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sprout-fics · 1 year

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Little Mouse

(König x F! Reader)

Masterlist here!

Word count: 4.8k Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Female Reader, Sniper Reader, Abductions, Interrogations, Hostage situation, Injuries, Kidnapping, Rescues, 141 Reader Warnings: Abduction, Semi-unwanted touching A/N: This is my first official attempt at a König piece, hopefully it isn't terrible

Summary:

Hands. One on your wrist, the other on your shoulder. You sigh at first, relieved and thankful, expecting Gaz's voice to filter through the buzz between your ears, concerned and urgent. Yet there's only silence, a solitude that leaves you empty and reaching for the familiar, for your comrade to right you, help you limp to safety.

It's not him.

The hands are too large, too broad, and when they touch you it isn't with a firm, insistent touch you expect from the sergeant. No, they're rough, shoving, pulling, flipping you over even as that crack inside you threatens to fracture further, pain blossoming bright and scarlet behind your eyelids. You can hardly move, but even then you try to struggle, writhing and kicking weakly at whoever it is who's seized you, who's lifting you up into their arms. You rise, and then rise higher, dully realizing that whoever this is, they're huge.

Something covers your face. Your body jostles as the person who has your limp form tossed over their shoulder moves, marching away, into the night.

The world is spinning, shaking. You're caught in a rogue wave, tumbling and twisting under the ocean's surface as the inertia of it carries you, lifts you. Air seeps from your lungs, choked with dust and debris as you feel it float upwards. You try to follow it, try to discern which way is up, struggling towards the surface of your own consciousness only to sink deeper, deeper into the abyss.

Gaz is laying somewhere nearby. He had been right beside you when the blast went off. You had heard a voice just before the clatter of metal had caught both of your attention. Thick, accented, thunderous. It had startled you, distracted you enough that it took a moment too long for you to react.

You had heard Gaz scream, voice rising to a fever pitch before he lunged for you, reaching, hands outstretched-

You don't ever remember hearing the sound. A flash of brightness more radiant than the sun itself, burning through your night vision goggles and searing your vision. The blast had sent you reeling backwards, body thrown into the cracked concrete wall behind you just as reality faded to indiscernible shapes and sounds.

When you breathe, you taste blood on your lips, dust from the grenade coating your tongue. Something inside you feels cracked, broken. When you suck in air there's a bright, burning flash of pain that digs inside your veins, blunted by the shock of your impact and the sheer, ringing noise of the world around you.

"Gaz..." You try, reaching out an arm as you lay on your side, trying to find your comrade in the darkness. He doesn't respond, and that's enough to send alarm spiking through you, eyes blinking open in a vain attempt to locate the sergeant within the pitch black of the ruined house. He had been closer to the grenade, you think, trying to push you out of the realm of the blast while you had been frozen, foolishly stupefied by the voice-

The voice-

You still, and a new dread courses through you now at the realization that someone had tossed the grenade, that your sniper nest has been compromised, that you two aren't alone.

"Gaz-!" You try again, managing to scoot yourself forward half a foot to where you think he might be. Fires flicker around you both, small flames from the larger burn outside that casts dancing shadows on the inside of the room. They must have missed, you think. The grenade had clattered against the outside wall, the worst of the blast absorbed by the concrete and yet still enough to send debris raining down on you both, knock you both to the floor and render you prone.

It's not him.

"K-Kyle-!" You call, trying to summon his aid, wherever he lays in the settling dust. "Kyle, h-help-"

Something covers your face. Your body jostles as the person who has your limp form tossed over their shoulder moves, marching away, into the night.

---

The world comes back to you in dull, ashen washes of color, shades of smoke and bones that throb on the inside of your skull with a distant, pulsing pain. When you suck in air, you feel the carve of whatever injury nestles below your chest spike, laced with a blooming bruise that extends outwards along your ribs. It summons a hiss from you, a sharp exhale as you force yourself to breathe through the pain.

It's remarkably silent, you notice, as you begin to take in the details of the world around you. The pop of gunfire, the crackle of smoldering embers has long since been extinguished, and in its place is the simple, quiet drip of a damp interior. The world around you remains shaded, caught in inky darkness as a single, flickering lantern casts a pale light into the cell you've been placed in.

