men like you just take what I give you, and count yourself blessed because I even looked at you. Do you understand?”

The man nods, panting heavier. “Yes, ma’am.”

You seem satisfied, so you lift your leg, pressing your heeled feet against his erect dick.

“I should reward you for being so good,” you hum, rubbing his dick with the fine leather of your heels. “Cumming just from my feet, hmm? God, look at you, all worked up for me like a needy bitch in the fucking classroom.” The man’s cock twitches as your foot continues its work, stroking him with your heels, watching in sick satisfaction as the sharp heel digs into the flesh of his heavy balls. This earned a pathetic whine from the man’s lips, his hips twitching. “Careful not to cum on my shoes,” you warn in a stern voice, stilling the movement of your foot, “or I’ll make you regret it.”

The man cries out, his hips stuttering. You take a step to the side, watching as the man cums on himself and on the floor. A sneer stretches on your lips, gazing down at the man.

“Did you just cum from being stepped on?” Ridicule laces your voice. You glance down at the cum stains on the floor, and you return your attention to the flushed face of the man, who was gazing at you like you were some sort of goddess.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he exhales, coming down from his high.

You nod your indifferent head toward the floor. “Get on your knees and lick up the mess you made. Don’t miss a spot.”

The man smiles dreamily, nodding his head. He kneels on the floor, on all fours like a dog as he lowers his face to the floor. Yuta’s eyes widen as he sees the man’s tongue stick out, licking up his cum from the dirtied floors. There’s a sick expression spread on your pretty face. You take a step forward, and you press down a heeled foot on the man’s upper back, forcing him to go lower.

“Do it properly,” you order. This earns a muffled groan from the man, and he continues, lapping up lazily at his own liquids, a man lost in the hazy pleasure.

By this time, Yuta’s breaths stutter, and he realizes he has unconsciously held his breath in fear of being discovered. Unfortunately for him, as if you read his mind and readily wish to go against his desires, you look towards the crack in the door.

Yuta feels all the air leave his lungs when your gaze bore directly into his.

For the first time, since he’s encountered you having your way with the man in the studio, he is finally allowed a good look at your face. You were ridiculously pretty, Yuta immediately thinks. You had one of those memorable faces. Pretty features, pert lips, with those void eyes that feel as if they were sucking him in the longer he gazed into them. The pretty features were fixed in an icy manner given your less than friendly disposition, and Yuta felt immense fear with the utter lack of warmth in your eyes.

You break eye contact with him first, not seeming to care if you had an audience as you bent the man before you to your will. Yuta takes this as his chance to retreat, his hands shakily closing the door shut before running toward the elevators to leave.

Yuta never tells any of his friends what he’d seen. Fazed, he returns to his shared dorm with his best friend, Toge Inumaki. The male looks up at Yuta’s approaching figure, noting the odd expression on his roommate’s face.

“Hey,” Toge says from his bed with pinched brows, his laptop sitting on his lap as he did some assignments. Toge became acquainted with Yuta because of Yuta’s cousin once again, Satoru Gojo. It was through Satoru’s vast friendship circle that Yuta had the fortune of meeting the man. Yuta and Toge hit it off as good friends since the beginning of high school, remaining as friends and attending the same university. When deciding on a dorm, both of them needed a roommate, and the rest was history.

“Hey,” is all Yuta says before he crashes into his bed. He relishes in the cold sheets, his body having been warm in the hot and humid weather outside. He feels grateful to have a roommate that knows him so well. Toge always kept the air conditioning system turned on so their dorms were cold and chilly.

“I ordered some chicken, it’s in the fridge so just heat it up if you’re hungry,” his friend supplies.

“I’ll eat some in a bit, thank you,” Yuta mutters out. “I’m just a little out of it.”

“Did something happen?” Toge asks, glancing over at him with a blank face. The staccato of his fingers tapping down on his laptop’s keyboard fill the relative silence of the dorm. “You don’t lie down immediately in bed after coming from outside because you hate the outside germs.”

“No,” Yuta murmurs, burying his face in his pillow, his soft voice almost muffled, “nothing happened.”

An unimpressed scoff comes from the man. “If you’re going to lie, at least do it better.”

Yuta groans, grabbing his sheets and hiding his face. If there was one thing he lamented, it’s his inability to hide his emotions. His friends pointed out how easy it was to see his emotions. He didn’t have a filter. He said what he felt, and if he didn’t, his face would show it. Or his ears. He had the unfortunate tendency for his ears to redden whenever he felt embarrassed.

“So?” Toge probes, his attention still focused on his laptop as he types away. “What’s got you like this?”

“Have you ever met a woman who scared you?” Yuta finally blurts it out. He does so after carefully considering how he felt about you based on his first impression. As far as first impressions go, he could argue that he had the worst one anyone could possibly experience with you. He can still feel it. The chilly gaze of yours that bore into his eyes through the crack of the door. That emotionless stare. It unsettled him. He hadn’t seen anyone so . . . uninterested. In anything, or anyone. Yuta tightens his grip on his comforters at the sudden shiver that travels through his body at the recollection of you.

Toge pauses to consider this. “Hmm. No one except my mom when she found out I stayed up playing games instead of sleeping.”

“Not like that,” Yuta sighs. “I mean, like, someone you don’t know. A woman your age that just scares you from the first impression.”

“. . . I don’t get it. Every woman is scary.”

“Then I don’t know any other way to explain it,” Yuta murmurs.

“Wait, so you met a girl?” Toge sounds surprised, shutting his laptop to properly turn to the direction of his friend. Yuta internally chastises himself for being so open to his friend about his romantic experiences. His friends—Satoru and Toge, basically—had wasted no expense in trying to set him up with girls, but he was never really interested. Some of them also did not like how shy he was. How he stumbled over his words and couldn’t meet them in the eye properly. Yuta was also not keen on the college hook-up world. He didn’t understand how someone could just have sex with someone they just met, and then act as if they don’t know each other afterwards. “Are you finally joining the hook-up world?” Toge probes, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Downloading Tinder?”

“No!” Yuta huffs out with a scandalized expression on his soft features. “Never that!”

Toge’s face falls, turning back to face his laptop, opening it again. He’s typing his password once again. “I should’ve known you’re a forever virgin,” he grumbles. “We’re the same age but how do I get more pussy than you?”

“Because I don’t feel comfortable h-having sex with women I’m not dating!” Yuta protests in a whisper, his ears dusted red.

“Whatever you say, Mother Theresa.”

Yuta falls momentarily silent. His roommate for the past year has been witness to his love life—or lack thereof. College was the time people hooked up, drank, smoked, and had fun. One could argue Yuta was the weird one for not participating, but he was firm in his beliefs. He wasn’t really a ‘wait-until-marriage’ type of guy, but he did believe in reserving those things for someone he’s in a relationship with, hence his inexperience with girls. He’s only ever had one serious relationship during high school, but even then, they never did anything further than kiss. Toge almost dropped his bowl of cereal the morning when Yuta disclosed he was a virgin. With renewed vigor, his roommate sought to help “rid him of his problem,” in Toge’s words, and had also employed the help of his other friends to introduce girls to him. Despite how many girls have been interested in him and attempted their shot, Yuta still finds himself yet to reciprocate any of their advances.

Yuta has a rather innocent belief about love. He wanted to have a girlfriend he truly adored. He wanted to cherish her and kiss her, and make love to her. He wanted her to shower him with kisses. He wanted to whisper words of love into her ear, hold her hand, and feel the warmth of her embrace. He wanted to love only her and to dedicate himself to her. He wanted to marry her in the future, to wake up to the sight of her next to him in bed every day for the rest of his life. He wanted a pure and timeless love.

But his traitorous mind flickers over to thoughts of you back in that lecture room. He ponders silently. You seemed to be completely the complete opposite of his ideal. You treated the man like you hated him. Like he was beneath you. Insulting him by calling him a bitch and a slut, stepping on him without remorse, ordering him to lick the dirty floor, and you seemed to find a sick joy in it. Dominating the helpless man beneath you as if it came as easy as breathing. Like it was second-nature. He didn’t understand it. There was no love in that type of lovemaking. It was just . . . humiliation. Yuta didn’t know how anyone could be into that.

The image of you shoving your fingers into the mouth of the naked man, shutting him up as you straddled him without a care in the world through the crack of the door that Yuta peeked at flashes once again in his mind. The twisted glimmer in your eyes and your plush lips curled in a cruel sneer.

I should reward you for being so good, your low drawl resounds in his head.

Yuta was unfamiliar with this feeling. That feeling that swirled within his stomach seemed to be an odd amalgamation of curiosity, fear… and excitement.

He wonders if you would recognize him just from that brief glimpse through the door.

It becomes apparent to him on the third time you meet, once again at another party, that you do remember him.

Yuta is finding his way to the bathroom, skirting around people. He’d drunk too much iced tea, after Toge had made some when his mother sent over some tea leaves and a family recipe with it. It tasted perfect. Yuta was happy to have it as an alternative to alcohol at this party. He was now lamenting that decision as he was ready to piss any moment.

He does find a bathroom, and he opens it and slips inside immediately, only to find you inside, sitting on the countertops with your skirt hiked up and a man between your thighs.

The man between your thighs immediately protests at the intruder. “What do you think you’re—” he begins.

“Get the fuck out,” you interrupt.

Yuta’s ears turn red, and he stumbles back slightly. What the fuck was going on? He feels his breathing speed up. His surroundings all of a sudden feel small and cramped. He’s glancing at the man who’s glaring at him, then to you who has that same signature blank stare. There it was again. That look. Like you could care less if he stayed to watch you. His hands shakily feel for the doorknob, turning it and getting ready to leave before you—

“Not you,” your voice speaks out, and Yuta freezes. He turns back to see you looking down towards the man between your legs, who you push away with your heels, your shoes pressing painfully against the man’s chest. The man’s back reaches the bathroom’s walls with a grunt at the impact.

“You,” you assert, staring dead into the eyes of the other guy. “You get out. Not him.”

The guy looks alarmed. “What?” he huffs out. “But we were just—”

“And I just changed my mind,” you state, voice so chilly that Yuta shivers in his spot.

The man questions you no longer and scrambles to get out of the bathroom, muttering curses under his breath before he slams the door behind him.

Silence and the muted boom of the loud R&B music blasting outside fill the space of the bathroom. You finally turn to look at Yuta, hiking your skirt down, but remaining on the counter. You didn’t seem to have any plans of leaving. A moment of awkwardness settles in the bathroom, and he couldn’t handle it any longer.

Yuta bows his head apologetically, unable to lift his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry for intruding,” he murmured out softly. “I’ll find a differe—”

“What for?” you deadpan, pushing your skirt back down to maintain some decency. “If you need to piss just do it in this bathroom. That’s what you came here for, right?”

Yuta is at a loss for words. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably. Were you that open-minded? Did you not have a concept of personal space? Was it normal for you to just watch strangers piss? Was that also a kink? What the hell was going on?

“If you’re worried about your dick, don’t be,” you state, fishing for something in your jacket’s pockets once again. “This is your second time seeing me like this after all.” Yuta gulps at your words, his eyes widening. So you do remember him.

A small satisfied smile tugs at the corners of your plush lips upon seeing his expression. “I doubt that seeing your dick would make a difference in our relationship,” you drawl. You produce that same cigarette pack, grabbing one and placing it between your lips. “Or lack thereof,” you add with a light cock of your brow. You light it in that same way, and Yuta briefly thinks to himself about your particular scent. It was a signature one that he was beginning to familiarize himself with. A chilly mint with a hint of smoke. Hot and cold. Distant yet . . .

You suddenly lean in closer, face mere inches away from Yuta’s, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your glossy lips.

. . . close.

“You apologized again, though,” you say, now looking particularly unimpressed. “I thought I told you not to do that?”

Yuta frowns at this. He was beginning to grow irate. His bladder was screaming. His panic was setting in by being in such close proximity with you. He needed to be alone.

“Uh, I need to use the bathroom, so…” he mutters out. “If you could . . . um.”

You lean back at his words. There was no particular change in your expression, but you pluck the cigarette between your lips and exhale a puff of smoke towards Yuta’s face, causing his face to scrunch. He attempts to fan away the fumes from his face. It only makes his need to piss even more urgent, and by now Yuta was biting down on his lip trying to hold it in. He couldn’t piss in front of some random girl. Especially you. He wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll consider it if you ask nicely,” is all that you say, an amused curl on your lips, crossing your legs on the counter. Yuta’s eyes betray him as they follow the motion. You smile at him, and the little twinkle in your otherwise void eyes tells him you noticed. “I told you I don’t mind if you pissed while I’m in the bathroom.”

“But I mind,” he lets out between gritted teeth, his voice still soft. “. . . Please? I need to use it.”

Your eyes gaze at him with mirth. You cock your head to the side, inspecting him. “You’re cute,” you coo.

You uncross your legs, getting off the counter. Plucking the cigarette from between your lips, you reach for his mouth, parting his lips to slot in the lipstick stained cigarette between his lips. Your hands ghost over his face for a bit, and he notes the color of your nails. Bubblegum pink. He almost thinks it’s cute, but your unreadable expression renders him quiet. Your face is so close. Yuta swears he can count your individual lashes, see the expanse of your eyes, feel your warm breath against his skin. He can smell the mint much more intensely at this proximity. He detects the barest traces of vanilla mingled in. His senses are filled with you; your skin, your face, the heat of your body, your lips, your eyes, the lingering taste of your cherry lipstick on the butt of your cigarette between his lips. Your stray hand reaches towards his furrowed brows, as if to attempt to smooth them; your other hand reaches for the corner of his lips to tug it up slightly.

“Though you’re cuter when you’re smiling,” you finish, eyes faintly crinkled in a fond manner. You open the door behind him and slip out, shutting it gently behind you.

His cheeks heat up, frozen still in the bathroom. Yuta is left by himself, your cigarette stuck between his lips, and the phantom grazes of your fingers on his skin.

Yuta knows nothing about you but your name.

He’s on a quest to find out more, walking down the stairs, trying to locate his friends to find answers. He easily spots Satoru’s snowy hair among the sea of drunk bodies and makes his way to his group of friends. He shimmies in, waving his hands as they recognize him and call out his name.

Noritoshi, Satoru, Aoi, Toge, and Suguru are all gathered together. Aoi immediately heads over next to Yuta to put his beefy arms over the younger man’s shoulders as a greeting.

“Yuta,” Aoi greets him with a smile, a red solo cup in hand. His dark hair was pulled up in a neat bun at the back of his head, the scar on his face peppered with a few lipstick marks. “What’s up, man? We were looking for you everywhere earlier.”

“I was in the bathroom,” Yuta replies. “I drank too much iced tea.”

The tall and burly man leans in to sniff him. “Oh?” Yuta tenses at the playful lilt of Aoi’s deep voice. “Did you smoke there too?”

Noritoshi’s brow rises. His dark hair framed the look of confusion that crossed his calm features. “Yuta, you smoke?”

The other guys look equally as puzzled.

Satoru gasps in offense at the thought of his little cousin hitting a blunt without him present. “Since when?” His widened blue eyes fix themselves on Yuta, his jaw dropping. He places his hand on his hip in offense. “And why haven’t you told me? We could’ve dragged you out for Weed Wednesdays!”

“No, it wasn’t me who smoked,” Yuta supplies, smiling awkwardly, raising his hands to wave them dismissively. “It was some other person in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Satoru frowns, his parted mouth turning to a lopsided frown, then he shrugs. “Well, you’re still invited to Weed Wednesdays.”

“Thank you, Satoru,” Yuta chuckles, his focus a bit scattered as he thinks back to you. His lips pressed into a straight line, debating whether he should ask the question to his friends. He clears his throat, his expression pensive. The other men had fallen quiet, waiting for Yuta to speak. “I . . . actually had a question for you guys,” he murmurs.

With a soft exhale, Yuta finally utters your name and asks about you.

A small silence settles between the men, before Satoru speaks.

“I know her,” the snowy-haired man affirms, now fixing Yuta with that suspicious glint in his large crystalline blue eyes. “She’s a family friend.”

“All I know about her is that she’s loaded,” Toge supplies, shrugging. “She’s pretty. Don’t know too much about her though.”

“Yup,” Satoru affirms next to Noritoshi with a nod. “She’s a looker. Probably one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever met.” He kisses his teeth as he cocks his head to the side. “Love her and all. Known her since we were kids. Problem is she’s kind of a slut like I am.”

“And that’s saying a lot,” Noritoshi adds with a sigh, his dark eyes flickering over to the white-haired man next to him. “Satoru’s Instagram account pops up if you Google the word ‘slut.’”

Satoru hums along, taking a sip from the beer in his hand. “I like to call it being charming,” he clarifies with a grin.

“I don’t talk to her much, so I don’t really know,” Noritoshi adds on, ignoring Satoru. “I do see her occasionally at parties. She’s closer to Satoru and Suguru, so she’s more of a friend of a friend for me.” He hums for a bit, pensive. “She knows Aoi too.”

“Not intimately,” Aoi clarifies. “Our only close encounter was when she fingered my ass in the backseat of my car.”

Yuta is scandalized, and so are the other guys. So far, he had seen and heard about your involvement with three guys. Who knows how many there are? Yuta couldn’t believe that someone would be capable of being so . . . open.

Satoru frowns at his friend’s words, taking a respectable step away. “Wouldn’t you argue that being fingered in the ass is rather intimate?”

“No,” Aoi shook his head, looking completely sincere. “She never spoke to me after.”

“Ass game must’ve been weak,” Toge clicked his tongue.

“You try being fingered by her!” Aoi protests with a frown. He reaches over to steal Toge’s solo cup for himself, slotting it over his own cup that was empty by now, earning a complaint from the short man. “I don’t know what type of witchcraft she did but that was the first time I came just from having my ass played with. Say what you want about her but she knows what she’s doing.”

“Oh, right,” Satoru suddenly frowns, turning towards Suguru who had been suspiciously silent this entire time. He points an accusatory finger at the man. “Aren’t the two of you fucking, too?”

‘Too’? Yuta’s gaze shifts between Satoru and Suguru. What the hell?

“Not exclusively,” Suguru clarifies in that playful lilt of his smooth voice. He’s smiling in a charming way. “We fuck here and there.”

“Does she finger you, too?” Satoru asks curiously.

“Does she use toys?” Aoi pipes in.

“Alright!” Noritoshi interrupts, growing tired of his infantile friends. He exhales, pinching the bride of his nose, fixing the other men a flat stare. “Enough of Suguru’s sex life.” The other men glance away, seeming to be chastised. He turns towards Yuta. “The question is: why are you asking this?”

Yuta hesitates in answering long enough for Satoru to fill in the blanks himself.

“Don’t tell me that you’re interested in her,” he gasps. Before Yuta can open his mouth and explain that is not the case, Satoru is already talking in that dramatic voice of his. “Yuta, as your older cousin, I am warning you that she’s the witch they warn us about in the fairytales we read when we were kids! I advise you to stay far, far away from her.”

Aoi whistles in amusement, a teasing smirk on his lips. He leans in to give Yuta a nudge with his elbow. “Maybe Yuta's interested in breaking his virginity spell at last.”

“You’re not helping my case here,” Satoru deadpans, staring in disapproval.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Aoi sing-songs. “And perhaps Yuta”—he pats the younger male’s shoulder—“like all men with fine taste do, like his women grown.”

Yuta is left speechless. Sure, he did, to some extent, find you attractive. He had working eyes. He can see all the appeal about you. You were pretty and rich. And a good lay in bed, apparently. But he wasn’t looking for that. He was sure as hell that he wasn’t the type of guy you messed around with. And he was certain that you weren’t the type of girl he was interested in.

“You have the wrong idea,” Yuta sighs, gently peeling Aoi’s large hand away from his shoulder. “Besides, you guys already know what I’m looking for in a relationship. I want something that’s—”

“We know, we know—you want pure love, marriage, a blue collar job, 5 kids, yeah, we get the picture,” Satoru finishes the sentence for him with a sigh, reciting it as if it came from his memory. “But seriously. I mean it. Don’t fall for it. For her. She’s bad news.”

Yuta nods absentmindedly, smiling awkwardly. Sure, Satoru had exaggerated some of the details, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. Yuta gathers his thoughts, trying to place what exactly it was that he felt about you. Fear? Fascination? Attraction? Were you a novelty that Yuta was simply trying to wrap his head around?

Spring break came, and he hasn't seen you since that encounter in the bathroom.

Yuta forgets you for a while. He went on about his life. Classes. Studying. The same old. But he unexpectedly meets you once again this time through Satoru’s spring break party at one of the Gojos’ beachside villas. Only a select group of people were invited. Close acquaintances of Satoru, including his friends and best friends, but even with the party being more selective, there were still easily 30 people at the party. Satoru Gojo was practically friends with everyone. Yuta often marveled at how the guy could keep up with all his friends.

Within the tall, three-story, Mediterranean-inspired architecture of the beachside villa. Yuta made his way to the kitchen. And there he finds you.

You were leaning against the marble kitchen island, a mimosa nestled between your manicured fingers. They were dyed a dark cherry red this time. You wore a white backless silk halter top, tied at the back of your neck with a silk bow that drooped, with a tiny white skirt. Your hair was tied up, and your lips shimmered with a cherry red that complimented the color of your nails. You wore complementary white kitten heels, and you were surrounded by a small group of people.

One of the faces Yuta could make out was Suguru, who was leaning on the kitchen island next to you, his hand resting intimately at the small of your back. You were deep in conversation, occasionally sipping from your drink, leaning in closer to Suguru whenever he whispered something to you.

“Who are you looking at?”

Yuta jolts from his standing position, yelping in surprise before he turns to see Aoi standing beside him. The older male was dressed in some casual distressed jeans, black platforms, and a cream button up shirt that exposed a generous amount of his collarbones.

“What are you . . . ?” Yuta’s tiny voice trails off in surprise.

Aoi’s expression has settled into one of those expressions. He’s wiggling his eyebrows playfully before glancing over in your direction and back at Yuta.

“It’s not like that!” Yuta leans in to whisper.

“Really?” Aoi raises a brow, suspicion dripping in his voice. “You mean it?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” he shrugs, leaning forward to wrap his arm around Yuta’s back. “Let’s go over there and say hello, then.”

Yuta begins to panic. He protests quietly, but to no avail.

Aoi raises his spare hand, grinning brightly. “Suguru!” he calls out.

You and Suguru look back towards their direction, and Yuta swears he can feel himself momentarily stop breathing. Your gaze was fairly unreadable, but yet you were so pretty tonight that he couldn’t bring himself to care. Yuta wasn’t sure whether he wanted to drag Aoi to the beachside and toss his LV shoes in the chilling and dark waters out of anger, or to take the man out for a meal for being given the opportunity to look into your face.

“Aoi,” Suguru’s face lights up. His charming smile stretches further when he catches sight of Yuta. “And Yuta! Come on over.”

You simply sip at your mimosa, not saying a word, and Yuta lets himself get dragged by Aoi towards the group surrounding you. You continue to look impassively at Yuta, before your attention is swept away by Suguru who once again leans in to whisper something into your ear.

You chuckle at whatever it is he said. Your hands reach over behind Suguru’s head. Gazing into the male’s eyes, your fingers massage the back of his head, running your fingers through his chestnut hair. Everyone else seems to acknowledge that you and Suguru are set to disappear somewhere soon, but they pay no mind and continue to talk.

Yuta finds himself drawn to you. The visage of you, clad in all white. The kitchen’s lights and the way they dance against your features makes you seem angelic. He’s still not sure what this feeling is exactly. He’s never felt anything like this before. Did he want to be in Suguru’s place? Did he want your pretty fingers playing with his hair? Did he want your pretty eyelashes fluttering up at him?

You place your unfinished mimosa down on the kitchen island. Your hand reaches to grab Suguru’s wrist before you start to walk away, and he follows you in that practiced manner. As if this was something that always happened.

As you walk, you spare Yuta a small sideways glance, the barest of smiles graces your lips. You look away just as fast, and you disappear in the crowd.

