#so i must answer those….. and then write something for this paper i have a draft due in 3 hrs

[tanumaskoipond]

okay i need to go write #archaeologytime

[sinner-as-saint]

mastermind

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Ex-bully!Reader AU 

Summary: You were mean to him back in uni, always teasing him and making fun of him. Always chasing away the few friends he had and always ruining the chances he had of making new ones. He could never figure out why he was always the butt of your jokes, why out of all the other people you could unleash your cruelty on, you picked him. But those uni years were long gone. His desire to get back at you however, was not. So now, about a whole decade later, Bucky Barnes is out for revenge. You made his life hell for years after all. But now that he’s older and stronger than he was back then, he deserves to have a little fun with you, doesn’t he? 

Themes: author!reader, ex bully!reader, mentions of bullying in the past, mild angst, smut, stalker!bucky, dark!bucky, degrading kink, fluff

Bucky stepped into the hole in the wall bar with confidence. 

He knew what he was here for. Or rather, who. 

And he spotted you right away. He’d been preparing for this meeting for the last decade, and he had all his ducks in a row now. He grabbed a beer and walked right over to where you were sitting, in a booth by yourself. A half pint of something on the table, with papers scattered everywhere while you were busy noting something down rapidly in a notebook. 

You looked good, he admitted to himself. Dark burgundy dress with a leather jacket, as if you wanted to blend into the dark and moody aesthetic of the bar and disappear. But you were one of those people who just couldn’t exactly blend in and disappear. Even when you didn’t say a word, your presence was rather loud. Sure, you’d been one of the most horrible people he’d come across in uni years ago, but you were charismatic and he couldn’t deny it. 

You had this certain pull to you, attracting everyone and everything towards you. And here he was, gravitating towards you as well. But, he reminded himself, he had a plan this time. 

“Excuse me,” He spoke in his smoothest voice, “Is this seat taken?” 

He watched you intently as you looked up from your notebook and seemed a little surprised as you gave him a slight smile and pointed at the seat across from you. You didn’t recognise him. Of course you wouldn’t, he looked entirely different. 

Bucky was used to it. That surprise on women’s faces. He looked good and he knew it. Tight black t-shirt, purposely two sizes too small just so he could show off the big arms and the back muscles that the people loved. Tattoos all over his arms, and some on his neck. He had them all over his back as well, but it was currently hidden. Small, discrete lip ring on his lower lip. Yeah, he made the ladies go crazy. 

He could tell you were having trouble looking away as well. “Aren’t you too beautiful to be here all by yourself?” He gave you a smirk, one that he knew accentuated his lip ring. He watched your gaze drop down to it quickly before looking back up into his eyes. 

You smiled, then explained. “I don’t know anyone in this city, I’m here temporarily for work. I leave in a couple of days.” 

Bucky listened with fake interest, he knew all these things already. He knew everything about you. “Oh?” He faked curiosity, “What do you do for work?” 

“I’m an author. I’m currently on my book tour.” You answered in a shy voice. 

Weird. You used to be so confident and cocky all the time in uni. This was new. Bucky quickly recovered and said, “Wait, was that you I saw on the poster outside the bookstore down the street? There was quite a crowd there.” 

You nodded sheepishly, “Yeah, that’s me. I have another book signing there tomorrow.” 

He nodded, taking a sip of his beer. “You must be really good.” 

Again, you gave him that shy shrug that confused him. Since when were you humble, or shy? 

“I’m okay, I guess. People just like to read what I write.” A pause, as you stared into his eyes, then asked, “What do you do in the city? You know, other than flirting with random women.” 

Bucky chuckled, “Oh you’re not random. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve met.” He waited to see you squirm in your seat like he knew you would. He watched how you rolled your eyes at him and shook your head. Then he said, “I own a security company. I created this app that people use whenever they need help. All they have to do is press a button and my guys show up. Anywhere, anytime. Anything from needing medical help to needing help escaping someone, domestic violence, robbers, a hostage situation, harassment, or you know,” He looked right at you as he said, “Bullies.” 

You listened, nodded and said, “That’s noble. What pushed you to make that your life’s mission?” 

Bucky leaned back into his seat. “I know what it’s like to feel defenseless. I never want anyone to feel like that. So if I can at least help some people, it makes me feel better. I guess I became what younger me needed.” 

“Why?” You questioned. “Were you hurt in the past?” 

“Yeah,” He shrugged. “But that was a long time ago.” 

Bucky began talking about something else but then noticed you were watching him a little too intensely. For a brief moment he panicked, wondering if you’d recognised him. But surely not. He didn’t look anything like he did back then. 

So he had to ask, still in the same flirty tone he’d been using the whole time, “What’s that look for?” 

He watched as you blinked a couple times, lowered your face as if shy then shook your head and said, “Nothing. It’s…,” You chuckled, “It’s gonna sound insane but you just… look so much like one of my main characters from my last book.” You then grabbed your phone and clicked a couple times before showing him a fanart. “See? Even the lip ring, and the neck tats.” 

Bucky grabbed your phone, analysing the fanart with interest. “And this guy, you like him? Is he a good guy?” 

You sighed, “He’s complicated. But yes, I love him. He’s one of my favourite characters that I’ve ever written.” A coy smile, then you said, “I just never thought I’d meet someone exactly like him. I mean, it’s like you walked out of my book.” You laughed. 

Bucky laughed too. “Well, maybe I did.” 

“Maybe.” You whispered, still looking up at Bucky dreamily. Giving him that soft look women often gave him before they invited him into their beds. 

Perfect. 

Oh. He had you right where he wanted you. It’s like you walked out of my book. He scoffed internally. For the last few years he’d been studying all your books like they were religious texts and he was a zealous man. Over the years he noticed that all your MMCs had a few features in common – tattoos, muscles, piercings, so he became them. 

Sure, maybe this was him taking it too far. After all, uni ended about a decade ago. Sure, this was petty and maybe even a waste of time. But he needed to do this for the younger him who was always so passive and never in control of the narrative. Being bullied and never having friends or anyone on his side is what made him create his app and company. Sure, this was childish revenge but it was his to take. He didn’t care. 

Besides, the look on your face would be priceless once he reveals who he is. But not yet. He had so much to do before that. So many fantasies to fulfil. So much fun to have before he told you the whole truth. 

“It’s getting late,” You told him as you began gathering your papers and notebook, “I should head back to my hotel. I have that book signing thing rather early. But, um, if you want I could leave you my number and we can meet again tomorrow?” 

Bucky smiled at you, his tongue toying with his lip ring knowing full well it would catch your attention. “Yes, please.” 

He already had your number. Screw your number, he had all your home addresses – both the penthouse, as well as the small beach house that you owned, your email addresses, your passwords, where you liked to eat, where your friends lived, where they worked, what your parents did, where they worked, all of it. He’d been keeping a close eye on you for the past decade, of course he knew everything there was to know about you. 

So he took the number, and walked you out of the bar and promised to meet up with you the next day. 

—

“Have dinner with me,” Bucky said when he saw you the following evening. “I know a cute spot, it’s lowkey and quiet. You’re gonna like it.” 

You smiled at him and nodded, “Alright.” Then you took his elbow and let him take the lead. 

He walked slowly, using the short journey as an excuse to ask you things. General stuff, things people ask on first dates. Where you grew up, what is your family like, etc. But it was hard coming up with questions when he already knew everything. Plus, he had to be careful not to ask specific things, like how did you find Bari, Italy where you vacationed with your family last year? 

Luckily the place where you were headed wasn’t too far. 

“So tell me, what is it like going from city to city and meeting all your fans?” Bucky asked you once the two of you had placed your orders. 

You smiled, as if at a memory, and said, “It’s amazing. I can’t quite put it into words. I mean, I started writing as a way to cope with just, I don’t know, life I guess. And I never thought people would end up reading, let alone even like what I write. And it kinda just happened, and next thing I knew I was receiving messages and emails and letters from all over the world. I guess, you never get tired of someone telling you just how much they like the stories you made up in your head.” You sighed again, happily this time. “It’s cliché, I know, but it’s so pure and genuine. Like these characters don’t exist in real life, I made them up. But people found them interesting enough to read about them, and like them.” You giggled. 

Bucky felt like someone had slapped him the moment he heard that giggle. What the hell was happening to him? Did he, dare he say, find you endearing? What the fuck. 

You continued, unbeknownst to the internal turmoil Bucky was going through. “So yeah, the fans are literally the reason why I do what I do. They give me so much strength and they don’t even know it. Sometimes just reading or re-reading a sweet message someone left me months ago can turn a bad day into a really good one, or make a terrible day slightly more tolerable.” You paused, gazing into Bucky’s eyes. “Writing saved me, but my fans, my readers, they made my life so much more beautiful and worth living.” 

Well, he wasn’t expecting that. At all. He knew you didn’t have ghost writers or anything. He knew you’d been consistent with your book releases. But he never knew you had such… depth. He always only ever saw you as the bitchy girl who bullied him in uni and made his life hell. For the first time in years, Bucky wavered a little bit when it came to you. For the first time in years, he wondered whether this was worth it. 

“I see,” He spoke quietly, “So no downsides to being a well-loved author?” 

You chuckled, “Some. Like most things. I mean, this doesn’t happen a lot but a couple of times I’ve had people show up to my hotel room or my house even, demanding to know what happens in the next book. It’s scary, but, I mean I’ve dealt with it and I hope it doesn’t happen again.” 

Perfect. Bucky smiled, then said, “You know, you should hire security. At least when you’re touring. I can arrange it, I’ll send you some of my best guys. They’ll be discrete, and you won’t have to worry about anything.” 

He was pleased with how easily you agreed. Now he could have eyes on you all the time without all the secrecy. 

And the rest of the dinner went by smoothly. 

He thought he’d have to put in a lot more work. But when he dropped you off at your hotel lobby, and you asked him if he wanted to come up for a drink, he was pleasantly surprised. But of course he agreed and followed you to your room. 

You offered him a glass of red wine, he accepted. 

You made small talk, your eyes never leaving his. Bucky put on a show. Touching your hands, your face, but just enough to leave you wanting more. He watched how you lowered your head each time he gave you a compliment. But none of the compliments were lies, even despite all the hatred he felt towards you he had to admit, you were very beautiful. 

He also noted the way you kept scooting closer and closer to him on the couch. Out of nowhere, Bucky said, “You know, I googled you last night. And I came across some rather… naughty stuff that you’ve written.” 

You laughed and said, “In my world, we call those spicy scenes.” 

Bucky nodded, “I see. And are any of those based on real life?” 

There was that shy look on your face again. “Some are.” 

There was this unexplainable wave of discontent that washed over him upon hearing that. He didn’t know why but the thought of you having sex with someone else and it being good enough for you to write about it almost made him want to get up and leave. He hated it. 

“So if I fuck you, will you write about it?” He asked, so serious all of a sudden. 

You didn’t look away from his eyes as you replied, “Only if you’re memorable enough.” 

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his mouth. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

He shook his head and reached for you, “Come here then,” He guided you over his lap so you could straddle him. He leaned in and whispered, “I’ll show you memorable enough.” 

You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling all the hard muscles underneath his thin t-shirt while his hands slid up and down your sides as his lips kissed all over your neck. He hummed and breathed and chuckled right into your ear as he explored your body. Then, getting impatient he asked, “Can I please take your dress off?” 

Within the next few seconds, you were completely bare in his lap. 

“So beautiful,” He murmured, looking at you with those gorgeous eyes that he knew could make people melt so easily. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He whispered along your collar bones, kissing and licking your skin. You inched closer to him, rubbing your crotch against his clothed but erected cock, making the both of you gasp and moan. “Yeah? Is that what you want?” He teased, tightening his grip on your waist just a little and pulling you closer to him, nuzzling your neck again. 

You slid your fingers into his hair and whispered into his ear, “Yes, please.” 

He hid the fact that your voice made him shiver. He shook it off as quickly as he could. Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. 

Bucky recovered, and smirked against your skin the moment he heard you gasping and whining under his touch. “What do you want, huh?” He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly, grounding you on his clothed cock in the process, “My fingers?” He reached up to grab the back of your neck, tilting your head back so he could kiss and whisper against your skin, “My mouth? Or my cock?” 

You whined, then said, “Your cock, please.” You begged him. And fuck, it was satisfying to hear. Just what he wanted. 

He chuckled, letting his hand rest at your butt, bringing your body closer to his. How long had he waited to have you at his mercy like this? He was gonna have all the fun he’d dreamt of having. “Well then you have to work for it.” He said, teasing you. “Now come on, take it out and slide it in you.” 

Bucky leaned back and watched each one of your moves. The desperation in your eyes as you stared up at him, how your eager hands rapidly undid his pants to free his throbbing cock. How you handled him like he was nothing but just a hot fling. 

Oh baby, Bucky scoffed mentally, you have no idea who I am, do you? 

He caught the way you whimpered under your breath at the sight of him, like the rest of him, his cock was nice and thick too. 

He watched as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly stroking his veiny cock, making him throw his head back and groan under his breath. “I said put it inside you, baby.” He bit his lower lip to keep from moaning too much. 

Bucky watched you as you lifted your body off of his lap and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole and then slowly, slowly sank down on him. You both moaned, watching his cock disappear inside of you. 

“Fuck…” You moaned, looking at him with that damned innocent look in your eyes. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Come here,” He growled once he was nice and deep inside your warm, wet hole. Grabbing you by the throat, Bucky pulled you closer and kissed you hungrily. Growling into your mouth about how good it felt to be inside you, “You did such a good job. Look how pretty you look, filled with my cock, huh? Do you realise how pretty you look, baby?” 

You whined against his mouth, begging, immediately grinding your hips against his, desperate for some friction. For any kind of movement. Just needy. 

“Please…” 

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you now.” He whispered against your mouth, your warm breaths mingling. “I’ve got you. I’ll make it feel good, okay?” His hands grabbed you by the hips as he carefully helped you lift your lower body up and then slowly, lowering you down his cock again. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” 

You nodded, looking down to see where your bodies connected and the sight of it, of his cock stretching you out was just sinful. 

“You feel perfect, you know that?” Bucky grabbed and held your hips in place, gently thrusting his hips up, making you moan as he filled you up, “Just a perfect girl for me, aren’t you? Who would’ve thought, huh?” 

It was a good thing you were too lust-drunk to fully process his ramblings. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss your open mouth again, moving your body gently, rocking you back and forth on his cock to get you to get used to the girth of him. His cock throbbed against your walls, causing the tiniest bit of friction which drove you insane and turned you into a teary, mumbling mess. “Aww baby, what is it? Is it too much? Hmm?” He teased, placing his thumb against your clit and rubbing it slowly while still moving your hips back and forth. “Is that too much?” 

You looked into his eyes with your teary ones and said, “You… feel so good.” You whined. 

Bucky smirked. Right where he wanted you. He let go of your hips, no longer helping you to move. “Go on then, take what you want. And make it good for me.” 

Sheepishly, you lifted your lower body slightly, before sliding back down on his cock. Now that he wasn’t helping you, it was way harder than earlier. You struggled to make him fit for a moment. But only for a moment. 

You whimpered and he groaned once he fit snug inside of you again. The tip of his cock reaching sensitive places you never knew existed. 

“That’s good, baby.” Bucky murmured, caressing your thigh. “But open your eyes. I want you to look at me while you take my cock so perfectly like my good girl. You hear me?” 

You looked right at him, nodding as you began riding his cock as best as you could before you finally found the right pace and rhythm. You moved faster then, impaling yourself down on his cock each time, whimpering shamelessly as you felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust. 

“That’s it. Take it, take all of me in that tight, perfect little cunt…” He leaned in to kiss you, biting down and tugging at your bottom lip while you sped up, his cock stretched you out each time he filled you up.

His hand circled around your waist, his muscular arms caging you in and he pulled your warm body closer to his. You were nothing but a moaning mess at this point. 

You bounced on his cock moaning and whining, feeling him stretch you out. Bucky now held you at your waist and rhythmically thrust his hips up each time to match your movements. Brows furrowing and panting while you rode his cock, throwing his head back and growling in pleasure. 

“You feel so fucking good…” He tried to contain his grunts, “Oh fuck, you’ll get me addicted to this cunt, huh? And I’ll want it every day now. But you’ll give it to me, won’t you? You’ll let me fuck it, or taste it, or both, won’t you, angel?” 

“Yes,” You whined, nodding helplessly. “Whatever you want.” 

He chuckled, kissing down your neck and whispering against your skin about how perfect you felt around him. He panted against your skin, kissing you all over, “This cunt is mine now, you hear me? All fucking mine. All of it.” 

“Yes…”

You didn’t slow down when you felt your orgasm wash over you, and Bucky kept thrusting his hips up into you even as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out, your walls squeezing and clenching around him as you came undone, all that pressure exploding in a satisfying way. 

Bucky came right after you, his warm load spilling inside of you, filling you up as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed your trembling body closer to his. 

— 

“I wish I could stay in the city a little longer.” You mumbled against his chest. 

Bucky smirked, his fingers mindlessly tracing random shapes on your skin. “Where are you going after this?” 

You told him which city you were off to the next day for more book signings and readings. And Bucky pretended to be surprised, as if he didn’t know already, “I’m headed there too. One of our offices there needs me for something.” Lies. “I’ll leave in a day or two.” 

You sat up at the sound of that, looking down at Bucky with a mischievous look in your eyes. Bucky smirked because he could already see your thought process. 

“Could we, um, see each other again?” You asked, still a little shy. 

Bucky reached out to touch your face, playing the part of the enamoured stranger too well. “Of course we can, angel. I’ll come find you, don’t you worry.” 

— 

It was almost too easy to find you again. His guards who were watching over you let him know of all your moves, where you were, which hotel you stayed at, where your event was held, what time, etc. 

So finding you at your book signing event, and surprising you by sneaking around and pulling you into a nearby utility closet was not a problem at all. 

You gasped, in surprise, then let out a chuckle once you realized it was just him. “Bucky!” 

Bucky pulled you close and gave you a gentle kiss. “I’ve missed you, angel.” 

You relaxed in his arms, “But I saw you just two nights ago.” 

“I know,” He leaned in to kiss your neck. “Still missed you,” He whispered. 

You let out a soft moan when he licked and bit your skin. “Bucky…” You groaned, then giggled when his rough stubble tickled your neck. And that cold metal of his lip ring making you shiver.  “I have to be out and take pictures in a while.” 

He pulled away immediately. “Sorry, I thought–,” 

“No,” You cut him off, again with that shy but mischievous look in your eyes. Then you leaned in and whispered against his mouth, “I didn’t say we had to stop.” You pressed a soft kiss to the side of his mouth, right on his lip ring. 

Then you kissed his neck, then slowly got down on your knees. Your hands trailing down his body until you reached his belt buckle. 

Okay. This was not in the plan. Bucky thought in his head. 

“Can I?” You asked, looking up at him with those eyes of yours. 

Fuck. Fuck! How long had he waited for this? Years. Even in uni, even when he hated you, he was just a young man and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you on your knees for him. Fuck. Focus, Bucky, focus! 

“Go ahead, baby.” He whispered. “It’s all yours to play with.” 

Those words made you hurry. You rapidly undid his belt, unzipped his pants and freed his hard cock. The mere sight of it had you whimpering with need. You wrapped your hands around him and placed your mouth on his tip, your tongue slowly circling his tip before you slowly took more of him, as much as you could fit, into your mouth. 

You looked up and found him looking down at you intensely, blinking slowly, eyes heavy with lust, and breathing heavily. Fuck, he was a sight, you thought. The lip ring on that swollen, soft, pink lower lip. Those tattoos peeking from under the collar of his shirt, the tattoos along his muscular forearms… 

You kept your eyes on his gorgeous face as you sucked on his cock. He had the kind of manly beauty that made you want to worship him with your mouth. Usually, you’d never get down on your knees this quickly for any man. But Bucky… he was special, wasn’t he? 

Bucky closed his eyes momentarily, lips parted and gasping as he tilted his head back. “Fuck…” he moaned and you only quickened your pace. He moved his hips forward, gently fucking your mouth. He looked back down and smirked, you looked magnificent on your knees, taking him perfectly.

“Is this what you’ve been dreaming of doing for the past two days, huh?” He teased. “While you’re out there innocently reading your books, and signing autographs for your fans, and smiling for pictures, is this what was in the back of your mind, angel?” 

You nodded, your mouth still full of him. 

Bucky chuckled, “Yeah, not so innocent, are you?” He carefully quickened the pace at which he moved in and out of you, eager to chase his orgasm. “You’re lucky you have to go back out there and look presentable, otherwise I’d make a mess all over your face, baby.” He said, then hissed when you took him out of your mouth, licking his cock from bottom to top while your hands toyed with his balls. “Oh, you little tease.” He smirked. “No more teasing, baby, come on. Put it back in your mouth.” He ordered. 

And you listened. You took him back into your mouth and sucked on his cock until he came undone all over your tongue. Bucky came with a loud sigh, closing his eyes and relishing the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him. You swallowed all of him, licked him clean and zipped his pants back up and did his belt again before standing up to face him again. 

He smiled at you. “I’m gonna return the favour later, okay?” 

You nodded while he wiped the corners of your mouth with his thumbs, and fixed your hair as best as he could. Bucky loved the dreamy look in your eyes. 

You slid him your hotel room key and said, “See you later, Bucky.” Then you left the closet with a wink. 

Bucky stayed there for a minute. Alone and thinking. This was easier than he thought. He kinda hoped you’d play hard to get a little more, but this was great too. 

—

Bucky did show up to your hotel room that night. He had a favour to return after all. But then, after that night, things went a little off his initial plan. 

Bucky ended up following you around the world for the next month or so, going from city to city. Fucking in hotel rooms, or anywhere he could get you alone. He ended up infiltrating each one of your events, sometimes he’d show up just so he could then take you out for dinner after a long day, then he’d end up sleeping in your bed each night. 

He knew he was deviating from his plan. But what could he do? He was having fun, and so were you. Neither one of you was putting a label on this thing anyway. Plus, he had waited for this for so long. So he let it happen for some more weeks, shamelessly enjoying anytime he got to have you under him, or be under you, or touching you, or kissing you. All for the sake of younger him, of course. 

Bucky let it go like this until you were nearing the last leg of your tour. And you had about a week off before the last few remaining events. 

It was time, he realised. To mess with you a little more. 

So he made you an offer he knew you wouldn’t refuse. 

The two of you were in your penthouse, back in your city. And Bucky had travelled with you. The two of you could barely keep your hands off each other. So here you were now, early morning, cuddling in bed. 

“How would you like a weekend getaway, baby? At a nice cabin, small town, endless woods,” He proposed, pulling you closer under the covers since you were both refusing to get out of bed that morning. “Just you, and me, and a hot tub.” He whispered, kissing your face while you writhed in his arms, giggling and trying to get away because you were really ticklish. “And lots of sex.” 

You laughed, finally out of his embrace, and got up to straddle him, pinning his arms in place as you looked down at him. Both of you completely naked, but who cared? “I wake up sore everyday because of you.” 

Bucky smirked, freeing his hands from your grip easily. “Weird, ‘cause you never complain when we’re doing it.” He spoke, his hands mindlessly caressing your bare thighs. “In fact, you always ask for more.” 

“Right.” You smacked his chest playfully. “And now you want to lock me inside a cabin with you? We won’t ever leave the bed. I still have work to do, you know? I should’ve started working on my next book weeks ago.” You said, “But a certain tattooed, blue-eyed hottie is ruining my plans.” 

He laughed at the irony of what you said. “Oh come on, angel,” He pleaded. “I just want one weekend alone with you. Just one. Where we don’t have to meet or interact with other people. It’ll be just us.” 

You smiled and nodded, “Fine. I should start packing.” 

— 

The cabin was everything. Much larger than you expected. Bucky told you that this was one of his favourite properties that he owned, at the foot of a mountain, surrounded by dense, foggy woods, the rich veridian pine trees, the dark mountains, and rain clouds. 

It was the perfect setting to get some writing done as well, you thought. 

“Oh! This is perfect, Buck!” You said the moment you stepped inside the log home. The setting sun really added to the charm of the place. You spun in slow circles, taking it all in. The high ceiling, the grand staircase, the nice kitchen, the neat living area with the comfiest chairs by the large windows, and the giant fireplace. 

You immediately walked over to the biggest chair with the softest cushions and plopped down on it with a happy sigh. “I never wanna leave.” You squealed, giggling as you squirmed and buried deeper into the cushions. “Can I just stay here forever? Look at this place, Buck!” 

Bucky was frozen in place. Watching you. Unable to take his eyes off you. The happy smiles, the way you made sure to point out all the things you liked and compliment them. The way you immediately made yourself at home. The way you chose the most comfortable spot and decided that was your spot, like a house cat by a sunny window. 

What the hell was he feeling?! And why did he feel kinda bad for having led you on this whole time? Was he doing the wrong thing? Messing with you was the plan, but then what? What after that? Was he being ridiculous? Did he just waste years of his life planning and plotting when he could’ve just let it all go and move on? Uni was years ago. Was this all a childish utter waste of time and energy? 

Fuck. He cursed himself. What was he doing? It was obvious that you weren’t the same person you were back then. People had the right to change and they did all the time. 