Your eyes flick over to the bars then, taking in the puddled hallway. Immediately you rise, unable to stop a cry at whatever is broken inside you flaring to life once more. It takes a moment, but you swing your legs over the cot shoved hastily into the corner, standing and limping to the doorway. Yet when you peer into the dimness of the hallway there's nothing there.

Empty.

You force a sigh, bitter and disappointed, tinged with guilt as you lean against the stone wall to your side. At your waist your hands clink in their cuffs, the metal biting at your wrists.

Captured then. Ambushed and taken by surprise and then taken, whisked away into the dead of night while Gaz remained alone, injured, worse. The bite of it digs inside you, deeper than any wound, fear for yourself and worry for your comrade clogging your throat. You force it down, breathe despite the pain, despite the mounting panic inside you, trying to regain your sense of logic.

Captured, but by who?

The cell you and Gaz had been tracking had no idea you were there, you were sure of it. They hadn't noticed either of you set up on the hill, scopes at the ready and voices low into your comms. Yet you can still remember the touch of the person who took you- as you were slung over a hulking frame, hands engulfing your wrists, the width of your arms.

A monster.

As if summoned from the shadows by the mere thought, you hear footsteps down the hallway. Heavy, rumbling, as if they shake at the earth themselves.

It takes mere moments for you to press yourself away from the bars, backing yourself up against the rear wall of the cell just as a hulking figure casts a shadow over your form.

You freeze.

A towering stature, clad in shades of black and green. You follow him from his boots upwards, taking note of his thighs, the side of trunks and his solid, immovable weight. His hands hang loose at his sides, forearms covered in plated armor and fingers twitching. Yet it's only once your eyes rise to his face that you flinch, shiver at what you find there.

His eyes. Hidden underneath a hood, and where there's holes there's track marks, as if tear trails have bleached the fabric. You can't contain a shudder, not when this man before you looks for all the world like an executioner, his eyes unblinking, seeing the end of your fate. They stare at you, gaze downward at your tensed form, squinting in the darkness. Observing. Watching.

"Awake?" This man, this giant asks, and his voice is warbled with an accent that you think sounds Germanic. Yet the words are in English, and for a moment you see his eyes flicker down to the flag stitched across your sleeve.

You swallow, and in your stomach you know what comes next. You were taken alive for a reason, after all. Whatever this man wants from you requires your immediate survival, although it's uncertain for how long.

"Where are we?" You ask instead, jaw grit and eyes flashing defiance.

He tilts his head at you then, and the gesture seems strange somehow, as if he's studying you, trying to see through your courage. Yet he doesn't reply to your question, and instead reaches for his belt, withdrawing a set of keys that he uses to unlock the door.

"S-stay back!" You try as he enters the cell, has to slightly duck under the doorway due to his height. The room seems so much smaller with him in it, as he occupies the entire door frame, the scant space between the foot of the cot and your only chance at escape.

"Easy, fräulein." He tells you, raising his hands in a gesture that should be placating but only inspires a sharp surge of fear in you. "I'm not going to hurt you."

You snort derisively, ignoring the tremble in your hands as you press yourself further into the wall.

"I have a hard time believing that." You hiss at him, and again he tilts his head at you, a cat curious about the mouse it's cornered.

"It's true." He tries again, and the soft tenor of his voice is almost jarring, seemingly polite despite his terrifying appearance. "You tell me what I need to know, I let you leave, da?"

You pause, regard him, brow furrowed and lips pursed, see the way he has his hands lifted in assurance, not stepping closer. It's a trick, you're certain of it, and yet you have no choice but to play along, feign surrender and bide your time till you make your escape. So, you nod, a single, hesitant jerk of your head that has him dropping his hands, shifting so he leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Your name?" He asks, and the disconcerting nonchalance of his tone again has you casting him a look of suspicion, trying to understand this sudden shift in him.

"What's yours?" You return instead, watching his fingers scratch along the top of his arms.