“Look at them slipping away,” Aoi mutters next to Yuta’s ears. “They look like they’re leaving. Probably going to one of their cars and start fucking.”

“Does this always happen?” Yuta asks, furrowing his brows.

“Hmm,” Aoi pauses to think. “Not often? Well, at least, I don’t know everything that goes on. I see her in parties with Suguru and all and since they’re fucking it’s not weird that they slip away once in a while.”

Yuta can’t help but imagine what Suguru’s perspective would be in a few minutes’ time. Would you be straddling Suguru’s thighs in the backseat of your car? Would Suguru get to see your hooded eyes, looking down as you grind those hips on him? Would you let Suguru undo the ribbon of your halter top and play with your breasts? What sounds would you make if he did that? How would you look with your skirt hiked up, panties rubbing against his—

But Yuta quickly stops that thought, exhaling shakily.

Yuta must be afflicted with some odd illness, he decides. Because otherwise, he would not have followed you.

The hood of your deep red convertible was pulled up, and from the distance that Yuta was at, he could see you sitting on Suguru’s lap through the car windows. Your halter top is undone, breasts freed as Suguru suckles on your breasts desperately. Your head is thrown back, little sighs escaping your lips.

Yuta doesn’t risk going any closer so he doesn’t get caught. So he remains at a distance, peeking just above the gate of the beachside villa to peer at the activity going on inside your parked convertible. He doesn’t hear any sounds due to the closed windows, but he does witness your body moving atop Suguru. You were smiling down at the dark-haired man, and Suguru’s head was thrown back against the seat.

You grab a pair of what seemed to be a tiny piece of black fabric, before you stuff it into Suguru’s mouth. Yuta watches with bated breath as he sees Suguru’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Not long after, you seem to be doing something with your hands that Yuta can’t quite see, causing the man beneath you to thrash around.

Was it from sensitivity? Yuta wondered. He’d never had sex so he never knew how it would feel. He’s jerked off, the usual, and he thought he was satisfied with that until he met his first girlfriend during high school. The furthest they’d ever gone was a kiss. Yuta was satisfied with that back then. He was content to wait until he found someone he truly loved. He wanted to have sex for the first time with his beloved girlfriend. He aspired for something pure. But since he’s met you, he finds his image of the future blurring. Now, looking at you, and how the men with you react in such a crazed way whenever you handle them—when you degrade and humiliate them—it stirs up an odd feeling within Yuta’s stomach. A feeling that’s familiar but he can’t quite place.

Now, he was certain that he was sexually attracted to you. That was the only possible way to explain why Yuta’s hands were trailing towards the tent in his pants, attempting to soothe it, find some sort of friction, to seek release.

Yuta wonders how good you’d make him feel if you ever allowed it. How good you’d feel straddling him. How good you’d smell. How good you’d look. How you’d speak to him. How you’d bend him to your will. He’s chasing that faint mint and cigarette smell. He wonders what it’s like when it’s mixed with sweat and the heat of your bodies. He wonders what it’s like for you to shove those pretty nails into his mouth to shut him up. He wonders what it’s like to let go and let you handle everything. He wonders what it’s like to peer up at your downturned face while trapped between the deathly grip of your plush thighs.

Yuta’s thoughts cease immediately when he glances at your direction. Your eyes bore into his once again through the window of your car. Those same hypnotizing eyes. Hazy, with the mimosa, maybe smoking, maybe with the high of sex, maybe with the high of being watched—or a mixture of everything. Yuta is too stunned to process the situation or move. Once again, you don’t seem to care if he moves or continues watching.

A small lingering smile that doesn’t reach your eyes tugs at the corners of your glossy lips.

“You seem to have a habit of watching me.”

Yuta freezes in his position on the sidewalk by Satoru’s beachside villa. You’re driving your convertible, cigarette hanging at the corner of your lips, the embers burning bright as you inhale. You seem to be waiting for an explanation, and when Yuta doesn’t immediately provide one, you exhale the smoke right at his face.

He begins coughing, his hands rising to swat away the smoke from his face. You watch him passively as he does so. Yuta doesn’t know how to begin. How does he even explain the fact that he followed you and Suguru to a spot where he could see the both of you fuck? You must have thought he was a weirdo. But wait, aren’t you the weirdo too for not seeming to mind the presence of an audience? What the fuck was going on?

“So,” you probe, breaking his train of thought, “you like watching people have sex?”

Yuta lets out some sort of strangled noise. The notion you just suggested causes him to start coughing, and he’s bringing his fists to his mouth to muffle the sound of his coughs. You look unimpressed.

“You’re not even responding back,” you say, sounding somewhat bored, dangling your left arm on the sides of your convertible.

“. . . I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, his head lowered. He couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. He was certain his cheeks were flushed red. “I’m really sorry,” his voice was so faint and shaky, “I didn’t . . . mean to. I don’t know what went over me.”

You pause to consider this, inhaling your cigarette. Yuta knows this is just an excuse. A desperate one, but you don’t address it. Thankfully. After you exhale, you tap your cigarette against the side of your car to get rid of the excess.

“You don’t sound awfully sorry to me though?” you muse, a faint smile dancing on your glossy lips.

Yuta’s lowered head shoots up at your words. His cheeks flush red, and he’s sputtering over his words. His mind is blanking. His trembling lips part, opening and closing as if to say something, but nothing ever came out.

Your eyes narrow in mirth, your smile turning into a conniving one. “I like you,” you hum in amusement. “You’re cute.”

And that just about sent Yuta over. His ears were reddening now too, just a bumbling mess of a guy on the sidewalk. You? Liking him? A girl as pretty as you? There was no way.

Yuta’s mind is a mess. Confusion soon settles on his face, and he’s at a loss for words. “What?” he manages to stutter out.

“You heard me,” you hum cooly. Then you nod your head toward the direction of your passenger’s seat. “Hop in.”

“But—”

“But what?” you ask, glancing up at him. “You don’t have any plans tomorrow, do you?” You drop the cigarette in your free hand onto the pavement. Yuta stares at it as the embers die out, blending into the dull gray of the pavement.

Yuta finds his body moving immediately. He’s heading towards the passenger seat next to you, opening the door and settling himself inside. He’s conscious of the groups of people outside, who probably noticed the whole exchange between you and him. He wonders what they think, but that thought is immediately shut down as you’re stepping on the accelerator without a word.

Yuta is surprised by the sudden speed. Panicked, he’s clutching tight to the car door’s handle and carefully reaching for the seatbelts despite the gust of wind pushing his body back. A quick glance to your side shows that you’re not wearing a seatbelt, and before thinking, Yuta leans in and grabs the seatbelt from your side to fasten it.

“Seatbelt!” Yuta attempts to yell as much as he can despite the strength of the wind whipping past the both of you, rendering hearing more difficult than usual. To his chagrin, his voice came out more as a broken squeak.

You’re staring at him now, with that slight curl at the ends of your lips. Yuta reaches for your face and directs your head to face forward in panic, before he returns clutching onto the sides of the car for extra support.

A mere chuckle is all that leaves your lips. Nonetheless, you tap the button for the convertible hood to rise up once again. The car slows down significantly from its former speed, the chill breeze slowly fading away, the loudness of the cold night wind all disappearing as the convertible’s hood shuts. Silence fills the car, and you quietly raise both the windows before turning on the air conditioning.

You drive in silence for a bit, not going near the radio to turn on any sort of music. This vacancy of noise leaves Yuta with own thoughts to brew.

What was this situation? He finds himself pondering. Frantically searching for an answer. And where were they going? Were they just going to leave without letting Satoru and the others know? What was your intention?

“I can almost hear your thoughts, you know,” you say suddenly, reaching for another cigarette and slotting it between your lips. With your free hand, you grab a black lighter and quickly light the butt of your new cigarette, inhaling and exhaling the puffs of white. “Why? Do you not trust me?”

Panicked, Yuta stares at you as if you were some sort of weird creature. “Can you read minds?”

You crack a smile. “What do you think?” you probe, glancing over towards him, faintly fixing the cigarette in your lips with your fingers. “Of course, I can’t. But you might as well say your thoughts because your face is damn awful at hiding it.”

Yuta hesitates. “Where are we going?” he finally asks.

“Back to my place.”

Yuta is at a loss for words, stuttering. “W-Why are we—?”

“I’m going to fuck you, aren’t I?” you interrupt casually, glancing towards him. Yuta’s lips part in disbelief at your nonchalant words. Almost as if you were asking him a simple question instead of telling him you planned to fuck him. “Unless you wanted me to do that in Satoru’s villa?”

His ears begin to heat up at your blunt words. Yuta still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Were you always this blunt? Was this okay? Was he really going through with this? With someone he barely knew? Someone who he wasn't in a relationship with? Someone he didn’t love? Were you really going to . . . ?

You take his silence as an answer in itself.

“Thought so,” you seem pleased. “I much prefer the comfort of my own place. The car could’ve been an option.” You glance at him before returning your gaze towards the road. “But I decided against it.”

Yuta doesn’t say anything, but he quietly ponders. Were you being considerate of him since he saw you riding Suguru just a few hours ago in the very backseat of your car? Or did you just want to go back home? Was he ready for whatever it was you were about to drag him into?

You arrive at your apartment complex some twenty minutes later. It was in a high-scale urban area, the most expensive in the city, with you driving up towards a guardhouse beneath a very tall swanky apartment complex. You pull your window down, showing your face, and the guards immediately open the gates for you, allowing you to drive into the parking lot.

Yuta was in awe as you drove towards a parking spot next to numerous nice cars. Was this normal for swanky apartments? Yuta had never lived in the city so he had never experienced apartments located in the heart of the city, surrounded by all the buzz of nearby people in hot malls, expensive restaurants, flagship stores of designer brands, parks, museums, you name it.

You park safely, and step out of the car. Yuta hesitantly follows, closing the car door behind him. He glances up at you, a black bag of sorts slung on your shoulder. No doubt designer. Yuta just wasn’t fashion-savvy enough to pick up what brand because it didn’t have any logos, or if it did, he didn’t recognize it.

“Come,” is all you say, nodding your head towards the direction of the lobby.

Yuta follows you into the well-lit lobby. Marble floors, tall ceilings, gold fixtures on the walls, carefully curated plants. The lobby smelled nice as well. Like crisp sandalwood and fresh mint. It smelled somewhat like you.

The silence between you makes Yuta feel the need to break it.

“Your place is . . . nice,” he lets out in a soft mutter.

You glance over towards him, raising a brow, before you let out a small laugh. “Yeah?” you probe, though you sound disinterested, almost as if you’ve heard this numerous times. “You like it?”

He nods, just as the elevator opens.

“Good,” you hum, seemingly satisfied. You start to walk into the elevator, with Yuta in tow.

The elevator was similar to the lobby. Tall and gold fixtures. A glance up revealed a vaulted ceiling with ambient lighting and a modern lighting fixture similar to a chandelier hanging in the center of the elevator. The elevator had a mirror wall with deep cerulean velvet designs, and Yuta could see his reflection in the mirror, standing next to you. He was aware that he was fairly tall, and he felt a small sense of confidence with how you were at the perfect height to nuzzle your head into his neck.

You scan some sort of card in the elevator. It must be a resident access card. Yuta’s stare lingers, widened. Yuta wasn’t rich by any means, but he knew enough to discern what was rich. Growing up with Satoru as his cousin, Yuta knew a lot about prominent wealth signifiers. His eyes follow your manicured fingers, reaching up to press the highest floor, of the 50 floors, called P.

It was a quiet elevator ride, and Yuta allows himself a close look at you. You look even prettier up close. His eyes settle and focus on your eyes, the curve of your nose, and the glossy surface of your lips.

The elevator opens before his thoughts stray any further, and Yuta is floored when he sees an apartment sprawled out before him instead of a hallway leading to the apartment. You step out, stretching a bit as you leave your purse on one of the couches laid around the spacious space.

Yuta follows slowly, and the elevator closes behind him. A quick look around the place shows Yuta a very large and spacious apartment. Bi-loft too, he guessed by the glass stairs on the other side, as well as the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the apartment panoramic views of the night skyline.

“You have a floor to yourself?” he mutters to himself in astonishment, and you don’t say anything. You probably didn’t hear, you were making your way to the kitchen.

The kitchen looked like it came straight out of those luxury interior design magazines. A big island with five stools stood in the center of the kitchen. Dark marble countertops, top-of-the-line silver appliances, and a cabinet fridge? Yuta gawks as you open your very large fridge whose exterior blends in with the rest of the dark wood cabinets. You grab two bottles of water, placing them on the island.

“Want some water?” you suggest to Yuta, and the male walks over to you.

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

“Sparkling or still?”

Yuta pauses momentarily, stares up at you and blinks. “Uh, just regular water?”

A smile tugs at your lips. “Still it is.”

You grab the bottles of water, putting them back inside the fridge. You take out two Evian bottles, handing him one.

“If you need to use the bathroom, it’s over there.” You point towards a direction near the stairs. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Yuta nods hesitantly. Somehow he feels even more nervous. He empties the bottle you had handed to him, trying to rid himself of the dryness in his throat.

He follows your directions afterwards, starting to amble over to the bathroom. He thought he needed to collect himself before anything eventful happened. He still couldn’t believe it. How was he in this situation with a woman like you? You were so pretty. One of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen. And now he was alone with you. In your apartment. He doesn’t know how anything is supposed to progress. You did briefly mention earlier that you had plans to fuck him. What exactly did that entail? Was it going to be like the time he saw you handling that man in the lecture hall by accident? The idea constricts his throat. He’s not certain whether he’s fearful or anticipating it. This wasn’t what he had envisioned.

By the time Yuta makes it into your very spacious and large bathroom, he’s looking into the mirror, attempting to fix his appearance as best as he can. He’s grabbing his shirt, smelling it. He hopes he doesn’t smell bad. He reaches for the faucet, trying to shake off his anxiety.

“Her bathroom is the size of my dorm with Toge,” he mutters to himself, pumping foam into his hands. He finds himself looking around the bathroom. How much does this place even cost?

He wipes his hand off on one of the towels. He attempts to fix his appearance one last time before stepping out of the bathroom. When he steps out he hears the sound of the television running, and he walks over to the living room.

You’re sitting on a leather couch, still in the same clothes as before. There was a glass of what seemed to be red wine nestled between your slender fingers. The white halter top exposing your delicate back, that white miniskirt that shows a generous amount of your thighs.

You don’t say anything, eyes fixed on the television before you as you pick out a song to play. Yuta doesn’t know what it was, but he finds his eyes lingering at the hem of your skirt. He’s afforded a very generous view of your thighs, and he finds himself gulping away a lump in his throat that he hasn’t been aware was there.

“You’re back.”

Yuta jolts in surprise at your voice. You glance back at him, and he shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “Um, yeah,” Yuta murmurs.

You cock your head to the side, raising your glass. You eye him as he stands across from you, his body stiff. “Want some wine?”

He makes a gesture to decline. “No, thank you.”

You shrug, not pushing the issue further. You sip on your wine, your fingers tapping your phone screen to change the music. The sound of your nails tapping against your screen and the faint thrum of the jazz music you were playing resounds in your large apartment for several moments, until you completely shut it off.

You close and then toss your phone to the other side of the couch you were on, exhaling. Then, your eyes regarded him as you crossed your legs.

“You’re a virgin, I take it?”

Yuta’s body froze at your sudden question. His eyes are large as they gaze back at you, his fingers tensing. His head lowers, his ears dusted red.

". . . Yes,” he admits softly.

A smile blooms on your face. “What’s the furthest you’ve gone, then?”

“A kiss with my first girlfriend,” Yuta murmurs.

“Cute,” you hum, setting your glass of wine down on the small table beside the couch. “Did you like it?”

He raises his head and blinks at you.

“The kiss,” you clarify.

". . . I did,” he murmurs. “I really liked her. I was happy that we kissed.”

“Yeah?” you hum, cocking your head to the side. You gesture for him to approach. “Come here. Why are you standing so far away?”

Yuta follows with a hesitance in his steps, stopping just a foot away from you. You gaze up at him expectantly, a pleased curl on your lips.

“On your knees,” you hum.

Yuta glances at you, and he doesn’t utter a word. Quietly, one knee of his sinks, before the other follows, until he’s kneeling before you. He gazes up at you with those big hazy eyes, as if you hung the stars. You reach out a hand, cupping the side of his face. His face leans into your palm, his eyes closing in contentment. Your thumb caresses the smooth skin of his face, and his sleepy eyes open, gazing up at you reverently.

Your thumb presses harder, caressing the plushness of his lips. You part his lips with your thumb, sticking it in. He gazed up at you, his tongue lapping up at your finger. You hum in satisfaction, digging your thumb in deeper and pressing your sharp nail down on his tongue. You relish in the prick of pain that pinches at his brow, and he gazes up at you, almost pleading, but he doesn’t pull away.

You lean down until your face is merely inches away from his own, relishing in his sad pretty eyes. “Is this what you’ve been dreaming about?” you whisper. “Being treated like this?”

Unable to speak a word with your thumb in his mouth, Yuta settles for a nod of his head. The sight has you exhaling in satisfaction. You pluck your thumb away from his mouth, strings of drool connecting from your thumb to his soft lips.

He’s dazed, still not believing that this is happening. That he’s here, kneeling before you, your hands on him, his face mere inches away from your own. Was he actually liking this? Being with a woman he didn’t love and didn't love him back. Being with someone he wasn’t dating. Being subjected to degrading treatment. You lean in towards his neck, inhaling his scent as your hands travel from his chest to his arms.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” you coo, your heeled feet rubbing through the fabric of his jeans.

Yuta’s breath hitches, your words dawning on him. Was this seriously about to happen? You’re right before him, waiting for him.

Hesitantly, his hands reach for the waist of his jeans, unbuttoning them before he’s pushing them down to his knees. You don’t assist him, opting to remain to gaze at him, silently studying his expression. He’s left in his shirt and his dark gray boxers, kneeling before you.

“Go on,” you hum.

Yuta begins to reach for his crotch, hands pushing down his boxers so his erect cock slaps against his stomach. His shirt covers part of his cock, and you reach for the shirt, tugging it up.

“Remove your shirt,” you order. “Show me how pretty you are.”

The shirt’s tossed to your floor not long after, and Yuta kneels before you, his toned body on display before you. He finds himself wanting to shrink, unsure what to make of that perpetual smile of amusement on your lips. Do you like what you see? Are you making fun of him? Yuta wants to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Your hands reach for his face, commanding his attention back to you. Your fingers trace the strands of his hair, playing with them in a way Yuta enjoys, despite how he doesn’t want to admit it.

“Touch yourself,” you order, gaze drifting down to his hardened cock.

Yuta doesn’t know why his dick isn’t deflating from this situation. Does he just enjoy having you watch him? Is it because you’re so close to him? Was he secretly an exhibitionist?

His hands begin to trace his cock, grabbing the base before he begins pumping his fingers. It was a bit difficult with not much lubrication to help him out, so Yuta reached for his mouth, spitting into his mouth before redirecting the spit onto his cock. It makes pumping his cock a bit easier, and Yuta lets himself relax more.

“Who do you think of when you touch yourself?”

The question from you is unexpected, slowing down the strokes of his fingers. Yuta is quiet, at a loss for what to say. You’re looking at him expectantly, awaiting an answer. Like you’re certain he has one.

“Do you think of me?” you probe, grinning. “Do you imagine your hand as my hand, jerking you off? Maybe it’s my mouth?”

Yuta lowers his head, avoiding your gaze. He considers his current position. He was in your apartment. Almost butt-naked. Kneeling down before you in your living room with his hand wrapped around his dick. He didn’t see how he could lie to you given how his cock was quite obviously rising just at the sight of you.

“. . . I do,” he quietly admits, turning his head to the side to avoid your heated gaze.

“Did you ever think this would happen?” you ask him, letting your manicured nails run through the tufts of his dark hair. “Being in my apartment, touching yourself off in front of me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

A meek response. “I just don’t think I’m your type,” he admits. “I heard that you’re . . . with Suguru.”

There’s a grin on your lips. “You’ve asked about me.”

His cheeks burn. “I don’t mean to be creepy about it! I was just curious about—”

“No need to stress about it,” you interrupt him, fingers caressing his thigh. His hands tighten around his cock. “Suguru and I just fuck occasionally. Do I look like the type to date?”

Yuta shakes his head. “I heard from Satoru that you’re not the type,” he admits breathily, gazing up at you. “He told me I should stay away from you.”

You throw your head back in laughter, a pretty little laugh leaving your lips. “That bastard’s always cockblocking me.”

Yuta finds himself admiring your face. The way the smile reaches your eyes this time. He’s momentarily dazed.

“So?” your voice pulls him back to the present. “Are you planning on staying away?”

He’s staring at you, the swell of your lips, and the amused twinkle in your eye. His hand slows to a stop around his cock.

“I don’t know,” is all Yuta was able to say.

“Yuta,” you murmur softly, in that low tone that has him hypnotized. “If you really wanted to stay away, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Yuta doesn’t respond for a few moments. His throat feels dry, and he’s unable to rebut your statement. Your fingers reach for his lips, your thumb ghosting over his bottom lip as you gaze at his lips. Yuta attempts to read your face. He finds it unsettling how you don’t allow any readable emotion to settle on your face. That is until he sees a satisfied smile stretch across your lips.

Satisfied with his silent acquiescence, you dip your heeled feet down, caressing his cock. With a grin on your lips, you watch as Yuta twitches in his kneeling position as you begin to stroke him with your foot, teasing his sensitive tip. Yuta pulls his own hand away from his base, gazing up at you with a hitch in his breath.

“So cute,” you coo appreciatively, gazing down at his pretty cock. The tip was slender and flushed an adorable pink, with some veins decorating the shaft. The thatch of dark hair at the base of his cock is trimmed neatly. He was cute. A decent size and girth.

Yuta clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle the gasps leaving his lips. You begin to apply more pressure to his cock, and he peeks down to see that the sole of your heels fully presses down on the base. The pressure earns another round of moans from him, which are muffled by his hand.

“Continue covering your mouth and I’ll gag you myself,” you threaten.

Yuta reluctantly lets his hands fall to his thighs, gripping them hard as he moans from the mixed pain and pleasure of your feet on his cock. You resign yourself to stroking his cock with your feet, smiling in amusement as you continue your strokes.

Yuta can’t believe how he’s actually enjoying this. Such a degrading act. Your heels practically step on his hardened cock, as if you couldn’t bother touching it yourself. As if he didn’t deserve even being touched by you.

“So sensitive,” you muse as you play with his reddened tip, caressing it languidly as you stare at his flushed face. “Your girlfriend never touched you like this?”

Yuta nods, his chest heaving up and down.

You scowl. “Answer me with your voice.”

Yuta answers in between stuttered gasps. “N-no, you’re the first one.”

“Good,” you hum pleasantly. “Does it feel good? Being stepped on like this?”

Another meek nod, and a shaky whisper. “Yes.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, leaving Yuta to wonder if that turned you off. Then, he glances up, noticing you gazing down at him with something he can’t read simmering in your eyes. Then, your hand reaches for the back of his head and you pull him in for a kiss.

The kiss is completely unlike what he had experienced before. If the kiss he shared with his first girlfriend was brief and chaste—almost innocent—then the only way he could describe kissing you was intoxicating.

Yuta can taste a mixture of cigarettes, red wine, and cherry from your chapstick. He feels your warm tongue moving, swiping against his bottom lip. His mind blanks, his lips moving against yours automatically. You kiss like you want to deprive him of air. Like you want to swallow him whole until he’s nothing but a putty mess. Your hands travel down to grip the sides of his face, and Yuta finally allows his hands to travel. With your guidance, his hands settle on your plush thighs, gently squeezing it. He groans into your lips as he touches you. He still can’t believe it. That this is happening. That he’s actually touching you. You’re impossibly soft. He swears he’s in heaven.