“Bucky?” Your voice dragged him back to reality. “Are you okay?” You got up from your chair and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him as you said, “Thank you for bringing me here, I love it.” You buried your face into his chest and sighed, “You seem tired. Can we get into the hot tub now? I think we both need to relax for a minute.” 

He looked down at you and nodded, smiling as he touched your face gently. “Of course, angel.” 

— 

Bucky knew he seemed distant while he was in the hot tub with you, not even the breathtaking view of the woods and the lights from the small town could cheer him up. His mind was far away, even while you were in his lap. 

“Hey,” You whispered, leaning in to kiss his rough cheek. “What’s going on with you?” You asked quietly. 

“Nothing.” He forced a soft smile and said, “Just work stuff.” 

You looked a little disappointed. “I thought you wanted this time away from everyone.” 

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him, your bare chest pressing against his. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll stop worrying about the rest of the world.” He nuzzled your neck and kissed you until you giggled, until that disappointed look on your face disappeared. “It’s just you and me.” 

Then what started out as innocent kisses, turned into steamy making out, then turned into the two of you fucking until you were completely spent. 

— 

The next two days went by quickly. Bucky lost track of time since he was so lost in you. It was so easy to pretend. To pretend that this was real and that he wasn’t just here with you because of some grunge he’d been nurturing since he was in his early twenties. 

But then came your last night here at his log home. And Bucky could barely sleep. He kept tossing and turning, while you were sleeping soundly next to him. He was feeling a lot. Anger, regret, guilt. 

He couldn’t stay in bed any longer. So he got up and walked downstairs, straight to that secret door behind which was his ‘study room’. This room contained everything he knew and had gathered about you since his uni days. Photographs, addresses, phone numbers, everything. And there, occupying the entirety of one of the walls was the bulletin board he used to keep track of everything. Where you went, who you met, details about people from your inner circle, literally everything. 

Bucky stood in front of the giant bulletin board that had a picture of you right in the middle, surrounded by pictures of you no one else had, pictures you didn’t even know were taken of you. In hotel lobbies, at airports, inside your homes, and more. Bucky’s eyes followed that red thread he used to mark each step of his ‘plan’, and the rope ended here – at the log house. The was plan was simple, all he had to do was– 

“What the hell is this?” A shaky voice asked from behind him. 

Bucky froze for a second, then kept his calm. Fuck it. He wasn’t gonna be able to pretend for much longer anyway. “I thought you were sleeping.” 

He turned around and faced you. You stood at the door which he carelessly forgot to lock behind him. There, in your pink PJs, looking at him with accusation and fear in your eyes. He hated that look. Suddenly Bucky was even angrier, at himself, at the situation he thought he had under control, at everything. 

He knew how this looked. He was standing a few feet away from you with a poker face, and that damn wall behind him was like a silent but deadly monster ready to pounce. He noticed the way you were shaking already. 

“Who are you?” You asked him, hands trembling even as you tried to keep your calm. Acting rash wouldn’t help you. 

So smart. So brave. 

“Forgot me so soon, angel?” Bucky scoffed, “You don’t remember me? It’s only been, what, like ten years since uni? James? The kid with glasses you liked to bully? You’d slash my tires for fun,” He began listing, “You���d make up rumours about me, you’d chased away all the friends I made, you’d cast me out and make sure I was alone all the time, you really did act like it was your world and we were all just living in it back then, remember? You and your minions?” Bucky shook his head, “I know you remember.” 

A shaky exhale, then you whispered under your breath, as if to yourself, starting to back away as the realisation set in. “No… why would you–,” 

Bucky reached for and grabbed your wrist before you could get away from him. He slammed the door shut behind you and pushed you against it. Once locked, the door only opened with the code was entered. And you didn’t know the code, so you were well trapped with him in this room. 

“Why would I?” He asked, dramatically. Placing his hands on the door behind you, trapping you between the hard, cold wood and his body, his tattooed, bare chest pressing against you. Bucky said, “Because you made my life hell that’s why. I’m not that kid anymore.” He whispered, his tone icy and mean. “I’m all grown up now, and I deserve to have some fun, don’t I?” He watched as tears fell down your face. “Aww, are you crying, baby? Hmm?” He leaned closer to you and whispered against the side of your trembling mouth, knowing his beard felt rough against your skin, “You ruined my plans with your pretty face, with that sweet look in your eyes, and your addicting fucking pussy, and now you’re crying?” He taunted, enjoying the way you gasped in surprise at his crude words. 

He also noted how you didn’t even try to push him away. It’s like you rolled over and admitted defeat. You weren’t even trying to fight back. But you did look terrified. 

Bucky pulled away to look into your eyes. “I intended to mess with you for a little bit, and make you pay for how you treated me all those years ago.” He explained. “But having you mess with my head in return wasn’t in the plans, you know?” 

“Please,” You whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please let me go. I’ll do anything, Bucky. I’m sorry.” More tears rolled down your cheeks. “Please.” You begged again. 

Bucky, despite the guilt he’d felt just moments ago, scoffed in your face with a smirk on his own. “That’s not what you were begging for just an hour ago, was it?” Bucky pouted and then with his best whiny voice mocked you, “‘oh please baby, that’s it, fuck you feel so good. More, more, please, oh fuck please–,” 

You cut him off with a slap across the face. Bucky chuckled like an asshole, not feeling the pain at all, even though it sent his face sideways because he wasn’t expecting it. And somehow getting a reaction out of you tasted so sweet. He wanted more. 

“Do you remember now? Remember how you made my life miserable?” He asked. 

Sniffling, you asked him back, “What do you want? I said I was sorry.” 

“Oh no. You don’t get to just apologise. For four years of my life, I’d wake up every single day and hate it.” He said. “Because of you and your cool group of friends.” His tone was so bitter it was unrecognizable. “Did it make you feel good? Making fun of me? Did it make you feel all big and powerful, picking on me?” 

You shook your head, sniffling. Looking like you regretted it now. Part of him wanted to end this weird interrogation, but he also needed to know, didn’t he? 

So he asked. “Then why did you do it?” 

Silence. 

One of his hands left the door and wrapped itself around your throat. Bucky felt how you tensed under his touch as he pressed himself against you even more, making sure you couldn’t slip away. 

“Buck–,” You squealed, but the way he tightened his grip just a little made you stop. 

Bucky continued with his taunts. “Writing all those things on my door. Spreading rumours about me. Ruining any chance I had at real friendships with people. You think that was funny?” 

You finally found your voice, though quiet and pleading. “Those were stupid, childish pranks, Bucky please, and I am so s–” 

He cut you off again, raising his voice a little. “Childish pranks to you! For me those childish pranks of yours made my life hell for four years.” He scoffed. “You were the popular girl everyone wanted. Your parents were rich. You had everything most of us didn’t have. So why did you do it?” He questioned. “Why did you pick on me? Why not the others? What did I ever do to you to deserve that treatment?” His voice went down so low it made you tremble. 

He loved it. The power he held in that moment. For a moment, he wished the younger him had felt half the way he felt right now. He decided to mess with you just a little more. Scaring you with his words, because he knew he could never hurt you. Not like this. “We’re all alone up this mountain, you know?” He said, in a calm voice that only made your tears flow even more. “No neighbours,” He reminded you. “No one to hear you scream, no one to help you.” He surprised himself with how cold he sounded, like he was someone else. 

“Please.” You begged, unable to say anything else. 

“I used to dream about this, you know?” He confessed. “About having you at my mercy. About having you plead and beg me.” He chuckled, staring right into your eyes. “It’s fucked up, you see? I could never understand it.” 

He tilted his head to the side, sliding his thigh in between your legs, loving the way you gasped and instinctively, mindlessly spread your legs ever so gently to let him in, it was barely noticeable. 

“As much as I hated you before, as much as you were a total bitch to me, I never stopped wondering what it would be like to be inside you.” He scoffed, as if at a memory. “I used to fantasize about it back in uni too. I always wondered what it would be like to have you open and soft and wet for me.” He pressed his leg up against your core. “To hear you purr and moan, and fuck me,” He laughed, “You’re better than what I imagined.” 

You were trapped in place, unable to move, unable to look away. Bucky could tell you were scared, but there was something else in your eyes that he couldn’t quite name. A strange calmness of sorts. 

Bucky continued his monologue, rubbing his thigh so gently in between your legs. He doubted you even noticed because all you did was stare at him with teary eyes, that strange look in them, and your soft mouth slightly open. “So what is it about you, huh?” He squeezed his hand around your throat for just a second before letting go, he could feel your pulse quicken. “What is it about this god damn pussy that made me ruin my own plans.” He scoffed in disappointment. “I never intended to keep you around for so long. I wanted to bring you up here as quickly as possible, mess with you a little bit, scare you and send you running. And in the meantime make you regret how you treated me all those years ago.” 

Bucky pulled his thigh away from yours, and smirked when you gasped at the loss of contact. Ah, so you were enjoying it. He was sure he looked just as smug as he felt. 

“But,” Bucky continued, “All I’ve done since I met you is be buried deep into that pussy. And anytime I’m not in there I think about it. About you. About your taste. The sounds you make when I’m fucking you. The way you say my name. The way you look under me. The way your arms and legs wrap around me so perfectly…” He trailed off, noticing the way you squeezed your eyes shut, as if not facing him would erase all those weeks you spent tangled with one another. 

“Look at me,” He murmured, still in that mean and cold voice. The one he could barely recognise. He didn’t sound like someone who hated you. He sounded like someone who was obsessed. “A few weeks in your company and I’m willing to do just about anything to keep you looking at me with that dreamy look in your eyes.” He said, sincerely. “I wanna give you everything. Wanna take you anywhere you wanna go. Show you everything. Make all your wishes come true.” 

He noticed your eyes were still shut. So he got bolder, he reached for your hair and grabbed a fistful securely in his grip, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to open your eyes in fear, panic, and… that strange look he couldn’t quite decipher. “Look at me!” He hissed. “Look at what you’ve done to me! Haven’t you fucked with my head enough?!”

You spoke up this time. Pleading again, “Bucky, I’m so sorry. I mean it. I wasn’t– I wasn’t thinking back then.” You sniffled. “I was so stupid, everything I did was so stupid, Bucky please. I really am sorry.” 

“Yeah?” He sounded bored. Then like a switch, he went back to being icy again. “You wanna make up for it?” 

A blink. Silence. Then you said, “Don’t hurt me.” 

Bucky chuckled. “Oh baby,” He cooed, “Is that what you think I’m gonna do? Hurt you? If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it that same night at the bar.” He shook his head, his hand leaving your hair, coming down to trace the shape of your mouth. “Hurting you was never in the plans.” 

You shivered. 

“Making you beg for it was.” He stated. “And you will.” He sounded so confident. “You will beg me for it, won’t you? Hmm? You’ll beg me to fuck you. And then you’re gonna say you’re sorry. And you’ll really mean it this time. You want that, don’t you, baby?” He smirked. “Of course you do. Otherwise why would you be rubbing yourself all over me like that?” 

You froze, probably just now realising what you’d been doing this whole time. Bucky couldn’t help the smug smirk. Oh fuck, this is everything he’s ever dreamt of. So he reached for you, his hands sliding right up in between your legs. 

He watched how you frowned for a moment as he rubbed his fingers against your clothed, but embarrassingly wet folds. Your thin, little satin shorts were barely a barrier. 

“Oh?” He teased, “Treating you like a little slut doesn’t turn you off, does it?” He pulled you closer by your throat and you shivered again, whimpering quietly. You gasped as he lazily circled your clothed clit, smearing your wetness around. “You filthy, little whore.” He chuckled, then pushed your shorts and underwear to the side to touch you properly. You let out an involuntary moan and he smirked, pressing his lips against yours but not kissing you yet. “Yeah? You like that?” 

“Please…” You pleaded, still not pushing him away. Your hands remained at your sides. Your body felt warm under his touch, and he couldn’t get enough of it. 

“Please what?” He almost growled as he slid a finger inside you and felt you immediately clench hard around him. “See? This is what I’m talking about. It was so much easier to hate you when I didn’t know what you felt like, what you tasted like,” He spoke, his lips leaving your mouth and trailing to your ear where he whispered, “Now all I wanna do is get inside you and make you happy.” He sighed, then chuckled at the ridiculousness of it all. “What the hell are you doing to me?” 

Hearing you whine and gasp as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of you was divine. 

He added another finger. “Look at you,” He taunted, “Do you feel powerful now as you did back then? Hmm?” He spoke against your cheek, his hot breath fanning your face as he pulled away just a little to look at you. “Is this where you thought you’d be one day, you little slut? At my mercy?” He chuckled, removing his hands from in between your legs as he pulled you away from the door, keeping his hand at your throat simply because he wanted to and moved you until you were sitting on the edge of his large, nearby desk. 

He stepped away for a moment, just to look at you and your slightly disheveled state. Your satin PJs sticking to your now damp with sweat skin. You were breathing heavily, your hands clutching the edge of his desk for dear life. 

“I want you to get naked and bend over the desk.” 

You remained frozen in place, even when the order left his lips. Bucky toyed with his lip ring, before pulling it into his mouth while he stared into your eyes. “Did you not hear me?” 

Finally finding your voice, you whispered again, “Bucky, I said I was sorry.” 

Bucky stepped closer until he stood right in front of you and reached out to grab your hair at the back of your neck again, fisting it securely in his grip as he tugged just a little to tilt your head back. It seemed to be the only way he got your attention. He leaned in to nuzzle your neck, kissing along your throat, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “I don’t want your apology. I want you begging for me. Now, didn’t you hear what I said? I told you to bend over the desk for me.” He used that tone again, the icy one. The one that said you were in trouble if you didn’t do what he asked. 

So you did. 

When he released you, you held his stare with some cold defiance in your eyes as you discarded your PJs. You’d gotten naked with him multiple times over the last month or two, so this was nothing. Once done, you turned around and bent over the edge of his large desk. 

You sighed in defeat when your cheek pressed against the cold surface of the polished wood, your hands laid palm down on each side of your head. You ass pressed against the front of his sweatpants and you whimpered at the feel of his thick, hard cock beneath the fabric, rubbing against your soft folds. 

You felt his hands on your body. He placed his hands on each side of your waist and caressed your body, rubbing up and down along your sides, touching your ass but not once touching you right where you needed him to. 

You gasped, then he noticed you quickly bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning too loud. 

He scoffed before pinching your skin to make you gasp again, “I wanna hear every little sound you make.” He finally trailed his fingers down in between your legs and lazily traced along your slit. “So wet and ready for me.” He chuckled. 

He heard your gasping and whimpering as quietly as you could as he lazily finger-fucked you. You whined as he touched a sensitive spot inside you. Teasing you a bit more before pulling out. 

Bucky lowered his sweats to free his cock, then his hands were on you again. He grabbed you on either side of your hips before pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. But he didn’t slide his cock inside of you yet. 

He waited, he could almost feel your heart racing as he did nothing but wait for a reaction from you. He caught the way you discretely tried to push back into him but he moved away, chuckling as you whined in desperation. 

“Aww, what is it?” He asked, leaning over your exposed back. His chest pressing down onto you as he whispered into your ear. “You want this cock? Huh? You want it so bad, don’t you?” He hissed, “Then beg for it, slut.” 

He heard a weak, “Please,” but that wasn’t enough now, was it? 

“I said, beg.” 

“Please… Bucky, I– I want your cock. So bad.” You whispered. “Please, can I have it?” Like you were ashamed of wanting him. “I’ll be good from now on, I promise.” 

He wasn’t expecting that last part, but honestly, how sweet was it to hear! 

Pleased with your begging, Bucky groaned under his breath as he pushed himself slowly inside of you, feeling your walls tighten around him. You whimpered as he filled you up, stretching you as he went. 

He pulled out and thrust deep into you once again, making you moan and gasp under him. “You’ll be good, huh?” He reached out and grabbed your wrists, pinning them down at your lower back as he started rocking into you. Slowly at first, then gradually building up his pace. “Just this cock has you acting right, huh?” He laughed as he fucked deep into you, your front bumping against the edge of the desk each time. 

“Yes…,” You admitted. You whimpered as he pounded even harder into you at the sound of that confession. His pelvic bone smacking against your ass each time he thrust into you.

“Yeah? Not such a proud, arrogant little slut now, are you?” He growled, tightening his grip on your wrists as he fucked you harder, feeling your walls getting tighter around him. “Huh? You’re not as bitchy as you were back then, look at you now. All nice and bent over my desk.” He hissed, “Don’t you dare fucking come yet!” 

You whined, “Bucky, I can’t-,” 

He cut you off quickly, “Yes you fucking can.” He snarled. “You said you were gonna be good from now on, right? Well hold it then, don’t fucking come yet.” He slammed his cock harder into you, making your eyes squeeze shut. He thrust so deep into you that even the desk moved a little, screeching as it did across the floor. 

A loud moan escaped your mouth and Bucky smirked. Looks like you were enjoying this a little too much, huh? He couldn’t have that just yet, now could he? So he pulled out and pulled you up and off the desk, turning you around so you faced him. 

Your lips parted as you gasped for air, your tear stained face was a sight to behold. And that wild hunger in your eyes because even given the situation, he fucked you good and knew how to make you want more of it, and he knew that. 

“Get on your knees.” He ordered. “Now.” 

He was surprised at how quick you were, obeying immediately, falling perfectly on your knees in front of him. You watched him with a hunger in your teary eyes. And that strange look still. You kept your eyes on his as he grabbed his glistening cock at the base and guided his tip over to your already open mouth, spreading your own wetness all over your mouth and said, “Be a good little slut, and suck.” 

You did. You opened wide as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into your mouth. You took him in slowly until he hit the back of your throat. He gripped the back of your neck, keeping you in place as he spoke, “Now, worship this fucking cock like it’s the only thing you’re good for. He smirked as you began moving immediately, “That's it. Make me fucking come, you filthy little slut.” 

You looked up at him, and for a moment, Bucky was fully captivated. Like he was in a trance. There you were, kneeling before him with his cock in your mouth like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted to do. Just like how he’d always dreamt of. 

“Oh, look at you,” He cooed, as if mocking you. “Working hard for this cock, huh? Remember that night at the bar, bet you wanted it right there. You could barely wait to have it, could you? You barely bothered to ask me my full name,” He chuckled. “You were just so hungry for it.” Bucky let out a carefree chuckle as he looked down at you, “Tell me, do you still want it just the same now that you know who I really am?” He asked, knowing damn well you couldn’t respond with his cock filling your mouth. 

Another tear dropped from your eye, but then you nodded awkwardly, mouth still around his tip. 

“Yeah, you do. ‘Cause you’re nothing but a cock hungry little slut, aren’t you?” He groaned at the sight of you with your mouth full and said, “That’s it. Get up.” 

You listened, and he shoved you up on the edge of the table again before he stepped in between your legs. His hand grabbed you by the chin, holding your face in place as he aligned his cock to your core again. He slipped inside you with ease, making you gasp as he began fucking you again. 

“Look at you,” He spoke through gritted teeth, now fucking you with a rougher pace. “Fucking disgusting with spit and precum all over your mouth,” He whispered, leaning in just to mess with you – not once kissing you. He pushed your thighs further apart so he could fuck you deeper. 

“Bucky…” You gasped. 

“What, slut?” He fucked deeper into you, pounding into you relentlessly. “Your little cunt feels so good, you know that? So fucking tight,” He whispered against your mouth, before pulling away to spit into your open mouth, not once stopping his thrusts. “It’s a shame you were such a bitch back then, otherwise you could’ve had this cock a long time ago.” 

“Please…” You whined as he pounded into you aggressively. A tear slipped out of the corner of your eye. 

“Yeah? You’re sorry now?” 

You nodded. 

Bucky felt your walls clench violently around him. “Fuck,” He growled into your ear, “Are you gonna come for me? You're gonna come all over this cock? Huh?”  

“Yes,” You whimpered, “Yes, please.” You cried in pleasure and pain. “Please, Buck.” 

“Damn it!” He groaned. “Fuck you! Fuck you for being so good. For messing with my head.” He hissed, staring deep into your eyes, “And fuck you for not letting me enjoy this as much as I wanted to because I can’t bring myself to fucking hurt you!”  

Bucky slowed down just a little, making you cry out. 

“I dreamt of this, you know? All I’ve ever done is think about this moment right here. I always thought I’d scare you to a point where you take off running,” He scoffed, “Hell, I even fantasized about chasing after you in these damn woods!” He shook his head, still holding your stare. “Look at me now, look! Even now I couldn’t help but make it nice and good for you. To fuck you like I know you like it. I couldn’t help but be buried deep inside you yet again!” 

“I’m sorry,” You whined, “I really am.” 

Bucky wanted to punch himself. 

“Shut the fuck up and come for me!” 

A loud cry, then you came – mumbling and whining and crying. A complete mess on his desk. 

Bucky followed shortly after, coming undone while he was buried deep inside you, gripping your thigh so tightly that his fingers would surely leave a bruise behind. He caught you just as you fell forward into his chest, unable to hold yourself up as you caught your breath. 

Bucky calmed himself down, let out a sigh and glared at that damned, giant bulletin board covering the entire wall behind you as he wrapped his arms around your shaking body. God damn it. 

—

Reader’s POV: 

Your memory was a little hazy after that. You remembered bits and pieces. How he got you into the shower. His gentle touches, even as he washed himself. His hands and how they never left your body, holding you close and cleaning you up as best he could. 

Him whispered, “I’ve got you.” Over and over again. Like he was guilty. 

You remember you tried talking to him, as he dried you with a fluffy towel, “You hate me.” It came out like a statement. 

“Be quiet.” His icy voice snapped, and he refused to meet your eyes. The coldness of his tone and the soothing, gentle touch of his hands were giving you a whiplash. But you took it. Of course, you did. 

“Would you ever forgive me?” You asked him as he wrapped your favourite fluffy robe around you and brought you to bed. It was late, closer to sunrise than midnight. “Could you?” 

Bucky finally looked at you and said, “Just… be quiet.” His tone was much softer than earlier. “Here, drink this.” He handed you some water. You accepted it, sipping on it as you let him fuss over the bedding and blankets until he made a nice little nest for you to sink into. 

You thought he’d tuck you in and leave, probably to go back to that weird lair of his downstairs. But no, he got in after you. Quiet, and grumpy as he was, he still pulled in to cuddle like you two had the habit of doing for the past month or two. 

You hid your face into his chest, sighing and breathing in his scent, letting his body heat warm you up. You could hear the wind picking up outside, but that was none of your concern. 

A minute went by in silence, in darkness, except for the bedside lamp which illuminated the room with a soft golden glow. Another minute went by, Bucky breathed steadily. His hands moving up and down your back. Both of you were quiet. 

There was so much you wanted to say to him, but all that came out was, “I’m sorry, Bucky.” 

He sighed, then let out a mindless, “Hmm.” 

“I really am.” You whispered again, snuggling closer as if you wanted to get inside his skin. 

Another careless, “Hmm.” 

You sniffled, feeling like crying again. “Please forgive me.” 

“Stop crying.” He said, gently this time. 

“I’ll make up for it.” You found yourself saying. “I’ll do anything. I mean it.” 

Bucky sighed. “Oh yeah? How will you make up for it?” He said, with just a hint of pleasantry in his tone. 

“How many kids do you want?” 

Bucky chuckled. Genuinely chuckled, not like the mocking ones from earlier. But this was boyish, and very him. “You’re finishing your book tour soon.” He said. “Then you’ve got to start on your new project.” He sighed again, sounding a little tired and spent. “No kids for now, angel.” 

Silence again. This silence felt way less tense than before. Bucky’s movements were getting slower and slower as he relaxed more and more. 

Then out of nowhere you asked, “Have you… ever read any of my books?” 

A pause. Then he said, “All of them.” 

That took you by genuine surprise. “All of them?” 

“All of them.” 

You hesitated to ask, “Do you like them? 

Bucky let out a soft chuckle. “Do I like them?” He taunted. “Look at me. I became what you write about.” Then he reached for your face, tilting your head up so he could look at you. “Yes I do. I like them.” He said. “You’re very talented, baby. You deserved all the attention and recognition you get.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence again. You looked away from him, but he must’ve been able to see the gears turning in your head so he gently smacked your thigh and said, “Stop thinking.” He pulled the covers around you once again, making sure you were nice and warm. “Go to sleep.” He said. 

You snuggled deeper into his side, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. A few minutes went by, and Bucky fell asleep before you did. He began snoring softly just moments after. 

You stayed awake though. Thinking, caressing his bare chest. After all, how could one sleep after finally getting to where they plotted to be for the last ten years? You hid a smirk as you kissed Bucky’s warm, tattooed chest. You whispered, quietly, “Took me a decade to get to you, Buck. But it was all worth it.” You snuggled deeper into his side. Smiling at his adorable snores. 

Bucky was indeed a mastermind. Stalking you, following your each and every move. Keeping track of where you were and where you went at all times, who you met and what you did. It couldn’t have been easy. 

He thought he alone plotted this whole thing. He thought that he was the only one manipulating circumstances in ways to get what he wanted. Into getting you to let your guard down and let him in. Thinking you didn’t recognise him that night you met at the bar. 

Thinking you forgot. 