"...König." He tells you after a pause.

"Rookie." You return. The fingers stop.

"That's not your real name." He states, tone dipping lower, a whisper of what should be a warning.

"Neither is yours."

"Hmm."

He shifts, fidgeting. You trace the motion, still as you are, hands flexing and eyes darting to the keys on his belt.

"The soldiers you are with." He speaks, drawing your attention to him once more. "Who are they?"

You blink then, show your hand and react to his question, perplexed.

"You should know." You reply slowly, sensing a trap. "You were the one that attacked us, weren't you?"

The man, König, is silent. There's an interest in his gaze you can't shake, a keenness that feels too sharp, narrowed in on you. Just you.

So, you venture a little farther, wetting your lips before speaking. "My friend. The one with me, is he alive?"

He blinks then, eyes briefly fluttering at you. The motion feels oddly human for this beast of a man, and again you feel that shiver run through you like a cold winter wind.

"...He was alive when we left."

Relief, warm and grateful, makes your shoulders sink perceptibly, the breath you had been holding wheezing free from your lungs. Gaz is alive. Knowing him, he probably made it to safety before the cell you were watching discovered him, vanishing into the woods and leaving them unaware.

"Why..." You suddenly speak, words caught dangerously in your throat. "Why didn't you kill him?"

König stills, his fidgeting halting at your question. You see his eyes narrow at you from under the hood, seeking your face in the darkness.

"He wasn't my target." He replies at last, and there's a tone to his words you can’t decipher, a hidden meaning shrouded behind the darkness of his eyes. "You were."

"Me?" You ask abruptly, eyebrows raising in surprise. "Why?"

"I ask the questions." König states, and he stands from the wall, looming to his full height and taking a step closer to you, annoyed by your persistence.

You scoff, fear simmering higher in your stomach, but you refuse to cede ground, staring up at him defiantly.

"Yeah, and you're doing a great job at it." You mock sardonically.

Another step.

"You aren't making it easy, fräulein." He growls, and this time you do feel that fear threaten to burst. He's closer now, too close, and you have to look up in order to meet his gaze as his figure blots light from the only lantern that allows you to see in the darkness.

"Who are the other soldiers you are with?" König demands again, voice dipping low as a rumble in his chest. "What are their names?"

You should be staying quiet, should be giving him nothing. Yet his earlier concessions have emboldened you, and now you feel a spike of defiance flash through you at his insistent questions.

"You don't even know who you attacked, do you?" You ask, voice trembling between fear and a hysterical giddiness at his frustration. "That's why I'm here, why you took me, isn't it? Because you don't even know who you're fighting!"

König snarls then, surging forward and planting a single massive hand on the stone wall next to your head. The other shoots forward, reaching up to seize the lower half of your face in a near bruising grip. The height of it drags you an inch up the wall, and the rough scrape of the stone against your bruised back is enough to make you groan in pain.

König pauses.

Your eyes are scrunched as you bite back a whimper that threatens to escape. It hurts. There's a rhythmic, stabbing sensation in your ribs and a bruised, bludgeoned pain across your shoulders. When you try and raise your shackled hands to push off the man before you they flail at him, arms shaking through the pain that seems to radiate like fractal lighting along your torso.

His grip lightens.

"You are hurt." He states blankly, and his tone is confused, almost disbelieving as a shudder ripples through you.

You grunt as you twist, and his hand loosens across your face, drifting downward to settle on your shoulder instead.

"Yeah, that tends to happen when you use grenades instead of words as your introduction." You hiss at him, but the true bite of your words is blunted by the stress of your injuries.

"Let me see."

"What? No-!" You try, twisting away from him. Yet the motion only inflames your likely fractured rib, and you grimace, slump down the wall. Before you can slide away König's grip settles on your arm, and those same hands that had held you so roughly soften, encircling your bicep as he keeps you steady.

You glance at him, eyes turning upwards to his hooded gaze, looming over your smaller figure. The menace, the cold seems softer there, brow furrowed and stare glinting down at you. It's...disconcerting, whatever this is, the way he's suddenly fixated on you not as his prey, but his captive, his responsibility.