Yuta chases after your lips when you briefly pull away. He wasn’t aware that a kiss could be like this. Why was he suddenly aware of what to do? You taste so good. You smell divine. He feels like he’s drowning in you. He wants to drown in you. He wants to receive all of your affection. He wants to be the object of your attention.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he finds himself muttering against your lips.

You chuckle into his lips, pulling away with a pop as you pause to undo the ribbon holding your halter top up. Yuta gawks as the fabric falls and reveals your bare breasts to him. You reach for his hands and direct them to grab your breasts. Yuta’s hands were rather large, and they effectively cupped most of your breasts. He gently squeezes them, earning a small sigh of pleasure from you.

He’s tentative in his movements, gazing up at you to check whether you’d stop him. He fondles them gently, before his movements before firmer, his hazy eyes focused on the way your supple skin moved under his fingers.

“How eager,” you comment, your hands stroking his hair, your fingers tangling through the dark tufts of his hair. You pull his hair back, forcing him to gaze up at you while he knelt before you. A glimmer of satisfaction flickers in your irises, before you push his head down to your thighs.

Yuta is puzzled, but his eyes follow the very short hem of your skirt. The sight of your bare thighs makes his cock ache, and with a little grin, you spread your thighs, revealing your bare cunt. He freezes as a realization dawns on him. You didn’t have panties on since this entire time. Yuta is too stunned to say anything. He thinks back to the time in the car. Through the entire exchange.

“Let’s see exactly how eager you are, hmm?” you propose with an amused glint in your eyes. “You’ve been hungry all this time, I’d be a bad host if I didn’t let you eat.”

Yuta hesitantly grabs the smooth surface of your thighs. His chest is heaving up and down. He still can’t believe this is happening. You’re so warm. You smell divine. Your cunt looks so pretty. He wants nothing more than to dive in.

“Never eaten pussy before, right?” you query, gazing down at him.

Yuta doesn’t respond, his mind almost blanking.

“That’s okay,” you hum. “I’ll lead you through it. You begin by teasing the clit.” Your fingers go down to demonstrate, pressing down and massaging it in circles. A small sigh leaves your lips, before you continue. “Use your saliva. The wetter the better. It’ll make it easier for later.”

Your fingers reach towards Yuta’s mouth, doused with your slick.

“Suck,” you order him.

He obeys, wrapping his lips around your fingers.

“Spit.”

Yuta follows suit, and your eyes narrow fondly.

“Good boy.”

Your fingers, now slicked with Yuta’s spit, move towards your clit, and you massage it in, your head thrown back as your fingers dip inside your sopping cunt. “You do it just like this,” you say between heavy breaths. Your fingertips rub over the delicate nub of your clit, flicking over the hood of the bud. “Slowly. Take your time.”

Yuta is mesmerized. His saliva was on your cunt. You were touching yourself in front of him, mewling softly, exposed all for him. He watches your red nails dipping inside of you, and he finds his fingers reaching further up your thighs.

“Can I?” he asks, his weeping cock pulsating.

Pausing, you regard him with a look, before pulling your fingers away from your clit. You gaze down at him expectantly.

“Go on then.”

Yuta leans in closer after you give him permission, his fingers ghosting your cunt, before he starts to massage the bud, his finger occasionally dipping inside. You’re evidently wet by now. Yuta still can’t wrap his head around what was happening. You were gasping before him, with his fingers inside of you.

The slow, squelching sound of his fingers going inside of you is obscene. Your sounds are sweet and angelic, and they only serve to further encourage Yuta in maintaining his pace as his finger pumps into you. He’s leaning down now, burying his head between your cunt and licking at it. He’s sucking and nibbling as his fingers bring you to your high. He is clearly inexperienced, but the desperation in his tongue’s movements more than made up for it. You gaze down in arousal, seeing his pretty puppy eyes gazing up at you in adoration as his needy mouth laps up at you. He was a starving man partaking in your essence. Your thighs quiver at the sight, and you wanted nothing more than to ruin Yuta Okkotsu.

Your fingers tangle in Yuta’s dark hair. “Keep going.”

That encourages Yuta further. By now his nose is digging into your cunt, continuing his relentless sucking and fingering. He swears you’re intoxicating. He wasn’t aware that pussy tasted like this. Or was it just you? He was finally getting a taste of what he’s thought of before. The sight of you gazing down at him with his head buried between your heavenly thighs. Yuta doesn’t even know what’s happening to him. He was desperate for you. Desperate for your approval. He believes he can have this one experience and jerk off to it for the rest of his years.

One particular suck causes your thighs to clench around Yuta’s head, a melodic moan leaving your lips. You grip his head, pulling him to your cunt. You moan softly as you grind your hips onto his starved mouth. His spare hand travels down your thigh, massaging them before they settle on the swell of your hips. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m close,” you let out in stuttered gasps. “Keep going. Don’t speed up or slow down.”

Yuta obeys. His tongue continues at that same pace, sucking on your clit as his fingers stuff themselves in your cunt. His tongue flicks at the pearl of your clit, lapping at it like a starving puppy. True to your word, your grip tightens on his hair, and you cum on his tongue. Yuta stops and gladly drinks up your cum, earning moans from you as you squirm in his hold.

Yuta licks you clean, and he looks up, panting heavily. He looks like a delicious mess. Puppy eyes widened, hazy with arousal, eager for your approval and praise. Face smeared with your slick, his sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

You offer him a tired smile, leaning down so you can kiss him properly. Yuta obliges, closing his eyes as you suck on his tongue, your heeled feet gliding down to his hard cock. His hands settle at your waist, before they move down to your ass, squeezing them as you smile against his lips.

Pulling away from him, your fingers run down the fabric of his shirt.

“Take this off,” you order.

He obliges with a nod, shedding the fabric on your living room floor, leaning his body under your watch. Your eyes admire his build appreciatively, not having expected him to be this well-built. Your hands reach for his shoulders, fingers slowly trailing down the expanse of his toned chest and arms. Your hands settle at his nipples, smiling up at him before you press a kiss to them.

“So cute,” you murmur. “You’re only good for me, aren’t you?”

God, Yuta will only be good for you if you let him. He nods obediently, opting to keep his mouth shut so moans don’t leave his lips.

“I asked you a question.” The smile drops on your pretty face. Your voice is more clipped this time. Your hands grip his chin firmly, harsh enough that the crescents of your nails etch themselves onto his supple skin. “When asked a question, you give an answer.”

“Y-yes,” Yuta manages to utter out in a voice barely above a whisper. His pretty eyes gaze up at you reverently. “I’m only good for you. Wanna be your good boy.”

You hum, seemingly satisfied. “I know,” you coo softly, your soft hands running through his hair. “Tell me, what do you want me to do?”

His pleading pretty eyes, widened and glassy from arousal. His face rests on your plush thighs, gazing up at you like a needy puppy. His hips buck desperately into the air, his weeping cock twitching.

His lips part, his words almost a whine.

“P-please,” he pleads. “Let me feel you.”

Mirth dances in your eyes. “Feel me how?” you whisper. “Use your words.”

“Please let me make love to you,” he whispers, his ears flushing red.

“Make love?” There’s an amused lilt to your voice. “You’re going to make love to me, pretty boy?”

“If you’d let me,” he exhales breathily, gazing up at you. His body trembles, thrumming from anticipation and arousal all at once.

“Up on the couch,” you hum, patting the seat next to you.

Yuta nods his head, immediately rising and sitting down on the couch. He gazes at you with dilated pupils, breaths heavy as you push his pants down, letting it pool at his feet.

You rise before him, pushing your skirt up. Your head cocks to the side, gazing down at him in amusement as you straddle him. Your sopping wet cunt brushes against his flushed cock, and Yuta’s body is trembling at the brief contact.

“Is this what you wanted?” you coo softly, rubbing the lips of your cunt against his cock.

Yuta’s body trembles beneath you on the couch. His chest heaves up and down, his eyes glistening as he gazes up with you.

“Y-yes,” he babbles out breathily. “P-please. Please. Want you. Want to feel you. Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” you whisper into his ear, leaning down to pepper feathery kisses on his neck. Your soft hand reaches down, gripping his base, aligning him properly.

Yuta’s stomach dips in anticipation, his thighs quivering as he feels his tip pressing against the slick lips of your pussy. You smile wryly into his neck as you slide down onto him.

All the air is knocked out of Yuta’s chest. His dreamy eyes roll into the back of his head. Warmth. Overwhelming warmth. It wraps around everywhere. And so tight. It grips him so tight he swears he's ascending. It was nothing compared to his hand. The weight of your body on top of him. The tickle of your hair. The sensation of your soft lips pressing to his neck. You smelled divine. You felt divine. It was too much. Your walls are pulsing around him. It was warm. Yuta swears he’s on fire.

Yuta whines.

You hum softly at the stretch, pulling back to look at his face. Yuta’s face is flushed red, his eyes glassy and lost, utterly debauched.

“Feels good?” you coo softly.

He nods his head weakly. “Y-yes,” he mumbles faintly, almost incoherent. He sounds like he’s on the verge of sobbing. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” you whisper softly, resting your hands around his neck, tangling in the locks of his hair.

Without giving him a chance to respond, you’re moving your hips. You watch in delight as Yuta’s mewling and gasping beneath you. His hands shakily hold onto your gyrating hips. White hot pleasure fills his vision. He’s sputtering, mewling, whining like a needy puppy. It’s too much. Way too much. Hot tears prick his blown out eyes. That heat simmers in his stomach, a familiar coil snapping.

He cries out pathetically as he cums immediately. Your sneer deepens as you feel the thick strings filling you.

Yuta’s head slumps back on the leather couch, exhaling heavily.

Your hand rests at the juncture of his throat, pressing down. Your voice is a low snarl. “Did I give you permission to cum?”

Yuta’s glassy eyes flicker up to you in panic. His soft lips part, his body flushed prettily.

“‘m s-sorry,” he whispers out, his voice cracking faintly. “I couldn’t—it was too g-good—I’m sorry I couldn't hold back.” He’s crying now, tearing up as he gazes up at you. “P-please forgive me.”

You roll your hips. Yuta’s eyes widen, a sharp gasp leaving his lips. Extreme sensitivity runs through his limbs, sending him into overdrive. He whines, his hips stuttering as you ride his poor cock.

“I-it’s too m-much,” he whines out, crying so pathetically, so prettily. “P-please, I can’t–hah!”

“You’ll shut up and take it,” you scowl, riding him. You bounce on his cock, moaning softly. “You wanted to cum without telling me? This is your punishment.”

“F-forgive me,” Yuta mewls softly, his hands trembling in a weak attempt to slow down the movement of your hips. But he’s lost at this point. “Please. I-I just wanted to be—ngh—good for you.”

“Yeah?” you whisper breathily. “Wanna be good for me? Then stay fucking still. You wanted to cum, didn’t you? Go on.” Your hands pull at his hair. “Cum again.”

Yuta’s sobbing by now, his hands gripping onto the flesh of your hips as you rode him. Used him like a fucking dildo. It was too much. Way too much. Yuta’s mind was blank. It was overwhelming. The clamping of your walls. The slick pooling down his shaft. The creamy mess of his cum swirling inside of you.

“I-I can’t!” he cries out.

Your hands tighten around his neck, applying pressure to the juncture of his windpipe. Yuta’s eyes roll back into his head. His stomach was tensing. His chest heaving. His cock being hugged by the tight and plush embrace of your cunt’s walls. It was so good it was bordering on painful. This isn't making love. This was far from it.

“You’re going to fucking cum,” you snarl.

Yuta’s hot tears stains his flushed cheeks, his lips trembling as soft gasps left his lips. Your hand continues to press down at his throat, before you lean in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Yuta feels faint. He’s lightheaded. He’s whining, gasping, mewling. He can’t breathe. It’s like you’re intent on draining everything out of him. All he can feel is the warm embrace of your cunt. The softness of your body. Your fingertips pressing down on his throat. Your lips, your tongue swirling against his own. The taste of wine on his lips. The sweet powdery scent tinted with cigarettes. The beads of sweat forming between your warm bodies.

With a cry, Yuta cums again. He’s sobbing, and you pull away from the kiss. He breathes in oxygen, whining pathetically as his cock twitches inside of you, filling you. You moan softly, clamping down on his walls.

Yuta’s head slumps back against the couch. The fringes of his dark hair stick to his forehead, beads of sweat running down his face. His eyes are blurry, both from his tears and sweat.

You admire the sight of him. So weak. So pathetic. So pliant.

He looks so pretty like this. Crying. Those pretty puppy eyes, lined by bags, irises blown wide, gazing at you as if you were a walking goddess.

You lean in, licking up the tears on his cheek. You relish in the salty taste, the faraway haze in Yuta’s eyes. How his thick lashes flutter slowly.

Slowly, you lift yourself off of him. Yuta hisses in sensitivity as his cock drags out of your walls, gazing down at his spent cock. It’s covered in a thin sheen. The patch of trimmed hair at the base of his cock is smeared in cum.

“Lay back,” you hum.

Sluggishly, Yuta nods. He shifts on the couch, laying down on his back. His pretty eyes gaze up at you. You smile at him, moving to hover your cunt over his face.

Yuta’s breath hitches at the sight of your cunt under your skirt, smeared with his cum. You kneel on the sides of his shoulders, facing his stomach. You gaze over your shoulder, lowering your cunt to his lips.

“Clean up your mess,” you order.

His mouth moves automatically, his tongue lapping up at the frothy mess of your cunt. His lips are shiny, kissing and flicking his tongue. You moan softly, grinding your cunt onto him.

Your soft hand reaches down, reaching for his soft cock. You wrap your hand around it, your fingertips brushing against the tender skin. You can feel Yuta’s body jolt briefly upon your touch, his tongue halting momentarily as he whines into your pussy. You sneer in satisfaction, leaning in to kiss the tip of his soft cock. It twitches in your hand, the tip a pretty shade of pinkish red. You lick your lips, leaning in and dragging your tongue up the shaft.

Yuta gasps into your cunt, his soft hands gripping onto the flesh of your thighs. His thighs quiver as your tongue laps at him. Your hands pump him, relishing in how he whines into your pussy.

You tighten your grip around his cock when he stops moving his mouth. Yuta gasps, and despite the tears pricking his eyes, he laps up at your pussy in a daze. He’s certain he must be drunk. Drunk on you. On the feel of you.

You smile as your hands pump his cock, watching as it twitches, soft and spent. It looks so pretty. One of the prettiest cocks you’ve seen.

You lift yourself off of Yuta’s mouth. He gazes up, dazed, confused at the sudden loss of contact with you.

“Sit up,” you order.

His trembling body obeys, sitting up on the couch. You settle behind him, pressing your breasts against his back. Your hand wraps around his cock from behind, pumping him as your lips graze his ear. You can feel Yuta shiver from your touch, melting into you.

“I-I’m still sensitive,” he whines out in between stuttered breaths. “I can’t—”

“You can’t?” you mock him. “Should I stop touching you then?”

“No!” His protest is quick, a sob that bleeds into a whine. Despite the burning sensitivity and the flicker of pain, he finds that the thought of you pulling away is more painful. “P-please, don’t stop.”

“No?” you sneer.

His breath is shaky, his hips quivering. It was too much. The sensitivity was bordering on pain. His muscles are taut. His chest heaving up and down.

Your free hand reaches up to cup his chest, your fingertips brushing against his nipple. You pinch it, twisting. Your hand continues pumping his cock, your thumb playing with the slit of his tip.

This earns a shudder from Yuta, who mewls at the sensation. “N-no more, please,” he mumbles out, exhaling, his entire body trembling. “‘s t’much—mph!”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you whisper, your warm breath brushing over his glistening neck.

Yuta’s mind is foggy. There was too much going on. Your fingers pinching and twisting at his nipple, your soft hand pumping his cock and thumbing at his leaky tip, your soft lips on the curve of his neck, the low whispers into his ear.

His lips are parted, soft whines constantly slipping out. His eyes are scrunched shut, his lips trembling. He was moaning, his head tipping forward. He was drooling at this point, his lips and chin smeared with the sticky trail of saliva.

“So fucking pathetic,” you coo, your tone almost a sneer. “I haven’t even finished and you’re already fucked out?”

His glassy eyes gaze back at you, tearing up from the overstimulation. He tries to say something, but it slips out as a weak murmur, an unintelligible whimper.

Then he feels it. The tense coil in his lower stomach. That familiar pressure. His face heats up. He’s shaking his head weakly, the stuttering of his hips increasing. His muscles are contracting, his cock feeling almost painful.

“N-no—ah!—stop,” his airy voice protests, “p-please—’m gonna p-pee!” He sobs out.

Something close to surprise crosses over your features for a split second, before it’s replaced by a malicious curl of your lips and the pleasant narrowing of your eyes.

Yuta expects you to let go of him. He surmises that he’ll be embarrassed, running over almost butt-naked to your bathroom so he can pee and awkwardly interrupt the both of you. He wants to disappear, to crawl into a whole. He’s certain he’s absolutely blown it with you. Made a fool of himself all because he can’t control his fucking bladder. He’s crying freely, warm tears decorating his flushed cheeks, sniffling.

But your hold tightens even more around his cock. Your breasts press against his back, feeling the trickle of his sweat.

“Do it,” you purr into his ear. “Make a mess.”

Yuta’s stomach dips.

“Nonono, p-please no, I can’t!” he cries, coming close to the precipice. He can feel the pressure on his bladder. He’s doing his damnedest best to hold back. “‘s too m-much! I’m not—”

“You will,” you never ask, you demand.

Yuta sobs out, his tears trickling down his cheeks onto his chest as he finally breaks. The stream of liquid shoots out, and you grin in mischief as you watch him make a mess on the leather couch. The warm liquid trickles down to your fingers that were wrapped around his cock. His body is trembling, his cheeks and ears red, wailing softly.

You grin in sick satisfaction, a shiver running through your body at the sight of Yuta putty in your arms, crying. Wrecked. Absolutely humiliated.

“So fucking dirty,” you chuckle, pressing your lips against his ear from behind him.

Yuta’s eyes are closed shut, his face burning furiously. His body is trembling, his soft cock drooling. Your damp fingers grip his chin, almost bruising.

“Open your eyes and look at the mess you made,” you scowl.

Yuta’s eyes peel open. His rich dark lashes are bunched together with his tears, his eyes swollen and reddened, gazing down at the mess he made of the couch. His piss, soaking the throw pillows, collecting on the leather of the couch. His eyes are blurring with a new onslaught of warm, salty tears.

“How’s it feel, hm? Pissing all over my couch like a damned dog?” you hum, letting go of his chin and playing with the slit of his tip with your fingertips.

Yuta shivers under your touch, with the sensation of your body pressed against his back. “‘m s-sorry,” he whispers out, so faint you could barely hear it. His traitorous body was acting on its own. “I-I’m so sorry. I—“

“You don’t sound all that sorry to me,” you muse, feeling his cock harden under your strokes. Your thumb runs down a vein on his shaft. “You’re getting hard after that?” A sneer. “You like pissing on yourself?”

He shakes his head limply, sniffling softly as he cries. “N-no,” he protests weakly. “I didn’t m-mean to. I—“

“For a virgin, you’re such a slut,” you murmur into his neck.

Yuta shivers at your voice.

You shift positions, pulling away and shoving him down to lay on his back on the couch. He falls back with a soft thud, his wide teary eyes gazing up at you. His cock stands tall, and you regard him with a sneer as you hover above him, gripping his cock and aligning it with your cunt. You rub his flushed tip against the lips of your pussy, relishing in how his expression falters, how soft sighs leave his lips.

“You’re so pretty like this,” you coo, watching how his pretty eyes gaze up at you, misty with tears. “So pathetic.” You sink down on him, gasping softly at the intrusion, but your eyes remain trained in how Yuta’s eyes blow wide, how his lips part, how his brow furrows, how his hand balls into fists.

“‘m n-not—“

“You like this, don’t you?” you purr, his words dying in his throat as you roll your hips, watching how he thrashes in sensitivity, his thighs stuttering under you. “Being used like a dildo.”

You throw your head back, moaning softly as you rock your hips. You drag his cock through your spongy walls, relishing in how it curves and bends, sticking and rubbing against you. Yuta whimpers beneath you, gasping out as you use him without a care. He’s throbbing with sensitivity, but he can’t bring himself to stop. His eyes drink up the sight of your pleased expression, your soft lips parted as you moan softly, dragging his weeping cock in and out of your walls with slow strokes.

This isn’t making love, Yuta thinks through teary eyes, but it felt heavenly. His hips buck up into you as you ride him, addicted to the feeling of your warm and tight cunt.

There’s no love in this, but he thinks he just might grow to love you. The sight of you riding him, how your pretty breasts bounce, how your pretty face twists as you use him for your own pleasure—it was too much. His spent, misty eyes gaze up at you, white prickling his vision from the extreme sensations.

There’s no love in the way you ride him, the way your fingers come down to grip his beaded face. His dark fringes stick to his forehead, his body glistening. You lean down, continuing to fuck yourself using his cock, parting his mouth with your thumb. A cruel smile stretches on your lips, and even through the hazy pleasure, Yuta thinks you look beautiful. You spit in his mouth, watching as the glob of spit gathers on his tongue. Yuta cries out softly, still tearing up, but you see the way his throat swallows. How he takes it all. All that you give him.

This isn’t making love, but Yuta’s cumming again, sobbing out your name as he comes deep inside of you.

“—to Yuta? Earth to Yuta? Hello?” A voice slowly fades in from a dull ringing in his hazy head, snapping Yuta out of his reverie.

He blinks rapidly, rousing himself from his disoriented state, suddenly remembering that he was at a cafe near the university with his roommate, Toge. Yuta glances down at his opened laptop, the cursor of an opened Word document blinking back at him. He was doing an assignment for one of his elective classes, though he didn’t have much progress done.

“Dude, your coffee’s been ready at the counter for like ten minutes,” Toge says, his brows pinched together. His face is illuminated by the screen of his own laptop before him. He tilts his head, appraising his friend who sat across from him. “You okay?”

Yuta slowly nods his head. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” He rises from his seat, trying to offer his friend a reassuring smile. “I just haven’t slept well because of the exams coming up.”

A half-truth, really. He was both occupied with both the exams looming over him, and the haunting visage of your pretty face gazing—no, sneering—down at him as you sank down on his cock.

Toge gives his friend an odd look, but to Yuta’s relief, doesn’t press further. Yuta exhales, making his way over to the coffee counter, apologizing softly to the worker who he presume has been calling his name periodically for the past several minutes as he retrieves his warm cup of coffee.

It’s been a week since he last saw you. Since that fateful evening occurred. Yuta hasn’t stopped thinking about it since then. He also hasn’t heard of you since. Your social media accounts were all private. You hadn’t offered him your number, either. He had no way of contacting you.

He sighs softly to himself, ambling back to sit across his friend with his hot caramel macchiato. He blinks at his dark laptop screen, and he logs in again. He brings his lips to his coffee cup, his tired eyes gazing out at the window of the booth they sat next to.

His lips still, his breath catching in his throat as he catches the familiar white snowy tufts of hair belonging to none other than his cousin, walking on the street.

Satoru Gojo was dressed in a black turtleneck, stretched around his broad shoulders and toned frame, dark gray slacks adorning his long legs, to black leather loafers. He had one strong arm wrapped around the waist of a woman walking next to him. They slow to a stop, and the woman takes her ringing phone out of her purse. When the woman turns to the side, pulling away briefly from Satoru’s clingy touches, Yuta’s throat dries up.

It was you.

Your lips were moving, speaking to the person on the phone. Satoru’s large hands trail down from behind you, resting at the swell of your hips. He’s almost clingy, a small pout on his face as you continue your phone call. Yuta can almost hear the complaint tumbling from the snowy-haired man’s lips. Your face is passive as he does so, gazing out to the side. Your lips part, conversing absentmindedly, before your eyes bore past the window of the cafe.

Yuta stills on his seat in the cafe’s booth as you make direct eye contact. Your pretty eyes widen slightly for the briefest moment at the sight of him, before they narrow fondly. A small, languid smile stretches on your plush lips. Yuta’s chest pumps erratically, his stomach sinking.