You let out a little chuckle, “Oh Buck. You did so well. But you don’t know half the work I put into all this.” You sighed, kissing his bare chest again, “Do you even know how much work goes into

manipulating someone into thinking they’re successfully manipulating you?” 

Bucky was a mastermind. Each one of his moves were perfectly calculated. He was so smart. He’d always been, ever since uni. 

But Bucky wasn’t the only mastermind. Because you plotted too. 

Always holding or attending book signings, readings, or other events in cities he was in. Always being around, but right outside of his circle – enough so that in these past ten years, he never stopped hearing about you from friends or colleagues, or friends of friends. Always making sure your advertisements were on billboards that were near his houses, offices, hang out spots, etc. 

All that was by your design. You made sure you’d never leave his head. 

You do admit, being mean to him in uni was stupid and unforgivable. But what else were you supposed to do? How else were you going to live rent free in his head? He never made a move on you in uni because he was also so intimidated. Always so shy, and quiet. 

So you did what you had to do. Sure, it took years. And the whole time, you let him think he was the only one orchestrating this. You let him think his manipulation techniques were working. You let him think he was punishing you when really, you’d been dreaming of these punishments ever since you saw him that first day on campus. 

Earlier, in the study, when you saw that bullet board and froze – it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of surprise. You knew Bucky always kept a close eye on you and everything you did these past years. You even let him. You let his guys follow you around, you let them overhear details you wanted Bucky to know. You let Bucky watch you, purposely lingering around cameras whenever you were out. 

But you didn’t know his obsession mirrored yours. Because if he would’ve searched your penthouse a little more thoroughly, he would’ve found a similar bulletin board that you’d been keeping for years now – tracking him and all that he did. 

You placed another kiss on Bucky’s chest and sighed in bliss. “You’re not the only mastermind, baby. But it’s not a competition now, is it? We both got what we wanted. Didn’t we?” You asked, looking up to see his peaceful, sleeping face. “Huh, baby? It’s alright. You’re a tiny bit sloppy with your stalking skills, but never mind. I’m here now. And I’m not leaving.” 

---

a/n: it's been a while huh-

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[hughiecampbelle]

Thunderbolts Preference: Being Selectively Mute

A/N: I'm 24 and just now realizing being selectively mute has dictated most of my life. I feel kinda stupid for not realizing lol but I kinda thought it was normal? Or like a symptom of being shy? No one really noticed. I brought it up to my therapist after I read this book about a main character who is selectively mute and how familiar those thoughts/emotions/panic were and she was like "girl 🤨" so yeah lol just more proof ya gurl is dumb!! 🖤

THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Bucky would worry there's something physically wrong. He finds you with the rest of the misfits, tied up because you're evidence of Valentinas crimes. While the others are more than eager to get the last word in, you're silent, watching all of them with big eyes and something on your mind. Since none of them know who you are, he fears the worst. Did Valentina, or someone, cut out your tongue? The added attention increases your stress, making it even harder to form words. You know what you want to say. You want to defend yourself, explain about Bob, tell everyone to get off your back and leave you alone, but you can't. Bucky comes over to you while the others fight among themselves and ask if you're okay. All you can do is nod, defeated. Eventually, when it's just the two of you, you explain sometimes it's hard to talk. Bucky relaxes, fearing the worst, assuring you it's no big deal, that he just wants you to be okay.

Alexei can be insensitive. Unlike John , it's not out of malice or annoyance, he genuinely can't understand why you're not talking. He tries to get to know all of his daughters friends. Do you not speak English? He asks again in Russian, but you still don't answer. Can you not hear him? He turns towards you, flailing his arms, trying to get the point across, but Yelena orders him to watch the road before he kills you all. Not knowing what's wrong, the others try to move on. It's not that difficult: they fight like cats and dogs. You're grateful for the attention to be taken off you, but you watch Alexei watch you in the rear view mirror. When things have calmed down and you feel safer, less stressed, you explain to him in simple terms why you freeze up like that. He has a lot of questions, and you try to answer them the best you can. After that, he's pretty vocal about you being selectively mute. He defends you against Valentina when she gets annoyed or creeped out, yelling at her, sort of making the situation worse, but you know he means well.

Yelena thinks it's a little suspicious, but she knew a lot of girls who went mute because of the Red Room. She doesn't realize right away. Truthfully, she just thought you were quiet. But then, after John gets in your face, angry for not being responded to, she realizes there must be something more. In a moment just the two of you, she slides her phone over, a note written at the top "are you okay?". You write back that it freaked you out, John getting so close, being so angry, and she nods, calling him an asshole. That gets you to smile just a little, easing up, nodding in agreement. After everything that happens, she adopts you like she does with Bob. She never pushes you to speak, always offering her phone or a scrap piece of paper. Eventually you loosen up around her and begin to talk. She doesn't make a big deal out of it or invite everyone to hear. She's just grateful you have trust in someone enough to be able to speak.

Ava doesn't really think about it. She just assumes you're quiet, or that you don't like them, or both. You don't make a sound as you and the rest of the group shimmy up the vent. It's almost welcomed, the silence, since everyone else is so loud and moody. After John pulls you up a little too hard, making you wince, she asks if you're okay. You nod, more panic setting in, but she doesn't push. She doesn't make a big deal about it. Truthfully, the situation is too dire to worry about someone not making a fuss. Eventually, when the panic has lessened and it's just you and her, you thank her for checking in with you. Eventually you explain why you got mute sometimes and Ava completely understands. Unlike John, she'd never pick on you or think differently. She jokes that the quiet is welcome on a team like this. If anyone makes fun of you, a teammate or civilian or Valentina, she's the first to jump to your aid and defend you.

John finds your silence kind of creepy. He doesn't mean to be rude or insensitive. He doesn't mean to lose his cool or get in your face, he truly doesn't understand. The first time you meet in the furnace with the rest of Valentinas assassins, you find yourself mute. The others fight and bicker, but that familiar panic sets in and though your mind is screaming at you to just speak! Say anything! Defend yourself against this asshole! You can't. You point your weapon at him and will him to shut up before you kill him. He's not afraid though, stepping up and getting in your face. He says you're a freak, a weirdo, that whoever you are, you're way over your head. Once you're all out and in Alexei's limo, that's when you can find your voice again and tell him to fuck off. Eventually, he learns why you couldn't speak up and apologizes, though it's one of those John Walker apologies that don't feel genuine. It takes some getting used to for you not to respond sometimes, instead writing it down. He becomes a little protective over you when others act the way he did when you first met.

Bob, being so wrapped up in his own situation, doesn't really notice until you're in the Void together. You break through your memories into his. He's sitting on the floor, watching his parents fight. He tries to talk over them, assuring you it's okay, assuring himself, too. Because of your own memories and triggers, you've gone mute. He doesn't seem to notice, at least not making a big deal out of it, instead asking if you're okay. You shrug and he understands, inviting you to sit with him. When you're all safe, Bob asks again if you're okay and that's when you're able to find your voice again, speaking quietly, explaining sometimes it's hard to talk. He doesn't fully get it, but he doesn't have to. He says it's okay, that you've all got something to deal with. When you feel that way, you just write on your phone or a piece of paper. He can't understand why some people make such a big deal out of it. He wishes it didn't happen, but he'd never make fun of you for it.

[koiukiy-o]

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 003. the framework.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 2.4k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: well well well... this took a long damn time. apologies, apologies, but the science had to be figured out. these two are absolute NERDS, i fear. oblivion is absolutely delicious on those who claim to possess and pursue the knowledge of the universe. i fear you will be suffering for a WHILE if youre not into the slow burn HAAHAHAH. also,, if you guys ever want to see the actual equations and notes i took to write some of the science for this chapter, i could post it as well,, hehe,, -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

Hushed voices, the occasional shuffle of papers, the muted hum of thought is all that fills the air in the library. You sit at your usual table, papers strewn before you. The assignment has consumed your thoughts since it was given to you—an open-ended challenge demanding structure, logic, proof. Model something that physics refuses to acknowledge.

Your notes are chaotic, an evolving web of connections scrawled in the margins, crossed out and rewritten. A familiar frustration gnaws at you—the feeling of standing on the precipice of understanding, just shy of articulation. You run a hand through your hair and exhale sharply, staring at the mess of your own making. You need structure, a foundation to hold onto. If the soul exists, then it cannot be an anomaly—it must be governed by laws, patterns, something definable. If every human mind is unique, then what makes them so? The answer cannot be randomness. There must be an underlying form, a universal template from which all variation emerges.

You tap your pen against the page, mind turning. If identity is not a static entity but a recursive function, shaped by initial conditions and iterative transformations, then no self is ever fixed. The soul would not be a singular essence but a structure in motion, a process of becoming. And if this process holds, then consciousness cannot be isolated. The soul, then, is not merely a singular phenomenon—it is networked, existing not only within itself but through its connections. But what is it that determines it?

If this recursion is real, then it must not be a property of human existence but a fundamental principle of consciousness itself, a universal law.

It isn’t proof. It isn’t even a complete theory yet. But it is a start. A framework, a way forward. You stare at the words in front of you, pulse steady but intent.

Your fingers ache from gripping the pen too tightly, your vision blurring as you stare at the same lines of text, reading and rereading without truly absorbing them. The library’s stillness, once a comfort, has become suffocating—a static silence pressing in around you, the air too thick, the rows of bookshelves seemingly endless, as if space itself is closing in.

You lean back, dragging a hand down your face. A glance at the clock startles you. How long have you been here? Long enough that the lamps cast long, slanted shadows over your scattered notes. Long enough that exhaustion has settled into your limbs, dull and insistent.

You need air. Movement. A change in surroundings before your thoughts begin looping endlessly in place.

Gathering your papers into a loose stack, you shove them into your bag with little care for organization. You rise, stretching the stiffness from your spine before heading for the exit. The fluorescent lighting of the library hums overhead as you step out, the cooler evening air brushing against your skin like a quiet relief.

Minutes later, you find yourself at the café, drawn by the promise of warmth and caffeine. As the quiet hum of the city presses in, you click a few buttons on your phone and lift it to your ear.

–

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, grounding you. You wrap your hands around the ceramic cup, letting its heat seep into your skin. You sit near the window, coffee cup nestled between your hands, eyes skimming the notes spread haphazardly across the table. The light overhead buzzes softly—old wiring, probably—but the sound fades into the background as you focus.

You’re not here to have a breakthrough. You’re here to map the boundaries.

The problem with studying the soul—if you can even call it that—isn’t just defining it. It’s figuring out where to look. If it exists as more than a philosophical concept, then there have to be parameters. A framework.

You flip to a blank page in your notebook.

What is the soul?

A real question. Not in the poetic sense, not in the way people speak about it in hushed tones and late-night confessions, but as a function. A thing with properties.

You write:

— The soul is not isolated. If it were, it wouldn’t interact with the world. People change. Learn. Influence each other. Whatever the soul is, it isn’t locked away inside a single person.

— It has persistent traits, but it is not static. Memories shape behavior. Experience alters perception. The thing that makes you you isn’t a fixed point, but it also isn’t random. There’s continuity, even through change.

— It extends beyond individual experience. Connections leave an imprint. People carry each other—sometimes in ways they can’t explain. If the soul exists beyond metaphor, then its effects should be traceable.

You take a slow sip of coffee. These aren’t conclusions. They’re places to start.

At the very least, if you’re going to chase something this impossible, you have to know what it isn’t–

"Trial and error."

The voice is measured, almost idle, but it cuts through the noise of the café like a well-placed incision.

You jolt, pen slipping from your fingers. Anaxagoras is standing beside your table, hands in the pockets of his coat, gaze flicking over your notes with mild interest. His presence isn’t overwhelming, but it shifts the air in a way you feel immediately. Like a variable introduced into an equation.

"You can’t just—appear—like that," you say, exhaling sharply as you retrieve your pen.

He lifts a brow. "I used the door. Perhaps you weren’t paying attention." His gaze drops back to your notebook, reading without asking, though you suspect if you told him to stop, he actually would. "Trial and error," he repeats, as if the phrase itself is under scrutiny. "A method you seem to be employing."

You sit back slightly, fingers curling around your coffee cup. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"Not at all," he replies, voice as even as ever. "It’s an honest approach. Just an unpolished one."

You huff a quiet laugh. "Practicality aside, it’s the only thing I can do at this stage. I'm defining parameters, not solving anything." You tap your pen against the page. "Or would you rather I skip to the part where I give you something half-formed and empirically worthless?"

His mouth curves—just slightly. "I appreciate the restraint."

"High praise."

Anaxagoras doesn’t acknowledge that, but his gaze lingers on your notes a moment longer before he straightens. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t ask to join, but he also doesn’t leave immediately.

Instead, he says, "It’s getting cold."

You blink at him. "What?"

"Your coffee," he nods toward your coffee cup, still mostly full. "You’ve been holding it for minutes without drinking."

You glance down at it, then back up at him. "I didn't realize you were keeping track."

"Well, far be it from me to disrupt your... inefficiency." he remarks, stepping back.

You glance toward the door. "I'm actually waiting for someone."

Anaxagoras tilts his head slightly.

"A friend," you clarify, though you're not sure why it feels necessary to do so.

He makes no move to leave, and you take another sip of coffee, not minding the silence that settles between you. It's surprisingly comfortable, even in its brevity.

Then, the door swings open.

Ilias strides in, scanning the café—then stops dead when he sees the two of you. His eyes flick between you and Anaxagoras, narrowing with immediate, delighted suspicion. And then, with exaggerated slowness, he pivots on his heel, turning straight back toward the exit.

"Oh, for—come back," you call, exasperated.

Ilias replies, raising his hands in mock surrender but grinning as he turns back around. "Please. Continue your—" he gestures vaguely, "—whatever this is."

Anaxagoras exhales, barely more than a breath, and finally steps away from your table. "I’m leaving."

Ilias watches him, expression far too entertained. He mutters just loud enough for you to hear, "I can't believe you invited me to your impromptu date."

You glare at him, but before you can retort, you catch the faintest shift in Anaxagoras' posture—nothing overt, no reaction beyond the briefest pause in his step. Then he continues toward the door, leaving without a word.

You groan, rubbing your temples.

Ilias collapses into the seat across from you like a man overcome by the sheer weight of his own amusement. "That was," he announces, "the single most deliciously awkward thing I have ever witnessed."

You mutter a quiet curse under your breath, flipping to a fresh page in your notebook.

"And yet," he sighs, folding his hands under his chin with a smirk, "here I am—like the universe itself has conspired to place me in this exact moment.”

Ilias is still grinning as he leans back in his chair, stretching lazily. “You know, if you ever need a chaperone for your secret intellectual rendezvous, I’m available.”

You roll your eyes, gathering your notes with more force than necessary. “It wasn’t an—” You stop yourself. There’s no point. Ilias seemingly lives for provocation, and you won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you shake your head and lean back in your chair, stretching your arms with a sigh.

Ilias, ever the dramatist, makes a show of settling in across from you, propping his chin in his hands. “You’re unusually quiet,” he muses. “Brooding, even.”

“No.”

“Hmm.” He taps a finger against the table. “That was an awfully long pause for a simple ‘no.’”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance out the window, watching the people moving along the street, the steady glow of passing headlights. The café hums around you—low conversations, the occasional clatter of a cup against its saucer. It’s late, but not late enough to leave just yet.

Ilias orders something sweet, drumming his fingers absently against the table while he waits. You sip the last of your now-cold coffee, your mind still lingering elsewhere. A glance at your notes does little to pull you back. The thought won’t let go.

You don’t even realize you’re frowning at your notes until Ilias nudges your cup with his own.

"Thinking about your not-a-date?" he teases, grinning.

You glare at him half-heartedly, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Thinking,” you say simply.

Eventually, Ilias finishes his pastry, brushing crumbs from his fingers before stretching with a yawn.

The two of you step outside together, the shift from the café’s warmth to the crisp night air making you shiver. The city has quieted, the usual rush of movement settling into a steadier rhythm. You walk side by side for a while, boots clicking against the pavement, the hum of distant traffic filling the spaces between conversation. 

Even as Ilias chatters on about something inconsequential, the ideas still linger at the edge of your mind, waiting to take shape. 

By the next morning, the café is a memory drowned out by the quiet rustle of students filling the lecture hall. The usual pre-class murmur settles into a steady rhythm—books thudding against desks, the sharp clicking of laptop keys, the low hum of voices exchanging half-hearted speculations on today’s topic. 

You slide into your usual seat at the front, your notes open in front of you, though your pen remains idle between your fingers. The thoughts that have followed you since the library refuse to resolve, circling just beyond reach. There’s something missing—something foundational, yet frustratingly unformed.

At the lectern, Anaxagoras sets down his drink with practiced ease, the cup making a soft, deliberate sound against the wooden surface. The hall quiets. 

He surveys the room with that same composed intensity, his gaze flickering over the assembled students before settling briefly—too briefly—on you.

“Continuity,” he begins, his voice carrying effortlessly, “is a deceptively simple concept. We assume that when two systems interact, they influence each other only at the moment of contact. That once they separate, the interaction ends.”

You straighten slightly. A slow prickle of recognition runs down your spine.

Anaxagoras picks up a piece of chalk and sketches a familiar equation on the board—one you’ve seen before, but never in this exact context. Your fingers tighten around your pen.

“But,” he continues, underlining a key term, “this assumes a linear, local model of influence. What happens, then, if we acknowledge that certain interactions leave something… persistent? That even after separation, a trace remains?”

The rustling of papers around you barely registers. Your thoughts lurch forward, bridging gaps in ways they hadn’t before.

You shift, almost without realizing, and Anaxagoras glances in your direction—briefly, but with intent. He knows.

A student two seats over raises a hand. “Are you talking about quantum entanglement?”

Anaxagoras tilts his head slightly. “A useful analogy, but not a perfect one. Entanglement suggests an instantaneous connection regardless of distance. What I am asking is more fundamental—does influence itself persist, even outside direct interaction?”

A murmur ripples through the hall. A few students exchange looks, some hurriedly scribbling notes, others frowning as they try to grasp the implications.

Your heart beats a fraction faster as the pieces align. The answer should be simple. If two variables are no longer in contact, the influence should end. The system should reset. But—

“They don’t go back to what they were before,” you murmur, half to yourself.

Anaxagoras sets the chalk down. “Louder.”

The words form before hesitation can stop them. “Even apart, they still retain the effect of their interaction. They update each other, whether they remain in proximity or not.”

The silence that follows is the kind that shifts the atmosphere of a room. Not an absence of sound, but a space filled with quiet recognition.

Anaxagoras watches you, his expression unreadable, but you swear something flickers in his gaze.

You grip your pen tighter. “There’s a kind of imprint,” you continue, voice steadier now. “An effect that doesn’t disappear even after separation. A persistence beyond time or proximity.”

He nods once, the movement precise. “Nonlinear. Nonlocal.”

A slow breath escapes you.

The clock on the wall ticks forward. A student coughs. Someone flips a page too loudly. The world presses back in, indifferent to the shape of revelation.

Anaxagoras turns away first, back to the board, where the equation remains half-finished. He picks up the chalk again, his voice returning to its usual cadence, folding the moment neatly back into lecture. 

His gaze flickers back to you for a moment—steady, contemplative, threaded with something unreadable. Interest, perhaps. Amusement, restrained but evident in the slight tilt of his head. And then, just low enough for only you to hear:

“You were closer than you thought.”

You exhale, staring at the marginalia scrawled in the edges of your notebook—sharp, decisive, yet somehow restrained. Outside the window, the campus air carries the crisp scent of rain—not quite fallen, not quite gone. And yet, the thought lingers, refusing to leave you.

-> next.

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[voodoo-tofu]

Steve Harrington needed hearing aids.

He wasn't born needing them. In fact, he was just about as healthy as a young man in his social class could be. But numerous head injuries eventually led to gradually worsening hearing loss, leading him to needing mostly useless hearing aids.

His damage was so severe he actually needed cochlear implants but his parents kicked him out of their house and off of their insurance plan when he got caught kissing his teammate back in high school. With his minimum wage job and splitting rent with his roommate Robin, he currently did not make enough money for such a luxury.

So he did the next best thing: he learned ASL.

It was free, other than his time invested, and Robin was the one to suggest it. After all, she was already fluent in five languages and had been in band for twelve years. If anyone could teach herself and a hard of hearing person to sign, it was Robin Buckley.

The only bad part was, they were the only two who seemed to know the damn language, leaving Steve to strain to hear or read lips lest he get (mostly) silently yelled at by some deranged customer.

So when he spotted a guy around his age with long, dark curly hair and perfectly round black glasses with side shields, he knew he had to act.

He knew what it was like to have people gloss over the fact that you exist, or even berate you for it; so he took a page out of Robin's book.

He learned braille.

Sure, technically Steve could still speak to the boy, but wouldn't it be more special if he could read what Steve wanted to say?

So he practiced and practiced until he was happy, bringing the card to work where his crush appeared to be a regular.

As Steve sees him walk in, he knows today's the day.

⠓⠊ ⠊ ⠁⠍ ⠎⠞⠑⠧⠑ ⠎⠕⠗⠗⠽ ⠊⠋ ⠞⠓⠊⠎ ⠊⠎ ⠺⠑⠊⠗⠙ ⠃⠥⠞ ⠊ ⠚⠥⠎⠞ ⠺⠁⠝⠞⠑⠙ ⠞⠕ ⠎⠁⠽ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠁⠗⠑ ⠗⠑⠁⠇⠇⠽ ⠉⠥⠞⠑ ⠁⠝⠙ ⠊ ⠺⠕⠥⠇⠙ ⠇⠊⠅⠑ ⠞⠕ ⠁⠎⠅ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠕⠥⠞ ⠕⠝ ⠁ ⠙⠁⠞⠑

Hi I am Steve sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you are really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

Steve is giddy when he wanders over to the boy in dark clothes. He had on black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a Metallica band tee, a leather jacket, and a denim battle vest. He's perfect. He's hot.

Steve's footsteps must be louder than he expects because the object of his affection immediately turns in his direction.

"Hi," Steve greets as he presses the thick stock paper into his hands.

The boy angles his head down with a frown as he traces an index finger over the raised dots, before looking right at Steve behind those dark frames.

He takes them off, and Steve learns after so long that his eyes are brown.

"I'm sorry," his crush says, Steve recognizing those syllables easy enough, "But I can't read this. What is it you're trying to say?"

But now that response is too much, Steve can't keep up. All he knows is the card he worked so carefully punching little holes in with a special tool he had to buy was now being pushed back into his hands.

Steve doesn't try to answer, he just wants to get the hell away before his tears spill over, but a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

He tenses, squeezes his eyes shut and braces for impact, but when a familiar hit doesn't land on his face, he cautiously opens his teary eyes to find him staring right at Steve.

"Are you okay?" He asks, but Steve can't be quite sure if he's checking on him or asking if he's gay.

Steve's own frown appears on his face as he points to his ears.

"Can't hear too good."

His mouth drops open, rushing to spiel something Steve doesn't catch. He must realize this because he's taking Steve's card back from him now as he mimics writing something with raised eyebrows.

Steve nods his head, more confused that the guy he thought was blind seemed to be understanding him perfectly.

He fishes out the little pad of paper and pen he keeps with him for moments not quite like this, passing the two items over.

He scribbles for a moment before letting Steve read what he's written in big loopy letters.

Hi, I'm Eddie. Sorry, I can't read braille. What did you say?

Steve furrows his brows.

I thought you might know it. Aren't you blind?

Eddie shakes his head with a little smile.

The glasses? I have killer migraines. Never go anywhere without them.

Steve smacks himself in the face. He's been such a fool!

Eddie taps him to gain his attention once more before handing him the notepad and pen.

What did you say? I'd like to know :)

Steve worries his bottom lip.

Hi I'm Steve. Sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you're really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

He's nervous as he hands it back, but Eddie's wide grin and eager nod does wonders to knock back those worries.

I thought you'd never ask, Steve.