It flickers, then it's gone.

"You won't be able to answer my questions if you're bleeding out." He tells you, voice rough, and it sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to persuade you.

"Good." You snap at him instead, painful irritation prickling under your skin. "Because I'm not telling you anything."

There's a spark then, something that almost seems like amusement under his hood. It tugs at the corners of his eyes, squinting, and for a moment you feel again like a mouse, cornered by a cat who hovers a claw dangerously close to your smaller form.

"We shall see." Is all he tells you, and you shudder at the promise there.

Yet then he releases you, hands vanishing as he's leaning back, giving you space. It startles you for a moment, this sudden motion of his that leaves you reeling in his absence. König only studies for, head tilting at the confusion that passes over your face before nodding to the cot.

"Sit." He tells you, and it's not a request.

Against your better judgment you follow the command, shuffling so as to keep distance between him and you, eyes never leaving his form. He watches as you plop down, observes the grimace at the movement that sends a stabbing ache digging at your ribs.

You start when he takes a step towards you, voice suddenly cracking in your throat as you manage: "I-I'm not bleeding."

"On the outside." He returns. Another step.

"Please." You suddenly gasp, as you scoot back along the bed, as he looms over you in the darkness. Your previous defiance feels cracked in your throat, chalky and drowned in fear at the man who towers above your form. "Don't- don't hurt me."

He pauses then, hands halfway stretched towards you but freezing where they are. His eyes are wide under his hood, and even in the dim lighting you can see the whites of them as he stops, digests your frantic plea.

"I'm not...going to hurt you, Maus." He speaks, and there's a conflict there you don't understand, his voice wavering on the title he's given you, fitting given your circumstances. "I need to make sure you aren't bleeding on the inside."

You don't respond, not at first, heart thumping wildly in your chest at his enormous shadow cast over you. Yet you can't help the lingering parlor of fear at his words, doubt at your own body. You haven't checked, haven't been able to discern the extent of your own injuries, and you know it's entirely likely he's right, that maybe something inside you was bruised or ruptured in the collision, that it may only be a matter of time before the symptoms present themselves.

Even so, you tremble when his hands land on you, a single wide palm splaying across your front.

"Wo." He asks, even as you flinch when he drums his fingers over the vest shielding you from his bare touch. "Where?"

"...Ribs." You manage at last, torn between keeping your eyes scrunched shut and refusing to take your gaze off him. Your face feels warm. He's too close like this, leaning over you, one knee wedged between your legs, the heat of him radiating into your space. "F-fractured, I think."

He hums, and the sound itself feels like the churning of glaciers, ancient and grinding low inside him. You think his hands will dig under your shirt, rip off your vest, trail his fingers up your ribs. It's a surprise when he simply ghosts over the underside of your tac vest, gently lifting it to probe where you press your hand to quell the pain. You hiss at the contact, resisting the urge to turn away, to vainly push him aside.

"You're so...small." He marvels as he gingerly presses down along your side, inspecting for any soreness that might indicate internal bleeding. "Soft."

You ignore that, ignore the way your face warms at his voice, almost mystified by your smaller frame under his hand. You half expect his touch to roam, for him to lean closer, closer into you. Yet König is surprisingly clinical, his touch clumsy but sincere as he searches for injuries.

He's...warm. The heat of him seeping through his glove, lighting against your chilled skin under your clothes.

You shake away the thought before it fully forms, flinching when König finds a hidden bruise.

"Broken." He mutters at last and seems almost reluctant to pull away from you. "But no bleeding. You're lucky."

"I-I feel lucky." You manage, voice shaking and yet desperately trying to regain control. "Got ambushed, injured, and kidnapped. It's been a great day so far."

König huffs at you, amused and annoyed. Yet instead of drawing completely away from your figure he instead sinks, kneels to your level.

"A name, Maus." He tells you, voice lower, quiet. "A name, and then I'll get you some water, medicine for the pain."