Satoru stands behind you, none the wiser to the clandestine look you were exchanging with Yuta, his head lowering into your neck. His long fingers toy with the belt loops of your mini skirt.

191 notes · View notes

lolazoel · 5 months ago

Text

Merthur reincarnation idea/ snippet

Déjà-vu – the knowledge you have without knowing how you acquired it

Going to the same college as Merlin was weird. He had stumbled into Arthur and some of his friends tossing a ball around. Maybe they were a bit mean in their teasing but it hadn't been extreme yet Merlin had acted as if they were working the other first year who wanted to join the footie team to exhaustion.

They really weren't doing that.

Yet Merlin stepped up, took the ball they were playing with, and told them off.

Arthur had walked over, trying to reclaim the ball, an arrogant retort on his tongue, when blue eyes caught his and the prepared words dried up unspoken.

"Arthur. Of course I'd meet you here."

He knew he had a bit of a reputation on campus but not enough for the first semester kids to recognise him on sight.

"Do I know you?"

His friends -although they suddenly felt less like friends and more like lackeys begging for Arthur's scraps, taking advantage of his position- snickered behind them.

Merlin smiled sadly. "Not yet. I'm Merlin. I think we could be friends one day, if you learn to be less of an arse."

Arthur blue screened for a second. That wasn't the expected answer. The expected answer had been a full rejection, something he could counter with words to a dialogue he already knew. But now... "Isn't that a bit of a quick judgement? Determining i'm an arse without a single conversation with me?"

Merlin had blinked at him, equally thrown off kilter for a moment.

It's how it all began, interactions that they both knew and somehow slightly subverted. Merlin studied physiotherapy and soon sat in on Arthur's football matches to help out in medical issues. Quickly his presence extended to the training as well, then celebratory pub nights, post work out fast food splurges and alike. When Merlin needed to practice techniques on people Arthur volunteered to the torture that left him sore for the rest of the day but with a clear head for his economics classes.

Merlin also made quick friends with people in other departments, Gwen who did nursing and was friends with Morgana (who talked Uther into psychology instead of suffering alongside Arthur) became a staple of the group not long after Merlin, then came Lancelot (social work), Gwaine (Marketing), Elyan (Engineering), and Percival (Teaching). They joined the football team after Merlin talked them into it, sure, they watched a few games and practices themselves but Merlin talked them into joining. Merlin also brought Leon closer to them, turning the politics student with a stick up his arse into a guy they could joke around with.

The members of the group always seemed to look up to Arthur, waiting on his judgement, but Arthur knew it was Merlin that had found them and wielded them together. Merlin was their greatest connector. Even when he tried to stand on the side, disappearing into the shadows, Arthur saw him, saw how Merlin smiled at them with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

The only thing Merlin's presence prevented were discussions about him. And everyone wanted to talk about it. In the locker rooms and on nights Merlin left early they came together and talked about it. How Merlin had found them, knew who they were without an introduction, knew how to appeal to them, how they all felt like Merlin knew them. How they all knew to trust Merlin without question.

During one of those discussions Gwen had cuddled into Lance's side. "Sometimes i'm a bit afraid of disappointing him. He... he seems to have these expectations of us, beyond how he knows us better than we know ourselves sometimes. He just... knows. He told me I should look into the political part of the nursing industry more, inform myself about the lobby and all. I did look it up but... i feel like he wants me to do more with it, more than he told me. And that's not the only thing..."

It baffled Arthur how his friends were afraid of Merlin's expectations when Arthur felt understood with Merlin for the first time in his life. Like Merlin would call him out for being an idiot but never abandon him. Like his friendship had no conditions.

And with that realization came another one. That Arthur didn't want an unconditional friendship. He wanted more.

He suppressed those thoughts of course. Merlin was his closest friend, he couldn't just risk that.

And then came the alcohol.

It was a post game party held in the small flat Arthur shared with Leon and Lance since the start of the semester. They had won without the Essetir team even having a chance.

So when Merlin and Arthur had stepped into the hallway for a moment of calm, Arthur stopped listening to Merlin talking about how annoyed he was with a tape glue, his eyes fixed on Merlin's face, taking in every detail.

"-and I swear, Arthur, the edges never stick down properly. And I can't get the clinic grade stuff for my kit because it's too expensive, but the next time Kay comes to me with knee pains I will steal from Gaius..." Merlin ranted.

"Merlin?"

Arthur knew interrupting people was rude but he was very very drunk and Merlin looked very very kissable.

"Huh?"

"I want to do something."

"Uh-huh."

"It's probably stupid"

"Probably."

"Shut up."

Merlin giggled and Arthur felt slightly light headed with happiness.

"I need you to tell me to stop if i am crossing boundaries, because I am not sober enough to talk properly, but if I don't at least try I'll never be brave enough and... Merlin? Promise to stop me if i'm stupid?"

Arthur had come closer to Merlin without even properly realising.

Merlin swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing like an invite to bite... "I promise." His breath tickled over Arthur's skin.

And Arthur surged forward, one of his hands cradling Merlin's jaw as the other pulled his hips towards Arthur. Their lips met in a crash of urgency before softening, answering to needy pressure.

And suddely Arthur knew this was new.

It was better than this imagination.

A longing seemingly centuries old loosened in his chest.

He drew Merlin in closer, unwilling to let go, now that he could hold him, keep him.

#merthur #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #merlin #merlin x arthur #writing #writing idea #snippet #maybe?#modern au #modern merthur #modern merlin #college au #university #alternate universe #i wrote this instead of sleeping #have mercy on me

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sugarushwriting · 9 months ago

Text

“don’t blame me, love made me crazy.”

“looks like an angel while sleeping.”

just a little jay drabble/oneshot. different than my usual writing.

not proof read.

trigger warnings:

obsession: the state of being obsessed with someone or something.

stalking: stalkers use a variety of tactics, including (but not limited to): unwanted contact including phone calls, texts, and contact via social media, unwanted gifts, showing up/approaching an individual or their family/friends, monitoring, surveillance, property damage, and threats.

voyeurism: voyeuristic behavior is when someone derives sexual gratification from secretly watching others undress or engage in sexual activities. voyeurs are also known as "peeping toms"

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

every where you were, jay was there too.

a coffee shop, main library on campus. any cafeteria or food center on campus. anywhere and almost everywhere.

it didn’t matter how many different options were available, you both always ended up at the same place at the same time.

yet you both only had 3 classes together on campus.

philosophy intro to logic, abnormal psychology and interpersonal communications.

“will you be okay?” you friend asked with extreme concern.

“yes, i will be okay, ryunjin.” you reassured.

she was worried because for your abnormal psychology class you were partnered with jay for project.

“maybe yall should study him, because he’s definitely abnormal.” ryunjin whispered.

you playfully swatted her arm. “jay told me to meet him on the fourth floor.”

“why the top floor? so no one can hear you scream?”

“it’s the quiet floor and that’s where he reserved a study room for us.” you said. “please stop being like that!” you huffed.

ryunjin rolled her eyes but went to the second floor where her other friends were as you rode up the elevator to the fourth floor.

you were the one to actually suggest the fourth floor and jay reserved a room for you both based on that suggestion.

getting off the elevator, you found the study room off to the corner with ease, seeing jay set out needed materials on the table.

when he saw you enter he smiled. “oh hey!”

you smiled and waved. “hey jay. ready to get this project knocked out?”

he laughed, “absolutely, but it should be fun. abnormal psychology is one of my favorite subjects.”

“mine too.” you smiled.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

almost an hour later, you both decided on the topic of how personality disorders impact intrapersonal relationships.

you had actually suggested the topic on obsessive sexual fascinations like fetishism, voyeruism, and exhibitionsim, however, jay wasn’t too sure that would even get approved by the professor.

“why not?” you had asked. “is it not a part of abnormal psychology and human behavior?”

“it is but—,”

“you’re not comfortable, it’s okay.” you teased.

ryunjin would probably say it’s because it would mean studying his pattern of behaviors and people don’t like when they get caught.

during the next hour you both jotted down some ideas and found a few psychology papers and articles you all could use.

“we would also need to make sure we find examples.” jay said. “like in movies, shows, plays, things like that.”

“sounds like an easy task! we could use the movies like scream, when a stranger calls, or even—,”

jay chuckled. “and how do these movies relate to our topic?”

“are you kidding,” you laughed with a chuckle, “those people were cray cray. they had to have some kind of personality disorder. sure i can find out with some research.”

“when’s the next time you’re available to work on the project?” jay asked as you both started packing your belongings.

“i am pretty open. i don’t do much but hang around friends or stick to myself.” you shrugged. “how about tomorrow?”

“that’s fine. but i think we’ll have to find a new spot, if i remember correctly the library study rooms are booked up.”

“that’s okay, since we need somewhere private, maybe mine or your apartments?” you suggested, putting your bag over your shoulder.

jay nodded. “either is fine.” he smiled.

“we can do my place! i have plenty of snacks.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“are you insane?” ryunjin scolded you. “that guy is is messed up in the head, you know he’s stalking you, yet you invite him to your place? what are you, crazy yourself?”

it was the next day, and you were telling ryunjin your plans with jay to work on the project at your place while you both stopped by a coffee shop earlier in the morning.

“he asked for my address.” you stated.

“of course he did! he can’t get caught.” ryunjin narrowed her eyes at you. you rolled yours, and walked out the coffee shop, her right behind you.

“you know i am just looking out for you, right?” ryunjin sighed. “i mean, you’ve told me how you been finding flowers at your doorstep, and jay would randomly pop up where you are, almost everywhere, you were.”

“i could be overreacting.”

ryunjin scoffed. “oh now you say you’re overreacting? babe, a stalker is a stalker.”

“i actually never said he was a stalker.” you defending, back tracking.

“you legit told me, ‘ryunjin, jay from my class is stalking me!’”

“i don’t recall.” you shrugged it off.

you did recall.

you remember telling ryunjin how flowers were showing up at your door step, the same flowers from a flower shop jay worked at over the summer.

you remember telling ryunjin how anytime you were at the mall, you saw jay there and he would be staring at you wide-eyed, then quickly walk away.

same at any coffee shop, cafeterias on campus and so forth.

you remember telling ryunjin how you always felt someone was watching you as you undressed.

later that evening you prepared a variety of snacks for jay, and spread out all materials that would be needed for the project.

he had texted you and stated he would be at your place by 7:00 pm.

it was 7:05 pm and you got worried, negative thoughts clouding your mind. was he hurt? did he forget? did he stand you up?

at 7:10 pm a knock came to your door, and you giddily got up from your spot on the floor in front of the coffee table and took big strides to open the door.

you opened seeing jay with a smile. “sorry i’m a bit late. uh, something popped up.”

“oh no, is everything okay?” you asked with concern.

jay seemed frazzled and out of sorts than how he usually presents himself or how you see him.

jay shook his head, “i’m good. just probably all in my head.”

“great, let’s get to work!”

you invited jay in your apartment, showing him were you set up the coffee table for working on the project.

“wow you really do have a lot of snacks!” he chuckled. he picked up a few, “and many are my favorite?” this came out more as a question and surprise, his eyebrows raising cutely.

“really? they’re my favorite too!” you giggled. “should we get started? i have a few personality disorders we can explore.”

“sure! what are some you have in mind?”

“well i was researching,” you began, and took a seat on the floor and jay did the same. “some personality disorders that can affect relationships and communication include antisocial personality disorder, borderline personality disorders, histrionic personality disorders and narcissistic personality disorders.” you listed with a smile. “but those are just cluster b that i think have the highest affects.”

“you seem to know a lot about personality disorders?” jay chuckled.

“i should, it’s an interest of mine. like i mentioned, abnormal psychology is one of my favorite subjects. i would love to work with populations most wouldn’t.”

“like who?” jay asked as you piped his interest.

“serial killers, stalkers, criminals, people like them.”

jay nearly choked on his own spit. “why is that?”

you smirked and your hand landed on his shoulder. he looked at your hand nervously, “i just think most are misunderstood.” you smiled widely. “i also just believe the way they think is so interesting and unbelievable.”

jay watched you talk about your passion with not only interest but something more. maybe he was looking at you strangely? looking at you with concern?

“well, this project should be breeze then.” he laughed nervously. he was more than ready to leave.

as you all continued to work on the project at a good pace, you and jay couldn’t help but still glances at one another.

two and half hours later, jay stood with a stretch, “it’s getting late, i should go.” he stated. “thank you for the snacks.”

he started packing up his things, as you began cleaning up a little. once his backpack strap was over his shoulder, he looked into your kitchen seeing a vase of flowers, a tag that clearly showed it was from the flower shop he worked at over the summer.

jay got nervous and fearful. he quickly adverted his gaze before you caught him looking. but unknown to him, you saw him out of the corner of your eye looking at the flowers, but you decided to keep quiet about it.

“so, i’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked hopeful.

jay’s voice shook with nerves, “um, i’ll text you. i forgot i have something planned with my friends tomorrow.” he smiled politely, but quickly bid goodbye and left your apartment.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

jay laid in bed after showering wide awake for a while. his nerves had gotten the better of him.

you had showered and put on some comfy clothes to enjoy your favorite show after jay left.

jay soon fell asleep, and one thing about jay was he was a heavy sleeper. almost nothing could wake him up so easily. his friends would tease him about it, but it was just who he was.

you weren’t a heavy sleeper on the other hand. which is why to every small noise you would awake, or had almost a third sense of being over cautionary fearful someone was always watching.

the flowers in the trash looked at you almost mockingly, and you closed your fist so tight, your nails were sure to dig into your knuckles.

such an angel while sleeping. so peaceful.

yes jay was. you smiled lovingly looking down at him as you watched him from his doorway as he slept soundly. you stepped quietly closer to him to get as close as possible, when you took out your polaroid camera.

after watching your favorite show which starred jay, him getting undressed and redressed, you were hot and bothered and couldn’t wait until you could finally make your move.

but it would take time. he wouldn’t understand you, or your habits, or how your brain worked.

you could see he was judging you earlier about the way you spoke about your passion.

but he would come around. he had to.

you knew he got stumbled by the flowers in your apartment. if he questioned, you would’ve just waved it off as a coincidence you got it for yourself, or maybe tell him you had a secret admirer to see if he would get jealous.

would he? you had a feeling he would be the jealous and possessive type of what belongs to him.

you sure were. possessive, jealous, of any girl that he talked to. he didn’t know better, but those women should! you thought, they couldn’t compare to you anyway.

when it came to your tactics, you had to be careful. you didn’t want to scare him off too soon. so this project was a great way to wiggle yourself into his bubble.

you fantasized so much about your future with jay. it blurred the line between fact and fictitious, and you were so deep into the obsession, you didn’t understand or even see the line anymore.

you didn’t want to blackmail him—not yet. the flowers were enough for now.

your love for jay made you crazy.

no one could blame you. that’s just how love was, right?

“don’t blame me.” you whispered to jay as you ran your fingers lightly through his hair with a smile.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

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atlasscrumpit · 1 year ago

Text

Professor Lecter x Reader

Ever since he had started teaching as a psychology professor, he had spotted you immediately as if there were a large spotlight on you.

Every class he had he would glance at you, noticing how quiet you often were.

One day you waited for everyone to leave before you began to leave, a habit he had noticed.

"It's Y/N. Right?" He asked as you turned around and smiled.

"Yes, yeah that's me." You said, he noticed a small blush on your face.

"I must say you turn in some very impressive work. The way you view things is very unique." He said as you smiled again at the compliment.

"Oh, thank you. I actually get that quite a bit. I hope it's a good thing." You replied, he liked to watch the way you avoided eye contact.

"It's a wonderful thing, people often don't think outside the square like you do. Your view on the world makes it seem like there's hope in everything, even darkness." He admitted, slowly stepping closer.

"This world isn't easy, being a human isn't easy. We have to find ways to deal with the ever crushing certainty of death. Maybe I'm too much of a dreamer but...what's the alternative? Just wallow in self pity and fear?" You replied with a small chuckle as he watched you speak with admiration in his eyes.

"You are far beyond your years, Y/N." He said, tilting his head slightly as he studied you.

"A curse really..." You muttered, solemnly.

"Perhaps, but do you really wish to be oblivious lile the rest of your class. Just drinking and experimenting as they like to say." He said making you chuckle a little.

"I suppose not. Knowledge can be a blessing and a curse." You said, finally meeting his gaze.

You both held the look for a few minutes before you inevitably looked away again.

"Anyway, I should probably get going. It was nice talking to you, I'm really really looking forward to more of your classes." You complimented making him smile.

"And I look forward to teaching you, Y/N."

You started to notice how much Dr. Lecter would look at you while he teaches, you didn't know if he was interest by you or interested in you.

But, you start talking after nearly every class.

This university used to be safe and happy but...it began to change.

You started to feel unsafe in your own dorm.

One night you were on your way home from the one party you've ever attended, and of course it all went to shit.

You sat on the edge of the stairs up to your dorm and sighed.

"Everything alright?" You heard a voice say, startling you back to reality.

"Oh god... Sorry you scared me." You muttered, seeing Dr. Lecter above you.

He wasn't used to seeing you so dishevelled and messy.

"What happened?" He asked, tilting his head and studying your body language.

"Well, I tried to go to a party for the first time... Just to try it. Some guy tried to have sex with me even though I said no. I ended up beating him up and getting kicked out." You grumbled as his brows furrowed a little.

"I'm glad you were able to defend yourself. Who was the boy?" He asked making you sigh.

"I think his name is Ben, Ben Sail or something." You said as he nodded, he knew exactly who you were talking about.

"You should head back to your dorm and get some rest." He said, helping you stand up.

You nodded and rubbed your eyes.

"Yeah... You're right. Night, Dr. Lecter." You said with a yawn before heading inside, Hannibal watched you leave and made sure you were safe before going on his way.

A week later you rushed into Hannibal's class room early in the morning.

"It was you, wasn't it!" You screamed as he looked at you and sighed.

He knew how smart you were and also knew you would figure it out.

"I was due for another meal, he happened to be the perfect target." He said as you stared at him in fear.

"You ate him!?" You screamed before he lunged forward and clamped his hand over your mouth.

His other hand went to your hip, gripping it to pull you closer to him.

"Shh, keep your voice down. I know you are not shocked, so don't act like you are. You have known since the moment you spoke to me. Your mother was a killer, you can spot them from a mile away. So, don't try to act like the sweet girl everyone thinks you are." He growled before taking his hand off your mouth.

"You think I'm pissed that prick is dead? I'm pissed you stole my fucking kill." You said as he smirked.

"So, there she is. The real Y/N." He said with a smirk as you leant against his desk.

"Should've known you would figure me out... I hope you won't be blowing my cover." You said as he moved closer, he had known for a quite a while you were a killer, all the same as him.

"Your secret is safe with me, I swear. I am also sorry for stealing your prey. Perhaps I could make it up to you at dinner." He said as you smirked and looked at him.

"As long as it's not human, I'm a killer but I don't eat my prey like you." You said making him chuckle softly.

"I promise no human meat." He said with a charming smile.

"It's a date."

#Hannibal #Hannibal x Reader #Hannibal Lecter #Hannibal Lecter x reader #University au #Professor au

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marianne-in-wonder1and · 24 days ago

Text

Surveillance - Idia Shroud x F!Enemy!Hopeless Romantic! Reader

Tags: Stalking, romance, kissing

Twisted Wonderland:

Waking up at 5 in the morning, freshening up, having a delicious and nutritious breakfast. Then, getting ready for the day, cleaning your dorm, and exiting with Grim to take your classes. Your mediocre little schedule. Idia had it all memorized. What? Call him obsessed or a stalker or whatever, it won't change the fact that he's been orbiting you since the day you came to NRC and your ethereal gaze landed on his floating tablet at the Entrance Ceremony. If he had been there physically, you would've seen his flame hair burst up in pink hues. Though, you don't need to know that.

Since then, he has been keeping an eye on you. In the cafeteria, in your dorm, during your classes. All the time, everywhere. He really, really, REALLY wants to talk to you. You're so beautiful, so perfect, so divine. He needs you. So, he pretends to ignore and be mean to you as a usage of reverse psychology. Throw in a few snarky remarks here and there. Atleast you'll give him attention then, even if it's to spite him.

You, on the other hand, adore Ortho. He's so sweet, he's just like your little brother! Though, you refuse to believe his brother is IDIA, of all people. It's not as if you're not interested in Idia — you are, but his nonchalance and misanthropic behaviour makes you riled up. And this is only when you see him! 90% of the time, he's not even present physically. You rant about him to all your friends. Their response? "You always speak about Idia, surely you have a crush on him?" N-No, obviously not. You didn't like him, remember? REMEMBER??? Hah. Anyways. He's usually never around, but Ortho drops such odd hints. He'll sometimes snicker and say, "he's always there yet never there."

With a sigh, you plopped down on your couch, reaching for your phone to play your favourite game. It was such a fun little multiplayer RPG! Best way to pass the time. As you played, you got a notification telling you that your game-buddy, Gloomurai, was online. You weren't one to make mysterious friends, but this one was an exception! He said he studied in NRC, was a third year from Ignihyde! Plus, he was a really good player. And a really good guy. God, you should stop crushing after random strangers! Then, again, it's the effect of all those romance animes and mangas. Suddenly, Idia's face popped up in your mind at the thought of romance. Ahh! Send help.

So, you started to chat with Gloomurai aka Aiden while defeating a boss.

Gloomurai: gg

You: gg

Gloomurai: You free?

You: Yep, wbu?

Gloomurai: I'm also free. Was thinking we could maybe meet up in campus.

You: That's a good idea! When?

Gloomurai: Hmmm, after class, courtyard?

You: Done.

Internally, the longest squeak escaped your lips. You were going to finally meet your good friend! You stood, fixing your uniform as you returned to class after the 30 minute. Before you knew it, the classes were over for the day and everyone started dispersing. You made your way to the courtyard, fixing your hair and touching up your lip gloss, sighing to yourself.

As you walked to the courtyard, you noticed a fiery blue hue illuminating the area under the tree. Your heart started to beat faster. Wait a minute. Was it who you thought it was...!?

When you looked at him, you exclaimed in recognition. "Idia-senpai?!"

He perked up at your voice, sitting up. His eyes landed on you, appraising you slowly, yet torturously. From your eyes, to your hair, lips, lingering on your chest, waist, hips, legs, repeat. He stood up, brushing his uniform as he walked to you. He towered over you, the scent of blueberries overwhelming you. His intense yellow gaze pierced you like an arrow. "At last, we meet, Persephone.xoxo."

You gulped, trying to look away, but the sheer intensity of his gaze kept you locked in place. "Y-You... You're Gloomurai. You..."

His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in. "And does that change anything, dear persephone?"

You clenched your fists, your cheeks rosy as you closed your eyes. Then, you opened your eyes so quickly that his composure wavered. "You should've told me! Do you even know how foolish you've made me feel, Idia Shroud-senpai— or should I say, Aiden from Ignihyde!? To think you're my game-buddy, I'm BAFFLED!!!!!!!"

He tilted his head, his eyes locked onto yours as he waited for you to finish. "And you, you think playing with my feelings is fun? You said that your name was Aiden from Ignihyde and you— mnfhh!"

His large hand covered your mouth, his face dangerously close. "My turn. I was playing with your feelings? Well, let me remind you of the fact that you're the unapproachable one here. Every time I look at you, I feel my heart quickening and my breath shortening. Just your sight is so enticing and blinding that I'm speechless. Yet, you continue to surround yourself with those freshmen like a human wall. How do I get your attention? Plus, how else would you come meet me here, so dolled up and fragrant, if I told you I'm me? I thought an alias wouldn't harm anyone. Do you even know how fucking jealous you make me feel when you prance around with those guys?"

His eyes seethed in silent fury, his forehead against yours. "I don't know whether I should kiss you or throttle you."

You were stunned silent. Idia, the misanthrope, was JEALOUS of you hanging out with the others??? Wait. You can count on your fingers how many times you interacted with him. He speaks as if he knows you for a long time. It doesn't add up. More importantly, he likes you??? Shit. The simp within you is coming to life.