[clovernet]

nsfw mdni

nerd!kento who groaned when he found out he had to tutor you, the college's queen bee and all around mean bitch. not like you were happy about it either, your precious weekends were being taken away from you, all because of some measly grades. goodbye getting paralytic on a saturday, hello boring nerd with a boring-er voice.

nerd!kento who looked you up and down with a judgemental look when you arrived almost an hour late to your first session, chewing your gum loudly, your scandalously short miniskirt and croptop barely appropriate for a library.

nerd!kento who didn't notice how you stared at his face the whole time he was reading from a textbook, studying him from his glasses to his jaw. you didn't know your tutor was gonna be fine...you could work with this!

nerd!kento who tensed when you placed a manicured hand on his lap, leaning closer to him with faux innocence. you claimed to not understand what he was explaining, and asked him questions you both knew you didn't really care about. his face didn't change though, and he answered all your questions without missing a beat.

nerd!kento who quickly got used to this routine of you showing up in the skimpiest outfit you could find and finding excuses to touch him unnecessarily during your sessions. you were starting to think it was useless, he must be gay or a monk or something since he wasn't reacting. oh, but he was.

nerd!kento who left every session with a raging hard on he had to take care of privately. he was embarrassed, but the scent of your sugary perfume combined with your tits in his face everytime he turned to look at you made him harder than any math equation. even when he jerked off at home, that sugary scent would somehow find a way into his brain.

nerd!kento who snapped randomly one day, the sight of your tits almost hanging out suddenly too much for him. against all logical thoughts, he dragged you to the library bathroom, much to your confusion.

nerd!kento who's attitude definitely matched his dick size. you barely had time to gasp before his slapped his meat across your face with a grunt. "open." and oh boy did you open. that thing had you dicknotized.

nerd!kento who punctuated every thrust with a growl; "this is what you wanted, yeah? trying to– fuck, trying to seduce me with those pretty tits? you think i don't notice your hands on me every session?" as he pounded into your throat, his other hand firm in your hair. "thank god your throat's not as stupid as your brain, huh?"

nerd!kento who barely let you up for air, his hand pushing your head down until you gagged, like he was trying to mold your throat into the shape of his dick. you could feel every inch and every vein of his unnecessarily thick cock.

nerd!kento who pulled out of your mouth so he could finish on your tits, his hips jerking as he stroked his thick cock, his cum splurting all over your cleavage and neck.

nerd!kento who silently put his dick away before leaving the stall. you thought it was over until he came back with some wet paper towels and began softly dabbing at the cum stained areas. more than most of the guys you've hooked up with had done.

nerd!kento who let out a small apology before telling you that you dont have to come to the sessions if you don't want to, and he'll tell the dean you attended.

nerd!kento who left out a sound of shock when you stop him from leaving the stall and ask him for a marker. you write your number down on his forearm. "call me."

a/n: kento nanami the world will know of u. anyway i have this really vivid vision of emo nanami in college so thats what this is based on and if i ever write about college nanami again u bet it will be emo nanami i love you emo nanami!!!!

[ellesthots]

code of ethics

v. “coffee”

read on AO3 🤎

parts: previous / next

plot: you finally get answers from your professor.

pairing: professor!bruce wayne x student!reader

cw: 18+, smut !

words: 6.1k

a/n: this chapter was a (lovely) beast to write !! the next one will be the last in this miniseries !! it'll have Bruce's POV ✨ i wanted to include some other elements, but i'm saving those for fateful 🤭 enjoy <3 feel freeeee to let me know what you think!

Shaking hands held either side of the sink in the closest bathroom. A sopping clump of paper towel sat at the edge of it from trying to take some of the puffiness out of your eyes; its lukewarm form mocked you as it dripped down the porcelain’s edge. 

If you didn’t come back to class, it would be strange. The loser in the back would assume you didn’t know what you were doing, that Professor Wayne had drilled into you, and that would be that. Being reduced to the memory of ‘TA Who Got Told Off By Professor Wayne and Never Showed Again’ sounded like a miserable existence. 

You checked in the mirror once more to see your tear troughs bloated from crying, but you didn’t have time to care. Every passing second was another moment lost to the abyss, a sacred spilling of opportunity knowing the talking-to that would inevitably result in your removal from the course after this first day. 

Walking down the empty hallway to class had your steps echo, filling you to the brim with dread. If he had to get the administration involved, did you have to worry about more than being kicked from class? Would you be able to walk these halls again? You weren’t particularly attached to the Humanities building, but you didn’t want to be ripped from it, either.

Professor Wayne’s voice boomed from outside the classroom door. “Ensure your papers are submitted in PDF format before midnight EST, and follow current APA guidelines.” Just in time. “If any of these requirements are not met, your grade will reflect it.” Oh, brother. You gritted your teeth and walked in.

“The references must—”

Your eyes flicked to his, and he immediately looked back to the board. “They, uh, the references must be published within the past five years.” 

You’d never heard him stutter during a lecture. Was he that pissed at you? Dear god. 

The seat creaked when you sat, and you cringed as eyes wandered to you and the whiteboard. Your skirt rode up in the back, and you tried as delicately as possible to tuck it back under you, but it wouldn’t go. You glanced nervously at Professor Wayne, grateful he was paying full attention to the students. 

Though you’d only taken two courses from him, syllabus day was never just syllabus day. He sped through the document, then lectured like the class had already read the bajillion required books. You remembered the panic that tormented you in September when he’d done that, slinging about terms you’d only barely heard, or not at all, then hardly elaborating. ‘The answer’s in the reading,’ he’d say when a brave student raised their hand to clarify. No one ever had the heart to tell him his expectations were so high they were practically crushing. 

He grabbed a dry erase marker and began writing something you couldn’t parse while you fought off a panic attack. What was he about to tell you? Your thoughts spiraled unproductively, and you began to regret ever leaving the bathroom and its proximity to toilets with the nausea ravaging your system. 

Professor Wayne continued his lecture, skirting past the syllabus as if it hardly existed. His white button-up was smartly tucked into tailored black slacks, and you could make out the slightest hue of his skin beneath the fabric. The turn of his hips and the flex of his back as he drew timelines across the whiteboard made you jam your teeth into your tongue. Power play. That’s all this is. 

He turned to address the entire class, and his sweeping eye contact landed on you in what felt like an accident. His gaze stuttered alongside his words for the second time this evening, and you cocked your head. Huh. 

While he guided the class in an exercise, your focus trained on a new tic; one of your first observations of him last year was how smooth and steady he was, expression unwavering to a disturbing degree—but now saw the bobbing of an Adam’s apple and the rolling of his bottom lip under his teeth. Huh!

Your hands began to tingle as you sat back, zooming out from the classroom for a moment. The lines he drew were shakier. His lines had been too straight before, so these newbies wouldn’t notice. But you did. What terrible, awful, no good thing had you done that warranted this? 

“Adriana.” 

His icy blues speared right through you, weighing more than the entire classroom’s attention and bringing you to alertness faster than your borrowed name. “Yes?”

“Can you hand out the activity I asked you to bring?”

You squinted. Nowhere in any email had there been an activity listed. 

The students were rigidly silent, a norm for his classes; Professor Wayne commanded perfect attention, and people picked up on it from the second he entered the room. It felt electric, alive, intimidating.

Sweat gathered on the back of your neck. You must’ve forgotten it in the anticipation of your scheme. It would be listed in a line somewhere your eyes skipped over in the bustle, and class would be fucked for your mistake. Absolutely fucked, all because you had it out for the man. “I, um,”

Inhaling the first words of your apology, you stalled. Power play. You’d been singularly set on your goal for today, yes, but you weren’t completely distracted. Definitely not incompetent enough to forget one of two printables. 

“Professor.” You forced your trembling hands to fold gently in your lap. His stare could’ve pinned you to the wall. “You didn’t send me an activity.” 

Professor Wayne’s jaw ticked. “Are you cer—”

“I’m sure, yes,” you interrupted. Your smile was sickly sweet, and his gaze tore from yours. That same thoughtful double-blink surfaced as when you’d called him out about the reference page. You hadn’t thought it meant anything then, but now you wondered.

“Alright everyone, let’s pivot.” 

Thankful he wasn’t making an example out of you, you finally relaxed into your chair and let the grin slip. While he faced the board, you took advantage of your position behind his desk and checked your phone, swirling with nerves.

SYLLABUS - PDF was the only email attachment. 

Thank fucking god.

Time passed surprisingly easily with this win draped over you. How embarrassing for him to forget and call attention to it. And how fucking great did it feel not accepting the fall for his mistake. His handwriting got a bit wobblier. Victory on day one.

The high of throwing off Professor Wayne made the remaining time pass tolerably. An inch of traction had been won, and even if it was naive, you felt more secure going into the conversation. So when students began filing out and others began the quintessential line of post-lecture questions, you felt smug—not afraid. 

Who was to say you couldn’t just throw whatever accusations he was about to make back in his face again?

A few students who weren’t Bruce Wayne superfans found themselves disgruntled with the lengthy line, and moved to you to answer questions. Some regarded APA formatting, to which you gave the obligatory Purdue OWL site link, and a smattering of other questions were easily answered by gently pointing to the section in the syllabus. The student who walked with you to class was the last in your line, and looked nervously at Professor Wayne before walking up. 

“Hey, you took this class, right? You said in the fall?” He hiked his book bag up on his shoulder where it just slipped down again. His elbow had a red spot from where its weight tugged. 

You nodded, fighting a smirk. He looked precisely as you’d felt sidling up to the professor’s desk at the midterm. 

“Can you give any pointers on how to get a good grade? I didn’t expect him to be so…”

“Intense?”

He looked to the ground and mumbled, fiddling with the leather strap. “I thought the ratings might’ve been spammers or something.” 

A quick glance at Professor Wayne showed he only had two students left to talk to. You leaned forward and lowered your voice, elaborating on what you’d mentioned earlier. “Make sure your formatting is solid. And that you actually do the readings and look over the slides before coming to class, and that your questions aren’t answered in the text. He asks for a lot of reading, and the people who didn’t prioritize it regretted it.” 

He nodded like some sort of soldier, bidding a frantic “Thanks!” and promptly speeding off, his bag slapping his leg with each step. You hoped he wouldn’t get eaten alive the rest of the term. 

“Y/n?”

Something about how he said your name made your stomach curdle. The professor’s voice wasn’t its usual penetrating timbre; it was hollowed-out and tentative. A scan of the room revealed the last two students must’ve busted their asses to leave, because the room was barren. No one had even left a paper shred. 

“I understand you want to know definitively why I can’t let you be my assistant?”

You swallowed a gasp when you saw how intently he was staring. All you managed was a nod, all the air ripped from the room. You walked around to where you could better see him, situating at the edge of his desk. He rolled back in his chair, creating an additional foot of distance between you. 

“This conversation could be uncomfortable. Are you confident you don’t want a mediator?”

Professor Wayne looked strung-out—no, tightly wound, about to break. Your stomach launched into your throat. “I’m confident.” Get it over with. Rip the bandaid off.

He held your tense gaze like a promise. “Feel free to leave at any point.” 

What the fuck? You shifted your weight to your back leg, grinding your teeth together, body trying to metabolize the suspense in any way it could. What were you supposed to say to that?

“If you’re already uncomfortable,”

“Tell me.” You snapped louder than you meant to, and your ears got hot. You could barely handle a week without knowing, and another minute when he was so close was unthinkable. 

He didn’t break eye contact. Like it was an obligation he didn’t so much as blink. Shallow breaths were interrupted by longer, slower ones, like he was intentionally trying to calm himself. Your hands began to tingle. “In the effort of transparency…”

The pressure in the room changed. No idea what he was about to say, but knowing undeniably that whatever it was, the hammer was about to drop, and hard. Tears stung your lashes. For a split second you considered backing out. Telling him it was okay, that you’d accept not knowing, because your heart began to hammer painfully against your ribs. 

“As I was prepping our last meeting for 505, and through no fault of your own,” he emphasized those words like his life depended on it. “I realized I had developed an attraction to you.” 

It didn’t compute immediately, but your body caught on before anything else. Your shoulders relaxed, vision blurred, but your mind spun like he’d spoken gibberish. 

“With only a single session remaining, I considered early termination too disruptive to your education. After our final meeting, I blocked you from registering for any of my courses and sought to limit all future interactions were they to occur despite the registration block.” Professor Wayne stood then, tucking both hands into his pockets. His stare faltered, briefly, then trailed back. 

Attracted? To you? Bruce Wayne? Your professor? 

“I completely understand if this taints your experience of my courses, and I want to assure you that until the very end of Winter term, I was entirely unaware of my feelings.” 

That was why he didn’t walk you out. Holy shit. 

“I am taking extra steps to ensure this is never recreated with another student. Booking the classroom rather than the isolated setting of an office, and working with the English department to approve a second student per mentorship hour.” 

You placed your hand on the desk to steady yourself, rapidly becoming dizzy. Everything flooded you: the way he looked at you when he sat back in his office, the crinkle in his eyes, and the way he’d looked exasperated when you’d wanted him to sign the override. 

“I am very sorry. I did not want to leave you in the dark, and I apologize for any grief my distancing has caused. If you would like to file a report, you are welcome to.” 

This snapped you out of your reverie. “Why would I report you?”

He looked confused. “If you ever felt or feel uncomfortable, or if you’d like to talk to someone about it. I know this is unexpected and unsettling.”

“You said you didn’t know.” 

“I was not cognizant of the disparities in how I treated you versus other students. I rationalized casual conversation in an intimate environment. It is unacceptable, wildly inappropriate, and I am sorry.” 

If he thought this was ‘wildly inappropriate’, he’d go to an early grave looking at your daydreams. 

You peered at him just as he released a massive breath. A defiant part of you crept in: you’d tried so hard to hide your crush, done everything in your power, held back sighs as his hand gripped his pens, the edge of his desk, not fixing your stare too long at the ripple in his shirt when he moved, ensured you didn’t linger on his lips when this whole time… 

You were angry. At him for not just telling you that last day, and at yourself for thinking he was so impossibly out of reach. 

“You’re right,” you crooned. “Can you pull up the report form, please?” 

“Absolutely.” He stepped to his monitor and typed something onto the screen. “For consent purposes,”

“Consent?” You placed your hand on the edge of his desk, leaning just a tad closer. 

“Yes,” he continued, pausing only a split second. “The dean receives all reports of misconduct; if they deem the transgression severe enough, they will contact the local branch of the department of education to discuss further action.” He clicked the mouse around, eyes poring over the screen. “Those are the individuals who will have access to your report, but they are bound to confidentiality outside of the chain of command. I will not be able to read what you write.”  

“You seem familiar with this process.” 

“It’s important to know all resources to ensure student success.” He tilted the screen to you.

“Could’ve sworn I read that line in the student handbook.” So clinical, and why? Moving and speaking like a robot. Efficient, streamlined, tight. What might get him to unravel? 

“Do you want me to email you a copy?” 

“It’s quite virtuous of you to confess those feelings, Professor. Could cause trouble.”

“With how it’s affected you, you have a right to know.” Matter-of-fact. Plain. Heavily restrained. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, a thin veil concealing your frustrations. A small tear in the membrane that would forever close if you didn’t pry it open right now.

“Before I go,” like hell you were leaving. “I’m still a little confused about the report. It’s not like we acted on our feelings.”

“Filing a report is available if you’re experiencing discomfort, irrelevant to action.” 

When you thought he’d fully skipped over the casual confession, his brow furrowed, then settled. He kept strictly to himself, and you could’ve stomped your feet like a toddler at how professional he was behaving. Clinical! Sterile! Bland! Blah! Push it. Push it! 

“It’s not like you fantasize about it, right?” God, even saying the word felt salacious in his presence. And the way you lit up when an edge finally crept into his voice… whew. Who knew frustration could make someone so brave? 

“Is there anything else you need?”

You could tell the instant it left his mouth he regretted it. He squeezed his eyes shut and his lips pressed into a thin line. Visibly showing distress? He was cracking. A perfect slot. An opening.

“It just feels unethical.”

He looked at you. 

“For a student to be punished for her professor’s feelings.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Your stomach flipped. “I can’t have you in my class.”

“Because I’m too distracting? Can’t control yourself?” 

“Control and distraction aren’t concerns.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Back to square one. Bickering. The only way you could stop from vibrating at the realization that Professor Wayne probably wanted to fuck you. The only way to keep your heart at a halfway decent pace. 

“It’s inappropriate and unfair to you.”

“Why do you get to decide what’s fair?”

“You’re my student.”

Could he feel the heat emanating off your cheeks? “I’m your assistant.”

“I’m in a position of power.”

“Wouldn’t you be anyway, Bruce Wayne?”

You made a point to emphasize his full name, drive home the things you weren’t saying. He was smart as a whip, and would undoubtedly pick up on the subtext.

“This is different. You know that.” 

Firm. A bit… annoyed? Were you losing him? Pulling him in? You pivoted. “Can I see the form again?”

You set your phone on the desk and walked closer, leaning toward the screen to read. Falsification of Credentials, Plagiarism, Unauthorized Recording, Discrimination, Sexual Misconduct, Other. 

His mouse was weighty as it glided across the smooth grain. Click. A drop down menu appeared.

“Inappropriate remarks? Sexual advances? Unwanted touching?” You mused aloud. “None of these fit.”

Buying time or trying to drive home the point, you couldn’t tease out why you were pretending to stare soo intensely at the document. His presence behind you was warm and inviting, and you clenched your ab muscles to keep from spinning on your heel and falling into his chest. 

“Inappropriate remarks.” 

You pouted, feigning serious thought. “No, doesn’t track.”

“If you don’t want to make a report, you don’t have to. But it’s available if you do.”

“Do you want to be reported, Professor?”

Each time you said it, you swore he looked like he wanted to tell you to stop. Especially now, as you peeked at him over your shoulder. 

“I want whatever keeps my students safe and comfortable.”

“You’re really hung up on that.” Fuck the pleasantries. You pushed his setup forward, the mouse accidentally clicking Other in the process, and turned to face him. You gripped the desk behind you, lifting your ass just onto the edge. “The teacher-student thing.”

“As I should be.”

“I am, too.” 

“Please get off my desk.”

“So polite.” You pulled yourself further onto his desk until you were fully off the ground. “I imagined you’d be demanding.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, weakly.

“Want me to confess, Professor?” It felt so freeing to act without a care in the goddamn world. Your pulse rocketed, feeling the heavy wood beneath you supporting your newfound bravery. “All the fantasies I’ve had about you?”

“Don’t say that.”

“You don’t want to know?” You tapped his thigh with your shoe, and nearly screamed at how dense he was. This was the perfect height to take all of him in; the shoulders, the arms, the hair that just wouldn’t stay tucked behind his ears, and the—oh. 

“Stop calling me that.” His voice was hoarse and whisper-quiet.

“What else should I call you?”

His breath came out in a tight, audible sigh. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“Neither is crushing on a student, but here we are.”

While he’d said it first, you said it blatantly. He looked at the floor, ashamed. A jolt of care cinched your chest, seeing so plainly how affected he was. 

“I’m trying to make it right.”

Atonement for his sins, when he hadn’t made any yet. When you wanted this. Wanted him. Needed him. You called him out. “You’re trying to relieve guilt.” 

Double-blink, again. You caught another tell like a precious stone and tucked it into your pocket for safekeeping. He had nothing to feel guilty for. Fucking nothing. 

“Guilt about wanting to fuck me.”

It might be cruel, but teasing such a considerate and harrowed man was titillating. Maybe it would drive home your point. “Because how despicable is it…” you reached out to grip a fold in his shirt, pulling him closer. He didn’t resist. “For the ethics professor to stare at the short little skirt of his mentee...”

He swallowed thickly, and you noticed how dilated his pupils were. It sent a shot of lightning up your spine. Your fingers caught on a button halfway down his chest. “Y/n…”

You moved his hand under your skirt. “Thinking of laying her across his desk, hiking it up,”

“I can’t…”

Pulled his warm hand between your thighs. “How I might say your name when—”

“Please,”

“Stop?” You paused, removing your hand to hover above his. He didn’t move away, but his face twisted like he was in pain.

A critical point. You suspended the act and let your lust speak for itself. Transparency. “I’ve wanted this for months. So, so badly.” Your hand fell flat to the desk as you shifted your hips. “So if you want me, here I am.”

It took a second to compute it, but he leaned in. Inching closer, slowly, far too slowly, and it hit you like a freight train when his hand began to trail up your thigh. You bit back a sigh, desperate not to scare him off, but yearning to show how much you needed him. He’d never been this close.

The room held a weighted silence. You couldn’t feel yourself breathe as your fingers curled around the waistband of his slacks. The heat of his breath against your lips invoked a warm summer breeze. Your mouth parted, legs spreading incrementally wider as his finger gently pulled back your underwear. 

Closer.

Both hands traveled to his button, unfastening it with a held breath. A quarter past the loop. Half. The tension released between your fingers as his brows knit together with need.

Professor Wayne slammed back, spinning the chair out behind him. “I can’t. You’re my student.”

It was dizzying how fast he’d yanked away from you. Through slow, regulating blinks, you caught glimpses of his hands in his hair, his shoulders rolling back, and rebuttoning his pants. 

Was Adriana still logged in on your phone?

You reached to the other end of the desk and grabbed it, mistyping your passcode in your fluster. The page loaded swiftly and before you could overthink it, you hit DROP COURSE — SUBMIT.

You flipped it for him to read the confirmation. “Not anymore.” 

The phone’s light highlighted a war breaking out in his thoughts. His teeth pressed indents into his lower lip as he hesitated, glancing from the phone back to you. You pulled it back. Pushed it behind you. And let out a small, needy sigh. 

Throbbing desire pooled between your legs as he took a step forward. Yes. His eyes lowered to your jaw, your chest, then your legs. His breathing sped up. Yes. You rested back on your elbows, looking up with doe eyes. 

Professor Wayne turned away, and you nearly tried to grab him, but he was already out of reach. You didn’t have to watch to see that he was leaving.

Fuck.

You slid off the desk and your shoulders caved in, fighting rejection’s bitter current from pulling you under. Crying could come when you were home in bed; when you could have the real Adriana make you some food, throw some random movie on her phone, and help you forget about this embarrassing attempt at throwing yourself at him.

The whiteboard was cool on your arm as you leaned against it. Your wrist smudged the line he’d drawn. Waves of disappointment were getting increasingly difficult to manage. 

Click.

Through bleary eyes you saw him switch the lock on the door. Panels of LEDs drew dimmer. 

He looked behind and made direct eye contact, his stormy and deep. He walked long, quick strides. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,”

Before another thought could form, Professor Wayne had your arms pinned above your head. You’d only realized he’d started kissing you when the taste of coffee hit your tongue. Holy fucking shit. 

He was so unbelievably dense and all you wanted to do was feel it. You wanted to grab him, wrap yourself around his waist, but you were pinned to the whiteboard with his hands, hips, and kisses. He groaned into your mouth, and you broke a hand free to grasp at his jaw. 

You had to make sure this was real; you pressed firmer against him, almost gnashing teeth. He released his grip on your wrist to follow your lead, cupping your face with both hands. The warmth of his fingers made you gasp. 

“Please,” you whined, terrified he’d end this before you got what you desperately wanted. 

“Please what?” Gone was his hesitance, his questions and rumination. The slight huskiness made your knees weak.

Words failed you as wet kisses found the nape of your neck. You slammed his hand from your cheek and put it up your skirt. His fingers made quick work of shifting your panties out of the way, straightening your spine like a rod as his fingers dragged up, then down.

His fingers teased your entrance, and your eyes snapped open when he didn’t push in. You grabbed fistfuls of his hair while he kissed his way to your ear, the slight skip of stubble across your hot skin giving you goosebumps. 

Up, down… he slipped the tip of his finger inside. You bit your cheek at the tease. “Is this what you want?”

You nodded, gripping his shoulder to pull him in. 

“Use your words.”

Your heart raced to a fever pitch. It took you a minute to find them, still thrown this was even happening. “I need you.”

“I know, Y/n.” Your breathing hitched like you’d never heard your own name. His breath was hot against your ear. “Where do you need me?”

“Inside,” you gasped, and your nails dug into his shoulder as he stretched you out. “Fuck!”

He swallowed your moans with another kiss. His cologne wrapped you in a tourniquet, making your breathing ragged and vision shake with every plunge of his fingers. As if you weren’t already melting, his teeth snagged your bottom lip, the sting making you tense, amplifying the sensations. 

“This skirt…”

“Mmm,” 

His fingers curled inside you and you lurched forward, letting out a noise so pathetic you would’ve been embarrassed if you had a single brain cell that wasn’t being fucked silly. 

“Your moans,” he made a pleading sound. “You’re so ready for me.”

“I am,” you managed, tension slowly building in your core. Puffy, and slick, and needy, so fucking needy, his fingers felt divine, oh, my god… fuck, god…

“I need to feel you.” 

He hooked your legs around his waist and held you mid-air like it was nothing; like he didn’t spend his days lecturing and grading papers behind a desk, like he did this all the time.

Desk. He set you down carefully, but that was the last of his restraint. Sweeping arms knocked the carefully-set papers and pens across the floor with a crash. He caught the back of your head in his hand before it hit the monitor, and pulled you in for a rough kiss. 

“Oh my god, please, please.” Desire pulsed throughout your body, lit up like a live wire, watching him undo his zipper. You surged forward and practically tore off his dress shirt, ripping at the buttons with a singular focus. Each inch of skin exposed ratcheted it up a notch until you swore you weren’t breathing. 

He pulled his slacks down to his calves, then his boxers, and you paused before the last button to gawk. Better than you imagined…

A sharp inhale accompanied him pulling the shirt over his head, and you saw stars at his mussed hair. “Professor…”

“Lay back for me, baby.” 

You followed the orders of his hand splayed out atop your stomach, guiding you back with a gentle press. The nickname rang in your ears. 

Professor Wayne’s hand slid from your stomach past your skirt, dipping between your thighs once more. His wrist nudged your legs apart, and you watched his eyes drop to your pussy.

“Perfect.” His thumb skimmed your clit, making you jump. His brow furrowed, and he stalled, the weight of his fingers pressing against you, hesitant to let himself give in. 

“It’s okay. I want this, I want you, please, please, please,” you didn’t care about begging; not when he looked like this. Not when he was hard as a rock, his toned skin glistening, his hair hanging just barely over his eyes. “I’m on the pill. Just fuck me.”

His sigh was deep and resigned, like he’d finally accepted this. His breathing sped up. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

He slapped his dick against your clit, and your hands clenched to reign yourself in. His head teased your pussy, pushing in just enough to make your head fall back, but never further. 