The temptation is an ugly one, you'll admit that much. You're dehydrated, tired, in need of proper rest so you can conserve your energy, find a way out. It won't be easy to escape like this, injured and untreated as you are. Even if you do manage to slip past him, you have no doubt he'd be able to chase you down, broken and wilted as you are.

So, you give him a name. Yours.

He quiets, stares at you, eyes unblinking for what seems like eons, red rimmed and wide. You feel pinned under them, under his focused, piercing gaze, and he's close, too close, but the menace you originally felt is gone. There's something there instead you don't understand- a curiosity, an intent you cannot name.

He repeats it, voice curling over the sound as if rolling a candy under his tongue.

You suppress a shiver at that, at the way he fails to hide his blatant fascination with you.

"And your company?" He requests, and you almost fall for it, the casual, almost friendly way he asks you about your secrets.

You stay silent, lips pursed, brow drawn, refusing to speak.

The brightness in his eyes flashes, fades into something deeper, darker at your stubbornness.

"Your company, Maus." He insists, voice lowering. A hand flexes on his knee.

He won't hurt you. He said he wouldn't hurt you.

"The 141." You murmur, and something stabs inside you, guilty and hurt over your own betrayal.

"One four one." König echoes, accent turning over the numbers in a low rumble.

You nod, heart racing, breath quickening, unable to tear your gaze away from him even as you desperately want to, want to run, run away from here.

"Good." König purrs and withdraws at last. Breath tumbles freely from your chest, damp and warm fogging into the air. Without his massive body so close you feel the cold returning, seeping back into your limbs in all the places he didn't touch. For a moment you feel the inertia of that rogue wave pull at you once more, except this time when you surface it isn't to fire and destruction but to him, grounding and grave like the shadows around him.

He stands, observes you for a few extra moments, as you try not to wither under his stare. You wish you could understand what it is about you that perplexes him so, seems to grab his attention as his eyes narrow in on your face.

It almost feels like he wants to eat you alive.

"Stay put, Maus." He tells you, voice distant, distracted. He takes a single step towards the door-

and the entire building shakes.

Your eyes shoot up then, jolting to your feet as dust shifts downwards from the ceiling and the ground briefly shudders under you. König seems as surprised as you are, eyes wide under his hood as his gaze lifts upwards.

He curses, the sound grating and harsh in his native tongue, and when his eyes land back on you, you spring.

You duck under his outstretched hand, gritting through the pain of your injury so hard your teeth crack, dashing for the cell door and shoving at it. To your surprise it swings open, creaking and rusty against your insistent push.

You get exactly five steps down the hallway before he reaches you, a single hand catching you by your arm, hauling you up and against his front.

"What made you think we were done, Maus?" He asks, eyes narrowed down at you, and your heart sinks to your feet.

Yet when he tries to lift you, to throw you over his shoulder you scream, thrash against him. Ignoring the radiant flare of hurt that gouges through you as you twist, struggle, fueled by adrenaline even as the building shudders again around you both.

"No!" You scream, furious and afraid. "Let me GO!"

"Stop- urgh making this hard, fräulein." König shoots back as he tries to maintain a grip on you, and yet it's his words that make you shout louder, squirm harder in his hands.

There's a shout down the hallway, loud and urgent, tinged in an accent that you recognize.

"Ghost!" You scream, voice echoing down into the darkness where you can't yet see him. "LT, he-!"

A hand covers your face.

"That's another name you've given me." König murmurs, leaning down so his hood drapes across your shoulder, his voice curling against your ear. "I'll have to make do with that for now, kleine Maus."

You freeze, panic flooding your veins in an icy wash of fear. Yet it's stunted when you're abruptly released, and you spin to face him, this monster of a man who's touch has vanished from you.

He's turned away from you, facing down the hallway opposite where Ghost's voice echoes from. Your confusion dulls your senses, the mystery of why he's chosen to let you go, instead of kidnap, even kill you is impossible to understand.

"For now." König echoes, and you see his eyes under the lantern that swings wildly back and forth, dancing shadows across his hood. A spirit, a poltergeist.

You don't give it a second thought, spinning and racing towards safety, in the direction of your allies who have come to rescue you. König's footfalls fade into the darkness away from you, vanishing into the same dark night into which he carried you.