You gulped, your eyes darting up to meet his. "Erm... I don't quite understand..."

"Let me clarify, then."

With those ominous words, he grabbed your face and slowly inched towards your lips, giving you every chance to back out. When you didn't, he snapped. His lips crashed against yours hungrily, as if devouring your very soul. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush. Your arms wrapped around his neck, feeling his long fiery hair brush against you. Surprisingly, it wasn't burning you.

He tasted like candy, an addictive pomegranate flavour. As he pulled away, you both panted, before he smirked.

"From whether to throttle or kiss you, I'll pick the latter."

You made it till here! Ortho sends you a lollipop 🍭. Thank you for reading. Do request for more!💙

#twisted wonderland #twst #anime #game #twst ignihyde #ignihyde #Idia Shroud #twst idia #twst housewardens #stalker #stalking #romance #obsession #gaming #games #Gloomurai

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chrxsprettygirl · 2 months ago

Text

𝑻𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄!𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏!𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚…

I like the campus library It’s quiet, big and basically always empty, I don’t know how most of the students pass their classes. Anywho it’s nice in there, that’s where im currently headed, im on the phone with Chris or should I say my boyfriend (I’ll never live it down) telling him about some study group im attending. “Psychological is not just mind games Chris it’s quite deeper than that” I say into the mic of the phone as I pack a few thing into my bag “Sure if you say so sweetheart lemme see your outfit” he says my phone lights up seeing him request to FaceTime. I accept it setting my phone up so he could see my outfit, im just wearing some shorts and a T-shirt and a zip up over it “That’s what your wearing?” He ask looking at me, I raise my eyebrow questioning him “Yeah what’s wrong with it?” He shakes his head “Nothin its just…..the shorts are a bit too short” I scoff at him taking the phone out its position throwing it on the bed continuing to pack my bag “Are you one of those boyfriends that controls what their girlfriends wear?” He laughs a bit while I put my shoes on “Nah, you can wear whatever you want im just pointing it out” I smile “well I gotta go, ill talk to you later” I tell him before hanging up and leaving to the library.

I spend about 5 hours in the library. It ended up just being me and this one guy since everyone bailing. But we stayed together, helping each other out and chatting every once in a while. I didn’t even notice the 3 missed calls and 9 text from Chris until I get back home to the dorms. I hissed pressing the call button, it rings twice before he picks up, it’s silent on his end for a few seconds “Hey” I say waiting for his response, he doesn’t say anything “Hello? Chris are you there?” I question “yeah” he says dryly “were you sleeping?” I ask him checking the time, it’s only 9 pm “nah. Kinda looked like you forgot about me” he says nonchalantly, I giggled softly “no I didn’t forget about you silly I was just busy, it ended up only being me and this one guy Raven, we lost track of time I’m sorry” I explain to him while I’m doing my nighttime routine. We stay on the phone talking (mostly me about how funny Raven is), he sounds relatively annoyed every time I speak about him but my dumbass was too oblivious to tell.

I’m brushing my teeth, halfway through telling Chris how Raven practically tutored me the entire night, when I hear him exhale sharply through the phone. Not the usual chill exhale no, this one’s irritated. “You talk about him like he’s God’s gift to the psychology department,” Chris mutters. I pause mid-brush, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” he snaps, “you’ve been on the phone with me for ten minutes, and all I’ve heard is Raven did this, Raven said that. Like damn, did he walk you back to your dorm and tuck you in too?” My jaw drops, toothpaste foam clinging to my lip. “Are you seriously doing this right now?” He doesn’t back down. “You ignored three of my calls. Didn’t even text me once. But you had time to bond with some dude for five hours?”I rinse my mouth and glare into the mirror. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I told you it was a study group.”

“Yeah, that turned into a one-on-one library date.” “Oh my god,” I groan. “It wasn’t a date, Chris. You’re being ridiculous.” “I’m being real,” he says, voice low and tense. “You walked out of here looking fine as hell in those shorts, and then went off to spend the night laughing with some guy I don’t even know. Sorry if I don’t feel great about that.” I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the phone. “You know what? I don’t need this. If you don’t trust me, then—” “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he interrupts, his voice quieter but still rough, “it’s that I know how other guys look at you. I know how I look at you. And if Raven’s not thinking about you like that, he’s either blind or lying.” The air between us goes dead silent. My stomach twists not with guilt, but with something… hotter.

Chris leans closer to the camera. His voice drops, thick and low. “You wanna talk about what I was thinking about while you were gone, looking all cute in those tiny ass shorts? How I imagined you walking in the door, coming to sit on my lap and letting me remind you who you belong to?” My breath hitches. “That’s why I was calling,” he adds, eyes locked on mine through the screen. “Not ‘cause I was mad. ’Cause I missed you. And because if you were here, that Raven guy wouldn’t even exist to you right now.” My fingers grip the edge of my blanket, heartbeat suddenly louder than anything else. “Chris…” He smirks, slow and dangerous. “Next time you decide to spend five hours with some guy, just remember what you’re coming home to.” I swallow, cheeks flushed. “Okay.” He raises a brow. “Okay?” I meet his stare, voice soft and teasing. “Okay, daddy.” Chris’s jaw tightens and the look he gives me after that? Let’s just say… I’m not getting much sleep tonight.

I stare at my screen for a second, heart hammering.“Be outside in five,” I say, already reaching for my zip-up. “You serious?” he says, eyes lighting up through the camera.“Dead serious.” He doesn’t say another word — just hangs up. That alone has my stomach in knots.I throw on the hoodie, barely bother fixing my hair, and rush down the hallway of my dorm. The second I step out, the cool night air bites at my legs, but I don’t care. Chris is already there, leaning against his car, arms crossed, hoodie hood pulled low looking like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make. He looks up when he sees me, jaw clenching, eyes scanning me like he’s checking if I’m real. “Thought you were gonna make me wait,” he mutters. I walk right up to him, staring him down. “You think I’d leave you hanging after a phone call like that?”He grabs my wrist and pulls me closer not rough, but firm. Like he’s had enough pretending. His hand slips down to my waist, holding me there as his other comes up to cup my jaw.

“I was pissed,” he says, low and serious, eyes burning into mine. “Not ’cause I think you’d do anything — but because the idea of someone else making you laugh, making you smile, even for a second, when I wasn’t around to see it? Drove me fucking crazy.” I blink up at him, breath caught somewhere in my throat. “Chris…” He leans in, barely brushing his lips against mine. “Say you missed me.” “I missed you,” I whisper, my fingers tightening in the fabric of his hoodie. “Say you’re mine.” “I’m yours,” I breathe. That’s all it takes.

His lips crash into mine — not soft, not slow, but desperate and full of every jealous, frustrated thought he had all evening. His hands slide under the hoodie, pulling me closer, like he’s trying to erase every second I spent away from him. And I let him. Because no amount of study guides or late-night sessions could touch what this feels like — being wanted, claimed, kissed like I’m the only thing that matters. When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. His forehead rests against mine. “No more library guys,” he says, smirking. “No more jealousy fits,” I counter, grinning.“Deal,” he says, then pulls me into the passenger seat. “Now get in. You’re staying with me tonight — and I’m not letting you out of my sight.

AN: this took so long I can’t

Random tags n taglist: @trevorsgodmother @tezzzzzzzz @weirdothatwritess @dykes4chris @chrepsi @chrissfavhoe @natesfavoritehoe @bamsblooming @chrissleftshoe @chrisslluut @cams-cult @chrissturnioloslvt @starrii-sturns @chriscumslut @chrisshands @chriss-prettyygirll @chrissturnioloswife88 @mattztrip @mattsleftball @mattsslvtzx @mattswrinkleton @mattsturnswife @mattsturnioloismylordandsaviour @mattsturnioloarchive @matthewsturnsgf @matthewswifeyx @matthewsturniolosactualgf @nickssidewitch @jayaluvsyu @nicksbestie @adoreechxmpion @sturnshood @sturnswiftie @sturniolotripletlover @chrissturnfavlilslut @abbystromboli @megameatymatt @zenithsturniolo @chrissweetheart

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lilahlovesjjk · 3 months ago

Text

🇼🇭🇪🇳 🇮 🇬🇷🇴🇼 🇺🇵

Chapter 5

synopsis: You and Satoru Gojo used to be inseparable—the kind of childhood best friends that promised to get married, rule the world, and never leave each other’s side.

Then life happened.

Now, years later, you’re both enrolled in the same elite psychology graduate program—only this time, you’re rivals. Gojo’s loud, flirty, obnoxiously charming, and infuriatingly good at everything. You're focused, sharp, constantly proving yourself—and desperate not to let the past (or him) throw you off course.

warnings: angst, slowburn (kinda), swearing, eventual nsfw, (i'll add to the list if I think of any more as the story progresses)

The campus was buzzing with its usual late-morning hum—students lounging on benches with half-zipped backpacks, others rushing by with headphones in and coffee cups clutched like lifelines. You stood in the short line at the campus coffee cart, toeing the ground with your shoe and watching the barista prep a drink with far too much whipped cream.

You were surviving on minimal sleep and residual embarrassment. Ever since your he dropped you off at your place a few nights ago, you’d been carefully orchestrating your schedule to avoid Gojo. Limited eye contact. Short replies. Strategic bathroom breaks. It was almost working.

Almost.

Because then you heard it—that unmistakable voice sliding in behind you like it was born to ruin your peace.

“Don’t tell me you’re here for my order,” Gojo said, leaning in just enough to make you flinch. “Sorry, angel. I only share fries. Not caffeine.”

You sighed. “Go away, Gojo.”

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, stepping closer until he was directly behind you in line, sunglasses perched like a crown on his snowy head. “You miss me.”

You turned just enough to arch a brow at him. “I’ve actually had three very peaceful days without you. You should try it.”

“But who would lovingly critique your fashion choices and hoard all your highlighters?”

“Literally anyone else.”

Gojo gave a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “Oof. Wounded. Guess I’ll just be emotionally devastated while I order my—” He glanced at the menu. “—iced matcha latte with oat milk, light ice, two pumps of vanilla, and the sweet, sweet taste of my enemies’ tears.”

You blinked. “You realize you sound like a drama student with a food allergy?”

“I’m an experience, not a diagnosis.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped forward to place your order. Gojo did the same after you, flashing a peace sign at the barista like he was a regular. He probably was.

You stepped to the side, waiting for your drinks, trying very hard to ignore the way he subtly shifted his stance to face you directly.

“You know,” he started casually, “Dr. Yuki’s doing check-ins on our projects tomorrow.”

You perked up. “What?”

“Yeah. Just a quick review of what we’ve done so far. She mentioned it after class yesterday.” He smirked. “Guess who skipped that part?”

You scowled. “I had criminology. I left early.”

“Which means,” he continued, sipping from an imaginary teacup, “we’re gonna need to make it look like we’re not totally behind. You still have your notes, right?”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“Then we should meet up again. Tonight,” he said, too casually. “My place.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Your place? What happened to the library?”

“It’s always freezing in there,” he said, scrunching his nose. “Besides, Geto’s out with some girl and won’t be back till late. Perfect quiet study vibes. Just you, me, and the emotional baggage of early childhood trauma.”

Your coffee was called, and you reached for it, needing the cup to ground you. “Fine. But this is about the project, not—whatever it is you think this is.”

He raised a brow. “What do I think this is?”

“I don’t know. One of your weird games.”

Gojo leaned in slightly, tone softening just enough to make your stomach flip. “Maybe I just like hanging out with you.”

You paused. And for a second, you didn’t know what to say. But then he grinned again, all teasing and light, and the moment snapped back to its usual rhythm.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning to leave.

“I’ve been called worse!” he called after you. “Don’t be late! And no stripping this time unless you want another round of my unmatched chivalry.”

You didn’t turn around, didn't even acknowledge him as you walked away with a smile on your face.

Satoru Gojo had never deep-cleaned anything in his life. And yet, here he was—shirt half-tucked, hair damp from a frantic shower, standing in the middle of the apartment living room with a half-empty bottle of Febreze in one hand and a throw blanket clutched in the other like a life vest.

“I swear to god, Geto,” he hissed, looking around wildly, “why didn’t you tell me the living room looked like a frat house exploded?!”

“Because it always looks like that?” Geto replied from the kitchen, entirely unfazed as he leaned against the counter and watched the chaos unfold, sipping a matcha latte with the calm detachment of someone who had absolutely no skin in the game. “Also, your idea of decorating is putting a Supreme sticker on the microwave.”

Gojo glared at him. “This is not the time for jokes.”

“Are you... folding the throw blanket?”

“I’m staging ambiance,” Gojo said with all the seriousness of someone preparing a defense for court. He stepped back to observe the artful placement of the blanket draped over the couch. “She’s never been here before.”

“And?”

“And,” Gojo snapped, running a hand through his still-damp hair, “she’s gonna be sitting there, in that exact spot, for hours. Probably with her stupid little color-coded notes and that perfume that smells like peach tea and heartbreak.”

“You’ve memorized her scent?” Geto raised a brow.

“I have a nose.”

“You have a crush.”

Gojo’s face twisted. “Shut up.”

“Just admit it, man.”

“It’s not a crush.” Gojo looked around in alarm. “Is it hot in here? Why is it hot in here?”

“It’s called nerves.”

Gojo groaned. “She’s going to think I’m a mess, shes probably gonna think I only invited her here to hook-up or something."

“She already knows you’re a mess, and yeah that could be what she is thinking but if she shows up that is a good sign.” Geto grinned, grabbing his keys. “Good luck, lover boy. I’m gonna go before you start sweating through your shirt.”

He left just as Gojo let out an actual, audible whimper.

He stared at the couch again. Then at the snacks on the coffee table. Then at the project notes he’d half-assed for the past two days and tried to make look academic. He adjusted the blinds, lit a candle he found in the cabinet, then immediately blew it out because the scent was “Midnight Rain” and that felt too emotionally vulnerable.

When the knock finally came, his soul evacuated his body for a full second.

He opened the door.

And there you were—shoulders tucked into a light hoodie, hair a little windblown from the walk over, one strap of your backpack slipping off your shoulder. You smelled like peach tea. And, yes, heartbreak.

“Hey,” you said.

Gojo leaned in the doorway, as coolly as someone with a minor cardiac event could manage. “Hey yourself. Welcome to the chaos palace.”

You stepped in slowly, taking in the surprisingly clean apartment. “This is... less disgusting than I expected.”

“High praise,” he said, shutting the door behind you. “We had the maid in this morning. Her name’s Satoru. He cried twice and threatened to set the couch on fire.”

You gave a small laugh, and he felt it echo in his ribs. God, he was doomed.

You made your way to the couch and sat, pulling out a folder already bristling with colored tabs and printed journal articles. “Okay, so. I’ve been compiling sources for our breakdown of Bowlby’s four attachment styles, but I thought we could frame it through a developmental lens instead of just listing them—like, how they manifest at different stages of childhood and then in adult relationships.”

He blinked. “That’s actually... smart.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“No, I mean. I was planning on showing up with a bag of candy and pretending to be charming, so you’ve officially outdone me.”

You tilted your head. “Did you at least bring candy?”

He grinned, pulling out a bag of sour gummies from behind a pillow. “Got the essentials."

You smacked his arm as he dropped down next to you, a little too close. The space between you buzzed. Gojo had to bite down on his instinct to shift even closer.

Your notes were spread across the table, along with your laptop. “Okay,” you said, clicking open a document. “We should divide the work. Maybe I’ll handle secure and anxious-ambivalent, and you do avoidant and disorganized?”

Gojo squinted. “Avoidant. Like you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

He lounged back with a smirk. “You’re clearly avoidant. Explain why you won’t text anyone back until they’re emotionally broken.”

“Oh, says the guy who jokes his way out of any serious feeling.”

“Touche.” He popped a gummy into his mouth. “Fine, I’ll take disorganized. Makes sense.”

“Why?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and his grin faltered. “Because it’s complicated,” he said quietly, but not without a hint of humor. “You know. Unpredictable caregiving. Mixed signals. Safety and fear all wrapped in the same person. It... hits close to home, I guess.”

Your fingers paused on the edge of your laptop. But just as the weight of his words started to settle, Gojo clapped his hands suddenly and said, “Anyway! Back to avoidant-you. Let’s dive into how you would rather walk into oncoming traffic than ask for emotional reassurance.”

You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered on him a second longer than usual.

He kept laughing, but his heart thudded in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was from the confession he’d almost made or the way you’d looked at him just then, like you’d caught something cracking through the perfect surface.

You both turned back to your notes, your arms brushing now and then as you worked. Gojo tried not to visibly flinch every time it happened.

Thirty minutes later, you stretched your arms over your head with a groan. “We still have so much to do.”

Gojo swallowed hard. Your hoodie had ridden up just slightly. He looked away fast.

“We should eat,” he said, voice a little higher than usual. “You want food?”

“Sure,” you said. “As long as it’s not instant ramen.”

He jumped up. “Amazing. I’ll go order something. You keep being... scholarly and intimidating.”

Before you could respond, he darted into the hallway, phone already at his ear.

“Dude,” he hissed when Geto picked up. “She’s here.”

“Obviously. Is she murdering you yet?”

“No. But her leg touched mine and I nearly died.”

Geto’s laugh was a full cackle.

“I don’t think I can survive this study session,” Gojo whispered. “She’s got these little paperclips that match her highlighter colors. It’s deranged. It’s perfect.”

“Wow. You’re down bad.”

Gojo sighed dramatically, head falling against the wall. “I’m so screwed.”

From the living room, he heard your voice: “Everything okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Peachy! Just—uh—ordering food. Back in a sec!”

And with that, he dialed the number of a restaurant that delivers and ordered food before he stepped away from the wall, squared his shoulders, and marched back in.

Fake it till you make it he thought or until she figures out you’re in love with her and flees the country.

Whichever came first.

The apartment falls into a thick, wordless hush. There’s no music, no murmured jokes, no teasing remarks or commentary from Gojo to break it. Just the occasional scratch of pencil against paper and the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen. The only thing louder than the silence is the way Gojo’s mind refuses to shut the hell up.

He’s supposed to be reading over a journal article on Bowlby’s attachment theory—something about disorganized patterns and parental responsiveness—but all his focus is drawn to the girl sitting on the other half of the couch.

You.

You're cross-legged, hunched slightly forward over your notebook, brows furrowed as your pen races along the page. The soft, steady swish of your handwriting has a rhythm to it that should be mundane, boring even—but for some reason, it sounds almost hypnotic. Like a metronome he’s synced to without realizing it.

Your perfume—some light, sweet thing he can’t stop thinking of—is making it really hard to breathe like a normal person. And every time you shift, every time your knee bumps into his, even just slightly, it feels like a tiny static shock right to his ribs.

You’re wearing that fuzzy sweater again. The one he already knows is softer than it looks, because he accidentally brushed against your arm earlier when reaching for a highlighter. He still hasn’t recovered.

God, he’s pathetic.

His eyes drift from the pages in front of him to the curve of your cheek, to the soft line of your jaw, to the way you chew lightly on the end of your pen when you’re thinking. He could sketch you from memory at this point.

“Do you think we should include something about internal working models?” you ask suddenly, not looking up.

Gojo blinks. “Huh?”

You turn your head just slightly, not enough to notice the way he was staring—but enough that he has to scramble to recover.

“Internal working models,” you repeat, gesturing toward your notes. “Bowlby says they form based on early attachment experiences, right? So even in adulthood, people use those mental models to predict how relationships are supposed to work.”

He nods, grateful to latch onto something academic. “Yeah—like, if you grow up with unreliable caregivers, your brain just assumes that’s the blueprint for all future relationships.”

“Exactly,” you say, scribbling something down. “It’s not just about how you relate to other people, it’s how you perceive your own value too. Your self-worth.”

Gojo nods slowly. “Makes sense why people with avoidant attachment act like feelings are nuclear waste, then.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re describing yourself.”

He grins, deflecting instantly. “I’m just projecting. You’re the emotionally avoidant one, remember?”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch like you’re holding back a smile. “Says the guy who panicked over a phone call and ran to the other room.”

“Hey, I was ordering food,” he says defensively. “We both need fuel to survive your study tyranny.”

You arch a brow. “Right. Survival snacks. And yelling at Geto on speakerphone was part of the nutritional pyramid?”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “Okay, first of all—”

A knock at the door cuts him off.

Gojo practically leaps to his feet, both to escape your pointed stare and because he’s genuinely relieved for the distraction. He grabs the food bag from the delivery guy, thanks him quickly, and heads back into the living room.

“Behold,” he declares, dropping the bag on the table with unnecessary flair. “Dinner of champions.”

You scoot over and start unpacking the food. It’s a messy spread: dumplings, noodles, egg rolls, some sort of meat you can't name, and a bag of pretzels.

“Classy,” you remark, holding up the pretzels. “Is this your idea of a five-star meal?”

“With the right company?” he says, grinning as he flops down beside you again. “Absolutely.”

You roll your eyes again, but he catches the faint pink tint at the tips of your ears.

The notebooks and pens are pushed aside, replaced with chopsticks and crumpled napkins. The conversation shifts, the tone lighter now. You talk about everything and nothing—your weird TA from Criminology class, how Geto once accidentally lit a microwave on fire, the way freshman dorms smell suspiciously like corn chips no matter what floor you’re on.

“I can’t believe you guys survived your first month in that hellhole,” you say through a mouthful of noodles.

Gojo leans back on his elbows, grinning lazily. “Geto almost gave up. He tried to convince me to move into a van and become psychology nomads.”

You laugh, a soft, genuine sound that does something wild to his chest.

God, he missed this. Missed you. Not that he’ll admit it out loud—not when it’s so easy to tease you instead.

You wipe your fingers on a napkin and sigh. “This is nice.”

He glances over, surprised by the honesty in your voice.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”

For a moment, there’s quiet again—but not the tense, academic silence from earlier. This is different. Thicker. Charged.

You’re both still on the couch, close. Closer than before. Gojo’s knee brushes against yours again, but neither of you pulls away this time.

Your head turns slightly, and he mirrors the motion.

There’s that look in your eyes—curious, searching. Your lips are parted, breath shallow. He notices everything about you, from the curve of your mouth to the way your lashes flutter when you blink. He doesn’t think. He just leans in.

And for a second, it feels like it’s finally going to happen.

You lean in too, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

But just before your lips meet—

BRRRRT. BRRRRT.

Gojo’s phone buzzes violently against the table, making both of you jump.

You pull back instantly, blinking like you’re just waking up.

He fumbles to grab the phone, heart hammering in his chest. It’s Geto.

He doesn’t answer.

When he glances at you again, the spell is broken. You’re already reaching for your notebook, avoiding his gaze like it never happened.

Gojo clears his throat, trying to sound normal. “That was… probably just Geto. Again.”

“Mm.” You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “We should probably get through the rest of these notes.”

“Yeah.” He grabs his pencil, but he doesn’t write anything.

The tension is still there—muted now, buried under half-eaten food and unspoken things.

Eventually, the mood settles. You both get back to work, making slow progress on the outline. The almost-kiss doesn’t come up again, but it hangs there anyway, an invisible thread between you.

You pack up your things half an hour later, and Gojo walks you to the door.

“You sure you’re okay getting home?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

You glance up at him. “I’ve done it a hundred times.”

He opens the door but lingers. “Still.”

You step into the hallway, then pause and look back. “Thanks for dinner. And… for the study session.”

His smile is softer now. “Anytime.”

You disappear down the hall, and he stands in the doorway long after you’re gone, wondering if you felt that too.

The next day the classroom felt somehow colder than usual. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Maybe it was the way your stomach was turning.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about last night.

You’d gone to Gojo’s apartment fully prepared to focus on Bowlby and academic rigor—and instead, you’d nearly kissed him over dumplings and color-coded notes.

Now you sat at your usual desk in Dr. Yuki’s Developmental Psych seminar, your leg bouncing under the table as you stared down at your neatly written outline. You’d barely said two words to Gojo since you arrived, too preoccupied with pretending like nothing had happened.