“Right here?”

A little deeper.

“On my desk?”

Not enough. All of it. All of him.

You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him in hard, making him groan and his hands fall to either side of you. His lashes fluttered as you moved your hips up and down, covering your mouth to muffle the high-pitched moans at feeling him fill you so fully. 

“Fuck, so fucking wet,” he gasped, effortlessly matching your tempo. His strokes were rhythmic, and he stared in awe at you sliding up and down his shaft with total ease. 

“All for you,” it was getting harder and harder to speak. His biceps, triceps, deltoids, shit, he was thick, tight, strong.

“All for your professor?”

“All for my fucking professor, fuck, faster,” 

“Christ,”

“Harder, harder, mhm—” 

Your back arched as his hips started snapping into you. You’d worship this desk when you finished—the height, the angle, the dull, quivering pleasure of him hitting that soft, perfect spot… You lost yourself in his thrusts. 

He moved his hand to your clit and sped up, cursing under his breath. Indents of the side of the desk dug into your palms as you strangled it. Holy shit, shit, shit…! You writhed, clawing at his chest, brain going offline.

“Good job. There you go…” 

Your body throbbed, abdomen clenching, head spinning. He grinned, and you descended from the clouds. 

He slowed down, and you must’ve shown the disappointment on your face because he picked up the pace. “You want more?”

“I want you to cum in me.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, and fuck, you could’ve orgasmed again. His cheeks bloomed red from blushing, and he slowed to a stop. “Are you sure?”

You were still coming down from the high, but you never thought he’d even kiss you, let alone this. When you said it, you expected him to turn it down immediately; so now it was on the table, you were certain you’d never wanted anything more. After half a year spent under the covers dreaming of him alone, your reward would be this.

Breathy streams of yes, of I mean it, of tugging at his shoulders, of his hands roaming under your shirt. He unclipped your bra, and your nipples pebbled between his deft fingers. The wet noises of his cock driving in and out of you mingled with the echoes of his moans filling the lecture hall. Cries of how good you felt, how close he was, and you memorized every syllable like you’d die otherwise.

Professor Wayne had snags and scars across his torso, but you couldn’t get a good look as he shook your body with the force of his delicious strokes, fuck. Your body never wanted to release him, but you could tell he was closer than he let on; the want etched between his brows, the slight stutter in his hips, how ragged his breathing had become. 

His blue eyes zeroed in on yours, intensely focused. You knew the words before they fell out of his beautiful, slacked mouth. “I’m gonna cum,” 

The monitor’s glow illuminated his face as he started to peak; his eyes fluttered shut, his staggered thrusts making you whimper. Before you could tell him to fill you up, coax him through it, a pitchy groan fell from his lips. He slammed his hand on the desk for balance as he folded forward, nearly collapsing his heaving body on top of you. 

Warm, quick breaths painted your cheeks as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, strong and steady, the polar opposite of the picture in front of you. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and where you touched his body left temporary prints of lightness. 

You locked eyes then. Seconds slowed to minutes as you soaked up the moment, blissfully sated, patiently scanning his face for any sign of regret. 

Sharp jingles of keys startled you from the other side of the door, catching Professor Wayne’s attention. No. Oh no. You tried to scramble up, preparing for him to be mad at the close call. Hopefully it’d be a close call, and not—

“It’s alright.” He looked away from the door and pressed a tender, reverent kiss to your lips. “Janitor unlocks all the doors in this hallway at the same time. Opens mine last for cleaning.”

“Oh,” was all you could muster. He slowly pulled out, your pussy aching at the loss. You already wanted him again. 

Still catching his breath, he opened a drawer and got some tissues. “Let me clean you up.”

His aftercare was so sweet it felt like foreplay. Gentle swipes on your inner thigh, attentive eyes roaming for misses. Now that he was more or less static, you got a better look at his torso; it kept you from looking at the arc of his hands moving along your legs and his ‘just fucked’ face. The marks looked menacing and violent. A bruise was in the final stages of healing just above his navel. 

“Where are those from?”

He disposed of a tissue wrapped inside another, then pulled up his slacks. He answered as he pulled up their zipper. “Motorcycle accident.” 

You sat up, straightening your shirt to look put together, and smoothed the skirt down your thighs. He shrugged on his shirt, making quick work of the buttons. You knew what his fingers felt like. What he felt like. What he sounded like. Your face heated. Adriana might give you an earful when you got back, but you’d have this memory no matter what. No matter if this was the last time. No matter if it happened over and over again. 

Keys jingled closer. You didn’t trust it.

Without anything left on the desk besides, you pointed at a random part of his computer screen, pretending to have a question like it wasn’t the report form. He stood beside you with his hands on his hips, feigning interest.

“Sorry Bruce. Lock stuck.”

A short man with sandy blonde hair accidentally pushed the door open, the end of his mop poking into the classroom. Could he tell you’d just fucked? Could he hear any of it?

“No worries, Henry.” 

Henry went to leave, and you released the breath you were holding. 

“Actually, I’ll start here if you don’t mind. Marshall didn’t have class today.”

Professor Wayne glanced at you. It felt like checking in, asking permission, and you nodded. His voice was more than back to its usual refinement. “Sure.”

You gathered your folio, its innocence intoxicating. In no universe had you thought the plan would work. Now the evidence of him was sticky on your skin and panties.

Henry began by emptying the trash at the front door, forcing you coy. 

“Thanks for the help, Professor Wayne.”

“My pleasure.”

His eyes sparkled, and you commended yourself for stringing together words in their wake. “Are you available to meet later in the term?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and took a full breath. “Just let me know when you need my help.”

You smiled at the ground and walked out the far door, bidding him goodnight. Henry said something to him about a vacuum, and you pressed out into the hallway, cutting to a back exit. 

Fresh evening air cooled your lungs and the rain soothed your scorching skin. Professor Wayne. You traced your sore lips with the tip of your finger, and laughed as you waited at the crosswalk. 

The taste of coffee held you all the way home.

taglist: @noisylime @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ad perpetuam memoriam III

I II III IV

summary: taking on problem with only the help of a mysterious penpal and an unlikely savior type of post: series includes: riddle, jack, ruggie, silver, sebek, ??? additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not yuu, this is all AU, not making predictions for how twst will end, a blood, vomit, tears, and other fun things like that, NOT EDITING THIS AGAIN IT'S BEEN HOURS

Dearest Reader,

I understand that today, the first of October, makes one month of tenure at Night Raven College.

I apologize, for I cannot think of any words of comfort.

I am pleased to hear that my study recommendations have kept your mind and hands at peace with one another.

And to answer your request as per your last letter, I am afraid I can't give you my name. Call me whatever would please you.

Yours truly.

The absence of a name and address on each envelope should trouble you, shouldn't it?

Your pestilent stay at Night Raven College has been plagued by names without form or face, words that weigh like stones in your stomach. Conversations with boys whose eyes hide when you speak, wanting for something, someone else.

You suppose this is different. This is a boy without a name, not a name without a boy.

Its words are his face, his delicate features the trembling of the quill, his body the paper, soft and pale, his clothes the envelope, which eternally smell of smoke.

These letters, cold and unalive, are your friends.

You're not as sure about their writer, though.

From what he'll tell, and from what he'll not, those lingering breaths between each word, the blank space beneath each line, which you must read, you know little things.

You know he pities you.

You know he knew the person that came before you.

But not well.

You know that two terrible things have happened to him.

You know that he wants to help.

And you'll catch yourself, in moments of pity and melancholy and cold, sweaty silence, with these letters held tight to your chest, as if they really were a person.

As if they really could help you.

You don't have a name for the boy, but you write to the post-box that makes the bottom line of each letter nonetheless. A paper person is still more of a person than you.

In this world, at least.

In his last letter, the one you had just read, he told you to give him a name. It's only a word, but what are words here if not weapons of a warring past? Giving a name is a holy act of sovereignty. This stranger has handed you his weapon.

You wield it awkwardly and call him "Smokey".

Your mind is still clouded from last month's fever.

"I don't get it,"

Silver lowers his sword. Sebek, leaning against the stables, scoffs.

"It's simple," Housewarden Vanrouge says, pushing his silver locks out of his eyes. How many times has he done that? He's nervous.

"Hands on the hilt. Remember, strength in your shoulders. Swing with your torso, and the sword will follow."

Sebek scoffs once more. "If they hurt themselves, I will NOT carry them to the infirmary!"

Lies. He would.

How strange, that you can make such assumptions about strangers, and with presence of mind. Have you tricked yourself into thinking you know them?

"That's fine. I will," Silver says, ignoring Sebek's schemes for attention. "And Riddle is here. If anything happens, he'll tend to them."

Riddle's eyes come from around his horse, narrowed and dark. He points his brush at you, accusing you of some crime you didn't commit. "Yes, but I would not like to have to tend to anyone, so be careful, would you?"

Sebek smiles triumphantly, and Silver rolls his eyes.

"Steady. Find your balance," the Housewarden mutters. The hilt of Sebek's sword slips from your hands. They're sweaty.

"Oops," you say, not all that sorry. Your shoulders ache and your arms are trembling from the weight of the sword.

"They tire!" Sebek shouts. "May I have my sword-"

You hand him the hilt with no further interrogation. Silver's shoulders slump. "Maybe next week,"

But you're already thinking up enough excuses to get you out of a year's worth of Equestrian Club meetings.

At least you got out. Sebek and Silver squabble about the sword, and Riddle brushes his horse, seemingly busy mastering the art of not listening to them.

It's a good day. The sky is blue, the wind smells sweet, the earth is soft and inviting. You could fall asleep here, if not for the nearby bickering.

At least you got out.

"I should go," you announce, both to yourself, and to your friends, the strangers.

Silver's eyes widen and his voice warms. He always speaks softly when it's to you. "Are you certain? We-"

"I'm going to see... uh... the Headmage. For a thing,"

Sebek and Silver share a look of antipathy, but neither say anything against you. You suppose they don't quite know how to speak to you- you, not a friend, not an enemy, not a dormmate, not a guest, but a ghost, something revered and respected, but that couldn't be touched, that couldn't be befriended, that couldn't be spoken to as if it were a person, like them, but a specter, a space between the walls, there but unseen and unfelt.

"...If you must. Take care,"

You weren't going to see the Headmage. Obviously.

He sought you more than you sought him, and only to yield the letters you'd come to welcome like warmth in the cold of winter. Crowley had committed himself to the daily ritual of delivering your mail, something that he had described as "an honor".

...For you, of course, not him; not just any student has the Headmage himself hand them their morning mail.

You know he's suspicious, and that's why he's been insistent on holding the letters before they're in your eager hands. They're undisturbed, unopened, though, confirming that Crowley doesn't read them. Good, you think. You don't want him to know what you've been saying about his college.

Your college, you figure. Though that still feels unfamiliar, unnatural, nothing in this world could ever really be "yours", could it?

You aimlessly wander the atriums of the castle, hand lost in the cavernous pocket of your uniform, the welcoming warmth of the last letter against your skin. It had been bent by your sword-swinging, crinkled, the ink smudged against the sweat and salt of your fingers.

Pity. You haven't thought of what to write in return, yet.

SMACK!

Your hand soars to your nose, you stumble and spin and eventually hit the wall behind you, bloody and startled.

"Oh, crap!"

You would have thought that your own body had become sentient and started talking, if a warm cloth hadn't suddenly taken your hand's place. "It's not broken, is it?"

You sound stuffy. "...No," How should you know?

This boy sighs, relieved, but not reprieved of punishment. He tugs off his tie, which is what he'd been holding to your nose to take on the trickle of blood that'd come from the collision with his head. "Here, I don't got a handkerchief on me,"

That's a first, you think. "Fanks,"

"Don't worry 'bout it," he says. It must be bad, if someone's being this nice to you.

The boy, blond and scrawny, digs something out of the deep pockets of his uniform and puts it in your hand. It's a crumpled wad of paper. "Uh... here, sorry again, but I gotta run."

Weird. But nice.

Maybe getting smacked was just what you needed.

You smooth out the crumpled papers on your dorm desk. The bleeding had long since ended, leaving you with a stranger's tie and six or seven emulsified, mulchy coupons for doughnuts.

Expiration: a month from now. You'll have plenty of time to appease your appetite, if you ever find it.

Fried foods would do awful things to your stomach today.

Knock, knock. Two soft raps on the door. It's Silver. "Hello?"

"Good evening," he says, his voice muffled through the thick oak. "...Are you feeling better?"

He doesn't know what else to say. Silver, and Sebek, and the others, are pressed by some imaginary commitment, a duty that tiptoes around you, silent and soft but not tender, but not honest.

You are, too.

"...I'm fine," you lie, scooping the coupons into a desk drawer and slamming it shut.

Silver says nothing. Has he left?

"...Did you need something?"

"Oh, yes," apparently not. "Jack Howl would like to speak with you."

Jack Howl? The name feels unfamiliar, even though you know who he is. "Why?"

"...I don't know," Liar. He only knows you won't like it.

You stand, anyway, pushing yourself to open the door and join Silver in the hall. He's holding something in his pocket, his hand tightly curled around it, quivering in the cloth.

"You okay?" you question, following him to the foyer- the lounge, that's what they call it.

"I'm fine," he says, and that's the end of that.

Jack Howl is waiting in the doorway, either too well-mannered or too wary to come inside Diasomnia dorm. You almost try to smile, but you can't seem to move any muscle above your neck.

"Thanks for comin' on such short notice," he says, "I-I didn't wanna have to burden you with this, but somethin's happened and no one can find the Headmage."

"Crowley?" you ask, giving him an odd look. "You can't find Crowley?"

He begins walking, obviously not wanting to waste any time standing in the door (or he just feels uncomfortable with the intense stare Silver's been giving him). You walk beside him.

"It's not that weird. It's a big campus," he mutters. "Could be working or 'somethin."

For some reason, you find that hard to believe. Crowley isn't difficult to find- if anything, he hasn't left you to yourself in weeks. You're sure if you rounded a corner he'd be standing there, perfectly happy to hand you another letter and exchange pleasantries.

"No one can find the Headmage" Psh.

"Why me, then?"

"Well, you, uh..." Jack trails off. "You spend a lot of time with him."

You give him another look, and he bites his tongue, tucks his tail between his legs, and turns away.

"What's the problem?" you try for a better answer than last.

"We, uh... um... housewarden situation,"

That's even worse than the assumption that you'll know how to handle a Headmage-level problem because you "spend a lot of time with him". You suddenly feel quite uneasy about leaving the mirror chamber, empty and quiet by this time of evening.

But, you're already here. And it wouldn't be good form to flee back to your bed and hide under your blankets.

You're not sure if Silver will let you get away with any more of that.

Savanaclaw, a place which you had heard the name of, which you had seen the striped band of, but had never beheld the body of, is as unsurprisingly surprising as anything else at this peculiar school: it's big, it's foreboding, it smells of blood, sweat, and sand.

You can hear the distant beat of barks and broken glass, the thud of bodies hitting the broad walls, shouts and cries that go beyond dorm bickering. You give Jack a look, this one worried, and unapologetically so; you think you deserve to be wary, this time.

"Don't worry," he says. "I just need you to talk to them."

You suddenly forget how to walk, your feet falling silent and sinking into the soft sand.

"Talk to them?" you repeat.

Jack's eyes widen. "Uh, yeah. I thought... maybe you might be able to... get through to them or something. I haven't been able to..."

"Me?" you say. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Why not? Why would you? Why would anyone listen to you? They won't even talk to you. They won't even look at you- their stares and stolen glances are hollow- they only see their own reflections in the whites of your eyes. You're nothing more than a piece of glass, broken from a beer bottle or a battered lightbulb, something worthless, tossed to the sea without a thought, without a moment of bothersome musing or emotion, to sink to the bottom, and to be smothered by the water. You weren't the waves that crashed at the walls of Savanaclaw; you weren't the tide that had brought you to them; you weren't even the careless creature that had tossed you here, whoever or whatever that may be, without a second of consideration. You weren't the storm above the sea, the one you could not see nor hear, but could sense in the trepid respite of the water.

You had nothing to give, and, then, by process of thought, you deserved nothing to take. You were nothing, and you would die this way. And here- perhaps not your body, but your spirit, your will, the thing that made you walk and talk and come with a stranger to solve a dorm problem past dark.

And all you had was that thing. All you had was yourself; if you lost that, if you became soft, if you forgot what it was like to have jagged edges and ugly curves, what made your feet stuck in the sand, what made your heart beat, if you became like the one who was here before you, weak and witless and pitiful and worshipped by their friends, the classmates who thought you could be Them- the soft, smooth, soulless thing that came from the parting sea and put itself on a shelf to be loved- then what would you have? Nothing. Not a thing but your body and the meat in it, a supermarket bargain, a deal, four for five donuts at participating locations.

The thought was as terrifying as the thought of being bitterly hated- and it all became very obvious, then, that Jack had asked for you because he wanted you to throw yourself into the sea, into the frozen aisle at the supermarket, and be beaten and battered by the waves, and to be bought and cut up into pieces one could swallow without chewing because it would make you smooth and small and easy to love.

It would prove to everyone that you deserved to be here- because you were worthy, and honorable, and selfless, and Good, and a someone like Them, something that could be loved. You could be made beautiful, like sea glass. And you had come because you wanted that, too. Didn't you? You want to be Them. You want to be loved like a child is, tucked in at night and protected from all the pain in the world. You wanted to be a dearly deceased, beloved and remembered.

Who are you? What are you? And what are you becoming?

You had been mirroring your classmates recently; their mannerisms, their movements, the way in which their mouths opened and closed as they wanted for words to say, yes. But you had been mirroring Them, too, this Someone, this smile, this unspoken name in the dark, because it was demanded of you. Because you wanted to be them, perhaps. Or because you wanted to be something- anything at all. A corpse is still a corpse, a thing you can touch, a thing you can dress and kiss, even without a soul or a light in its eyes.

It was easy to say that no one cared for you; that it was obligation, or bitter resentment, or both. But had stopped caring about yourself, too, some time ago, to be here; to be desperately trying to fill this role, to fit in these clothes, to find the eyes and hands of these people who were repulsed by the thought of seeing and touching you. You were begging for absolution, you were punishing yourself in penance for a sin that was never by your own hand; for weeks, you had been telling yourself that you were useless, unneeded, but that wasn't quite right. You were needed. You were simply unwanted, and that was all.

An unforgivable thing.

You shake yourself, and hunch your shoulders, and put your hands over your ears to silence the shouts of the students and the sound of your name, empty and meaningless, as you ran back to the mirror.

Somewhere between the mirror chamber and mail room, you remember yourself.

That is, your body, your presence, your place in the world and your proximity between each wall. You remember that you're a person, not glass, not meat, not a ghost, and not Them, and you feel your feet stumbling over one another, and you fall.

Nothing is broken, but you can't get up. And you're alone here, anyhow, the ache in your nose making itself known again, accompanied by a throb in your head, behind your eyes.

The endless, dark hall becomes blurry for a moment. Had you thrown up earlier? Your mouth tastes salty and bitter, like you had been drinking seawater, and your throat burns, but you can't remember having vomited.

You can't focus on anything. You can feel the hard, stone floor beneath your hands, but it's blurry, fuzzy, as if you had suddenly lost your vision, which would be a bad thing to have happen now. Not because you would have minded blindness- perhaps then you could have pretended you were somewhere pleasant- but because you had finally thought of a response to that letter.

You wanted to tell it- him, you mean, him (your head hurts terribly, now)- about the sword, this morning. How you kept trying to hold it, but your arms were too weak, and your will weaker, because you hadn't even wanted to swing a sword around while you felt sick, but you wanted to try, like Silver was trying for you. And how that had made you sicker, because you weren't doing it for yourself, and you weren't doing it for Silver, either, you were doing it for Them- this thing you didn't know, this thing you hated, this thing that was more human than you. The sword, the parties, the pleasantries, Jack, and Deuce, and Riddle, and Silver. You were living on someone else's behalf. You were being who you were supposed to be- you were becoming the someone that was wanted. But you were doing it badly.

You were failing at the one, the only thing they all needed from you. You couldn't be selfless enough, or friendly enough, or smart enough, or good enough, or anything, you couldn't be anything, to fit in these clothes. You couldn't be anything but yourself, and yourself wasn't what was wanted. Or needed.

But that thought only made you feel sicker.

You still don't remember throwing up, but you can at least feel the stuff beneath your bruised fingers, black and blue from the intensity you were holding the hilt of the sword with. Someone will have to mop this before morning, and you feel awful about that. You've been leaving messes all over the place, lately. Most of them have been of your mind, though, and have smelled much better.

You feel, for a moment, something come over you, something unfamiliar, and you wonder what would happen if you were someone else. Would your classmates come to your side? Would they kneel in your wettened woes without a care that wasn't for your own comfort? Would they scoop you up and carry you, magically or otherwise, somewhere warm and safe?

And you only realize that you hadn't been in someone else's body, you hadn't been having a dream or delusion of being loved, when you no longer feel weightless, when there's fluff and comfort beneath your battered and bruised body.

Someone had come for you, but it was not who you thought, or, rather, who you had really wanted. Which was silly for someone like you to complain about.

"Sleep, now, you must have taken quite the fall,"

You don't want to listen. You're sick of people lecturing you on who you ought to be, even if they never say the words aloud, even if they never even think them. Even if they're only felt, carved into their ribs and hummed by their hearts, in a song you aren't allowed to listen to.

Or, perhaps, that you can't.

But your body has had a will of its own, lately, and so it does as its told.

Dear Writer,

I have a name for you, but I've decided to keep that to myself. I think I rather like having something of my own here, something that no one else can have.

These last few days have been difficult. The Headmage says I have a concussion. He found me half-conscious and crying last night. I thought I had thrown up, I guess, but I'm fine. It's not too terrible, a few days of rest should help.

One of the dorms here doesn't have a housewarden, and a fight broke out last night. The Headmage and I have been talking about it, but neither of us had a good solution, until I remembered what you had said about your own school's student council- and an intermediate council has been elected for the dorm to democratically choose a leader.

So, thank you, I suppose. I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours truly.

[rigordoll]

Sweetheart.

contains: college!AU, RE2Leon x Fem!reader, friends to lovers, kissing, suggestive at the end. This will have eventual smut in a future pt2!

Pt2 here!

I'm not an expert writing, English isn't my first language but interactions, reblogs and comments are appreciated!! enjoy :3

When you started college you were scared as fuck to be honest. All your teacher's from high school and even your parents told you that college was hell and it was a completely different environment for you, that you must be very careful and not go trusting in every person in your way.

They weren't wrong about it but to be honest college wasn't so bad as they pictured it. Yeah, there was some weird people that you wouldn't approach to them even if you got payed to do it but they didn't mess with you or something.

You would say that college was almost like high school if you weren't failing almost every subject in your first semester, that was definitely the hell part. However, you managed to improve in the second semester and it went 'easier' for you, at least you weren't failing anymore.

Well, actually...

You were failing mathematics.

Imagine your face when you saw the test and realized you didn't know a shit about algebra, you were most definitely cooked.

It was hard as fuck and no matter what, you wouldn't understand it. Thank God you had Leon, he was the first person that approached to you in college and since then you sticked to his side.

He was such a sweetheart and helped you a lot, made the study sessions more bearable with his incredible bad jokes and actually explained to you what you didn't understand in the class.

Even right now when he was seeing your test and explaining you why your answer were wrong so it wouldn't happen again.

"Now, seriously, what the hell went through your mind to think that this was the correct answer?" Leon said without looking at you, he was focused reading your failed test and he genuinely looked offended at whatever you put on there.

"It's not that bad! give me that." you said with a huff, taking the piece of paper from his hands and put it into your bag without much care.

"Oh it is bad..." He said with amusement, if he dared to laugh at you, you would punch him in the middle of his perfect face. "But hey, seriously... you need to get a better grade in the next test." Leon said softly. "You can come over to my room and I'll explain you the basics." He offered.

Leon always offered to help you with your studies and he actually did explain well. It's just that you sometimes didn't pay attention to him.

I mean, you did payed attention to him, just not to what he was saying...

In your defense, being alone with Leon in his room was an appealing idea... Just not to study. You wouldn't lie, you may have a little crush for him since the beginning but you always pushed those feelings aside because he only saw you as a friend.

"You mean, later today...?" you asked, raising a brown with curiosity which caused him to roll his eyes. "no, later next year. Of course later today, silly." Leon said with amusement and you huffed at him. "But it's friday..." you already had plans, going to a party, drink, dancing and maybe hook up with a guy and pretend that it was Leon. Last part is clearly a joke, don't do that! but anyway, college life is good.

"I don't care, see you at 6pm." He said playfully before leaving.

Fuck him, but you did wish that it was in the literal sense.

You were standing in front of his door and it was actually 7pm, ops.

but in your defense, you were busy getting ready to the party since you were lazy as fuck to to go to Leon's room then go back to your room, change your clothes, doing your make up and then go to the party, it would take her ages.

Before you could even knock the door, Leon had already opened it and it took him a moment to scold you for your tardiness since his cold blue eyes were roaming your figure and taking in your clothes option, now that was short skirt but the top was pretty, it was his favorite on you even if he never told you.