When you glance back, he's gone.

A voice calls out for you again, and you hone in on it, feet splashing sloppily through puddles as you limp in the direction of your team.

"I'm here!" You yell, voice cracking with the effort it takes to call to them. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, and after a few moments you see a figure waver free of the dimness.

"Rookie." Ghost breathes, lifting his goggles and reaching for you. You land on his arm to steady yourself, breathing hard and gasping for air. "Thank fuck."

You think he's alone until there's a crackle behind him, a radio warbling with a question from the captain.

"Affirm, Cap." Soap speaks into the handset strapped to his vest, and his eyes twinkle at you with relief. "Package has been located."

"Good." Price's voice replies gruffly over the comms. "Now get out of there before the whole building comes down on you."

"Rog."

"Gaz." You gasp, clinging to Ghost's arm, your relief and joy at the sight of your comrades short lived. "Kyle. Is he-?"

"The sergeant is fine." Ghost tells you, and you almost collapse into him with gratitude. "We need to move, now."

Yet when he turns you stumble, legs shaking and breath wheezing in your chest.

"Are you hurt?" Soap asks at once, slipping past Ghost to hover at your side, lifting an arm to sling it over his shoulder.

"Rib. Broken." You manage, and the Scotsman curses.

"The bastard that took you- did he do this?" He hisses, and there's fury there, dark and thunderous at the thought you may have been beaten, abused in the short time it took for them to reach you. "Gaz caught a glimpse of him, mammoth fellow."

"No." You manage, and you blink, turn to cast a glance over your shoulder into the darkness where König disappeared.

"He...didn't hurt me."

You don't hear whatever Soap says next, but you're moving, striding forward as the building lurches and shudders around you, as you struggle with them to safety.

Yet König's words linger, like a forbidden proverb, haunting the space inside of you with their dark, eerie promise.

For now.

Tags:

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfierriii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes

#konig #konig x reader #cod konig #cod #mw2 #reader insert #my writing #my fic #oneshots #I literally started this bad boy at...11:30 this morning #idk how i do it #...oh man I just read this back #this is awful.#//head in hands #goddamit.

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fmhobeus · 1 month

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so, nerdy loser college boy choso *sighs* *opens legs*

a/n: just so you know, this man is gonna make you do all the hard work for a piece of that loser boy dick 😮‍💨 so... um so at some point around 2000 words in i realised this is way more than a hc post :3 eat it up if you will!

nerdy!choso who borderline has no friends except his gaming buddies who doesnt meet irl like ever. he doesnt like going to classes, especially this one. he doesnt need it but it's a requirement for all first years. and boy is glad it is when he sees you come in.

nerdy!choso who only listens to discussions when you're talking. suddenly he needs to put down his headphones and nod at every word you're saying. his eyes follow every gesture of your hand, every sway of your ass, every single time you fix your hair.

nerdy!choso who is starting to get a bit enamored with you, your style, your way of speaking. he loses track of time gawking at you in class from the last benches as you prettily do all the work in the class. he hates how beautifully your hair falls on your face, how nicely your clothes fit you despite being pretty modest for college. he hates how he can see the silhouette of your tits when you turn to the side. but he's too much of a gentleman to keep looking.

nerdy!choso who ends a game early when he remembers you, lying and saying that he had promised someone to meet them somewhere. the place is his bathroom and the person was you. god, you really shouldn't wear those tight jeans to class y'know? how will he continue to be a gentleman if you do?

nerdy!choso who despises groupwork but prays to dear god this class has some reason to pair you two together. he's getting so desperate to talk to you knowing damn well he too pussy to do it on his own. and the lord answers his prayers, the teacher assigns groups of three for a presentation. it's you, him and some slacking trust fund baby.

nerdy!choso who is about to combust and have a full blown panic attack when he sees you approach him after class with that smile on your face that would make the angels swoon. you're going on about distributing the work equally and what not while he is trying his fucking hardest to not accidently make eye contact with you and piss his pants : (

nerdy!choso who now has your name, your number and your email and he feels like the happiest man on earth. his hands are literally shaking as he responds to your request to call. he's overthinking every word he types.

choso: yeah i can do wednesday. choso: i'll be okay with whatever day you want.

nerdy!choso who hops on video call and short circuits with a view of you in an oversized band tee and a brief view of your room. why did you have to be this pretty? why did you have to video call him when you couldve done the work on text? why did you have to put your hair up like that? why oh why did you have you say "choso? hey, you there?" so seductively to bring him back to the present?

nerdy!choso who gets like no work done in a 30 minute call which felt like three hours. he knew he would hardly be paying attention so decided to record the call with your consent, saying he'd need the notes you were typing out on screen only to play it back and stroke his dick to you for what might've have been the twentieth time this week. his strokes only getting faster as you say his name in that voice he imagines sounds way better moaning and screaming it instead.

nerdy!choso who, after the presentation, is on greeting terms with you when he sees you studying in the library. he sits as far away from you as he can while still being able to see you. occupying the coziest corner of the library to stare at you study right when you come up to him.

"can i join you, choso? i'm all alone and your space seems comfy" you say with a smile, "of course, i dont mean to disturb you, is saw you were on your own too, so..."

uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. god no. please no. please dont say yes. please dont be staring at her like some dumb idiot (too late) please.

"uh... yeah sure why not?" he awkwardly says as he makes room for you to keep your things. he was such an idiot for thinking he could say no to your pretty face in the first place.

nerdy!choso who is absolutely drunk on your scent. it feels way better than any alcohol he's ever had. he feels like an animal in heat when he smells your sugary perfume mixed with the styrofoam-y air conditioned smell of the library. you're gonna kill him, yknow? how is he supposed to respond to this? what is one to do when their stupid college crush sits next to them? he gives you a half smile before furiously typing away on reddit, the only place with answers for losers like him.

nerdy!choso whose hands. oh his hands. (can be i a big whore for a second?) his long hands that feel like they're the size of your face. his kempt, beautiful and trimmed nails. his lengthy fingers that seem to yearn for something more to foddle with than just the keyboard or controller. he typed as such an insane pace it made your pussy ache. he was going so fast, jesus. those hands were meant to do more than just ask "how to talk to girls" on reddit.

nerdy!choso who (on the advice of reddit) asks if you would want him to order something for you. you tell you had a frappuccino not too long ago and that it was quite sweet and filling. and he hates himself for thinking that he could give you something much sweeter and filling than that like a horny fourteen year old.

nerdy!choso who is now determined to not come off as a creep so he does his work with the focus of four adderalls. he is typing as fast as his heartbeat, not realising he got two classes worth of work done in just an hour. he looks over at you, blissfully unaware of the absolute war in his mind.

nerdy!choso who feels as though if he doesn't muster up the courage to ask you out right then and there, he'll probably be the biggest loser on the planet. (as if he wasn't already)

nerdy! pathetic! choso who stutters a million times and barely gets the job done then too. his eyes are scanning your entire being (trying his best to not gawk at your tits) for any sign of discomfort.

"so- uhh so ummm... wo-would you, like, uh... like to do this again? sometime?... i got a.. a lot of work done today, so.."

oh heavens, the sheer nervousness in his tone makes you want to pull his pants down and show him how to really get work done.

you agree with a smile, even suggesting a better, more ambient (more romantic) cafe to study in. choso's heart is about to burst and flood the fucking library with his blood the way it is beating at an alarming rate.

"umm yeah uh 5 sounds... awesome... i hope it isn't a-a bother to you?" "no way, choso. i loved today," you offer him a smile as you gather your things, "i really like your hair, by the way" "i like your hair too, y-y-you smell very nice", he gulps.

fuck. why did he say that? what? you smell nice? who says that? is he like ten? you can't help but giggle at the sheer embarassment on his face.

he feels as though he's gonna melt into a puddle and turn to stone and throw up all at the same time.

nerdy!choso who is the most stupidly hot guy you've ever met, you think as you go giggling back to your dorm. mental note: pick a skimpy outfit for 5pm ;)

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