He looked entirely unbothered. Slouched back in his seat, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, twirling a pen between his fingers with casual ease. You hated how normal he seemed. How unaffected. You hated even more that you noticed how nice his hair looked today.

“Alright,” Dr. Yuki said as she strode to the front of the class. “Let’s take today to do some informal check-ins. Nothing terrifying—I just want to hear how your projects are coming along.”

There was a wave of low murmuring across the room, a few groans, a few panicked glances at laptops.

“Each pair will have about three minutes,” she added. “No slides necessary. Just talk me through where you’re at, what your focus is, and where you’re headed next.”

You felt your pulse quicken.

Gojo leaned closer to you, his voice low. “You nervous?”

You didn’t look at him. “No.”

“Liar.”

You shot him a sharp glance, but his grin only widened.

A few groups went before you. Most stumbled their way through the updates, either still in the research phase or floundering with a partner who clearly didn’t pull their weight.

When Dr. Yuki finally waved the two of you down.

“Wish me luck,” he whispered, then headed to the front.

You followed a beat behind, heart hammering, palms cold.

Gojo did exactly what Gojo always did—he opened with a joke. “So, uh, we’re diving deep into childhood trauma. Real uplifting stuff.”

There were a few laughs.

Dr. Yuki smiled politely. “And your actual focus?”

He shifted gears smoothly, gesturing toward you. “We’re looking at Bowlby’s theory of attachment, specifically how early caregiver relationships can shape adult emotional behavior. You know—like why some people can’t commit and others text back too fast.”

More laughter.

Gojo had always been good at winning a room. But what surprised you—maybe even impressed you—was that he didn’t try to do the whole thing himself. After the first few lines, he turned to you.

You stepped forward, the words coming more easily than you expected.

“We’ve been studying secure versus insecure attachment patterns and how those predict interpersonal responses later in life,” you said, glancing at the professor. “We’re using a few real-world case studies—some clinical, some anecdotal—to analyze behavior through Bowlby’s framework. There’s more to attachment than just the childhood origin, though. We’re also looking into how adaptability plays a role in adulthood.”

Dr. Yuki leaned forward slightly, interest clearly piqued. “Can you give an example?”

You nodded. “Sure. For instance, we’re exploring how someone with an avoidant style might appear independent or emotionally closed off, but in reality, that behavior’s rooted in a learned response to unreliability in early caregiving. That same person could develop secure traits over time if they’re exposed to consistent, supportive relationships.”

Beside you, Gojo shot you a little side-smile. Proud. And, you realized with a flutter of panic, fond.

When you finally wrapped up, Dr. Yuki crossed her arms, thoughtful.

“I’ll admit,” she said slowly, “when I first paired you two up, I wasn’t sure how it would work out. But now I see that it is working.”

She looked between you. “You balance each other out. You keep things grounded,” she said, nodding to you. “And you…” she turned to Gojo, “…keep it interesting.”

Gojo beamed. “That’s my entire brand, Professor.”

Dr. Yuki chuckled. “Well, I’m looking forward to your final submission.”

You both returned to your seats, and as soon as you sat down, you turned slightly away from him, staring very intently at your notebook, like it held all the answers to your spiraling thoughts.

“Hey,” Gojo whispered, nudging your elbow. “You crushed that. Seriously.”

You didn’t look at him. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” he asked, voice a little softer now.

“Fine,” you said a little too quickly. “Just tired.”

“Right,” he said. “Must be that emotional avoidance again.”

You shot him a glare, and he grinned, unfazed.

Class ended ten minutes later, and as you were gathering your things, a girl from the row behind you leaned over toward Gojo.

“Hey, that was a great presentation,” she said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “You’re hilarious.”

Gojo smiled, that casual, charming grin he used like a weapon. “Thanks. I try.”

The girl tucked her hair behind her ear. “If you ever want someone to study with, I’m usually in the library on Tuesdays.”

You zipped your bag a little too forcefully.

“Good to know,” Gojo replied smoothly.

You didn’t wait to hear the rest.

You slung your backpack over your shoulder and slipped out the side door before he could catch up. Your pulse was spiking, your stomach a mess of knots.

You weren’t jealous.

You weren’t.

You were just… annoyed. Because flirting during study check-ins was unnecessary. Because Gojo was your partner and he was supposed to be taking this seriously. Because he looked at other girls the same way he looked at you sometimes, and that shouldn’t have mattered but it did.

You shoved your headphones in and headed toward the quad, determined to pretend like none of it bothered you at all.

“You’ve been so boring lately,” Shoko called from the bathroom, her voice muffled over the hum of the hairdryer. “You’re literally glowing with repressed sexual tension. Let’s fix that.”

You groaned from where you sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a battlefield of half-folded outfits, a curling iron, and the faint scent of dry shampoo.

“Thank you for that diagnosis, Doctor,” you muttered, reaching for your mascara. “Very professional.”

“I aim to heal,” she quipped, stepping out with a cigarette tucked behind one ear and glitter eyeliner winged like she’d walked out of a runway show and into your shared apartment. She gave you a once-over. “You’re wearing that?”

You looked down at your oversized hoodie and gym shorts. “Obviously not.”

“Then pick something that says 'I’m fun and mysterious and maybe you’ll kiss me under fairy lights’ and not ‘I gave up on life in sophomore year.’”

You threw a pillow at her. She dodged it effortlessly.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you grumbled, standing up and eyeing yourself in the mirror.

It had been a long week. Between classes, the project with Gojo, and the unexpected near-kiss that had haunted your every thought since it happened, you hadn’t had time to go out. Let alone try and flirt or be flirted with.

Honestly? You weren’t even in the mood for a party.

But Shoko had cornered you after class, flicked the side of your head, and said, “I’m dragging you out tonight, and you’re going to like it. Wear something slutty.”

That’s how you ended up here, digging through your closet while she sat on your bed cross-legged, sipping wine out of a mug with the words “World’s Okayest Student” printed on it.

“Okay, what about this?” you held up a dress—a short silky slip number that usually stayed buried in the back of your drawer for special occasions or confidence spikes.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Very ‘Oops, did I just ruin your life?’ energy.”

You rolled your eyes but held it against yourself in the mirror anyway. Not bad.

As you shimmied out of your hoodie, Shoko suddenly asked, “So. Have you told him yet?”

You froze. “Told who what?”

She sipped her wine like this was an interrogation and she had all the cards. “Don’t play dumb. Gojo.”

Your blush gave you away before your mouth even opened. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Uh-huh. So the way you were staring at him during class yesterday was just… what? Scientific curiosity?”

You scowled. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m right,” she singsonged. “Look, I get it. The history. The drama. The fact that he looks like a literal supermodel. But you’re clearly into him.”

“I’m not into him,” you argued, pulling the dress over your head. “I’m… aware that he’s attractive. Objectively.”

“Oh please,” she said, hopping off the bed and tugging the hem of your dress into place with precision. “You talk about him in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened. “I do not.”

She just grinned. “Only once. It was very scandalous. You said, ‘Satoru, no, not the whipped cream.’”

You smacked her arm, mortified. “Liar!”

“Okay, fine, you just mumbled his name, but let me have the whipped cream thing. It’s funnier.”

You tried not to laugh, smoothing your hands over your hips and checking the mirror again. The dress actually looked… good. Better than you remembered. And Shoko wasn’t lying—there was a warm sort of glow under your skin lately, and no amount of denial could explain it away completely.

Gojo had been taking up space in your thoughts for days. Weeks, if you were being honest. Ever since he reappeared in your life like a storm and crashed straight through your emotional equilibrium.

And last night—his place, the way he looked at you, that moment where the world went silent right before his phone rang…

Yeah. You were in trouble.

“You ready?” Shoko asked, grabbing her bag from the hook by the door.

You hesitated, casting one last glance in the mirror. “You think this is a good idea?”

She looked you dead in the eyes. “I think not going is a bad idea.”

You sighed. “That doesn’t actually answer the question.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and looped her arm through yours. “Come on. We’re going to drink cheap vodka, pretend to like the music, and you’re going to flirt with someone other than Gojo for once in your life. Sound good?”

You laughed, letting her drag you toward the door. “Sounds terrifying.”

“Perfect.”

The two of you stepped into the night, heels clicking on the pavement, the buzz of campus parties already starting to echo faintly from blocks away. You tried to shake the nerves, the lingering image of white hair and a lazy grin and the way he always smelled like sugar and mint.

Maybe tonight would help. Maybe you’d drink something pink and fizzy and kiss someone you didn’t have a years-long pining complex over.

And maybe, just maybe, you'd finally get Gojo Satoru out of your head.

The music hit first—low and pulsing through the hallway like a heartbeat you couldn’t quite catch. The kind of bass that made your teeth buzz a little as you stepped inside the off-campus house someone’s cousin’s roommate’s friend rented for the semester. Shoko was already ahead of you, shouldering through the crowd like a girl on a mission, hair shiny under the colored lights, a mischievous little smirk tugging at her glossed lips.

Now, weaving through bodies and red solo cups and the distinct smell of weed and cologne, you were starting to wonder if she was right. Your skin buzzed. The dress you’d spent thirty minutes debating was starting to feel a little too tight in all the places Gojo Satoru might actually look.

Not that you knew if he’d be here.

Not that you cared.

Okay—you cared. A little.

You scanned the living room, heart thudding.

And there he was.

Leaning against a doorway like a damn poster boy for bad decisions—white shirt rolled to his elbows, hair still an absolute mess and somehow pulling it off. He was mid-convo with a few people, laughing at something a girl said, flashing that stupid smile. His entire aura screamed effortlessly hot.

You forced yourself to look away before you stared too long. Grabbed a drink from the makeshift bar, something sickly sweet and glowing neon. Sipped. Winced. Made your way to the back patio for air.

You were halfway into a casual chat with a guy from your Criminology seminar—cute, genuinely nice—when you felt it. That sudden weight of a stare. The hair prickling at the back of your neck.

You didn’t have to turn to know.

He was watching you.

And when you finally did glance over your shoulder, Gojo didn’t look away. Didn’t even try to hide it. His mouth was a little parted, eyes dark under the lights, the muscle in his jaw tight.

He wasn’t smiling.

Oh.

Oh, this night was going to unravel.

You lost track of time after that.

There was music. Dancing. More drinks—two, maybe three. The patio guy had moved on to someone else, and you’d drifted through the party in that floaty way that always came with a decent buzz and the itch of knowing Gojo was somewhere close.

And then he was right there.

“You know,” he said, voice smooth as silk, “if you’re gonna flirt with someone else, at least pick a guy who’s not terrified of eye contact.”

You raised a brow. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not jealous. Just disappointed in your taste.”

“Right,” you said, sipping your drink. “Because a guy who thinks Sour Patch Kids and chips are valid brain food is obviously the gold standard.”

Gojo stepped closer. Too close. His breath was warm when he leaned down to murmur, “You look so hot right now.”

It was the kind of line that should’ve felt sleazy. Except his voice dipped at the edges, almost reverent. And it made your whole body seize up with heat.

“W-what?” you managed, blinking.

He smirked. “You heard me.”

You stared at him for half a second too long. And then you were pushing him, just lightly, back against the nearest wall, dropping your cup without a second thought. His back hit the plaster with a dull thud, and he didn’t even flinch—just looked shocked, a little breathless, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

And then you kissed him.

God, it was everything you’d been trying so hard not to think about. Soft lips and heat and the way his hands flew to your waist like he’d been dying to touch you all night. You felt the press of his fingers at your sides, one of them sliding up, up, brushing the curve of your thigh just beneath the hem of your dress.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt. His teeth grazed your bottom lip.

It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry and desperate and so full of tension it might’ve torn a hole in the air around you.

Gojo’s voice rumbled against your mouth, a low groan escaping. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You barely heard it.

Barely registered anything except him.

His scent. His hands. The way he kissed like he’d been thinking about it for a long, long time.

Until—

“THERE you are!” Shoko’s voice cracked through the haze like a damn fire alarm, and you jolted back so fast your shoulder hit the wall.

Gojo blinked, clearly dazed.

Shoko stumbled forward, eyes glassy, her laugh too loud. “I was looking everywhere for you. C’mon, I need your help finding the bathroom.”

You swallowed hard. “I—uh—yeah. Okay.”

You barely glanced back as you let her drag you down the hallway, but when you did, Gojo was still watching you, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His lips were pink, his hair mussed, eyes locked on yours with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

taglist:

@linaaeatsfamilies @eolivy @whiter4bbitcorner

@oricaked @mullermilkshake @j3llyc4kes

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfiction #jjk gojo #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #jjk shoko #geto suguru

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rylem33 · 10 months ago

Text

The Root of Malice

Here's a new one from me. I hope you enjoy! I've updated my blog homepage as there were some of my posts not showing. So head over there if you want to read any of my 100+ stories. And, as always, feedback is welcome. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ella sat comfortably in the campus library, nestled in a cozy corner. The scent of books lingered in the air as she flipped through another dusty find.

Across from her, Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning as he scrolled through his phone. They had spent the last half hour quietly teasing each other, their occasional laughter breaking the usual silence of the library. Sam, ever patient with her whims, loved these little moments with Ella, even if they were spent surrounded by piles of books.

“Still looking through dusty old books, huh?” Sam teased, leaning over to glance at the weathered pages she was studying. “You sure you’re not secretly a witch?”

Ella smirked, gently nudging him with her foot under the table. “Maybe I am, and you should be careful—might turn you into a frog or something.”

“Good luck with that,” Sam chuckled, reaching across the table to give her hand a playful squeeze. “If I turn into a frog, you’ll be the one kissing me to break the curse, remember?”

Ella laughed, her soft blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she shot him a playful look. “I’d rather keep you as a frog. You’d make a cute one.”

He leaned forward with a grin. “You’d miss me too much.”

“Maybe,” she replied, her smile widening as their banter continued.

After a few more playful jabs, Sam finally set his phone down and leaned on his elbow, watching her with that familiar, affectionate gaze. “So, what are we thinking? Should we hit up the party soon? Some of the guys from class are already there. I promised we’d at least make an appearance.”

Ella glanced down at the open book in front of her—a curious old thing she had found tucked away in the back of a shelf. Something about it had caught her attention. The strange, faded symbols on the cover seemed to pull her in.

She looked back at Sam with an apologetic smile. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up. I need to finish up some research for my project.” She gestured at the book.

Sam raised an eyebrow, amused. “More research, huh? Only you would choose an old book over a party.” He leaned across the table, lowering his voice. “You sure it’s not a spellbook?”

She rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t fade. “Fine, fine. Go to your party before I put a hex on you.”

He laughed, standing up and reaching down to ruffle her hair. “Okay, okay, I’m going. But don’t take too long. You owe me a dance, witch.”

Ella looked up at him, her expression softening. “I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

Sam paused, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. It was sweet and tender, lingering for just a moment as his hand rested on her shoulder. “I love you, El.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her heart warm as she gazed up at him.

With one last smile, Sam turned and headed toward the library door, waving over his shoulder as he disappeared into the hallway. Ella watched him go, her fingers absentmindedly running through her hair before turning her attention back to the book that lay open in front of her.

She had been working on a research project for her psychology class—human behavior, specifically what drove people to be cruel. It was a fascinating, albeit dark, topic that had captured her interest for weeks. Ella had already sifted through academic papers and case studies, searching for answers to the age-old question of what made some people malicious while others leaned toward kindness.

Her project had been focused on clinical explanations, theories of aggression, and the societal factors that could lead to cruelty, but in her search through the library’s shelves, she stumbled upon this peculiar book, tucked away in the farthest corner of the psychology section. Its worn cover had no title, and its pages were brittle. But the strange thing was its content—a brief mention of something called the Root of Malice, an idea that didn’t quite fit with the modern research she’d been reading. It intrigued her, and though she had no real reason to follow this particular lead, curiosity had taken hold.

Ella flipped through the delicate pages, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the odd, archaic language scrawled across the parchment. Some of the text was faded and difficult to decipher, but every so often a word would leap out at her—malice, cruelty, darkness.

The further she read, the more she could feel something… off. The air around her seemed to grow heavier. Her fingers seemed to tingle as they brushed over the worn pages.

As she reached the middle of the book, her breath caught in her throat. There, filling an entire page, were strange symbols around an elaborate picture. They weren’t like anything she’d seen before.

Ella whispered the unfamiliar words aloud, struggling to pronounce the strange syllables. “Anhar oza seltor…”

The moment the last word left her lips, a sudden heaviness descended upon her. The air around her seemed to thicken, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her vision blurred as a wave of dizziness washed over her, the room tilting slightly as if the very ground beneath her had shifted.

She tried to stand, her legs trembling beneath her, but the heaviness intensified. Her fingers curled tightly around the edges of the table for support, the world spinning too quickly for her to make sense of it. Every movement felt slow and labored, like she was moving underwater.

And then… everything went dark.

Ella’s body slumped in the chair, a faint sigh escaping her lips.

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When she awoke, it was as if no time had passed at all. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything felt disjointed. She blinked, disoriented, the blurry outlines of bookshelves and the faint hum of fluorescent lights slowly coming into focus. The library was quiet.

The heaviness was gone.

Ella sat up slowly, her hands gripping the arms of the chair for balance as she took a deep breath. Her head no longer spun, and the crushing weight that had overtaken her just moments before had vanished entirely, replaced by an odd sense of calm. She felt… fine. Completely fine, actually.

Had she fainted? She didn’t feel weak or sick.

She glanced down at the book, its pages still open to the strange symbols she had tried to read aloud. An odd shiver went down her spine.

The clock on the wall caught her eye. I should just call it a night.

She let out a shaky breath, the unease in her chest slowly subsiding as she closed the book with a soft thud. Sam would be waiting for her at the party, and the thought of seeing him was a welcome distraction after… whatever that was.

“I’ll come back to this later,” she muttered to herself, sliding the book to the edge of the table, feeling more relieved than she cared to admit. Research could wait. She needed to shake this off, clear her head, and enjoy herself tonight.

Ella grabbed her bag and stood up, the usual lightness returning to her steps as she headed for the library exit. Everything felt normal again, but a small voice in the back of her mind wondered why she had fainted at all.

She pushed the thought away, forcing a smile as she stepped into the cool evening air. It’s fine. I’m fine. Sam would laugh at her when she told him about her strange experience, and that was exactly what she needed right now—just a fun night to forget about the bizarre pull of that book.

As she walked toward the party, the memory of the symbols started to fade, and with it, the heaviness that had briefly weighed her down. Everything was normal. Everything was fine.

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Ella left the library feeling oddly energized. By the time she arrived at the party, she was in high spirits. She moved through the crowded house, smiling at familiar faces, her attention focused on finding Sam. She scanned the room but couldn’t spot him immediately.

It’s fine. I’ll find him eventually, she thought, a slight smirk playing on her lips. Normally, she’d feel nervous or self-conscious, but tonight was different.

A girl she recognized from one of her classes waved at her. “Hey, Ella!” she called out with a warm smile. Ella returned the wave, moving to approach her, but the moment she did, a sharp, searing pain shot through her head. She gasped, clutching her temple.

What the hell?

The pain faded as quickly as it had come, leaving her standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. She tried to ignore it, taking another step toward the girl to say hello, but the stabbing pain returned, worse this time, as if something was trying to force her away from doing it.

She stopped, panting softly, the pain slowly subsiding. What’s going on?

But then, as she turned away from the friendly girl and bumped into a guy who accidentally spilled his drink on her arm, a flash of anger surged through her. “Watch where you’re going, asshole,” she snapped, pushing him back slightly.

And then it hit—a wave of pleasure so intense it made her shiver. Her whole body tingled as a warm, satisfying sensation flowed through her. It felt… incredible.

She blinked in shock, standing still as the rush of pleasure slowly ebbed. That felt… good.

Her fingers brushed against the spot on her arm where the drink had spilled. Normally, she would have apologized or brushed off the situation entirely. But being rude—no, cruel—had felt amazing, like she had tapped into something new. Her lips curled into a small smile as the realization sunk in. When I’m nice, it hurts. When I’m not… it feels so damn good.

She moved through the party, her mind racing. Every time she considered doing something kind or polite, like offering someone a smile or holding the door, that sharp, throbbing pain returned. But when she deliberately knocked into someone, or made a snide comment under her breath, the pleasure would return, flooding her senses. She couldn’t help but want more.

Finally, she saw Sam across the room, talking to a group of people by the bar. Her heart should have leapt at the sight of him, but instead, a cold detachment settled over her. She strode over, her steps confident and purposeful, feeling a thrill building inside her.

“Hey, babe,” she said casually, sliding up next to him. Sam turned to greet her, but as soon as he saw her, his face froze.

“Ella? What happened to your hair?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice.

Her hand instinctively went up to touch her hair. “What?” she asked, more out of annoyance than confusion. But the second she tried to explain or reassure him, a sharp pain spiked in her temple. She winced, her teeth gritting against the sensation.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered, frustration building inside her as the pain pulsed.

Sam’s concern deepened. “Are you okay? You’re acting really weird.”

“I’m fine, okay?” she snapped, and just like that, the pain disappeared, replaced by another surge of pleasure. It was intoxicating, almost euphoric.

Sam blinked, surprised by her sudden outburst. “Ella, I’m just trying to help—”

“I don’t need your help!” she spat, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. The pleasure hit her again, hard, coursing through her veins like a drug. Her pulse quickened, and she realized she wanted more. Being cruel… felt good.

Sam stepped back, his face hardening. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice cold. “I’ll give you space.”

Ella’s chest tightened, the remnants of the old her stirring within, urging her to say something, to explain. Tell him it’s the spell. But she couldn’t. The moment she tried, the searing pain would shut her down.

Instead, she stood there, feeling the thrill of power and control surge through her as Sam walked away. Her hand trembled slightly as she ran it through her hair again, the unfamiliar black strands slipping between her fingers.

Ella watched Sam walk away, her chest heaving as the anger bubbled beneath the surface. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the crowd, but instead of the sorrow she expected to feel, there was only a hollow coldness. The part of her that used to care felt distant, almost unreachable. All she could focus on now was the raw energy surging inside her, the anger swirling.

Her fists clenched at her sides, the pleasure from snapping at Sam still pulsing in her veins like a warm, addictive buzz. Why did it feel so good to push him away? That thought should have terrified her, but it didn’t.

“Ella? Hey, Ella!” A familiar voice broke through her thoughts. She turned to see Claire, one of her oldest friends, weaving through the crowd toward her. Claire’s face was creased with concern, her eyes darting nervously between Ella and the direction Sam had gone. “I just saw you with Sam… Are you okay? You look upset.”

Ella blinked, the remnants of her old self stirring beneath the surface. Claire had always been a good friend, someone who cared. Ella knew she should be thankful—she should be kind, explain things, apologize for how she was acting.

But as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, the pain struck again. Hard. A white-hot spike of agony shot through her skull, forcing her to grit her teeth and clutch her head. The kindness she’d tried to summon was immediately snuffed out, replaced by the growing rage that had been festering since she arrived at the party.

The pain vanished, and in its place, a surge of blissful pleasure rolled through her body. The sharpness of it nearly made her gasp. She lowered her hand slowly, her dark eyes narrowing as she looked at Claire.

“Am I okay?” she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

Claire blinked, taken aback by the venom in Ella’s voice. “I just… you seemed upset with Sam, and I—”

“What? You think I can’t handle my own shit?” Ella snapped, her voice louder now, catching the attention of a few nearby partygoers. “I don’t need you, or anyone else, swooping in like I’m some pathetic damsel who needs rescuing.”

Claire’s eyes widened, her expression quickly shifting from concern to confusion. “Ella, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“Shut up, Claire,” Ella cut her off sharply, the pleasure now a steady hum beneath her skin, fueling her words. It felt incredible. With each cruel comment, the pain in her head lessened, and the rush of power intensified. “Do me a favor and mind your own business for once. Maybe that’s why you’re always clinging to me like some desperate little puppy—because you can’t even keep your own life together.”

The hurt that flashed across Claire’s face was immediate, her eyes going glassy as she struggled to comprehend the sudden cruelty. “Ella… what’s going on with you? This isn’t like you.”

Ella tilted her head, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her lips. “Just fuck off,” she said, her voice almost electric. The thrill of seeing Claire’s discomfort—the way she was shrinking back—sent another wave of pleasure through Ella, and she felt herself reveling in it. Why had she spent so much time being nice when this felt so damn good?

Claire took a step back, clearly shaken. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m not sticking around to find out,” she muttered, her voice trembling before she turned and hurried away, glancing back only once with a look of both fear and sadness.

As Claire disappeared into the crowd, Ella’s body hummed with satisfaction. She stood there, feeling a strange mix of triumph and hunger. She had liked that. The power. The control. Watching someone crumble under her words had been exhilarating.

She glanced around the party, her mind still buzzing, her body craving more.

Ella’s pulse quickened as she watched Claire disappear into the crowd, the rush of power still humming beneath her skin. She had never felt this way before—so alive, so charged with energy. She didn’t want it to stop.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for her next outlet. That’s when she noticed him—a guy standing against the far wall, staring at her. He looked like he was trying to play it cool, but his gaze lingered a little too long, and Ella could feel the pull of his attention. He was tall, with dark hair and a cocky grin that seemed to falter when she locked eyes with him.

A smirk curled on her lips as she started walking toward him, her hips swaying with purpose. He straightened up, watching her approach, clearly not expecting her boldness.

Without a word, Ella reached him and, with no hesitation, she raised her hand and smacked him hard across the face. The sharp sound echoed through the small space, and the guy’s head snapped to the side. A murmur of shock rippled through a few people nearby who had seen the sudden act, but Ella didn’t care. She felt a surge of pleasure—intense and almost dizzying—pulse through her at the sight of his stunned expression.

He blinked, his hand flying to his cheek as he looked back at her, confusion and a strange mix of attraction swirling in his eyes. “What the hell?” he started, his voice low, but before he could say anything else, Ella stepped in close, her body pressing against his.

“Shut up,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.

Then she kissed him. Hard. Her mouth crashed against his, open and aggressive, her tongue forcing its way past his lips as she took complete control. He hesitated for a split second before kissing her back, clearly turned on by her wildness, though completely unsure of what had just happened. His hands hovered near her waist, unsure whether to touch her or not.

Ella bit down on his bottom lip as she pulled away, not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a sting. He winced, a small groan escaping his mouth as his eyes met hers, filled with a mix of desire and bewilderment.

She leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. “Don’t stare at what you can’t handle,” she whispered, her voice low and dripping with menace. She stepped back, licking the taste of his blood from her lips as she watched him, still dazed and turned on, staring at her like he didn’t know whether to run or beg for more.

With a final, cold smile, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the guy standing there, clutching his lip, his eyes wide with confusion and raw lust.

Ella laughed softly, a dark, twisted sound that sent shivers down her spine. The pleasure coursing through her was like nothing she had ever felt before, and she wanted more. More of the power. More of the control. More of this dark, intoxicating version of herself that had been hidden for so long.

But then she saw him. Sam.

He was standing near the bar, his eyes locked onto her from across the room. His eyes looked hurt, wet, heartbroken

For a split second, something in her chest tightened. I should explain… I should—

The thought barely formed in her mind before an intense bolt of pain ripped through her skull, so sharp and sudden that it nearly knocked her off balance. She gasped, clutching her head as the pain shot through her temples, worse than before. It felt like her mind was being torn apart. Every attempt to reach out to Sam, every impulse to apologize or explain, was met with a violent surge of agony that made her stomach twist.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, biting down hard to suppress a scream. The pain throbbed, forcing her to let go of any thought of being kind or soft. No. Not kind. Not good.

The pain was too much.

So instead, Ella sneered, her lips curling into a wicked smirk as she slowly raised her hand. Without breaking eye contact, she flipped him off, her middle finger raised high, a silent, defiant message of finality. The action sent a new wave of satisfaction coursing through her, the pleasure intoxicating and powerful.

He didn’t deserve an explanation. Not anymore.

With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the party, her pulse pounding in her ears. As the night air hit her face, a slow, dark grin spread across her lips.

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Ella walked through the empty streets, her mind flush with anger, desire, power. The rush from flipping Sam off, the look on his face as she left him standing there, confused and heartbroken… it felt so right, so thrilling.

Her feet carried her to the library before she even realized where she was headed. It was late now, long after closing time, the large wooden doors locked tight, the building dark. But Ella didn’t care. She felt a pull—a strange connection to the book she had found earlier, the one that had started all of this. She needed to get back to it. She had to.

Approaching the front entrance, she tested the doors, rattling the handles, but they didn’t budge. She could see the book in her mind, calling to her, and the locked doors only fueled her frustration. The sharp pang of disappointment flared briefly in her chest, but then a thought—no, an urge—took over. Why follow the rules? Being bad had felt good so far, hadn’t it?

Without hesitation, she picked up a heavy stone from the nearby garden bed and hurled it at one of the tall windows. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the empty streets, and the thrill that followed was immediate, sending a jolt of pleasure rippling through her body. Yes.

She climbed through the broken window, not caring if she cut herself on the shards as she dropped onto the cold floor inside. The thrill of destruction pulsed through her, making her heart race with excitement. The more she disobeyed, the stronger she felt. It was exhilarating.

The library was dark and still, the only sound the faint echo of her footsteps on the old wooden floors. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light as she made her way back to the nook piled with her books.

There it was, lying exactly where she’d left it on the table, almost as if it had been waiting for her. She reached out and picked it up, the leather-bound cover cool against her skin. As soon as her fingers touched it, she felt a surge of energy.

She turned to a page, as if on auto-pilot. It was covered with strange symbols that seemed to glow in her eyesight. Though they were still foreign to her, she understood them instinctively. The spell on the page hummed with power, and it seemed to call to her, as if it had been waiting for her to store enough of dark energy to unlock its potential.

Ella’s heart raced. She knew what to do. She had enough—enough anger, enough cruelty, enough bad energy stored within her. And now, she was ready. Ready to unleash it.

She took a deep breath and began to whisper the words on the page, her voice low and steady. As the words left her lips, the energy inside her shifted, swirling and building into something more, something darker.

The symbols on the page glowed brighter, their light wrapping around her like tendrils of shadow, weaving through her fingers and up her arms. Ella’s body tingled, her heart pounding as the spell consumed her. She could feel the darkness pooling inside her, growing stronger with every word she spoke.

And then, with a final, whispered phrase, the energy exploded outward.

A violent surge of energy erupted from within her, enveloping her in a cocoon of dark, swirling shadows.

Her body trembled as the energy coursed through her veins, reshaping her from the inside out. Her soft, delicate features contorted, hardening with sharp edges as her skin began to glow with an unnatural hue. The sensation was both painful and intoxicating, like every nerve in her body was on fire, but the pleasure of it was overwhelming. She welcomed it—craved it.

Her hair, once a shimmering black, lengthened, flowing in dark, glossy waves down her back like a river of shadow. It thickened and twisted with a life of its own, framing her face as if the darkness itself was molding her into something more than human. She could feel her body shifting, her curves becoming more exaggerated, more seductive, every inch of her screaming power and allure. Her waist narrowed, her hips flared, and her breasts swelled, the intricate black lace-like designs crawling up her skin, wrapping around her like living tattoos. They moved, shifting and changing, merging with her skin in beautiful, haunting patterns.

Her hands flexed, the delicate fingers elongating, nails sharpening into blackened claws, gleaming with a predatory sheen. The feeling of control, of sheer dominance, flooded her senses. Her eyes, once wide and soft, darkened into pools of shadow, glowing with an inner crimson fire that burned with malevolent intent.

As her transformation reached its peak, two large, obsidian horns erupted from her skull, curving upward like a crown of dark power. They were sharp and imposing, exuding a terrifying majesty that made her feel like a queen—no, a goddess of the damned. A mask, forged from the very darkness surrounding her, materialized over her face, intricately designed with a skeletal, demonic beauty, making her look like a nightmare made flesh. The cold metal pressed against her skin, but instead of discomfort, it brought her more pleasure—more power.

And there she stood—no longer Ella, the sweet, quirky girl who once cared for kindness and love. She was now the embodiment of cruelty, of power, of unstoppable evil. Every ounce of the “bad” energy she had absorbed had transformed her into this—into a being of sheer dominance and destruction, a force that would be unleashed upon the world.

Ella looked down at her new form, feeling the raw power surging through her with every breath. The pain, the confusion—it was all gone, replaced by an unrelenting hunger for chaos, for cruelty, for conquest.

She smiled, her fanged teeth glinting in the dim light. She was Malice and the world had no idea what was coming.

#f2f transformation #personality change #f2f corruption #f2f

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radioactivatedspider · 3 months ago

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Between The Lines

Main Masterlist

Dawson's Creek Masterlist

Pairings: CJ Braxton x reader

genre; romantic suspence

warnings; none

Summary: You start dating C.J., Jen’s past, and the tension is impossible to ignore. Unsaid things linger, and the connection between you all feels more complicated than it seems.

1432 words

It wasn’t that you hated your new college roommate, Jen—far from it. Jen was confident, charismatic, and had a knack for making anyone feel welcome. But there was one tiny problem: the guy Jen had a history with was the same guy who had just asked you out.

C.J. Braxton.

You had met C.J. in your psychology class, where he had leaned over during a particularly dry lecture and whispered a joke about your professor’s monotone voice. You had stifled a laugh, and that had been the start of your banter. He was charming in an unassuming way, never pushing too hard, just enough to get you to smile. After a few study sessions and coffee shop encounters, he had finally asked if you wanted to grab dinner. You had said yes.

And then you had gone back to your dorm and mentioned it to Jen.

“Oh,” Jen had said, her expression shifting from neutral to something unreadable. “C.J. and I… we have history.”

And that was how you found yourself in the most awkward double life ever—dating a guy your roommate had once been involved with.

The first few weeks were tense. Jen never said anything outright, but you could feel the weight of unsaid words in the air every time you got ready for a date. You tried to be considerate, not mentioning C.J. too much, not bringing him around the dorm. But C.J. wasn’t oblivious. One night, after walking you back, he hesitated outside your door.

“You know, Jen and I… it wasn’t that serious,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want things to be weird for you.”

“They’re already weird,” you admitted with a chuckle. “But I like spending time with you. So, I guess we just figure it out?”

He grinned. “Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

Surprisingly, it was Jen who made the first move to clear the air. One night, while you were both in your pajamas, lounging on your beds, she sighed dramatically and looked over at you.

“Okay,” Jen said. “Let’s just address the elephant in the room before it crushes us. You and C.J.—I’m fine with it. Really. It was just weird at first.”

You exhaled in relief. “I didn’t want to step on any toes.”

“You didn’t,” Jen assured you. “And honestly, I’m happy for you. He’s a good guy.”

After that, things got easier. C.J. didn’t have to hover uncertainly outside your dorm, and Jen even teased you about him from time to time. It wasn’t a perfect situation, but somehow, you made it work.

But things didn’t just magically fix themselves overnight. There were little moments of awkwardness, like when you and C.J. ran into Jen at the campus café and she hesitated before sitting with you. Or the time you found an old picture of them together in Jen’s desk drawer and weren’t sure if you should mention it. It took time, small conversations, and even a few accidental run-ins for the tension to truly fade.

One evening, you and Jen found yourselves on the dorm floor, surrounded by textbooks and empty snack wrappers, studying for midterms. The stress had drained you both, leaving you loopy and open.

“So, is he as bad at texting you back as he was with me?” Jen asked out of nowhere, smirking.

You snorted. “Oh, it’s terrible. I’ll send him something, and he’ll respond four hours later like I just texted him.”

“Classic C.J.,” she mused. “But he’s also the guy who’ll drop everything if you actually need him.”

You nodded, appreciating the insight. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

From then on, things felt lighter. Jen would casually ask about your dates, and you’d confide in her about the little things that bugged you about C.J., knowing she’d understand. And in return, Jen started opening up about her own new crush, shifting the focus away from the past and into the present.

But there were still moments when the past had a way of catching up with you. Like when you, Jen, and C.J. had walked into a party, and everyone was talking about a memorable night out that Jen and C.J. had shared. The air had gone stiff for a few seconds before Jen quickly changed the subject, but you could see the look in C.J.’s eyes, and it left you both a little uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” C.J. asked later that night as he walked you back to the dorm.

You nodded, trying to keep your tone light. “Yeah, just one of those moments, you know?”

“Yeah,” C.J. said, then paused, looking thoughtful. “I’m sorry, though. I know it’s not easy.”

“I know,” you said, squeezing his hand. “It’ll be fine.”

And, eventually, it was. You learned to read the signs of discomfort—those small, fleeting moments—and address them before they could spiral into bigger things. You began to understand the complexity of their history, and it started to make sense why things had felt so awkward at first.

By the time winter break rolled around, you realized something—you, Jen, and C.J. had managed to make an awkward situation work. It wasn’t perfect, and maybe it never would be, but it was real. And that was enough.

One night, you were all at the campus café, sitting in a booth with a pile of textbooks in front of you. Jen was on her phone, typing something furiously, while C.J. was trying to distract you with some random fact about the class you both had.

“Did you know,” C.J. started, “that the average person spends three years of their life just waiting in line?”

Jen immediately rolled her eyes. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

“It’s a fact!” C.J. insisted, grinning widely. “And I’m pretty sure you’ve spent at least three years of your life just complaining about things.”

Jen smirked. “Excuse me, I do not complain that much.”

You watched them, amused. You had never expected to be in this position, finding peace in the weirdest of circumstances. Watching Jen and C.J. banter, you realized how far you had all come. You’d found a way to make things work, even when they seemed impossible.

C.J. glanced over at you, his eyes softening as he caught your gaze. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly, just enough for only you to hear.

You smiled back. “Me too.”

Over time, the three of you even developed an unexpected friendship. C.J. and Jen still had their inside jokes, but instead of feeling left out, you became part of them. The three of you started hanging out more often, whether it was grabbing food after class or having impromptu movie nights in your dorm room. Jen had a new crush, and she’d often ask you and C.J. for advice, which led to hilarious late-night discussions about dating do’s and don’ts.

One night, after a long day of classes, you, C.J., and Jen decided to have a movie marathon. Sprawled across the tiny dorm bed, Jen groaned as she tossed popcorn at C.J. “Okay, but tell me why you’re still the worst at picking movies?”

C.J. caught a piece of popcorn in his mouth and smirked. “You just have bad taste, Jen.”

You smirked, leaning toward him. “Jen, you have bad taste.”

Jen’s jaw dropped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m a movie aficionado, thank you very much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, and that’s why you still choose the most random films on the planet. You know, ‘experimental’ ones.”

“Hey,” Jen pouted, “some of those were actually really deep.”

“Classic Jen,” C.J. teased. “They were deep… if you were into films that make no sense.”

Jen threw a pillow at him, and you caught it before it could hit you. “You’re both ridiculous,” Jen muttered, rolling her eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning against C.J. who was still grinning. “Yeah, but somehow, I don’t mind.”

Jen gave you a knowing look before grinning. “You two are honestly the worst, but I love you both.”

And just like that, the awkwardness of the past faded even more. What had once been a weird, uncomfortable situation had turned into something unexpectedly great. You had found an amazing boyfriend, an even stronger friendship, and a sense of belonging that made college life all the more special.

Maybe things hadn’t started out perfectly, but in the end, you wouldn’t change a thing. It had taken time, effort, and more than a few awkward moments, but you, Jen, and C.J. had all found a way to make it work, and it felt like a strange kind of perfect.

#cj braxton x oc #cj braxton x you #cj braxton x reader #dawsons creek x you #dawsons creek x oc #dawsons creek x reader #x you #x oc #x reader #jensen ackles x oc #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader

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nwjws · 2 years ago

Text

let’s share? - yjw

; pairing - jungwon x gn!reader

; synopsis - in the face of your upcoming midterms, you decide to visit the library to continue your revision. luckily, they had just one copy left of the textbook you needed - but you weren’t the only one who did.

; wc - 1k

; tags - fluff, college au, study date at the library

; warnings - this isn't an accurate depiction of college life bc im not a college student yet... not proofread so lmk if i missed anything!

your shoulder aches as it carries the weight of your bag, full to the brim with books and your laptop.

the cool breeze of october doesn't help you either, hitting your underdressed figure mercilessly. you hadn't anticipated it would feel this cold, so you had opted for just a simple flimsy long-sleeved top and jeans. it was a decision you certainly regretted now.

why does the library have to be a 15 minute walk away? maybe you really should've taken public transport - but that would've taken longer, and you want to make good use of time for your psychology midterm tomorrow.

warmth welcomed you as you finally reached the local library, one that was made specifically for all the college kids around the area; for students like you.

relief filled you as you finally set down your heavy belongings on a table, massaging your shoulder right after.

you look around the huge library as you take your seat, when your eyes land on a cute boy just 3 tables away from you.

you take in the way he's hunched over his own notes, a pair of headphones drowning out all other sound. a dimple appears on his cheek as he makes a concentrated face. you suddenly get the urge to poke it.

maybe i should go to the library more often.

somehow, you manage to pull yourself away from thoughts of your new library crush, and focus on your test tomorrow.

you regret procrastinating for the exam - although, if you hadn't then you wouldn't have gone to the library, and you wouldn't have seen mystery dimple boy. so are you really complaining?

soon, you realise your own resources don't have enough information on a study you needed to learn though, but that's why you came here in the first place.

getting up and stretching, you don't realise how long you had been sitting until you stood up. you immediately start scavenging the shelves for books that might have details of the study you were looking for.

you happen to find one that has a collection of studies and theories on the exact topic and time period, and to your luck, it has the exact study you need! it seems like other students had the same problem as you, seeing as the area where there should've been extra copies of it was empty; you had gotten to the last one.

you turn around to return to your table, but find yourself face-to-face with the very boy you had been eyeing earlier.

"oh, is that the last one?" he asked with wide eyes. they glittered and rooted you on the spot, your heart racing as you got a proper look at his face.

"oh! umm, yeah i think so," you reply after a pause, having to pull yourself out of your reverie.

"ugh, that sucks. i really needed details on schmolck et al," he says, bummed out as he looks down and scratches at his nape.

"no way, me too!" you say in surprise. "you take psychology class too?"

"yeah, i guess we all needed that book for the test tomorrow," he laughs awkwardly.

"well, we could just share the book," you propose. normally, you weren't so inviting, and would come up with a compromise such as taking photos of the pages he needed.

but something about his aura was inviting, and easy to get along with. not to mention, he looked like he was heaven-sent.

"yes please, if you don't mind," he smiled gratefully. you swear your heart just melted a thousand times.

you two get to studying together, whispering easy conversations and helping each other with particular concepts the other struggled a bit with.

after telling him that your weaker point was structuring your responses, he gladly helped you in that area, because he happened to know a cheat code to the best way of doing so.

you learned that his name was jungwon, and took a psychology class at a different time as you, which is why you two hadn't met until now.

he was an amazing study buddy, patiently explaining to you in a way you would understand. his voice was soft and sweet like honey, and helped calm your nerves for the upcoming test. he paid attention to you with those eyes that seemed to hold the world within them.

whenever he shifted closer to you to look at your notes, your skin tingled when it grazed against his hand, the heat rushing to your face.

when the sun had set, you decided you spent the last 6 hours pretty productively, especially with someone like jungwon by your side.

something about him made you feel giddy, like you were floating on air. with him, you think you can do anything.

you wanted to get to know him more, find out what he likes and what he didn't. to give him the same feeling he did to you.

"thank you for today, jungwon."

"no problem," he smiled at you softly.

you two stared at each other for what felt like hours, comfortable silence overtaking your little space. soaking in each other's presence.

"so, i really should go back home and get some sleep. mentally prepare myself for tomorrow, you know?" you tell him, and begrudgingly start packing up your things. he follows you after.

"of course. good luck, you'll do well. I know you will."

you look up at him, feeling like you were going to cry at his reassuring words.

"thank you, i have no doubt you will either."

"tell you what, let's both promise to ace tomorrow's exam okay? and then let's get some ice cream after," he suggests, patting your shoulder.

"in the middle of october?" you raise an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"nothing like ice cream when it's cold, right?" he chuckled. "c'mon, i know a good place downtown."

"sounds good to me. is this going to be a first date then or something?" you ask with mock confidence, feeling a little unsure if he was thinking the same. jungown frowned confusedly at you.

"what? wasn't this our first date? a study date?"

you stare at him, and giggle at his cute expression.

"well, if you say so, then tomorrow will be our second."

jungwon smiled at you, satisfied as he waits for you.

"take this, it's cold out," he says, shrugging off his puffy jacket, and handing it to you, before taking your hand. "let's go, i'll walk you home."

; tags! - @wonuslust

#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ mi's works #k labels #enhypen #enhypen imagines #jungwon #enhypen jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon imagines #jungwon scenarios #jungwon drabbles #jungwon x reader #jungwon fluff #enhypen fluff #j1nniee

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wisteria-blooms · 2 years ago

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sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (4/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what (Let me know if I missed you, or if you want to be added!)

CHAPTER 4: A week before the highly-anticipated dinner, you discover something terrible. You are a hard, fact-based person; Charlie is your contrarian spur-of-the-moment partner. And he’s not shy to show you. (5.4k words)

CHAPTER 4: BOYS IN THE BLUE

The warm autumn day took a nosedive the moment you headed home. There was a light spray of rain in the gardens, and you had to march over soggy leaves to get to the front door. When you were back inside, it was even colder in the lifeless, expanse corridors and you involuntarily shuddered. It was chilly to the point that you assumed there must be Dementors floating about… oh, right, your brother and father were home.

As you ambled down the hall, you mapped out all the ways to victory. It was a play well-rehearsed and acted.

The Plan Step 1: Start argument with Lucius. Step 2: Press the issue, inciting anger in him. Step 3: Build up the anger by making valid points. Step 4: Watch his composure rupture. This is considered a victory. Just wait for his silent withdrawal because he’ll be too embarrassed to admit he’s lost. Optional Steps Step 3.a. Utilise reverse psychology (e.g. “Uncle Theo is a classic example of money not buying class. I’m so glad we don’t engage in such gauche practices.”) Step 3.b. Create fantastical scenarios to help your father see the light. Step 3.c. Rally Narcissa on your side. Lucius never argues with Narcissa.

As you passed your father’s study, you saw Lucius at his desk writing something on a long roll of parchment. He’d since changed from those ridiculously fancy dress robes to just a plain button-up shirt and let his hair down. The fireplace cackled menacingly beside him, orange flames puffing just like how he’d be within the next five minutes.

You popped your head in. “I hope your business meeting went well,” you started.

“Fortunately, it did, despite the crisis that I averted,” Lucius answered without so much as a glance up at you.

“What crisis?” you asked sweetly.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, still writing. “You know very well what I’m talking about.”

“You should recount the story for mother and Draco tonight,” you offered.

“There’s no need for it.”

“Right,” you affirmed. Again, you didn’t want this dinner to have to happen. This conversation was a means to call it off. “I reckon it was hard to take in. You should take your time and meet Charlie when you’re in a better temperament.”

“That’s not correct,” Lucius stated with a tsk. “I am always in a pleasant temperament.” He finally laid his quill down and looked at you. “And your mother and brother will be delighted to meet your… partner at dinner in a fortnight as planned.”

“So, all your talk about reputation and standards was for naught?” you pressed. The next plan of attack was a subset of step three: reverse psychology. “What happens when our neighbours see a Weasley at the door? Being invited in by a Malfoy? You’ll be the talk of the town.”

Lucius smiled menacingly. “I reckon I’ve been unfair,” he admitted slyly. “I should get to know the Weasley boy. Maybe he won’t be a disgrace like his parents.”

You grimaced internally. You should’ve known that Lucius was not going to make this easy.

“You’ve really had a change of heart, father,” you stated. “It’s not in our usual fashion, but maybe we should start associating with blood traitors more.

“Nonsense”—he waved a hand—“I consider it charity work.”

“That’s complete rubbish, Charlie is not—”

Lucius raised a hand to stop you. “I have never implied that, but if that’s what you think of your boyfriend, then so be it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. If this was how he wanted to play it, then you were going to start writing to all his colleagues and business partners about your relationship and plaster your photos on every billboard. You were going to send an owl to everyone in the Ministry, including the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Hold on, speaking of Shacklebolt…

“Then, you wouldn’t mind if we attended the Ministry Christmas party together this year, won’t you? We could be sat at the table with you and mother, and Draco. I reckon I should let you know now since the Minister’s office needs a guest list by the end of October.”

A moment of silence. Then, both the corner of your and Lucius’s mouth twitched at the same time but in different contexts. You, with happiness and him, with chagrin.

“Well, that’s still some ways off,” he responded. “But I’m sure our Minister would be delighted to have the less fortunate seated so far up.”

“Then spare a seat for Charlie.”

“Of course,” Lucius said. “Consider it done. But let’s have dinner together first, shall we?”

“And remind me, (Y/N),” Lucius continued with a growing grin. “Charlie is the son with the dragons, correct?”

“Why do you care?”

“His father always tries to tell me about his children when I pass him by at the Ministry. Truthfully, I’m barely listening but I have caught onto this particular detail.”

The look in his eyes made you uneasy. Truthfully, you wished you didn’t have to answer him. There were consequences to telling the truth or lying. Looks like nothing had changed since you were younger.

“He is.”

With that, you walked away.

The rest of the afternoon, you resided in the sunroom, watching the rain slam on the overhead glass. A cloud of perturbation hung over your head like the weather. Unsure of how to communicate your failure with Charlie, you chose to sit and ruminate. But after half an hour, you grabbed a quill, a piece of parchment, and a seal and began writing.

Charlie, I couldn’t do it. You’ll have to clear your schedule for next next Saturday. (Y/N) Malfoy

About half an hour later, your owl fluttered back to your window.

(Y/N), Not saying I didn’t tell you so, but… I told you so. I won’t be here all week, but I’m back on Friday from Hogwarts. How about meeting me at the platform at eight p.m.? Charlie P.S. This is Romanian parchment. Go on, try to burn it. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Curious, you trotted over to the fireplace. You crumbled the parchment and threw it into the flames. You waited for the crinkling sounds, for the edges to crisp and blacken, and the ball to burst in flames, but to your amusement, the paper was as pristine as ever. It lay unaffected in the blue flames.

With a smile, you wrote back:

Charlie, That works for me. Have a good week. (Y/N) Malfoy

You held off communication with Charlie for the rest of the week, opting to fiddle with your quill at your cubicle at the Ministry. When no one was looking, you scribbled down details of what you’d say to your father—lines you’d feed to Charlie to regurgitate until they felt real. For some reason, Fred and George were eager to escort you to the station to meet Charlie on Friday. You chalked it up to them missing their brother. Fred invited you to wait for them after work so you could go together.

When the fated Friday arrived, you rushed out of your office to Weasley Wizard Wheezes. You sat in the homey flat upstairs while waiting for Fred and George to close shop. You spread out on the couch, legs on the armrest, reading the stories you’d weaved at your desk.

You rehearsed in a low voice. “Charlie and I met at Christmas last year when he came back for a week. He invited me for coffee and the rest was history. December 27th, wasn’t it, darling? We had an instant connection and maintained our relationship through letters and chats through floo.”

You scribbled a line in and continued. “I was chuffed when he decided to take an extended vacation this year.”

Then you shut your eyes and pretended Lucius was asking you a question about your future.

“Well, we haven’t decided where we’ll settle, but at the moment, Romania is looking like the better option for both of us.”

“Is it?” Fred interjected. “Really?”

You scrambled up, feet hitting the ground. “You’re done already?”

“Not a particularly busy week,” he said, sitting down next to you and peering over. “Let me have a read to review the accuracy of this love story.”

You pushed him away. “No.”

“It sounds kind of stiff and unrealistic if I’m being honest,” George added. “Is this a dinner or a job interview? And Charlie sounds more romantic than I’d ever know him.”

“I was just rehearsing,” you grumbled in defence. “It’s not meant to sound polished.”

Fred and George walking in on you penning a romance between you and their older brother was going to be something they’d never let you live down. You continued walking on and grabbed your topcoat that was hanging from the rack. You slipped it over your black sweater dress and announced: “Let’s get going.”

All mentions of your script were thankfully forgotten when the three of you landed in the chilly autumn air that engulfed King’s Cross Station. You strode the last hundred metres, quickly falling in sync with the twins. A tale as old as time, Fred situated himself to your left and George to your right.

“I assumed Charlie was only to be at Hogwarts for two or three days a week from the way he was speaking,” you said. “But it seems he left Monday, is that right?”

“He mentioned some ‘contractual matters’ to clear with McGonagall. You know, given that he decided to take the job on such short notice. But McGonagall has been waiting for her favourite student to come back since he graduated, so she was more than fine with it,” George explained before a grin broke out on his face. “It’s interesting you seem to have such complex insights into Charlie’s life.”

“Complex insights?” you repeated. “He told me.”

“When? On your date or when you were having lunch with his mum?”

“Your mum, too, Georgie,” you reminded him.

“Not the way she was making it seem.”

To your left, Fred made a discontented noise. “I wish he hadn’t come back,” he grumbled.

“Why’s that?”

“Because while mum adores Bill, her fixation with Charlie is on another level,” Fred groaned. “And now that McGonagall gets to see him again, it’ll be even worse for his ego. That’s all she ever talked about, huh, Georgie? ‘That was a very strategic play, Fred, but your brother Charlie did it better.’ And then she’d launch into a story of the time Charlie enacted a critical play to win the game.”

“Which game?” George queried, stroking his chin. “I can only remember ten examples.”

“You sound jealous,” you teased, giving Fred a nudge.

“You’re right,” Fred conceded. He shot you a quick wink. “I guess I’m jealous he gets to date you.”

Your sudden laugh vaporised in the cold air. “You flatter me, Fred Weasley. But we’re not dating, remember?”

Fred must’ve noticed the puff of air that left your lips, because he then suggested: “Let’s have a night out before the weather goes to total shit.”

“It is already total shit,” you reminded him as a snappy breeze blew past you. You held a gloved hand to his face. “The nice weather will be gone like your deepest freckles.”

Fred clicked his tongue. “(Y/N) Malfoy, eternally the”—he paused at looked at you—“shivering pessimist.”

He wasn’t wrong. You breathed a sigh of relief when you stepped into the warmth of King Cross’s station. You strode past the last wave of stragglers trying to catch the next train home. You looked around the concourse, ensuring there were no muggle eyes on you, before the three of you smoothly gilded into the wall and onto Platform 9 ¾.

“Nice to be here with nowhere to go, huh?” George asked when you reappeared.

You nodded. It wasn’t early September and there weren’t bustling crowds and extraneous noise—of frantic parents, crying children, and conductors. Now, there were barely five people on the platform: an old man reading a newspaper; a mother and her son; and two wizards in dress robes.

A light wind began to pick up around the platform. You looked down at your watch. It was eight o’clock on the dot. The Hogwarts Express de-accelerated, screeching slightly against the metal tracks, before stopping in front of you. The windows were noticeably emptier and there couldn’t be more than a dozen people on this train. As people deboarded, you peeked around, looking for a mop of ginger curls.

As soon as you saw Charlie at the top step in the first compartment, you nudged George to go over. Charlie hadn’t seen you yet. He was raising a hand to the conductor. “Thanks, Stan.”

Stan tipped his hat. “See you next week, Charlie.”

Then, Charlie stepped off the train carrying a leather briefcase. He was dressed like how you first saw him, in the same slacks and jean jacket. His hair was mussed from the trip, but the dishevelled locks suited him. His blue eyes were cloudy with sleep, as they would be after a long journey.

“Hey Charlie,” George greeted.

Fred patted your shoulder and said: “Got your girlfriend here in one piece.”

Charlie’s face lit up. “Thank you, Fred.”

You shook your head in annoyance at Fred. Truth be told, you didn’t like Fred’s casual use of the word ‘girlfriend.’ Hopefully, after next week, you’d never need to ask for Charlie’s services again.

Fred ushered George back to the wall. “We’ll be heading back now.”

George cocked his head. “Yeah, don’t be too long.”

When the twins had disappeared through the wall, so did their laughs.

You turned to Charlie. “There’s a coffee shop in the station we could sit at,” you offered. “You must be famished after your trip.”

“I’m tired,” Charlie said with a yawn. He stretched his arms behind his head and flawlessly, one of those arms swung over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. The scent of pine trees and cinder enveloped you immediately. He cocked his head downwards towards yours, eyes lighting in amusement. “Let’s chat at the pub instead.”

“The pub?” you repeated, blinking up at him. Unconsciously, you fell in step with Charlie, striding with his arm locked around you down the platform. “Didn’t you just say you were tired?”

“A beer will wake me up.”

“That is physiologically counterintuitive,” you stated.

“I wasn’t built like a normal person.”

As the firm curve of his bicep grazed your face, you were inclined to agree.

When you stepped outside of the station, the night had grown even darker. Stars peeked out from the blanket of black from up above. Charlie finally unlatched himself from you as you approached a tram stop. To be honest, you were annoyed that your shield of warmth was taken from you and that Charlie had left you to fend against the wind by yourself.

“Where to, Miss Malfoy?” Charlie asked as you sat down on the moving tram.

You leaned back on the plush seat. “Might go to the White Wyvern for a classy night,” you jested.

“Great, I’ve been looking forward to splintering my fingers at the table,” Charlie hummed in agreement. “Or I’ll my hand stuck from the beer residue until Mace, the owner, has to saw it off. Might lose a kidney, who knows, but it’d be worth it.”

“Have you been?” you asked. “It sounds like you have.”

Charlie chuckled. “That I can’t say. You can inquire about anything else though.” He swerved the conversation around. “Where does your dad go on a Friday night?”

“Valour.”

Valour was an upscale bar where Lucius fancied having dinner with his business companions. You’d been just a handful of times, but it wasn’t your cup of tea. There was no one your age there.

Charlie let out a low whistle. “I’d have to sell my kidney for a night there. Let’s settle for something in the middle.”

“Alright then,” you said. “Let’s go to The Brew.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“It opened last summer. You were probably in Romania.”

“Sounds reasonable. Lead the way.”

The Brew was only a block away from where the tram stopped. You guided Charlie up the cobbled road on Warwick Avenue, dangerously close to where you were last week when you were caught by Molly. You knew you’d arrived when you saw the exterior of the building: sleek and trendy with neon cursive lettering shining against the black brick. Inside, the crystal wine glasses perched on top of the bar shimmered in the dim light. The velvet chairs—maroon and pine—contrasted well against the glossy walls.

After the host took your coats, you looked for an open spot.

“Let’s sit at the bar,” Charlie suggested.

“Alright.”

You also appreciated Charlie’s confidence to find footing wherever he was. You thought yourself well-adjusted in that regard; you were good at settling with your family’s uppity friends. But Charlie was on a different level.

He weaved through the crowds gracefully with two hands in his pockets. When he found two unoccupied barstools, he pulled one out for you.

“After you.”

“Thank you.” You smoothed your dress and sat down. You swivelled around to place an order, but the bartender in front of you seemed occupied with something else.

“No way,” she exclaimed, her hands halfway through drying a glass with a towel. “Charlie Weasley?”

“The one and only,” he responded. “And you are…” He squinted his eyes, appraising the tall bartender. She was dressed fully in black which you assumed was the unofficial uniform of the pub. Her curly hair rivalled the colour of her blouse. She had eyes as green as the lime garnishes at her workstation. Her ears were adorned by multiple piercings, and a small collection of tattoos dotted her toned arms. “Mallory.”

Her red lips curled into a smile. “You still remember me?”

“I couldn’t ever forget,” Charlie said. “Though it’s been almost, what, twelve years?”

Mallory nodded.

“Mallory and I were teammates on the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” Charlie explained, facing you. “Mallory, this is (Y/N).”

You quickly extended a hand. “(Y/N) Malfoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh—,” Mallory quickly corrected herself and shook your hand. “Mallory Mikaelson.”

You smiled politely and withdrew. What a reputation your last name had around town. If only it was for the better, you thought.

Mallory’s eyes narrowed in concentration as she leaned over the counter to take a closer look at you. “I can’t seem to place you, love,” she said. “I suppose you were in a different house, or a different year?”

You didn’t want to admit you were six years younger than Charlie because of the way it might reflect on him, so you were vague with your answer: “Both.”

She hummed, then redirected the conversation back to Charlie. “Do you remember Marcus, my brother?”

“Of course,” Charlie said. “The best beater I’ve had the pleasure of playing with, besides you. Where is he now?”

“Department of International Transportation at the Ministry,” Mallory said. “We still play Quidditch at weekends at Felder's Field just north of here. We’d love to have our old teammate back for a game.”

“Name the date and time, I’ll be there,” Charlie affirmed.

“Hey Mal,” another bartender called from the back. “Abby called in for her shift at the front. Boss is asking you to cover for her tonight.”

“I’ll be right over,” Mallory said, her tone cool and professional. Then with a warm smile, she capped off her conversation with Charlie. “See you then, Charlie. Send me an owl.”

Charlie waved back. “See you.”

“What can I get for you two?” Mallory’s colleague asked after she’d gone out to the front.

“A pint of stout,” Charlie said.

You were still preoccupied with the conversation that just occurred so the question didn’t even register in your brain. Who was Mallory? What kind of past did she have with Charlie?

“What about you, love?” the bartender pressed.

“(Y/N)?” Charlie leaned in, giving your arm a squeeze. “If you don’t answer, I’ll get you a stout, too.”

You quickly regained consciousness. “An aperol spritz, please. Thank you.”

“Is the idea of a stout really that terrible?” Charlie joked.

“Yes,” you gasped out. “Awful.”

In a matter of minutes, your drinks arrived and you were finally left alone.

“It’s always nice to see a familiar face, isn’t it?” Charlie remarked.

“Absolutely,” you agreed with a nod. You vowed to forego your curiosity; there were more pressing matters. “Speaking of familiar things, how was your first week at Hogwarts?”

“Really great. I’m just settling in and getting accustomed to my classroom and Hagrid’s curriculum.”

“Does he know the meaning of a curriculum? I’ve heard his classes weren’t very…. Well-structured.”

“Not at all,” Charlie affirmed. “It’s whatever he feels like teaching that day. I might have to work with him a little.”

You grinned. “I can imagine.”

Charlie nodded his head. “You’re imagining right.” After a sip of beer, he resumed his thoughts. “But we’re not here to talk about Hagrid. We’re here to talk about next week.”

“Right! So, I prepared something,” you said, reaching into your purse for the rolled parchment. You hooked it with your finger and fished it out. “I was hoping to go over some notes with you—”

“(Y/N),” Charlie interrupted. His hand, leading with his thumb, was making a backward motion. “I need you to start from the beginning. Unlike my brothers, I know zilch about you.”

You set the parchment back in your purse and tucked it away. “Well, what do you know about me?”

“I know that everyone is terrified of your father, your brother is a right tosser, and your mother is gorgeous.”

Without thinking, you slapped Charlie on the arm, causing him to sputter in his drink. “Don’t talk about my mother like that.”

“If you’d let me finish my sentence,” Charlie protested after recovering. “I would’ve said, ‘that’s obviously who you got your looks from.’’”

Now, it was your turn to nearly sputter into your drink.

Charlie wagged a finger. “Careful, don’t spill that on yourself again.”

“I don’t reckon that was remotely my fault. You sat on me.”

Charlie was unfazed by your accusation and grinned instead. “Tell me more about your family.”

Quizzically, you continued, though you were unsure of how keen Charlie was on climbing your family tree. “My mother has two sisters, my aunts Bellatrix and Andromeda. I don’t have much to say there. My father has a brother and a sister. My uncle, Theodore Malfoy, and my aunt, Rosamund Malfoy. Thankfully for all of us, Uncle Theodore lives in France.”

Charlie furrowed his eyebrows. “Why thankfully?”

You paused. You never had anyone show so much concentrated interest in your family. Even Fred and George didn’t care much past the surface, past taunts against Lucius or Draco. You explained to Charlie what happened in France this summer, how he’d made a grand show of displaying his new properties and putting your family down.

“He’s perhaps the most terrible person I’ve met,” you huffed. “He’s worse than my father. You can’t talk about anything good without him doing you one better. And his spawn follows his mannerisms exactly.”

“Who are the spawn?”

“Genevieve. She’s my oldest cousin. She just got married this summer in Nice. She’s the worst. It was a cursed occasion because my mother came home with some nuptial fever. Her brother Claude is similarly terrible but he just talks less and conceals it better.” You gauged Charlie’s facial expression and could tell he was still engrossed. “I have two younger cousins, Charlotte and Clara. They’re pleasant, though I can’t tell the difference between them on a good day. They look very much alike despite being two years apart.”

“That leaves you,” Charlie remarked with a wide grin. “My favourite Malfoy.”

You laughed. “I’m the only Malfoy you know.”

“I’ve heard of your brother,” Charlie said. “From what I’ve gathered, I prefer you.”

“I haven’t scared you off?”

“Not yet.”

His face read ‘try me’ to which you smiled at.

Then, silence fell upon you. It was to be expected, a natural stall in the conversation. You took a prolonged sip of your cocktail to ease the awkwardness. As the bitters melted on your tongue, you searched for other things to talk about, but Charlie beat you to it.

“(Y/N),” Charlie’s deep voice called out to you.

You put your drink down on the table. “Yes?”

“I have a question for you.”

“Alright.”

Charlie shifted his stool over to yours. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. This time, instead of remaining where he was, he latched a hand on your kneecap. Every callus embedded on his fingers were noticeable on the groove of your knee, despite a layer of sheer tights separating his skin and yours. His grip didn’t hurt, but he was firm.

“What are you doing?” you panicked. Your tone came out more accusatory than you’d liked.

“Practising?” Charlie said quizzically. “Will it even be the least bit convincing if my touch repulses you?”

“I’m not repulsed!” you retorted. “It was just unexpected.”

Unexpected, as in you hadn't had a man touch you in months, maybe two years if you wanted the statement to be accurate. And at some point, you had stopped counting because the thought made you all the more miserable.

“That’s why I have a question,” he explained. “How much am I allowed to touch you at this… dinner?”

Your brain short-circuited for a minute. It was very hard to form any thoughts with Charlie’s sharp blue eyes tangled with yours, waiting for an answer like his life depended on it. The lopsided curve of his lip tempted a sacrilegious answer, one that you had too much modesty top provide. And now, things were harder with his large hand engulfing your kneecap. You were a deer in the headlights; he was the coyote catching his prey.

“This is fine.” This would convince your parents. Merlin, even you were convinced.

“Alright.”

You looked down. Your skin burned beneath his touch, and you had to wonder why you felt this way, why you were suddenly so flushed and withdrawn. Surely, if Fred pulled this act, you’d touch—or rather, slap—him back in retaliation.

Charlie’s thumb began to rub circles above your knee as he asked: “What about this?”

You stifled a sound. You were ticklish but you also couldn’t deny that that wasn’t the only sensation you were feeling. You couldn’t pinpoint it but you knew his touch wasn't at all unwanted.

“Don’t you think that’s too much?” you murmured. “All we need is a solid story, and I reckon we should be able to get away with it.”

“Nothing is too much if the goal is to convince your parents you like me, emotionally and physically,” Charlie commented with a laugh. “That’s the equation of love. Got it?”

You nodded slowly. Sure, you understood arithmetic, but this was a devilishly dangerous line he was toeing around.

He scooted even closer to you, his barstool squeaking against the floor, to be able to lift his hand from your knee to find your waist instead. His palm found its way to the dead centre, gravitating towards the most delicate part of you.

“Still okay?” he asked with an upward tilt of his head. You were entranced by how sharp his jaw cut under at this angle.

You nodded slowly, lips parting slightly as a result. He was so close that you could smell the alcohol on his lips. You hoped the dim lighting obfuscated your reddening face.

“Good job,” he praised with a smirk. “You’re doing great, (Y/N).”

Your head spun as if the prosecco in the aperol spritz had concentrated and exploded in your bloodstream all at once. Charlie’s voice started sounding further and further away, even though you were intently watching him inch closer. The room behind him blurred like a camera finding a focus on its subject. Charlie was your subject, his every freckle and crease near his gleaming eyes clear as day.

“Do you do this… often?”

You could barely hear your own voice.

“Sh, I’m the one asking questions. Keep focussed on the conversation we’re having.”

Focus? You wanted to ask Charlie if a dragon had clawed off his frontal lobe, leaving him helpless to his impulses. A prime example: this scene he was making.

“Now,” he continued, squeezing your waist. “What is your limit?”

“My—” you stammered, unable to gauge the meaning of his two-toned words. “My limit? As in alcohol?”

A barking laugh shattered your daze and brought you back to the present. Charlie’s voice was now glassy clear and his tone melodic. “(Y/N), let’s reroute back to the question of how much I can touch you.”

“Erm, this is okay,” you eked out through shallow breaths. Had Charlie shrunk your lungs? Was there such a spell? “I don’t imagine anyone would want to see any more.”

His eyes darkened. Your heart stopped. “What if I kissed you?” he asked.

Well, your heart was certifiably alive again because it had just catapulted against your chest, almost throwing you forward.

‘Now? Or next week?’ You wanted to scream. At this point, it was hard to tell and if he didn’t stop talking, you were really going to die. Might as well have the bartenders dig a hole in the ground right here and bury you with a tombstone carved with the words ‘Cause of Death: Charlie Weasley.’

“Let’s hope the situation’s not dire enough to have to come to that,” you said. On the contrary, your eyes were drinking in those smirky lips like they were the finest and richest wine in the world and wondering if rehearsals should be in order.

“But if it did?”

You pursed your lips which Charlie noticed, his eyes falling downwards, long lashes casting shadows over his face. You had to approach this logically and weigh the benefits and risks. If you had to kiss Charlie for a millisecond, it could mean a lifetime of your parents off your back. And a seriously tumultuous friendship with Fred and George if they found out.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“It would be fine,” you whispered with minimal conviction. “But only as a last resort.”

A rush of blood pounded your head when he was a mere three inches from your face. You gulped when you saw yourself reflected in his eyes. One wrong move and your nose would brush up against his freckled one.

“Of course,” he stated, looking offended. “You’d think I’d just waltz in next weekend and we’d start snogging in the foyer? You must think better of me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—’

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Charlie teased, scooting back and letting his legs stretch out. Your eyes were glued to his hands and arms that were crossed in front of his chest. A cocky grin graced his chiselled face. “But this is great. I’ve got enough for next week.”

“Shouldn’t we discuss more about what we’re going to do?” you protested. Your voice was desperate and frantic. “We have to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“No, I really do have all that I need.”

“I wrote some things down, some critical points we should hit,” you pleaded, trying to find the parchment in your purse. When you unfurled it, Charlie was quick to snatch it out of your hands. He crushed it between his palms. When he opened his hand up again, the parchment was nothing more than cinder that disintegrated before it could hit the floor.

You were absolutely and undeniably sober after that action. Any thoughts of giving into a kiss dissipated immediately (and you weren’t sure why you were flirting with that idea in the first place). Your blood alcohol level: negative. Your chances of being betrothed to Goyle: positive.

“Charlie!”

“(Y/N)!” he imitated in a loud, whiny drawl that attracted the attention of the man beside him. You flushed; you did not sound like that. “Let’s get another round to soothe those nerves of yours.”

His grin grew wider as he flagged down the bartender. A blonde woman immediately swivelled towards him. He pointed to your drinks. You shut your eyes in defeat, resisting the urge to slam your head on the table.

His laissez-faire attitude was going to be the death of you.

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

#charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x oc #charlie weasley imagine

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