Leon cleared his throat before looking at you with a serious expression playing on his face. "first of all, you're one hour late. Second of all, why are you dressed like that?" He asked with curiosity, stepping aside to let you in before closing the door behind you.

"There is a party tonight at 9pm..." you said softly with a shrug before sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at him.

"I see, I hope that you don't drunk call me at 3am." He said playfully while sitting on the desk chair that was beside the bed. Anyway, he knew that if you called him he would pick you up without thinking twice but that isn't the matter here..

"I don't promise you anything.." you said with a chuckle while looking at him, he was dressed in grey sweatpants and a blue random shirt but damn, his biceps were on display. Focus, hoe!

Leon smirked at your answer and shook his head with amusement before searching for his notes. "Let's just get started with this so you can go to your party." He said softly.

An hour passed by with him explaining you the basics and teaching you how to do some exercises.

Honestly, you were having a bit of trouble focusing when he looked so fine and smelled so fine, you always wondered was cologne he uses because it smells heavenly. You also noticed him stealing some glances at you, more than usual.

Maybe it was because he was staring at your thighs and at how soft your skin looked... or maybe he was staring and your chest everytime you leaned closer to him to see what he was writing. he was most definitely having the time of his life when he caught you staring at him with pretty eyes while biting your pen before snapping back to reality and noticing how dumb you probably looked. He wouldn't call it dumb tho, more like hot but hey, he never said this.

"I think I got it, look." You said softly, passing him your notebook where you have just finished a exercise. Leon took notebook from you, his fingers grazing yours but seemingly completely oblivious of it.

He took a moment to check if it was good and you waited there patiently, when you heard a soft hum from him, you leaned closer. your head next to his and you rested your chin on his shoulder. "is it good?" you asked quietly.

Leon turned his head to look at you and now his face was mere inches away from yours. His eyes went directly to your lips and it took all his willpower to not kiss you right there since you were looking absolutely gorgeous there staring at him with doe eyes and glossy lips slightly agape.

Leon licked his lips and quickly looked back to your notebook. "Yeah, it's good." He said softly before looking back at you, you were smiling and looking at your book in his hands.

Leon didn't know why but his heart was beating against his chest, his hands felt sweaty and suddenly the room felt a lot warmer now, is the AC working or what the hell?

The tension was in the air and you when you met his gaze, you noticed his rosy cheeks and dilated pupils while he stared at every detail of your face. Suddenly, you remembered why you liked him. It's those cold blue eyes that look into you with intensity and adoration without failing.

You both just stared quietly in each other's eyes, none of you said anything or did anything even if your bodies were betraying both of you and itching for being closer to each others warmth.

It was such a comfortable silence, a silence that spoke volumes.

So it didn't surprise you when you hear the words. "I really want to kiss you." coming from Leon's mouth in a quiet tone as it was secret that he was telling you.

You just took a heavy breath while looking at his pink lips before nodding at him. that was enough for him to understand, he always understood your silence even if that happened rarely.

To be honest, you felt so cozy and warm when his lips touched yours. you swear that you felt butterflies in your tummy when he started to kiss you slowly, taking his time with you and his hand going to cradle your face.

It felt so right, Leon wonders why he didn't do this before. Why didn't he kiss you in every chance given?

It didn't took long before you were beneath him on his bed, kissing each other and exploring each other's body through the layers of clothes.

It seems like you weren't going to that party anymore... Leon's much better that any guy that you could found there anyway.

HEYYYYYYYYYY, I'll leave this here.

I'll probably make pt2 later that will included an attempt of smut since I still figuring out all this write thing, but anyway, enjoy!

(I'm taking requests BTW)

[comehereoohlala]

whatever here that's left of me is yours

summary: life gets too much sometimes.

rating: explicit (18+)

tags: emotional hurt + comfort, anxiety, established relationship, comfort sex (idk?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

words: 2,130

note: my first hozier fic and my first x reader fic as well so don't have high expectations. mainly write just for myself, thought i'd give posting a go!

fic under the cut ❊

He's sitting by the window, staring up at the stars that light up the early night hues of soft blues and grey, guitar and notebook left haphazardly to the side. It gets dark so early nowadays. He hates the days you don't work from home. Which four out of five days of the week. Sometimes three, and those are the best weeks. But you working more means that when he tours you can take more time off, or negotiate to work away from home more. So he deals.

But it's late. Much later than normal. You are normally home by 6:00, 6:30 at the latest. But it's 7:00. By now, he's normally pouring you both a glass of wine while you make dinner together. He should have his hands around your waist and be pressing kisses to your neck while you chop up vegetables and tell him all about your day; and you should be hugging and leaning on his arm while he cooks at the stove and tells you all about the idea he just can't put into a cohesive verse. But the kitchen is draped in darkness, and he hasn't heard anything from you.

No phone call while you rush out the office "I'm so sorry baby, last session ran way over time," with the sound of papers quickly being put away, a laptop being slammed shut and the jingle of your keys in the background. And no quick "just leaving now see u soon <3" text either. And you didn't answer when he called just to check in.

He tries his best to push down that rising wave of anxiety that twists and turns in his stomach. The worst, the very worst, scenarios all come to him at once. He takes a shaky breath and tries to focus on the sound of the heavy rain coming down… it's probably just really bad traffic, because of all the rain he tells himself. But that only invites other scenarios and images into his mind. You've been late like this before, but something is different tonight, something is off. He can't place it, but he decides to by the window for you, just because… just because he can't help but worry.

He's rubbing his hand against his arm tentatively when your headlights finally turn into the property at 7:30. He feels every muscle in his body relax and he makes his way to the door to meet you outside in the pouring rain. There is nothing he wants more than to be holding you to him as soon as possible.

He pulls the door open just as your car comes to a stop at the end of his long driveway.

"I was about to call search and rescue," he joked casually, masking the anxiety that had been wracking him for the last hour.

The rain was so heavy his hair was practically soaked by the time he made it over to the car, and it was so loud he didn't hear your broken sobs until he was standing only a few steps away from your open car door.

You frantically wipe your eyes as you dig through your car "dammit I can't find my keys," you mumble quietly.

"Darling… hey…"

"Andrew please don't-"

"Here," he passes you the keys, "they must have fallen out when you opened the door."

"Oh, thanks."

He holds out his hand for you to take. You stare at it for a moment, knowing what comes next.

And it comes hard and fast.

The second his soft hand is wrapped around yours, you stand up out of the car, he squeezes it tightly, and everything comes undone. Your body finally giving up at the touch of safety.

Your legs give out and he grabs onto your arms to break your fall, as he sinks down onto the gravel with you. Your whole body is shaking, sobs that you feel like you've been holding in for so long leave you. He holds you close. So close. He rests his head on top of yours. You curl into him, and he rubs your back, uttering sweet soft things you can barely make out, all you can seem to hear is ringing, and the sound of pouring rain.

But the softness of his voice brings you down. The feeling of the gravel digging into your skin. One of his hand running up and down your back. And eventually the world starts to have sound again.

You make out something about going inside and you nod against his chest.

He helps you up, his hands gently on your arms, while you hold onto him like a lifeline; taking big shaky breaths, tears still streaming down your cheeks while he guides you inside.

You watch the droplets at the ends of his hair fall while he grabs you a glass of water; you're following him around, holding the too-long sleeve of his sweatshirt tightly. He leads you to the couch, hands you the water and kneels in front of you, taking your free hand. Your sobs have calmed significantly, grounded by the smell and comfort of the place you both call home. You take in the warm dim lights, the guitar laying on the couch, the candle burning and the feeling of his hand in yours.

"What happened darling?" He squeezes your hand, "talk to me."

You shake your head, struggling to even put into words what's happened. Because nothing and everything has happened at the same time. "…it's just… it's been a lot. Everything."

He nods, reaches up and tucks a piece of your wet hair behind your ear, "I know."

A tear rolls down your cheek silently, your eyes blink fast. "…I'm so sorry."

"Please darling," he takes your other hand and brings them both to his lips gently, "you never have to apologise to me. I love you."

"I love you," you echo back to him, voice still trembling. A beat. "…Kiss me."

He does. His hot, soft, warm lips meet yours. He pulls you carefully down to the floor with him. The glass of water he had poured you spills, but neither of you notice. You slide a hand under his shirt, and your palm stops right above his heart. You pull back from the kiss, resting your head against your forehead, and you focus on the steady, solid beating of his heart under your hand.

He's here, he's real.

He places his hand over yours, the fabric of his shirt separating keeping your hands from each other. You don't know how long you sit straddled in his lap on the floor, eyes closed and breathing to the rhythm of his heart.

But eventually his mouth finds yours again and you're tugging at his pants. His hands slip into your waistband, two long fingers slipping into you with ease. You fall against his shoulder as he slowly starts pumping in and out.

"Relax baby," he whispers, voice soft, low and husky, "just tell me what you need… let me take care of you."

"Need you," you breathe out, as he slips another finger in, "Andy…"

His other hand fiddles with the buckle of his belt, then the buttons and zip of his pants, and he shifts you back a little, not once stopping or haltering the gentle, but firm pace of his fingers sliding in and out of you.

You whine at the eventual loss of his fingers, but seconds barely pass before he is inside you. Every muscle in your body relaxes. He peppers kisses to your neck, across your collarbone, to your shoulders; muttering sweet somewhat nonsensical things as he does. Your hands find his wet hair, lacing your fingers through his damp curls as he lays you back against the carpet, and brushes the hair out of your face, his cock still inside you. He starts to move so slowly, so gently. You reach for his hand, the feeling of your fingers intertwined together keeping you grounded, focused on the sensation of him thrusting in and out of you.

You find yourself fixated on his eyes, the hair falling around his face, his eyelashes when he closes his eyes with pleasure, all of his overwhelming beauty. And in that moment, you know everything will be okay.

He moves faster, his hand breaks it's hold with yours to move down between you both, and you can't help but gasp, gripping onto his shoulders tightly, your head resting in between his shoulder and collarbone.

A quiet "I love you," stumbles out from him as his thumb works you to your peak, and his pace becomes more frantic, "my beautiful girl… come for me… let it all go. Let it all out for me."

You hold onto him tighter, letting your body succumb to him completely.

"Just like that darling," he praises quietly as you climax beneath him, but doesn't stop his movements even for a second. "Let it all go. Everything. Need you to let everything go for me baby." You bury your face in his shoulder, muffling your moans into his skin, and he continues to thrust, increasing the pressure on your clit as he rubs in circles. He brings you to heaven again, and again.

"You too… come too…" you breathe against him.

"No condom," he reminds you gently, pulling out and replacing his cock with his fingers.

He's still hard and you ache at the loss of him, but before you can say anything he moves to lay beside you, and the new angle somehow lets his fingers in deeper. You can't form words. You feel so sensitive, you think you've come three times already, but he's clearly not happy with that, evident with the continued, and devoted working of his hands. You bury your head into his bare chest, and your hips thrust to meet his movements.

"There's my girl," you hear him say, and at that, you fall apart. Screaming his name as he brings you to one last orgasm.

As soon as you do, the rest of the tears you feel like you've been holding in for god knows how long come spilling out. He pulls you close, "I've got you… I've always got you…"

You eventually end up in the bedroom, he orders from your favourite pizza place. You lay on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart while his hands comb through your hair gently, your body feels numb, tired but there's an aspect of peace too. Neither of you have spoken yet. He gets up out of bed when the food arrives. When he comes back he's balancing two pizza boxes, a bottle of wine and two glasses. With no hands left he resorts to having the push the door open with his leg, and almost drops one of the glasses in the process. You can't help but smile.

You sit crossed legged on the bed, only wearing underwear and one of his new merch samples he was sent this week for the new album.

"I like this one," you say softly, motioning at the jumper, "it's comfy."

"Yeah?" He passes you a glass of wine. "I feel like the logo should be in the middle."

He looks up to see your look of disapproval at his suggestion, and he smiles, "okay then, I'll approve it just for you."

"…Are you getting nervous?" You asked, alluding to the looming album announcement in a few weeks. It hangs over the air like a cloud, sometimes one of those nice hazy clouds, other times a thunder cloud. You've known Andrew for years, and every time an album announcement has rolled around he becomes a very anxious version of himself. Second guessing the track list, wondering if maybe the album needs 6 more months before it's ready, what if the name is wrong. And then all the meetings about numbers and data and charts and optimising release schedule and press, and it all just gets a bit too much when he's already panicking about showing the world his new creation.

"I'm actually okay," he starts, "it's ready to be out in the world and I'm proud of it," he reaches for your hand, "and I've got you."

You smile a little.

But despite your attempt at distraction, your dramatic entrance from earlier still seems to loom. "…I don't want to talk about it. Not yet. …But thank you for tonight"

He just gives your hand a squeeze, and there's that silent affirmation of love in his eyes.

"So… Saturday, does a day-trip to Dublin sound okay? Really starting to think I'm going to need a whole new wardrobe for this press run."

You giggle, and there it is - his favourite sound in the world.

[shoukokus]

Hello! Can you please write Vil with a crush on someone (preferably fem) who likes more “masculine” activities; like wrestling, rugby, weightlifting, etc (definitely not bc I do those sports). Thank you!!! 🩷🩷🩷

I love this! So cute

Vil Schoenheit

Vil doesn't know how this happened. He was high-end! Beauty oriented, grace above all else, and maintain an air of refinement. So how in the Great Seven did he fall for someone so rowdy?!

It defied all logic, but reason seemed to escape him when it came to you. He could be strictly instructing a dance course, the graceful art of ballet obviously, when he sees you. In the corner with Epel, wrestling him to the ground. It should make Vil outraged! But instead he's fixated on the way your muscles contract with each movement.

It must have taken time and discipline to get them like that... So taut and firm. Beautiful in its own way...

"Are you all right, dorm leader?" Someone asks him, pulling Vil out of his thoughts.

"Of course I'm fine," he snaps in response. "Another 30 minutes of practice for everyone."

Some time later, Epel is drowning in homework and extra assignments given by Vil. At one point during this, the younger boy timidly tells Vil that he had an alchemy project with none other than you. He had done his part, but now it needed to be delivered so it can be completed. His dorm leader doesn't want Epel to fail, right?

Vil snatches the papers and box up with feigned annoyance.

When he arrives at your door and knocks, you don't answer but he does hear loud music inside. You probably wouldn't have heard him, so he lightly pushes it open.

Down the end of the hallway in the living room, he sees you and freezes on the spot. Wearing loose workout clothing, you're lifting weights that looked... rather heavy, to say the least. It's infuriating how stunning you look, so perfectly in your element. Doing something that compliments you so well.

He clears his throat, determined not to let this fluster him, and approaches you. When you finally see him, you send him a wide smile that nearly sends him into panic mode.

A week or so later is the final straw.

Vil spots you from across the courtyard at lunchtime. It was a lovely day, and a lot of students were outside enjoying it. You're with most of the Spelldrive team, talking animatedly and laughing. Even Leona seems to be enjoying the conversation, although it was hard to tell while he lounged on a bench.

While it was unclear what was said to spark it, you and Ruggie were suddenly squaring off. It was playful and kind of... cute, but that does not diminish how easily you got him to the ground. Your technique had obviously been honed, and came from some kind of sport, but Vil couldn't pinpoint it.

After the two of you removed yourselves from each other, you went back to laughing and brushing grass off. Vil has had just about enough. He marched up to you and your little group.

"Come with me, now." Vil told you, eyes boring into yours.

The others looked at you with sympathy, assuming that you were about to be chewed out for starting a ruckus or some such. You followed, shoulders tight, worried about your fate.

When the two of you had reached a private spot, Vil turns to you. He has a slight flush on his face as he begins to speak. "You are rowdy. Your hobbies are reckless, and entirely ill-suited to my tastes." You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up a finger dangerously close to your lips. "Yet I still find myself enchanted by you. The way you are... the way you carry yourself. It is unbelievably mesmerizing. Allow me to take you on a date."

A smile had been slowly growing on your face as he spoke, while the blush on his also increased.

"I'd love that, Vil."

Requests are open!

[lizhly-writes]

for some reason, i felt like writing this. we are now talking about shang qinghua's master, the prior an ding peak lord.

It was commonly said that his master's engagement was extremely well-arranged. Indeed, the interactions between An Ding and Bai Zhan were the most harmonious out of any pair of peaks in the current generation.

As to why, their disciples had come up with a set of reasons. This set of reasons revolved around the idea that obviously this pair of honorable and dignified shixiong and shidi were fucking.

Did they treat each other as good friends? Brothers? Why consider those options at all when you could go for the much more dramatic route of star-crossed love, a beautifully-married couple who were forced to live apart (you know, on separate mountains) for the sake of duty? How romantic!

There were various stories going around just An Ding alone. They got even more absurd once they reached Bai Zhan. Shang Qinghua had been making a collection of them just so he could marvel at the creativity of it.

After all, Shizun and Shishu didn't seem to do much in public. They got along well, and favored each other, but certainly there was no candlelit dinner alone or courtship gifts being thrown around. Stumbling into a wife plot wasn't entirely out of the question -- Shang Qinghua really shouldn't have come up with this number of aphrodisiac plants, holy fuck -- but surely Shizun hadn't actually made a declaration of love to the Bai Zhan Peak Lord against the setting sun, flower petals blowing softly around his face as two crystalline tears dripped from his... stunning sea-blue orbs.

Shang Qinghua frankly had a hard time imagining Shizun could ever be so sentimental. If you didn't actually know him, he supposed it made a reasonable and pretty enough picture. Shizun, like all Peak Lords, was an incomparably beautiful and ageless cultivator. But somehow, even with perfect skin and a distinct lack of eyebags... he really gave off the aura of an ordinary old manager working 996.

Did Shizun fuck? Maybe! Logically, he must have! Possibly during his disciplehood! Again, Shizun was a beautiful and ageless cultivator, he must have had admirers! But in his heart, Shang Qinghua felt the answer was no. For some reason, the idea of it was weirdly discomfiting.

This was why he was incredibly surprised when, upon arriving back at Shizun's Leisure House with a tray of tea and tea snacks, he found the Bai Zhan Peak Lord there.

They weren't doing anything illicit. Shishu was standing next to Shizun at his desk. If the distance between them was a bit close -- if the Shishu's head was bent a little lower than necessary --

"Shizun," Shang Qinghua said, somehow feeling as if he had seen something he shouldn't have.

Shishu took a step back. Shang Qinghua also took a step back. Shizun did not take a step back, as he was still seated at his desk and scribbling something down.

"Qinghua is back," Shizun said, eventually looking up. He turned to Shishu. "Did you wish to stay for tea?"

"Unnecessary," Shishu said, and promptly said his goodbyes. If these goodbyes were a little fast --

Ah, well, whatever. "Did Shishu come to talk about something important?" Shang Qinghua said.

Shizun tilted his head at Shang Qinghua. He looked the same as he always did, which was, of course, very tired and very annoyed. Truly, Shizun had an unfortunate resting face. Shang Qinghua had learned to get vibes off of it, though, and the vibe he was getting today was -- okay, still tired, but also distinctly amused.

"Qinghua can see for himself," Shizun said, and tapped the paper he was writing on.

It was, as it turned out, an incredibly lurid story about Shizun and Shishu.

"Shizun???"

"The rumors going around are certainly interesting," Shizun said. He was still writing. On closer inspection, he was busily annotating it in red ink. Notes like "this didn't happen" and "combination of 5c and 18a from year of XX" and "is this based off our incident as disciples?"

What incident as disciples???

"Does Qinghua have any thoughts?"

"Shizun?????"

"On the rumors," Shizun clarified, as if that was the problem.

"I have a collection of over fifty stories," Shang Qinghua didn't say.

"This disciple wouldn't dare comment!" Shang Qinghua said.

"That is notably not the same as not having thoughts," Shizun said, and set his brush down, folding his hands neatly on his desk. "Does Qinghua believe the rumors are true?"

This was not a question Shang Qinghua felt like answering!

"Shizun has brown eyes!" Shang Qinghua blurted out.

"...Yes," Shizun said, eyebrows furrowing at this true non-answer.

Shang Qinghua tapped the line about Shizun weeping prettily with sea-blue orbs (who wrote this???). Shizun looked enlightened. "I see. And that is... the only part of this you believe isn't true?"

"Shizun is very close to Shishu," Shang Qinghua hedged. "This disciple wouldn't dare speculate!"

"Qinghua."

Shang Qinghua threw up his hands. "I don't know! What do you want to hear from me? Why are you asking me about your sex life? Are you fucking Shishu?"

There was a long pause. Shang Qinghua vaguely wondered if he was in trouble. Shizun liked him, but holy shit, not that much.

"Audacious," Shizun said, which, okay. Yeah. But! But!!! Sure, it wasn't a great thing to say, but ask shitty questions, get a shitty answer!

"That's not a no," Shang Qinghua said.

It was at this point that Shizun revealed an incredibly wry and incredibly rare smile. "This master," he said, "believes that Qinghua can figure out this matter for himself."

"What the fuck does that mean???" Shang Qinghua cried.

Shizun did not answer this. Instead, he saddled Shang Qinghua with another pile of paperwork.

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

Yandere Beelzebub x female reader

Great, I’ve had some notes on this subject in my drafts already~

Ended up being oddly personal for me, honestly.

Yandere Beelzebub x female!reader

Cw: Dark Content, Yandere themes. Stalking, kidnapping, obsession, blood and violence, implied female reader

Don’t touch. Don’t get near. There is nothing he can offer you, nothing you would want anyways. Unless you want to die, and want him to suffer immensely, it is better for you to stay away.

He does not reach out to you. Not beyond the absolutely necessary interactions the two of you must have.

So why do you stare at him with such soft eyes? Aren’t you scared? If you were wise, you would run for the hills as soon as you saw him coming like everyone else does. Sometimes he wishes you would. Even the slightest bit of affection from you might spark some sort of love. And if he loves you, he’ll kill you.

If what you’re feeling is pity for him, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want it! That’s what he’ll try to convey, at least. But this loneliness is so consuming. It is so consuming, you wonderful thing, so stop looking at him with those sweet expressions. He’s longing to speak to you.

He knows it’s probably a bad idea but…maybe it was possible?

To grow an attachment from afar?

If proper precautions were taken, perhaps he could grow closer to you without slaughtering you.

A letter was left on your desk, a plain envelope, with a strong perfume sprayed onto the paper, which you assumed was to mask the oddly damp smell the envelope gave off.

A simple letter:

Hello,

How are you? I am the same as I always am every time you ask.

I see you on occasion given how closely our occupations align, and it seems you notice me too. Do you mean to stare? Sometimes I find myself wanting to stare back. And recently, much more often than usual. I’m finding myself growing curious about you.

Write back if you’d like. Or don’t. It’s up to you.

You can slide the letter under my door. You know where I am.

-B.

And your initial thought?

Beelzebub has such elegant handwriting.

You wrote him back, in the nicest penmanship you could manage. A simple letter back, answering his questions, saying you only stare because you’re curious about him. You work directly underneath Hades, and you know Beelzebub’s connected to your boss somehow, but Hades won’t tell you anything about him. Just that you should be cautious around him. So how couldn’t you be curious about him, especially when he looks so sad all of the time? He keeps to himself, doesn’t speak to anyone else…apparently has lots of free time for projects…

You ask him what he’s always working on in his office? Lab? You’re not sure. He’s never let you inside, only answering you at his door, and then promptly shutting it as soon as your business has concluded with him. You’ve only ever caught a glimpse of the interior, and felt bad for your invasive curiosity about what was in there, so you pushed anything you might’ve stolen a glance at into the back of your memory.

Per his instructions, you slid your letter under his door. You didn’t linger at his door, didn’t hear anything inside either. He simply waited for you to walk away before he snatched the letter up, brought it to his desk, and delicately peeled the envelope open, to preserve even the paper your letter was delivered in.

He carefully reads each word of your one page letter. And then rereads it. Again and again and again. The paper smells nice. Not like the lavender he used on the letter he sent to you. It was faint, but something more intimate, personal. Your favorite perfume…given how subtle the scent, he suspected you must’ve held the letter close to yourself for a second, unintentionally getting your perfume on it.

The last time he’d ever smelled something this sweet was back when Lilith was alive. So sweet it’s almost sickening to a god like him, who’s never gotten used to such a scent…but, almost like a man who continues smoking cigarettes even though they make him hack and choke, Beelzebub clutched your letter tightly, pushing it against his throat and letting the upper half of the page rest atop his nose and mouth. He stayed like this throughout the entire night, inhaling your scent, and once the scent faded he switched to rereading. And once he was certain he memorized the page in its entirety, he went back to searching for your scent on the paper.

He needed more of this. More of your words, more of your sweet scent, more of you. To go to you now may immediately result in your death, if this feeling was love like he suspected it was…so he locks his door. For now, there will be no more face to face interactions.

He pens his next letter. If this is love, the loving thing to do would be to just explain himself a bit, and the terrible curse he’s been burdened with.

Beelzebub is a god known as the Lord of the Flies, and has often been associated with gluttony, and envy. And now, as he pens his next paragraph to you, he laughs. Just one single bark of amusement as it occurs to him he may actually be living up to his name as he decides that detailing his condition to you can wait. He doesn’t want to frighten you away…talking about Satan can be second base.

You rarely saw Beelzebub before, but now? His door doesn’t ever open. Apparently he’s made arrangements for someone else to deliver him materials, and you’ve heard a few mentions that Beelzebub makes sure you’re not even in eyeshot of him before he makes one of his rare trips out of his “studio”.

Despite this confusing intensity in his avoidance of you, a letter addressed to you still appeared on your desk a few days later.

He says that he really appreciated you writing to him, and that he hopes this can continue for a while longer. But that he has no topics he could write on that might interest you. So you’ll have to forgive him if his letters are boring.

You write back that you don’t mind and that you’ll gladly read whatever he writes.

That was a few months ago.

You think, at least.

You can’t keep track of time in the darkness of…wherever you are…Beelzebub’s lab is what you’ve decided to call it…it certainly looks like one from your spot in the glass display case he’s locked you in.

He’s sitting across from you in a large leather chair, his fingers intertwined, his back hunched and his arms resting on his thighs as he does nothing more beyond watch you.

He had apologized for the uncomfortable accommodations your first night in this glass prison, but he insisted this was all for your own safety.

You didn’t understand what that meant until whatever curse in his blood finally burned hot enough to override his mind as you begged him to let you out. You quickly changed your mind as soon as his fists met the indestructible wall of your cell.

You’ve never seen anything like it, his eyes wild, so focused on getting his hands on you so he could slaughter you, going from slamming his fists repeatedly against the glass to scratching his nails along it like he could claw his way through.

This lasted the majority of the night. Scratching and hitting, the force of his efforts so hard his hands begin to bleed profusely, leaving dark red stains on the glass. From the looks of it, the bones of his fingers were cracking.

You shut your eyes, covered your ears, and instead begged that the glass was actually indestructible.

He hunted you. Hunted you until there wasn’t an ounce of energy left in his body. Until with a sickening wet final splat his hands, soaked in his own blood, finally slid off the glass as his body collapsed from sheer exhaustion, dragging red trails down the once clear wall separating you from him.

He twitched violently in the few short hours he slept, as if killing you in his dreams, nearly screaming in his sleep as he tore something invisible to shreds.

And he woke up laughing. At first just a light, almost imperceptible chuckle to himself, his bloodied and aching hands digging into his hair. It soon escalated into a bark of laughter, then a roar. He incoherently ranted to himself, you could only make out the occasional word or phrase in the otherwise nonsensical rambling…something about how the effects of his “curse” could be partially nullified if he literally could not reach you with his physical body.

“I’m so happy right now…you have nothing to be afraid of, I promise…” he pressed his open palm against the glass, now staining with the drying of his blood. His gaze is soft, remarkably sweet and vulnerable for him, but marred with madness. “As long as you stay in there, I can love you. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this feeling again…”

And this time, it will last.

He spends as much time as he possibly can (which is a lot, given how little of a schedule he has) dedicated to being near you. Sometimes pacing back and forth as he watches you sleep in your prison, sometimes sitting in his chair and muttering about any subject that might give you mild amusement. Sometimes telling you how awful it is to be haunted by the phantoms of everyone he’s killed out of love, as if you were staying preserved in a glass display case because you wanted to be with him.

Sometimes his condition will flare up and he’ll once again spend an entire night trying to kill you within your cell.

But most of the time…he just enjoys watching you.

When you’ve been isolated as many years as he has, just being near someone he cares about is a rush of pure ecstasy.

And even if it’s selfish, even if he knows it’s not really what’s best for you, even though he knows that if he really loved you, he’d find a way to free you from him…he always puts it off one more night.

Because he sleeps better on the floor next to your display case.

Stay with him…just a little while longer.

-

Oh Beelzebub. Such a beautifully tragic man.

[puppym3]

hi lovely! i hope you’re doing well <33 could i suggest a seungmin fic that’s kind of like, opposites attract? like seungmin’s this nerdy and shy guy, but in reality (or in bed) he’s not. and y/n’s this outspoken and bold girl but in reality she’s not. sort of like when they get to know each other on an intimate level they realize they’re the exact opposite of how they’ve been portraying themselves to others.

i hope that made sense 😭😭. also u seem really cool feel free to send dms or asks anytime <3

- lovestayblogs ☺️💗

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. unmasked

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nerdy!seungmin x popular!reader

wc: 9.4k (I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS THAT LONG.)

warnings: MDNI! 18+, CHAT i got carried away, i got too invested in this guys im sorry, smut, fake dating, campus dating, rumors, nerdy!seungmin, popular!reader, alcohol consumption, college parties, a lot of tension, mutual pining, first time, unprotected piv, creampie, handjob, fingering, a lot of dirty talk, dom!seungmin, sub!reader, they're in love its so fluffy, (lmk if i missed any!)

a/n: LOVESTAYBLOGS! i love you, you're so awesome thank you for the suggestion, i loved writing this one so much and i hope you all feel the same!! i just started writing... and writing... and i got here...

anywaysss... i have a taglist if anyone is interested!

enjoy reading! love you guys! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The campus buzzed with life as students shuffled between classes, laughter and chatter filling the air. Amidst the lively chaos, Seungmin was a stark contrast, always found in the same spot in the library, his nose buried in a book. His glasses perched delicately on his nose, eyes scanning the pages with a focused intensity that rarely wavered.

You had noticed him for a while now. He was hard to miss, not because he stood out, but because he blended in so seamlessly that it almost seemed deliberate. He was always alone, a quiet figure in the background, diligently taking notes, rarely interacting with anyone unless necessary. It wasn't just his solitude that caught your attention; it was the way people treated him. Like he wasn't even there. He was just one of those people who never really existed to anyone, no matter how close they seemed.

That was until you saw him sitting at the coffee shop down the street, sipping from a paper cup. The place was packed, but he didn't seem to mind, his focus solely on the book in his hands. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you ordered your drink. Something about him intrigued you. He was so calm and collected, despite the bustle of people surrounding him.

You sat a few tables away from him, unable to take your eyes off of him. His presence was oddly calming. As if he had a strange sort of gravity, pulling you towards him without even trying. You could just approach him, you weren't usually one to be shy when it came to meeting people, so why was it so hard with him?

You must have been staring for too long because when you finally snapped back to reality, you locked eyes with him. He had this curious look on his face, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer. He seemed almost amused by your sudden embarrassment, a slight smile playing on his lips. You quickly averted your gaze, hoping to avoid any further awkwardness.

To your surprise, he got up and walked over to your table. "Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

"Not at all," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He settled into the chair, his gaze returning to his book. You sipped your drink, stealing glances at him.

"Seungmin."

"Huh?"

"My name. It's Seungmin."

You stared at him, dumbfounded. "I knew that," you replied, trying to play it cool.

"You were staring at me, it's only fair you tell me your name," he said, not looking up from his book.

You exchanged your name with him, a flush creeping across your cheeks.

"Why are you here alone? I usually see you with other people." He said with a perplexed look on his face.

You let out a nervous laugh. "Ah, so you've seen me often I assume?"

"You're hard to miss, on this small campus, with your loud friends."

Your heart skipped a beat, a strange sense of validation washing over you.

"Well, we were supposed to meet here, but they all ditched me. So I'm alone, like you."

"I don't mind being alone."

"Oh. Well, neither do I."

There was a brief moment of silence as the two of you sat there, trying to figure out what to say next. You decided to break the tension by asking him a question that had been burning in the back of your mind.

"Do you really hate everyone here, or is that just an act?"

He looked up at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "What makes you think I hate everyone?"

"I don't know, just from whispers..." you trailed off.

"Whispers can be misleading," he said with a smirk. "What about you? Are the rumors about you true?"

"Rumors?" You tilted your head, genuinely confused.

"That you're a bit out there."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his choice of words. "Out there? What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, his expression unreadable.

"If you're talking about me being bold and forward, then yeah, that's just who I am. Nothing more, nothing less."

He nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's not like I go around telling people that I'm a virgin," you said, rolling your eyes.

Seungmin nearly spit out his coffee, coughing and clearing his throat.

"What?" you asked, trying to hide your amusement.

"I-it's just that, well, you seem like the type to-" he stuttered, his cheeks flushing a bright shade of red.

"The type to what?" you challenged, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the table.

"You know, someone who has a lot of experience, maybe." He said, looking down at his cup.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a laugh. "You're cute."

Seungmin's cheeks flushed even more.

"I'll have you know that I'm actually pretty inexperienced."

"Really?" he asked, looking skeptical.

"Yup, and I've never had a real boyfriend either," you admitted, a blush spreading across your own cheeks. "Maybe some fake campus couple rumors, but that's it."

Seungmin nodded slowly, still looking unconvinced.

"You don't believe me, do you?" you asked, crossing your arms.

"It's just hard to imagine that someone like you, well, wouldn't be with anyone."

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. "Maybe it's because I haven't met the right person, nobody wants the label these days."

Seungmin frowned, nodding in agreement.

"Do you want it? The label, I mean," he asked, meeting your gaze.

You considered his question for a moment before responding.

"I do, I want someone who's not afraid to commit to me."

The two of you locked eyes for a moment. "I... hope you find what you're looking for," Seungmin said softly.

You blushed at his response, unsure of what else to say.

The sound of the coffee shop door opening and closing, made you jump, breaking the moment you two shared.

Then your heart dropped, it was one of your friends, the biggest gossiper on campus.

"Shit," you muttered, hiding your face in your hands.

"What's wrong?" Seungmin asked, looking around in confusion.

You lowered your voice to a whisper, "If she sees us together, she's gonna tell everyone I'm messing with you now. She has the biggest mouth on this campus."

"Well, that doesn't seem too bad. Is it that terrible to have people think we're dating?"

Your head snapped up in shock, taken aback by his reaction. "It is for someone like you... You hate attention and it'll get so much worse if she spreads something."

He shrugged, not seeming to care. "It's fine. If she wants to think that we're dating, then let her. If she thinks we're together, people will stop spreading rumors about you."

Your face turned red, suddenly feeling shy.

"What about you? How will this benefit you?" you asked.

He thought about it for a moment before answering, "Well, maybe it would be nice to have someone who isn't afraid to talk to me."

You let out a small laugh. "Well then, Seungmin, would you like to be my boyfriend?"

His eyes widened, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He stared at you, unsure of how to respond.

"L-Like a fake boyfriend! That's what I meant!" You quickly said, saving yourself.

You felt like you were on the verge of passing out. This wasn't supposed to be a serious thing. You two were just trying to save your reputations. Why did the idea of him being your boyfriend sound so... good?

"You're okay with this, right? If not we can call it off," you asked him, nervousness apparent in your tone.

Seungmin nodded, still looking slightly dazed.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You couldn't believe you were doing this.

"Alright, let's start simple, no big PDA. Just normal stuff," you said, your hands beginning to sweat.

"Right," he replied, looking as nervous as you felt.

You both fell silent, neither of you knowing what to say.

You sighed, taking out your phone and typing a quick message. You took a deep breath before looking at Seungmin. "We should probably get out of here. She's still lurking outside."

Seungmin nodded, following you out of the coffee shop. Once you were a safe distance from the shop, you finally turned to face him, feeling your pulse quicken as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"I guess I should be going now," he said quietly.

"Yeah," you replied, biting your lower lip.

The two of you stood there for a moment, neither of you making a move to leave.

"Um, I left my number on the receipt."

Seungmin blinked, seeming surprised by your words.

You continued, "I just thought maybe we should have each other's numbers? For convenience."

He nodded slowly, taking out his phone. He typed in your number, your heart pounding in anticipation. You felt like a middle schooler with their first crush, getting nervous over the most mundane things.

"I'll text you so you have mine," he said, looking back at you with a small smile.

You smiled back, your stomach doing flips at his smile.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around." You waved before heading in the opposite direction, walking as fast as your feet could carry you. Your mind racing, replaying everything that happened in your head. You couldn't believe you actually agreed to do this.

Finally, your stalker friend jumped up to you from her hiding spot.

"Heyyyyy!" she said in a high-pitched voice, almost startling you to death. "So I saw you sitting with a boy in the coffee shop, who were you with? You have to tell me!" she pestered, tugging on your sleeve.

"Seungmin," you stated, hoping your voice didn't shake too much. "My...boyfriend," you forced yourself to say it, the word coming out strained.

"What?! Nerd boy?" She yelled in shock, eyes widening. "When did you even start talking to him?"

You shrugged, "Just the other day, he's sweet." You felt a sense of pride as she bought your lie, almost feeling bad that Seungmin had to suffer to save you from being known as some playgirl on campus.

"I didn't know you were into cute shy boys, wow, I never would have expected that from you! It's such a shame, but oh well," she laughed, her face scrunching up as she let out a high-pitched noise that was probably supposed to be a giggle.

She continued to ask you questions about your fake boyfriend and your relationship with him, all while you made up answers on the spot. You were just thankful she hadn't been sitting near the two of you. If she heard anything you had said, you would be fucked.

٠ ࣪⭑

The next day had come too soon, you didn't want to admit it but you were a little excited to play this fake-dating game with Seungmin. It was the most fun you had had on campus so far, and you had only been in his presence for an hour.

You scanned the room as you entered your lecture hall, noticing the usual faces, but there was one person that caught your attention. Seungmin, your boyfriend. The word left a weird taste in your mouth but a pleasant feeling washed over you as you approached his desk.

"Good morning," he greeted you with a small smile, a simple greeting enough to make you blush.

You grabbed his baseball hat and pulled it off, ruffling his fluffy hair out of place. The small giggle you earned made you want to keep messing with him.

"Good morning, sunshine," you said, pulling him into a hug, which was probably overkill, but he was so damn adorable you couldn't resist.

He stiffened, but after a moment, his shoulders relaxed and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body. The scent of his cologne surrounded you, his body warm against yours. You pulled back to look at him, noticing the flush on his cheeks. He had this look on his face that you couldn't quite place, almost like he was in awe.

"Aw shit, so it is true, I just thought she was fucking with me!" You both heard your classmate exclaim from a few desks behind you.

Seungmin pulled away and took a seat next to you. "How was your morning?"

"Boring, without you." You replied without hesitation. You could practically see the blush radiating off of his cheeks, "Cute."

He looked up at you in shock.

"Oh, did you expect me not to call my boyfriend cute?" You chuckled, patting his back.

He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the sound of your professor's voice filling the room. Seungmin quickly turned to face forward, but you noticed a smile forming on his lips. You could barely pay attention during class, your thoughts consumed by him. What were you doing to this boy, he barely even knew you but you had his mind in a state of chaos, what a mess this is going to be.

After class, you noticed a bunch of people were staring at you two, whispering about your supposed relationship. It seemed the word had gotten out faster than you thought. Seungmin gave you a reassuring smile, squeezing your hand to calm you. The two of you walked out of class hand in hand, like a real couple, but of course it was fake.

You headed for your next class, but not before he told you he had a project he needed to work on so the two of you went your separate ways, parting with a wave. You found your mind drifting back to the warmth of his hand. The softness of his touch and his gentle squeeze reassured you. How was it that he already knew you so well after only two days of knowing each other?

By the time you made it back to your dorm, you had convinced yourself you were going insane. What were you thinking, getting caught up in the fantasy of Seungmin being yours? You threw your bag on your desk, collapsed onto your bed, and let out a loud sigh. Your thoughts drifted to your next meeting with him. When would be too early to text him? You had already exchanged numbers, so why not make good use of them? You took out your phone and stared at your conversation with Seungmin, reading through the last messages. You smiled to yourself and sent him a quick hello, trying your hardest not to seem desperate. You threw your phone across the room onto your bed and got ready to go out with your friends.

After showering and getting ready, you sat down and checked your phone, smiling to yourself at his reply.

"Hey, you busy?" he texted you back.

You replied, "for you, i'm free" it was so cringeworthy you regretted sending it but you couldn't take it back.

You saw the typing bubble appear and then disappear several times before he responded, "I heard you're going to a party? I was invited by your friend because she thought I'd want to go with you."

Your stomach churned, this was going too fast for your liking. "do you wanna come with me?" you texted him, nervousness settling in.

"I'll come to make sure you're safe and you don't drink too much." he texted back. You almost laughed out loud at how cute his text read.

"don't you trust me?" you replied.

"Not when it comes to partying." he answered, and you could imagine him smiling.

"I'll come pick you up." He double texted, making your heart swell in your chest. You were getting a little too attached, but how could you not when he was the first man in a while to pay you this kind of attention.

"okay, i'm waiting for you"

You felt your face grow hotter the moment you pressed send. 'What the fuck are you doing to me, Seungmin,' you thought to yourself as you readied yourself to pick him up from his place.

You went into your closet, pulling out a few outfits. You couldn't believe you were going all out for him, it felt weird, you wanted to look pretty but not for yourself, not anymore, now it was for him. You didn't know why you felt like this, you weren't supposed to have any real feelings for him. But maybe you did. You looked through your wardrobe for the longest time before finally settling on the perfect outfit. You dressed yourself and checked your reflection in the mirror, satisfied with what you saw.

As you were grabbing your purse, you heard your phone beep with an incoming message, signaling that he was waiting outside for you.

You were filled with nervousness and anticipation.

When you saw Seungmin waiting in his car, your heart nearly stopped. You opened the car door and got in. His face immediately flushed, his eyes flickering up and down your body with widened eyes.

"Is this okay?" you asked, gesturing at your outfit.

Seungmin cleared his throat and nodded.

You laughed nervously and looked out the window, trying not to stare at him.

He pulled away from the curb, his eyes focused on the road in front of him.

He began to speak, "You look good," he said softly, but you heard every word, and you couldn't help but blush.

The car ride to the party was quiet. Neither of you said anything as the music from the car radio played. The atmosphere felt tense. It felt like you both had something you wanted to say but neither of you would. It made your stomach twist into knots.

Eventually, he pulled up to your friend's house, parked in front of her house and got out, opening your door for you. You smiled to yourself and grabbed his hand, feeling like it was the most natural thing for you two to do.

When you stepped onto her front lawn, the music blaring from the inside of the house seemed deafening. You could feel the bass vibrating in your bones.

You saw some of your classmates standing on the front porch, and Seungmin instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. You leaned into him, feeling yourself relax. You loved his smell. The mixture of his cologne, mixed with his own scent was intoxicating. It made your head spin and your stomach flip.

He led you inside and you immediately regretted your decision to come. It was much too crowded, people were packed in like sardines and you were suddenly glad that Seungmin had shown up, or else you probably wouldn't have stayed for too long. He guided you over to one of the corners, away from everyone else, but there was still so many people in the house that it didn't seem to matter. He led you upstairs where the music was less loud and people weren't dancing and grinding all over each other. You walked through a bedroom and into an open balcony overlooking the backyard. There weren't that many people, only a handful of people chatting. It seemed like everyone was downstairs.

You smiled and leaned against him. "Thanks for coming with me," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Of course," he replied softly.

You couldn't help but lean your head against his chest and close your eyes for a moment, savoring his warmth and smell. He smelled kind of like laundry detergent and soap.

You looked up at him, and he was already looking down at you.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

You nodded. "Just a little bit of anxiety is all."

"I thought this was your kind of setting?" He said, lightly swaying side to side with you to the slow music.

"Not at all, it's overwhelming." you replied, trying to make out his face in the dim light.

He nodded understandingly. "I get that."

"Well, since we're here," he continued.

Seungmin gently put his hands on your hips, and you felt your body freeze.

He continued, "If we're going to pretend we're in love, we should make it believable, right?"

You blushed at his words. You didn't think you could ever get used to this boy making your heart race with every single action.

You hesitantly returned the gesture, putting your hands on either shoulder of his and letting your fingertips dance lightly along his neck. The two of you were in a moment, the noise of the party below became faint and all you could see was his face. His gaze was fixed on you, the heat of his hands was so intense. You didn't care about the whispers or the eyes on you anymore.

"This okay?" He asked, voice soft and full of concern, almost a whisper.

You nodded.

"If it gets too much for you just let me know and I'll take us somewhere quiet, alright?" He spoke into your hair, his hands gently gripping your sides.

"Thank you," you mumbled into his shirt. "I feel so much more at ease with you."

His breath caught at your words.

The two of you swayed back and forth for what seemed like hours. You felt completely comfortable in his arms. His hands rested comfortably on your waist, his thumbs brushing against your exposed skin. You usually had to get drunk to tolerate these types of parties, but here, you were completely sober.

You couldn't believe the boy in front of you was real. You thought this stuff only happened in cheesy dramas. You leaned back to look at his face again, and found his gaze already on you. Your face grew red at how he stared at you, as if you were the only person in the world. You reached up and ran your thumb along the line of his jaw, your skin burning with each inch. His face grew warm under your touch, and he leaned down, closing his eyes, resting his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

He opened his eyes again, and you could see his pupils dilate in the dark room, the soft glow of the lights outside illuminating his face. Your eyes locked with his and the two of you stopped swaying to the music. The music suddenly got louder as the two of you stood frozen. His eyes traveled from your lips to your eyes, and you saw that he was looking at your face as well.

"Seungmin..." you said softly, not even knowing how you would complete your sentence.

He closed his eyes again and tilted his head slightly to the left. You felt the tip of his nose brush against yours and the side of his cheek press against your cheek, making your entire body shiver.

Wasn't this all just for the rumors? Why did you want this so much? Why did your entire body yearn for him so desperately?

You leaned up, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. The moment your lips touched his skin, his body stiffened as if he wasn't expecting it. He turned his head so that his cheek was pressing into your lips and your eyes widened. He was giving you permission to do this, and he wanted to be sure you understood his permission. He wasn't expecting it, but he also didn't pull away.

Your heart raced faster, you leaned in to press another soft kiss to his plump cheek. This time his hand slipped around the small of your back to hold you closer and his eyes fluttered open to gaze deeply into your own.

His breath ghosted your skin and your lips parted slightly as you gazed up at him, eyes full of anticipation. His hand slipped into your hair, tangling his fingers in your soft locks. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, allowing yourself to savor his scent and the warmth of his body. This wasn't fake anymore, this was too real.

Suddenly, you were snapped out of your trance, your friend's voice piercing your ear.

"There you lovebirds are," she yelled from the other side of the balcony. "Everyone was wondering where you were!"

You pulled away, Seungmin's arms still wrapped around you tightly. "I was just getting a breather." You smiled.

"Yeah? A breather in his mouth? I saw you two smashing your faces together just now. Don't be a prude!" your friend laughed and pulled you by the hand towards the door, Seungmin trailing closely behind.

As your friend pulled you into the crowded house, she turned around.

"And I told everyone that you guys were coming downstairs to play drinking games with us." She smirked, her words slurring slightly. She was already drunk.

You groaned in frustration and shot a look over your shoulder at Seungmin. He smiled sympathetically and you rolled your eyes as you walked down the stairs into the crowd. The music was deafening. People were dancing everywhere.

Seungmin took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you toward your drunk friend and the rest of your 'friends'. You spotted some of the boys you had a class with sitting around the table. Your drunk friend had set out bottles of liquor on the coffee table and you assumed everyone else would be drinking just as much as her.

As soon as you took a seat on the floor with Seungmin and a couple of other girls you barely knew, the first question was shot your way.

"So how did it happen?" A girl asked as she sipped her drink, eyes fixed on yours.

"How did what happen?" You asked, looking over at Seungmin, who shrugged.

"Your relationship." She answered. "You guys are cute." She added.

Seungmin's hand was intertwined with yours, giving you a light squeeze.

The rest of your 'friends' chimed in with their questions as well.

"So you two are like a real couple? Since when? Are you going out?"

"Can we play games now?" Seungmin said, giving me another reassuring squeeze.

Your friend poured the liquor into plastic shot glasses and passed them out around the circle. She turned on some music and told us we should all take turns playing the games. The first round was Truth or Dare. You watched your drunk friends giggle as they each picked on each other.

One of them had just dared someone to drink an entire bottle of vodka in a single minute. The guy, of course, obliged.

Everyone else was laughing hysterically at the poor kid who was struggling to keep down all that liquid. You were starting to regret your choice in friends, these people were immature, especially in their drunk state.

When it was your turn to answer truth or dare, your drunk friend gave you a sly look before asking,

"Truth or Dare?" she slurred out, the alcohol already taking her.

You knew you couldn't tell them you were lying about having a relationship. Seungmin knew that too and gave you another reassuring squeeze, bringing you out of your trance.

You picked dare and everyone started hollering at you.

She said "I dare you to kiss the hottest person here."

You looked around at your 'friends'.

Your friend leaned back in her seat, looking around as well, her eyes lingering on Seungmin.

"It's a shame," she said as she looked him up and down. "I'd definitely hit it."

Your entire body stiffened as the girl in front of you looked up at you, then looked over at Seungmin, then back to you. She took a step towards Seungmin, raising an eyebrow as she waited for you to answer.

You gave her a blank look as your hand reached up and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him into you. His lips parted, allowing yours to brush over them lightly before you pressed your lips gently against him. He froze.

Your friend's voice was muffled behind you as she giggled.

His mouth was hot and tasted slightly of minty toothpaste. You didn't notice his hand resting on your thigh, gently rubbing it, trying to calm you down.

You broke apart, you felt like your heart was about to burst, if it was all for the act, why was your face flushing so much? You glanced over at your drunk friend and saw she was staring at the two of you with wide eyes and her jaw open in shock.

Seungmin wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side and holding you tight, trying to comfort you.

"Wow," the girl said in disbelief, "I guess I'll just take another shot, then." She said and quickly poured herself another shot, downing it quickly before standing up.

"Alright," she slurred, "My turn now." She announced to the group of drunken party goers. "Seungmin, Truth or dare?"

You turned to look at him and he was still holding you tight.

You spoke quietly so only he could hear, "Please choose truth, I can't take it anymore."

He turned his head slightly, giving you a look before answering,

"Truth."

"Okay, well then." Your drunk friend looked around the room as she searched her mind for a question. "If you could only have sex with one of the people here, who would you choose?"

"My girlfriend." He answered instantly, giving her a look as if she was dumb for asking.

Everyone in the group giggled except you and him. He was just playing the game like they all were, but you were both not playing. The way he was holding you made it clear to everyone that he wasn't going to say anyone but you.

"Alright then," she said as she stood up. "You can't do Truth or Dare without shots, so here you go," She said as she handed each of you a shot of vodka. "Now get to it," She slurred.

Seungmin wasn't letting you drink though, so he downed both of your shots at once.

How could he take drinks so well? You've never seen him at a party before.

When you arrived at your friend's house, Seungmin had said that he would make sure he would get you home safe and sober. But seeing him take your shot for you, "You don't have to drink so much, Seungmin, I'm fine," You whispered to him.

He looked at you with a worried expression. "You've been looking down for awhile now," He whispered back, his eyes searching yours. "You're not feeling okay are you?"

"Just a little headache, that's all," You tried to assure him.

His eyebrows knitted together, he then stood up and laced his hand with yours, leading you back outside to the balcony where no one was around. The cool breeze blew and he walked up behind you, and you immediately felt better when all of the noise was muffled.

He stood close behind you, leaning his head down and whispering into your ear, "Do you want me to take you home?"

His hot breath on your skin made your eyes flutter and your heart rate pick up. Go home with him? Is that what he meant? Or were you picking up the vibes wrong?

He didn't even know what was wrong with you and you weren't going to tell him, either. You weren't drunk, so there was no way to explain away what you were feeling. Your entire body was warm, and not from the alcohol.

The boy standing behind you was sending goosebumps over every inch of your skin, making your knees weak, your head foggy. You weren't sure how much longer you could control yourself, and it didn't help that you and Seungmin were touchy the entire day. You thought your hormones would die down at least a little, but they haven't. If anything, your hormones only intensified.

Seungmin turned you around so you were facing him, placing both of his hands on either of your shoulders.

"Hey, you okay?" he said, eyes full of concern.

"Yeah, yeah." You answered, shaking your head to try to clear the thoughts of his hands all over your body, touching you in places that made your head spin, but it was to no avail.

"I think we should go," He said as he took a step back, hands falling from your shoulders.

You immediately felt empty without him touching you.

He walked towards the door and turned around to wait for you to follow. He didn't ask any questions or demand to know what was going on with you, but he looked like he was dying to know. You turned around, not wanting to tell him the truth. You followed him back downstairs and said a quick goodbye to your drunk friends. Seungmin opened the car door for you, even buckling you in.

You didn't even drink, why was he acting like this?

The two of you drove in silence until he pulled up outside your house. You thanked him and unbuckled your seatbelt, but Seungmin held on to your hand as you opened the door, not letting you leave just yet. You looked at him quizzically, wondering why he wouldn't just let go.

"What's going on?" He asked softly, looking you directly in the eye, not letting his gaze drift.

You tried to avert his eyes, not wanting to let him know how badly you were craving everything about him. You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head, looking away from him, trying to think of a good lie. You didn't have an excuse ready for why you wanted him. You had no excuse as to why your body was betraying you so much. You didn't want to let on that you wanted more, more than this friendship, more than these fake dates, more than you could ever have. You just wanted to have a moment, just one.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry as you finally looked back into his eyes, knowing it was too late to turn back now.

"Seungmin, I..." You started but your voice caught in your throat.

"Just tell me what you're thinking." He said, voice low as he squeezed your hand.

He had a way with words that always made you weak, and you knew he knew this, too.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your cheeks start to warm from his gaze.

You decided to let go. To give up control of the situation. To give up control of the emotions that were driving you crazy, and let them take over your actions instead.

"You wanna know what I'm thinking?" You asked softly, not waiting for a response, just watching him as he continued to watch you, not speaking. You reached out and put a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly before continuing, "I want to know how your mouth tastes. I want to know what your skin feels like against mine, how you sound when I touch you in just the right places." You let go of his hand and leaned towards him, placing a hand on the side of his neck, the tips of your fingers touching his nape, thumb resting against his chin, "I want to feel your fingers wrapped up in my hair." You let out a breathy sigh before continuing.

Your fingers grazed against his neck, moving to cup his jaw, running a thumb along his lower lip, "And your lips," you said softly, letting out another soft sigh. "I want to taste every inch of your skin," you said, feeling yourself growing warmer with each word that came out of your mouth, feeling your arousal start to take over.

Your body moved closer to him, your eyes locked with his. "And I want you to do the same," You whispered. He blinked at you, looking down at you. You took in a sharp breath before you continued, your hand still cupping his face, "I want you to touch me like no one has before."

He was staring at you in shock now. Your voice was barely above a whisper but he was able to hear every single word that left your lips. His jaw dropped slightly as he tried to process the information, and it took you a few seconds before you realized what you'd said to him. You slowly withdrew your hand, a deep blush covering your cheeks, spreading to your neck and shoulders.

"I- I'm sorry, I was just teasing..." You started, feeling your body tensing up and your heartbeat picking up, feeling like it might burst through your chest.

"No." He whispered, cutting you off mid-sentence. He grabbed your hand and placed it back on his jaw, looking down at you with dark eyes. "What did you mean?" He asked firmly, eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks burned from embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Seungmin." You mumbled, "C..Can we continue this conversation inside?" You asked quietly, not wanting to get caught in such an awkward position by any dormmates who might be lurking nearby.

Seungmin immediately turned off his car, opened his car door, and stepped out, opening your car door and unbuckling your seatbelt for you as well.

"Take me inside, then." He whispered. You took his hand, stepping out of the car and led him. You led him upstairs, the two of you climbing the steps and walking down the hall in silence, his hand gripping yours tightly, his skin burning hot against yours. Your heart was racing.

You pushed the door open, revealing your room. It was fairly clean, save for some laundry here and there. You looked over at Seungmin nervously before making your way towards the bed and patting the spot next to you. You looked up at him as he walked over and took a seat next to you.

"So, about earlier," he said softly, eyes never leaving yours, "You said you want me to touch you..." his voice trailed off, eyes searching yours before continuing, "What did you mean?"

His hand found its way back on your thigh, slowly stroking it and making you bite down hard on your bottom lip. You didn't think he would react so strongly, but it's exactly what you needed.

"Did you mean like this?" He asked, leaning down, lips hovering right over your neck as his hand slowly stroked your leg, moving from the top to bottom. "Or maybe like this?" he continued as he began to plant gentle kisses along your jaw and down to your collarbone. Your skin was burning everywhere his lips touched. His breath was hot on your neck, and you were starting to feel your arousal grow again, the heat between your legs only intensifying with each passing second.

"Mmmh," You moaned, unable to control your voice, the noise sounding foreign even to yourself. You had no control of your body as you arched into his touch. You couldn't tell him how badly you wanted him to fuck you until you saw stars, how badly you needed to feel his bare skin pressed up against yours. But the words were stuck in your throat as he continued to kiss and touch you, the heat building inside of you, driving you wild.

"Why? Tell me why you need me to touch you so badly." he asked, his lips hovering right above yours now, his eyes searching your face, his hands roaming across your skin, touching every inch of exposed flesh he could find, making goosebumps form on your arms and legs. He leaned down, his lips inches away from yours, waiting.

You didn't think your arousal could intensify even further, but it did.

You didn't know you were capable of making noises like those that were coming out of you. Your body felt hot and heavy. Your fingers found his shirt, and you grabbed onto it, trying to steady yourself. Your head was spinning. He pulled back just a fraction, looking into your eyes with lust and concern, making your head swim even more.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. Your hands immediately found their way to the back of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling him in for a deeper kiss, letting his lips part yours and his tongue invade your mouth, letting him kiss you how he wanted to.

His hands found their way under your shirt and he slid them up and over your torso, cupping your breasts as his tongue explored your mouth, taking his sweet time tasting every inch of you. Your body arched against him, feeling him pressed against you.

You broke apart only for air. His breathing was ragged and uneven, just as yours was. His eyes were hooded and he was looking down at you. His lips were red and swollen from your intense kiss, his fingers trailing along your jaw. You pulled away, unable to take his teasing touches any longer. You looked up into his eyes with a pained look. You couldn't take it any more, the throbbing between your thighs was almost too much.

"Well? Tell me." he whispered.

"Seungmin, I can't take this anymore." You mumbled.

He looked down at you in shock, but you didn't meet his eyes, not wanting to see what kind of face he was making.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"I can't take it anymore, It's driving me crazy. I like you so much, I like your touch so much, please just do something," you whispered, still avoiding his eyes.

Seungmin grabbed your hands, pulling them off of him and forcing you to look up at him.

"Look at me," he said sternly, making your eyes flutter as you looked into his eyes. "Say that again."

"I like you, Seungmin." You breathed.

He didn't speak.

He didn't let you go, and you didn't make a move to get up, either. You both stayed frozen in place. You weren't sure if the confession made him uncomfortable or if it excited him.

You finally felt Seungmin move and your eyes locked with his again.

"Why did you have to say that, hmm? Do you know how long I've liked you for? And you choose to say it now?" He said softly, eyes filled with an unexplainable emotion as he continued to look down at you, his grip tightening slightly as he spoke. "How am I supposed to respond to something like that?"

His voice was low and soft, his eyes searching yours with concern, making your heart jump at how serious his expression was.

"Just fuck me," you mumbled, unable to control the words spilling out of you.

He looked down at you for a second, processing your words, his eyebrows drawing together. He sighed as he stood up and started taking off his jacket, throwing it on the floor. He slowly took his shirt off as well, his muscles rippling underneath the material.

He took a few steps towards you, grabbing your waist and lifting you up effortlessly as if you weighed nothing to him. You were thrown onto his bed, him following suit, climbing on top of you and looking down at you hungrily.

His hands worked to remove the remaining items of clothing on your body as well, making sure to touch every inch of your skin, slowly. You looked into his eyes the entire time he was undressing you, trying to memorize his expressions. He pulled away for a moment as he finished pulling the last article of clothing from you, leaving you bare in front of him. His eyes raked your body, taking you in for what was the first time, his eyes hungry and wanting. He slowly reached for his belt buckle, unbuckling it, unzipping his pants, pulling his pants off his waist leaving him in just his boxers.

You reached down to stroke his hardened member through the material, eliciting a moan from him. He placed his hands on either side of your head, holding himself above you, hovering just a few inches away. He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss on your neck, letting his lips brush against the sensitive flesh before placing another kiss. He moved slowly, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses as he traveled lower and lower, until his face was level with your breasts. He gently kissed the tip of one before taking your nipple between his lips, sucking softly and swirling his tongue around your hardened bud.

Your head arched back, eyes shut tight.

He pulled back for a moment, his hand finding your face. He grabbed your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pulling it back up. "Keep your eyes on me." He breathed.

His other hand slid down to your lower stomach and rested between your thighs. He slowly dragged the tips of his fingers up and down the length of your pussy, his fingers gently parting your folds. You moaned, his fingers lightly brushing over your clit before moving to tease your entrance, your back arching in anticipation.

He finally sank one finger into you, then two, his fingers curling inside you as he pushed them in deeper. He leaned in again, his lips grazing your nipple as his fingers slid in and out of your wet pussy, your body writhing in pleasure beneath him. Your hands moved to grab his hair, gripping it tightly. You closed your eyes and threw your head back again, moaning his name as his tongue lapped at your hardened nubs. His fingers worked themselves in and out of you, curling upwards as they left your pussy, brushing against your clit with every movement. You felt like you could come just like that. He looked up at you as his lips grazed your breast again. "Do you like this?" he breathed. "Tell me how much you love it."

Your breath was ragged as you moaned.

"I...love it so much... please..." You whined, your back arching.

Your fingers pulled at his hair.

Seungmin groaned, pulling away and taking off his boxers. "Do you like seeing how hard I am for you?" he breathed. "Does seeing how much you turn me on get you going?" He took your hands in his, and pulled them down towards his throbbing erection. He helped you wrap your fingers around it, giving your hands a gentle squeeze, encouraging you to stroke it. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours as your hand began to slide along the length of his cock, moving up and down with your strokes.

"Keep going. That's a good girl." He moaned, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck and pulling you in for a passionate kiss as you continued to pump him in your hand. Your eyes locked with his. You felt his lips part yours, his tongue invading your mouth.

Your head swam with excitement. Your hand continued to stroke him in a steady rhythm. He pulled back and looked down at you.

"Fuck me, Seungmin. Please, fuck me."

He reached for your hands and removed them from him. He slid off the bed and stood at the edge of it, grabbing your legs and pulling you closer to him. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You moaned softly as his lips moved from your mouth down to your neck. He pressed open mouthed kisses along your neck and down to your chest, his mouth closing around a hardened nipple.

He moaned your name softly. "You're so sexy when you beg. I want to hear you scream my name, do you want that, baby?" He breathed. He leaned down and gently kissed your collarbone.

You couldn't hold back your moans as you felt his hands caressing your body, exploring your skin as they wandered along your legs.

His eyes locked with yours. You watched him, transfixed by the way he moved, by how gentle he was. "Fuck me." You moaned. "Please, please..." you whined, begging. You reached for him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another heated kiss, your tongues colliding.

You moaned his name softly into the kiss. He reached between your legs, running his fingers up your wet folds, rubbing your clit as he stroked himself, making you shudder at the feeling. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, gently sliding his cock against your slit.

You gasped at the sudden sensation of him pushing himself inside you, the feeling making your toes curl as you grabbed at the sheets, your body writhing beneath him. Your eyes met his again as he began to thrust slowly, his thrusts gentle and languid as he eased himself inside of you, stretching your pussy, your walls hugging his length as he slowly worked his way deeper. He grabbed your hand and placed it over your head.

You moaned softly as he thrust inside of you, his eyes locked with yours. "How do I feel inside you?" He groaned, his hips stilling.

"So big... you fill me so well. Please don't stop. Please," You whined.

His hand reached for yours, pulling it away from his head. He slid your hand between you, letting your fingers brush against his chest as you continued to fuck yourself with him.

"Do you like this, baby?" He asked as your fingers found his abs and slid across them. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing your tits and pulling at your nipples.

Your head arched back.

"Yes... Yes... so good..." you moaned as his hips rolled against your body. His hands moved from your breasts, down your stomach to your clit. He rubbed small circles over it as he thrust slowly inside you, your body shivering at his touch.

He kept thrusting slowly as your eyes met. His hand found your hair, running his fingers through it. He gently grabbed it, tugging your head to the side, exposing your neck to his lips.

You moaned. "I'm close, please don't stop..." you moaned, your voice breaking slightly. You could feel the familiar build-up starting, your muscles tightening.

He bit down hard on your neck before pulling out of you. He didn't stop moving. He continued to push inside you as your walls began to clench around his cock. You let out a cry as the pressure built. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive flesh before leaning over and nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Come for me. Let me hear your beautiful voice when you come for me." He whispered in your ear, his voice strained with need, his breath hot on your skin. You cried out his name as you reached your peak, your entire body tensing.

He bit down hard on your neck as his body tensed against you, his cock twitching deep inside your pussy as you felt him cum in you. He thrust deep inside of you, you both riding out each other's orgasms.

His body stilled above you, and he kissed your lips gently before rolling onto his side and pulling you against him, letting your head rest on his chest as he ran his hand up and down your back. Your breathing was ragged as you laid there. Your body was sore, and you were sure he'd bruised you, but it felt good, really good. You didn't know you were capable of letting yourself feel like this. You felt Seungmin kiss your head, his lips gently moving across your skin. He let out a contented sigh as he held you close to him.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice quiet. "Sorry, I got carried away."

He said, his shy demeanor all of a sudden coming back. The whiplash scared you. You leaned away, looking him in the eyes.

"No, don't apologize. It was good, really good." you breathed. "Thank you." you smiled shyly.

He kissed your lips gently and pulled away.

"But, I kind of... feel you dripping out of me right now." You said, a blush on your face as you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Shit- I'm... I'm so sorry..." he mumbled. He slid off the bed, pulling his pants on and throwing you your shirt before walking towards the bathroom.

You couldn't help but giggle at the situation you both were in, "It's okay, it was amazing."

"I'm still cleaning you up," Seungmin mumbled.

He disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later he walked out, carrying a wet washcloth and some tissues.

You quickly pulled the shirt on, and then let him clean you up with the washcloth before he took the used tissues and threw them in the trash. He walked back over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers gently running up your thigh.

"Are you okay?" He asked, concern written on his face.

"I'm okay," You assured him, nodding slightly. You pulled him in for a quick kiss and leaned back against the pillow again. "Just a bit tired," you admitted.

Seungmin climbed on the bed with you and laid down, pulling you to him so that your head was resting on his chest. "Get some rest, let's talk tomorrow."

"Thank you," You whispered softly, pressing another kiss to his chest.

You felt your body relax, the fatigue hitting you as your eyelids began to grow heavy. You nuzzled closer to Seungmin, wrapping your arm around his waist and holding him close, the heat of his body against your own warming your skin. He let his fingers run through your hair, massaging your scalp. The two of you stayed silent for a while, both lost in thought as your mind wandered, and you felt your body relax as your thoughts slowly drifted off, and you fell asleep.

٠ ࣪⭑

Your eyes slowly opened, squinting slightly as the sunlight peeked through the window and onto your face, blinding you for a moment before your eyes adjusted. You looked down to see that your head was resting on Seungmin's chest, your arms wrapped around his waist and his hand running through your hair. You took in a deep breath, letting the sweet smell of his cologne wash over you. It smelled wonderful.

You glanced up to see that he was staring at you, his eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He whispered softly. You smiled slightly as he stroked your cheek and nodded slightly.

"I'm fine," you said. "Just a bit sore."

"I made you breakfast while you were sleeping." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. He moved his hand from your cheek and gestured towards the food he had made for you.

You glanced up at him and smiled, a warm feeling spreading across your chest. He smiled back, and you couldn't help but reach out to kiss him. He pulled back from the kiss, his eyes still searching yours.

"Wait, so did we actually officially get together last night, or was that also just a part of the act?" He asked, genuine concern on his face.

You blushed as the events of last night came flooding back to you, causing a slight blush to creep across your cheeks. He was so cute you couldn't help but laugh.

"I like you, Seungmin." You breathed.

You could see a faint blush rising up on his cheeks as he looked at you, his eyes widening slightly before a shy smile crossed his lips.

"So that's a yes then?" He asked, smiling down at you, his eyes searching your face. You smiled at him, leaning forward and kissing his cheek, making him blush even more.

He glanced away from you, his smile widening slightly. "I like you too. I want you to be mine, my real girlfriend," he mumbled shyly.

The sound of his words sent a shiver through you as you realized this was all real and not just some dream.

His eyes widened as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself blush. You looked away from him, your cheeks heating up as you felt a slight smile forming on your lips.

"Okay, boyfriend, I accept your offer."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

taglist for my beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @jiyeonslays, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88

[astral-herald]

arcane's depiction vs. endorsement and why it flopped

~ i think i'm finally ready to complain ~

My general opinion of season 2 is potential squandered. My recent post about Viktor's storyline as an intentional tragedy lets ya'll know that I did, for the most part, enjoy his arc (hot take, I know, and I know lots of people disagree with me, and I fully understand). If he'd gotten the screen time necessary to pull it off, it would have been legendary in my book. But the lack of screen time, even in the case of the season's eventual BBEG, speaks to my greatest issue with Arcane: no commitment.

(Critical) Discussion of Jinx, Ekko, Sevika, Vi, and Viktor below!

Arcane, as a tragedy (I've said this word too many times to count smh), asks the plot, "what is the worst thing that could possibly happen to this character?" and answers in kind. This is why we get Viktor's lost agency until the very end (and like I've said in the past, I completely understand and hold space for those who dislike this route).

If we ask this same question of the following characters, the scope of loss and despair innate to Arcane's final narrative is made very clear:

Sevika: a revolutionary forever devoted to the cause, not the individual, is nominated as an individual to represent the masses in a governmental body that has no interest in her class-conscious ideal.

Ekko: the people's hero in every sense of the word who never sees the fruits of his labor/sacrifice and who goes without the acknowledgement he deserves (more than any other Arcane character).

Vi: the ultimate victim of Piltover police brutality coerced, through grief, trauma, and loss, into working for the system that oppressed her. Even Caitlyn, for all her good intentions, seems incapable of ever understanding this.

Viktor: a genius hellbent on ending the same suffering he endured at the hands of Piltover's oppression has his agency revoked, driving him to inflict the same choicelessness he endured on Zaunite innocents.

On paper, these arcs are devastatingly sensical. And we don't always need happy endings in our stories (I'd sure like them, more often than not, of course). We can and should witness the harsh realities of class oppression if we don't experience them ourselves. The writing team painstakingly crafted and foreshadowed these worst-case scenarios throughout season 1. For example, in 1x07, Ekko being immediately shot at by Marcus at the bridge confirms our suspicions that Piltover Enforcers are a lost cause, not just full of bad apples but internally broken beyond repair. It felt that, despite all the hope, this struggle was doomed, and we were careening toward something dark - "In the pursuit of great, we failed to do good."

Had these arcs been successful, audiences would be confronted with the systemic issues we see today that implicate the physical and mental health of downtrodden individuals on account of lazy, prejudiced leadership. This actively happens. It is actively happening, sans the fantasy of it all. This is where Arcane should have shined: they depict the tragedy of these characters, but DO NOT endorse it.

But Arcane chickens out and the entire thing fails. Here are the Flop Era Spark Notes:

Maddie is the egregious bad apple stereotype that absolves all other agents of the regime. She clearly is not a stand-in for Enforcers at large because, all of a sudden, they're capable of coordinated artillery strikes that are necessary to the defense of Piltover, which the viewer must suddenly and abundantly care about. So glad she died. Also, Arcane, you cannot introduce abject warfare in the last 30 minutes of your show successfully.

Jinx's "revolutionary" plot was a red herring, and Sevika humbly vying for the spot was never delivered upon. They pay lip service to the Undercity organizing, but the scene is interrupted for larger (messier) plot concerns almost immediately. No commitment. No depiction to even refrain from endorsing.

Ekko and the Firelight Tree. Clearly this was set up as a means of showing how Piltover's mistakes were physically seeping into the only sanctuary left in Zaun. Yet this is just...never resolved? If someone has some insights into this, please let me know. No depiction. No discussion about endorsement.

What could Vi specifically gain by aligning with the Enforcers/Piltover? Human connection with Cait, sure, but why return to them in 2x06? Vi's character begged all season for development, but she kept returning to her nonsensical error of her ways (looking backwards) until the very end, and this is basically what "kills" Jinx. This is a nod to her lonesomeness post 1x03, sure, but to what end? Again, why the Enforcers?!? Oh, because now that Cait has been redeemed and Sevika is in Piltover to save the day, there are no systemic issues left to fix? Sure, Riot.

WHY DEVELOP VIKTOR'S ENTIRE HEXCORE ARC OFF SCREEN?I'M ADMITTEDLY BIASED ABOUT THIS, BUT THE AMOUNT OF DISCUSSIONS I'VE HAD WITH VIKTOR NATION ABOUT THE DEGREE TO WHICH HE WAS INFLUENCED/MANIPULATED BY THE HEXCORE (now that we know Sky was a manifestation of his humanity, not her Actual Self) IS DESPICABLE. HIS COMPROMISED AGENCY NEEDS TO BE FRONT AND CENTER AND OBVIOUS, OR ELSE IT SURE SEEMS LIKE RIOT IS ENDORSING THE LACK OF AGENCY IN VIKTOR'S STORY. I shouldn't have to make 1k word posts to explain this. I'll do it because I love him with my whole heart, but still.

I begged and pleaded for months for BBEG Viktor (I'm really proud of my predictions from October), but by introducing a villain/conflict beyond the Piltover/Zaun dichotomy, Riot severed all threads of class conflict that were so rife and exciting in season 1. The proletariat and the bourgeoise will never coalesce like they did by the end of 2x09 without systemic revolution. Sevika is just one individual. Ekko's people need him. Jinx and Viktor are gone. Vi is downtrodden, and we have SO LITTLE to show for it.

In summary, we just didn't get enough explicit explanation of any character development to make Arcane-As-Tragedy successful. They did not stick the landing. The finale leaves us all with various bad tastes in our mouth. Instead of lamenting the harsh reality of oppression, I'm confused about what Riot prioritizes and agrees with, what they aim to criticize, and what they condemn.

I'll die on the hill that revoking Viktor's agency has the potential to be one of the greatest tragic hero storylines I've ever seen, but it's a lonely hill because I'm fighting against the writing team's consistent flops. At least Balayage Viktor was so gorgeous.

shameless self plug for my earlier discussion about the innate political clashes in season 1 that were abandoned for flashy fantasy fights in season 2: