#First Class Lounge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cumironi · 25 days ago

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ACADEMIC MISCONDUCT : PU$$Y SUBMISSION EDITION jjk men

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. bold of you to assume that your pu$$y now belongs to you after you fück your professor. and you even have the audacity to go on blind date without telling them? yeah, go on a date, get rearranged’ they said.

wn. non-sorcerer au!, professor-student au, 23 you & 31 them, possessive behavior and aggressive jealousy from a very large, very unhinged professor, power imbalance (professor/student), but you, likes it and he really likes it unprotected sex with zero post-nut clarity, degradation + praise in the same breath, oral fixation, spit kink, desk abuse, pussy worship in the form of punishment, rough $ex featuring emotional damage and breeding threats, heavy marking, territorial growling, and minor furniture damage, aftercare only implied because he’s still pissed off, she’s in love, he’s obsessed, nobody’s normal & he thinks jealousy is a valid teaching method.

GOJO SATORU

the first time satoru hears about it, it’s in the most humiliating way possible. not from you. not from a whisper in the dark where he can pull your legs apart in warning. no—he’s sipping coffee in the staff lounge, sunglasses half-slid down his nose, when utahime walks by and drops it like a nuclear bomb.

“your favorite student’s going on a blind date tonight,” she says with a teasing lilt. “you might lose your little lap bunny.”

the burn in his gut is immediate.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t move. doesn’t blink. he just raises the cup to his mouth again, lips curving over the ceramic, smile like a crack in glass.

“you good?” she asks.

“me?” he hums. “always.”

but he’s not. not when he watches the way you walk into lecture fifteen minutes late—bra strap peeking, lip gloss shiny, hair freshly done like you’re trying to fucking kill him.

and you smile at him. that smile. the one that always means trouble. “sorry, professor,” you murmur, breathy and full of fake guilt. “overslept.” his jaw ticks. “overslept or busy texting your mystery date?”

you blink.

you weren’t expecting him to know. that’s cute.

“what?” you laugh, sliding into your seat in the front row like you own him. “someone’s been gossiping, huh?”

“someone’s been sloppy,” he replies, and you freeze for half a second—because there’s a shift in his tone. less playful. more predator.

“i didn’t know you cared.”

he grins, teeth sharp and sweet. “oh, i don’t.”

liar.

he barely makes it through the lecture.

every time you shift in your seat, his mind goes dark. legs spread. knees over his shoulders. your cunt swollen and twitching, leaking down to his tongue while you cry about how full you are. how ruined. how stretched.

but apparently not ruined enough if you’re out there letting strangers buy you dinner. he waits until after class. the hallway clears. he stands by the door, hands in his pockets, sunglasses gone. eyes sharp. you pretend you don’t see him, but your steps slow as you pass, hips swaying like bait.

“office,” he says.

you roll your eyes, playing coy, but your thighs press together. he sees it. you’re wet already. you’ve been wet since he raised his voice during lecture. he shuts the door behind you. doesn’t lock it, but it might as well be. the air tightens around you like a noose.

“you think i don’t know what you’re doing?” he murmurs, stepping close.

“what am i doing, professor?” you ask, head tilted, eyes wide with mock innocence.

“playing games.”

“maybe i am.”

his hand slams on the desk beside your head. you flinch—just a little—and smile up at him like you want to see how far he’ll go. “do you know what that does to me?” he hisses. “hearing someone else is going to get to touch what’s mine?”

you raise a brow. “yours?”

“yeah.” his hand moves to your throat—not tight, not choking, but firm. possessive. his thumb brushes your jaw. “mine. don’t tell me you forgot.”

“you never said i couldn’t.”

he laughs, wild and soft and bitter. “baby, you can’t even cum without me holding your hips down.” your face heats. your lashes flutter. your thighs clench, and he sees it again. he always sees it. “what—gonna fuck the date with my cum still inside you?” he taunts, lips ghosting over yours. “your pussy’s shaped like me, you think he’s gonna know what to do with that? you think he’ll recognize the sound you make when you’re close? the way you tremble?”

“satoru—”

you shouldn’t have said his name.

his mouth is on yours before you finish it. furious, hungry, a kiss like punishment. his tongue slips in and steals every excuse from your mouth.

“strip.”

“someone might come in—”

“then be quick.”

you hop up on the desk, skirt riding high, no panties underneath. his hands are there immediately, fingers spreading your folds, already slick, already begging. “fuck—look at this,” he murmurs, thumb teasing your clit while you squirm. “who got you wet like this, huh? your little blind date?”

“n-no,” you whisper.

“then who?”

“you…”

“say it.”

“you, professor.”

his smirk curls against your thigh. “good girl.”

you gasp when he spits on your cunt, two fingers slipping in, slow and deep. “god, you’re still shaped like me,” he groans, watching the way your walls pulse around his fingers. “i ruin you every time and you still need more. filthy fucking girl.”

“please,” you whimper, hips lifting.

he leans in and bites your thigh, hard enough to mark.

“no begging,” he growls. “you want something? you earn it. tell me you're canceling the date.”

“satoru—”

he slaps your clit, sharp and fast, and you choke on a cry.

“tell me.”

“i'll cancel it! i will—fuck, please—!”

he hums, pleased, dragging your juices across your slit, up your stomach. his fingers curl just right, and you clench down like you never want him to leave.

“that’s better,” he says, kissing your thigh. “my good girl.”

he fucks you with his fingers until you're sobbing his name, clinging to his shirt, and when you cum, he doesn't stop. doesn't let up. he pulls you down to the floor, bends you over the desk, and sinks into you raw.

“look at you,” he moans into your neck. “crying like this cock doesn’t live inside you already. slut.”

“yours—yours—”

“damn right. if i find out you even talked to someone else like this, i’m showing up to your date and fucking you in the bathroom while he waits.”

“satoru—!”

“you like that idea?” he pants, hips pounding. “like the thought of me destroying you where everyone can hear? ruin your reputation like i ruined your body?”

“yes—please—don’t stop—”

he doesn’t. not until he fills you to the brim, holds you tight, whispers against your spine that he loves you too much to let you go. that he’ll make you remember who owns you, every fucking day if he has to.

GETO SUGURU

geto suguru is quieter about it than gojo. where gojo would rage and bark and leave you marked in broad daylight, geto is the kind of man who waits. watches. listens to your excuses like they’re confessions. he’s twenty years your senior, your professor in comparative philosophy, always perfectly pressed in black button-downs and silk ties. calm, unreadable, devastating.

and the moment he finds out from shoko that you’ve got a blind date lined up for friday night, he doesn’t lash out. he doesn’t even frown. he just hums, pours his tea, and murmurs,

“ah. so she wants to be owned by someone else.”

and shoko, who’s always had too good a sense for danger, only raises her brow and says, “you gonna let her?”

“oh, not at all,” he says. “she’ll learn.”

you don’t know he knows. you come to his office hours like you always do, in your oversized hoodie and those dangerous little shorts that barely peek past the hem. knees tucked under you on his leather couch, eyes wide and innocent as you ask for help on your thesis. your thighs are bare. your lip is glossed. and there’s a new tension in the room you don’t recognize until you shut the door.

“lock it,” he says, not looking up from his laptop.

you pause, your stomach twisting. “what?”

“i said lock it. if we’re going to be alone, we ought to have privacy, don’t you think?”

your fingers tremble slightly as they twist the lock. you turn to face him, unsure why he feels different today—why his voice is thicker, why his gaze lingers too long on your thighs.

“something wrong, professor?”

“plenty,” he says, folding his hands in his lap, eyes fixed on you like a hawk. “but let’s start with you. tell me about this little date of yours.”

your mouth dries.

you try to deflect. “who told you that?”

“does it matter?”

you stay quiet.

“you were going to let someone else touch you,” he says, and his voice is soft. unbearably so. “someone else between your legs. someone who doesn’t know how your cunt tightens when you’re scared. someone who’s never had your throat bulging around their cock. tell me—what exactly do you owe this man?”

“i wasn’t gonna sleep with him,” you whisper.

he rises slowly from his chair.

“you think that excuses you?”

his tone is mild, but your thighs clench together on instinct. you feel it immediately—the sharp ache in your core, the phantom throb of memory.

“you think not fucking him is the line?” he continues, walking toward you, each step measured. “so kissing would be fine? letting him buy you food? letting him think you’re available, when you walk around every day stuffed full of my cum?”

your mouth opens to protest, but nothing comes out. he stands over you now, tall and calm and terrifying.

“stand up.”

you do. your legs shake.

“strip.”

you hesitate, but he doesn’t repeat himself. just looks at you like he’s waiting to see whether you’re still worth keeping. your hoodie falls to the floor. your tank top next. your shorts. your bra. you’re bare in seconds, eyes wide and throat dry as his gaze moves over you, slow and thorough.

“good girl,” he murmurs. “at least you remember how to obey.”

he reaches for you. his hands are large and warm and deceptively gentle as they slide down your back, cupping your ass. “this body is mine,” he says, fingers sinking in. “this pussy is mine. and if you ever give so much as a smile to another man again, i will fuck you so thoroughly you’ll limp into lecture with my cum leaking down your legs. do you understand me?”

you nod frantically, breath caught.

“say it.”

“yes, professor—yes, i understand—i’m yours—”

he kisses you then. not sweet, not loving—deep and hot and consuming. his tongue swallows your gasp, his fingers press between your thighs, and you moan when he finds you already wet. “filthy little thing,” he whispers against your lips. “do you even know how you smell? you think he wouldn’t have known the moment he sat next to you that you belong to someone else?”

“i’m sorry—”

“too late.”

he turns you around, pushes you forward over the desk with one hand on your back. the cool wood shocks your skin. his other hand spreads your legs.

“no prep today. you’re going to take me raw and open like the little slut you are.” he unzips his pants. you hear it—the low rustle, the metallic clink, the hiss of breath as his cock slaps against your ass.

and then he pushes in.

“fuck—so tight. you’re always tight,” he groans, sinking inch by inch, slow and brutal. “doesn’t matter how often i fuck you. greedy little cunt always pretends it’s the first time.”

“nghhh—professor—” you cry out, nails clawing at the desk. “too deep—”

“nonsense.” he grips your hips, pulls you back into him until he’s fully seated. “this pussy’s shaped for me. if it hurts, it’s because it’s remembering who it belongs to.” he starts to move. slow, deep thrusts that scrape against your walls, dragging every sound out of your throat. you sob into the wood. he doesn’t stop.

“he would’ve been too soft,” geto murmurs, voice low and cruel. “he wouldn’t have known how to make you scream. wouldn’t have known you need to be taken. broken down. loved in pieces.”

you moan. high and breathless and helpless.

“yours—i’m yours—please—”

“prove it.”

he reaches around and slaps your clit. once. twice. then again, until you’re sobbing with it, hips jerking, cunt fluttering around him like it’s begging. “cum for me,” he says. “right now. show me who this pussy belongs to.”

you scream when it hits. muscles locking, eyes rolling back, your body spasming under him as you cum so hard you nearly collapse. he fucks you through it, relentless.

then he pulls out. flips you over.

“you’re not done.”

he lifts you onto the desk, spreads your legs, and slams back in, face inches from yours. one hand on your throat now. the other cradling your thigh like something precious.

“i’m going to breed you so full of me, you’ll taste it for days.”

“yes—please—need it—”

“fucking slut,” he growls, snapping his hips faster. “do you even know what you’re doing to me? every time you leave, every time you smile at someone else, i want to ruin you.”

his eyes burn into yours—dark, hot, overwhelming.

“mine.”

he cums with a deep groan, pressed tight against you, cock twitching as he empties inside you in thick, hot waves. your name is a curse on his lips, his hips grinding into you even as he spills every drop. he holds you through it, arms firm around your back, forehead pressed to yours.

“you’re not leaving,” he says.

“never,” you whisper.

“you’ll come here every friday instead. knees on the floor. mouth open. or bent over this desk. or tied to the chair. whatever i want.”

“yes—yes, professor—”

he kisses you again, this time slow. reverent.

and when you try to stand, he presses you down with a hand on your belly.

“we’re not finished.”

NANAMI KENTO

nanami kento doesn’t yell. he doesn’t snap, doesn’t lose control. no—he calculates, measures, and when he’s angry, it’s a quiet thing. sharp. surgical. deadly.

he hears about your blind date from a colleague in the economics department. just a harmless comment in the lounge “your favorite little research assistant’s going out friday. hope her date knows what he’s getting into.”

nanami doesn’t react. not then. just adjusts his tie, thanks them for the information, and finishes his coffee.

but something turns in him. something cold.

because you—his girl—were supposed to tell him first.

the rest of the week, he’s painfully polite. unreadable. you don’t even realize he knows.

he still reads over your papers. still offers notes. still lets you curl up in the office armchair while he types, his jacket draped over your legs like always. but he doesn’t touch you. doesn’t kiss you. doesn’t slip his hand under your skirt while murmuring about Kant or market elasticity.

and it’s driving you insane.

friday comes, and you knock on his door before class, expecting the usual. affection. maybe a quiet, breathless fuck before lecture, up against the bookcases while the windows fog.

but when he looks up at you from his papers, you feel it. the distance.

“you look nice,” he says, flatly. “you always get that dressed up for lecture?”

you freeze.

“...you heard.”

“i did.”

you try to explain, but he waves a hand—elegant, firm, final.

“i’m not interested in your excuses,” he says, rising from his seat. he’s taller than you remember when he’s angry. “you knew what we were. what i am to you. and still you thought it acceptable to allow another man the idea of you.”

“kento, it wasn’t like that—”

“then tell me what it was like,” he says, voice low now, eyes dark. “was it innocent? were you simply bored of the way i fuck you so good you cry? was he going to hold your hand while my cum was still dripping out of you?”

your breath stutters.

“get on the desk.”

you blink. “what—now—?”

“i said get on the desk.”

you do, slowly, knees spreading as you sit on the edge. the wood is cold beneath your thighs. your skirt rides up when you move. he watches it happen, expression unreadable.

“take off your panties.”

you slip them off. he catches them in one hand, brings them to his face. inhales.

“still wet,” he murmurs. “but not for him, was it?”

you shake your head. “no, never—just you—”

he steps between your legs, unbuttoning his cuffs. rolling his sleeves up, slow. precise. you know what that means. “put your hands behind your back,” he says. “don’t move them unless i say.”

you obey. trembling.

his fingers trail up your thigh, reach your cunt, already damp and pulsing. he doesn’t praise you. doesn’t tease. just slides two fingers in, curling up until your hips jerk. “you know this body belongs to me,” he says softly. “and still, you wanted to test me. make me jealous.”

“i didn’t—”

“you did,” he cuts in. “and now, you’ll apologize with your body.”

he pulls his fingers out, glistening with slick, and wipes them on your tongue. you suck instinctively, eyes wide and glassy.

“such a good girl when you’re being used,” he says, unbuckling his belt. “i wonder if your date would’ve known what to do with this messy little mouth.” his cock’s hard already—thick, veiny, flushed. he strokes it slowly as he watches you. the room feels hot. too small. full of tension.

“open.”

you do.

he slides in slow, all the way down your throat, until you gag.

“mm. yes. that’s what you’re made for,” he murmurs, one hand in your hair. “that’s what you were always made for.”

he fucks your throat with slow, punishing thrusts, hips rolling forward as you drool down your chin, tears pricking your eyes. “think he’d last this long?” nanami growls, cock hitting the back of your throat over and over. “think he’d know to tap your cheek when you start to panic? think he’d praise you when you take it all like this?”

you choke and sob, eyes locked on his, desperate for forgiveness.

he pulls out suddenly, tilts your chin up, and kisses your spit-slick mouth.

“you don’t get to cum yet,” he says. “lie down.”

he flips you onto your back, presses you flat to the desk. one hand on your sternum to pin you down, the other guiding his cock back to your dripping cunt.

“no prep. no lube. you don’t deserve kindness today.”

he thrusts in rough—deep—full. your back arches, a sob spilling from your lips.

“f-fuck, kento—”

“quiet,” he snaps. “take it.”

he fucks you hard, relentless, his body covering yours, holding you still. your arms are still behind your back. you can’t move. you can’t breathe. all you can do is take it.

“you feel that?” he hisses. “every inch? memorize it. because if you ever dare give someone else your attention again, i will fuck you like this in front of your date. i will make him watch as you cry for my cock.”

“kento—i’m sorry—!”

“you will be.”

he fucks you through your apology, through your cries, until you cum screaming, writhing under him, cunt spasming around his cock.

he doesn’t stop.

he fucks you through it, chasing his own release, and when he cums, it’s deep—hot—thick. he stays inside, hips grinding as if trying to brand you from the inside out.

he leans down, presses a kiss to your temple.

“mine.”

you nod, broken and blissed out.

“say it.”

“yours. only yours. always.”

he pulls out slow. watches his cum leak out of you in a thick white string.

“you’ll clean this desk before you leave.”

“yes, professor.”

he buttons up, straightens his sleeves, and finally—finally—cups your face in both hands. “next time you think about someone else,” he says, soft and serious, “remember how it felt to have me make you forget your own name.” and kiss your forehead like a loving lover he is.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

he hears about the date during a smoke break.

not from you. never from you. nah—you’d rather bat your lashes, wear those tight little skirts to lecture, and play dumb like you don’t leave his sheets soaked every thursday after seminar.

it’s one of your friends, the mouthy one with no sense of self-preservation, who lets it slip. “she’s got a date friday night,” she says, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just toss a lit match onto gasoline. “some guy her cousin set her up with. cute, apparently. tall.”

toji just stares at her, chewing on his cigarette filter, jaw ticking.

“is that so.”

the friend doesn’t even notice how still he goes. how his eyes stop blinking. how the air around him shifts—sharp, tight, violent. he doesn’t go back to lecture that day. he waits. in his office. door unlocked. lights dim. and when you knock—sweet, innocent, clueless—he’s already leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, cigarette smoke curling out the cracked window.

“close the door,” he says.

you do.

you’re smiling when you step in, like always, like you think you’re safe with him.

you’re not.

“heard you’ve got plans friday,” he says, casual.

you blink. “...huh?”

“cute guy. tall. set up by your cousin.”

the smile falters.

“oh. um… how did you—”

“your friend’s got a big fuckin’ mouth,” he says, eyes narrowing. “but i’m glad she does. otherwise i wouldn’t have known my girl’s out here giving other men the idea they got a chance.”

you swallow.

“it’s just dinner, toji—”

“yeah?” he laughs, cruel and quiet. “just dinner? or were you gonna let him take you home after and find out your pussy doesn’t even work for anyone but me?”

you freeze. cheeks flush. thighs clench.

he notices. of course he does.

“strip.”

“we’re in your office—”

“i said strip.”

you do. shaky hands pulling your shirt over your head. skirt sliding down your legs. no bra. no panties.

he raises a brow.

“you were hoping i’d fuck you today, huh?”

you nod.

he stands. walks toward you slow. like a lion. like a man who’s about to ruin something for fun. “on the desk. legs spread.”

you scramble up. lie back. legs trembling as you open them. he grabs your ankles and yanks you forward so hard your back slams into the wood. “look at that,” he murmurs, staring down at your dripping cunt. “already leaking. pathetic.”

“toji—”

“shut up.”

he leans in, mouth dragging over your inner thigh.

“you think he could handle this?” he whispers, lips brushing your pussy lips, breath hot. “you think he’d know what to do when you cry because you need it deep enough to hit your fucking stomach?”

his tongue flicks out. one slow, nasty lick up your slit. you moan.

“nah. he wouldn’t know shit,” he says. “probably cum in his pants just from looking at you.”

he doesn’t eat you like you’re fragile. he devours you like a man starved. spit slick, mouth messy, his tongue bullying your clit while two thick fingers sink in deep and curl—

“nnnhh—fuck—!”

“shut. up.” he growls into your cunt. “this isn’t for you. this is punishment.”

your hands grip the desk so tight your knuckles ache. your moans echo off the walls. his tongue is relentless, fingers fucking you open like he’s carving his name inside you. “gonna remind you,” he pants, licking into you again, “what you belong to. whose cock shaped this pussy.”

you cum once. then twice. your legs tremble. your voice breaks.

he stands. yanks his belt open.

you barely manage to lift your head before he’s already jerking his cock out—hard, heavy, flushed dark and wet at the tip. he doesn’t waste time. just lines up and slams into you in one brutal thrust.

“nghhh—fuck—too much—”

“shut up,” he grits. “take it. you wanted this. dressed like that. fuckin’ around like a dumb little slut. you wanted me mad.” he fucks you hard. brutal. filthy. his hips snapping forward, cock pistoning in and out, wet sounds filling the office louder than your choked sobs. his fingers dig into your hips. he bites your collarbone. he growls into your neck—

“mine. mine. you get that, yeah? this cunt? this body? your moans? mine.”

“yes—yes, toji, yours, only yours—”

he lifts one leg over his shoulder. angle shifting. cock punching so deep you see stars. “you don’t fucking go out with anyone else,” he growls, sweat dripping. “i’ll beat the shit out of him. you hear me? i’ll break his fuckin’ jaw.”

“yes—yes, please—”

you’re close again. so close. sobbing his name, begging him not to stop.

he leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

and in a whisper, soft and broken, he says—

“can’t stand the thought of someone else even looking at you.”

you cum so hard you nearly black out. clenching around him like your body’s apologizing for even thinking about someone else. he cums with a groan, deep and low, spilling inside you with a stuttering thrust, cock buried to the hilt.

he doesn’t move.

just breathes heavy. holds your hips. presses his lips to your cheek like he’s sorry for being so rough—even though you loved it.

you blink up at him, dazed. wrecked. full.

“still think about going on that date?” he murmurs.

you shake your head.

“good girl,” he says, and kisses you again. “now get dressed. i’m driving you home. and you’re staying over.”

“why?”

he smirks. dark. smug. possessive.

“so i can fuck you again every time i remember some other guy thought he had a chance.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“she’s going out friday,” gojo says on lunch break, deadpan, blue eyes hiding behind his blue glasses as he glance at sukuna who’s passing by. “blind date. someone her cousin set up.”

utahime’s jaw drops. “wait—does sukuna know?”

shoko just snorts. “oh, he’s gonna kill someone.”

he does not kill someone. he waits.

and when you walk into his office after class—hair tied up, skirt short, lip gloss shiny—he doesn’t say hello. doesn’t smirk. doesn’t greet you like the spoiled, cum-dumb princess you are. he just says, voice flat, “so. friday.”

you freeze halfway to the desk. “…what about it?”

his gaze doesn’t leave your face. his hands stay folded in his lap. but his jaw ticks, and when he speaks next, it’s soft.

too soft.

“you really gonna go let some stranger sit across from you like he deserves to breathe your air?”

“it’s not serious—”

“no,” he cuts in, calm but sharp. “serious is when i fuck you against this desk so hard you cry into my tie. this is worse. this is betrayal.”

“ryo—”

he stands.

you take a step back. instinct. survival. but he’s already in front of you, hand at your throat—not tight. not yet.

“let me get this straight,” he murmurs, eyes narrow, voice low and dangerous. “i fuck you every week. sometimes every day. i have you creaming around my cock until you can’t say your own name. i’ve trained this pussy to open for me just from my voice—and you think you’ve got the right to sit pretty at a table with some other guy who’s gonna ask you what your favorite fucking color is?”

you gasp as his grip tightens—still not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who the fuck he is.

“was gonna wear that little red dress, weren’t you?” he growls. “the one that clings to your hips like my hands do. gonna smile at him like you didn’t choke on my cock two nights ago.”

“i wasn’t—i’m not—”

“you’re not what? mine?” he leans in, lips grazing your cheek. “don’t lie.”

you whimper.

he presses you back against the wall, one thigh wedging between yours. you’re already trembling. wet. your panties are useless. “thought maybe you forgot,” he murmurs, dragging his hand down to cup your cunt through your skirt. “thought maybe this slutty little pussy needed a refresher.”

“please—”

“mm. beg better than that, sweetheart.”

he drops to his knees.

on his knees.

your terrifying professor. eyes full of menace. tattoos inked down his arms like warning signs. and he’s already pushing your panties aside, tongue licking into your folds like he’s trying to taste the betrayal out of you. “fuck—look at this,” he mutters, mouth messy already. “she’s crying. like she knows she did something wrong.”

“ryo—fuck—”

he groans, slurping wetly, tongue flicking over your clit before diving back in, fucking you with it. his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to bruise, pulling you open wider. “you gonna let him see this?” he pants, slick coating his chin. “this greedy, pretty pussy? this pussy that drools just from hearing my voice?”

you shake your head. “no—never—only you—”

“damn right only me.”

he stands. lifts you. throws you over the desk like you weigh nothing. you hear the buckle. the zipper. the low, filthy growl as his cock slaps against your ass. “this pussy’s shaped like me,” he snarls, rubbing the fat tip through your folds. “and now i’m gonna remind it.”

he doesn’t ease in. he slams.

“ah—fuck—!”

“that’s right,” he grits, hips snapping. “take it. take the cock you earned when you signed up for my class just to stare at my hands.” you’re drooling on his papers. the whole desk shakes. he’s balls deep, thick and brutal, fucking you with the rage of a god and the precision of a scholar.

“you think he’d fuck you like this?” sukuna hisses, pulling your hair. “think he’d know how deep you need it? how to hold your hips down when you start running from the stretch?”

“n-no—just you—just you—”

“say it louder.”

“only you—only you, professor—!”

his hand slides down your back. presses between your shoulder blades. pushes you flat. he leans in close, voice in your ear like sin itself. “you even look at another man again, and i’ll fuck you in front of him. bend you over the table and make you apologize with your mouth full.”

“fuck—please—”

“you gonna cum? you think you deserve it?”

“yes—no—fuck, please—”

“beg for it.”

“please—please fill me up—need it, need you—mark me—make it yours—please, professor—” he cums with a snarl, cock twitching deep, hot, thick. so much it spills out as soon as he pulls out, dripping down your thighs, making a fucking mess of your skin and the floor.

and he’s not done.

he flips you over, fingers spreading your legs again.

“we’re doing it again,” he mutters, already getting hard. “i’m gonna fuck you ‘til you forget his name. then i’m gonna make you say mine.”

you’re shaking. breathless. soaked.

but you nod. “yes, professor…”

he smiles, wicked and soft and utterly terrifying.

“good girl. now say goodbye to that date.”

SHIU KONG

he hears it by accident.

he’s leaving the staff meeting early—bored, irritated, fingers twitching from not having his hands on you all week. he cuts through the hallway outside the student café, phone out, when he hears it:

"she’s got that blind date friday," one of your friends says, sipping from a pink thermos. "her cousin set it up. some finance guy—kind of basic, but tall."

the other giggles. "honestly, she needs a break. she’s been acting weird since she started doing research with professor kong. like—head always somewhere else. probably pent-up or something."

he stops walking. dead still.

his thumb taps the side of his phone. once. twice.

then he turns around, expression blank, and walks back to his office with the same precision he uses when writing evaluations that determine entire academic futures. when you arrive at his door, you knock twice, peeking in like nothing’s wrong. like everything’s normal. he’s sitting on the couch. black shirt. collar undone. sleeves rolled. no tie today.

“close it,” he says, voice quiet.

you do.

you turn toward him, already reaching into your bag to pull out notes.

“come here.”

your fingers pause.

“is it about the paper or—”

“here.”

you move to him slowly, sensing it now—that shift. that tightness in the air. the way he won’t quite meet your eyes. he pats the space beside him on the couch. you sit. then he says it. quiet. cruel. calm. “you have a date friday.”

your stomach flips.

“i—i canceled it. i wasn’t even going to go—”

“but you agreed to it.” he turns his head. finally meets your gaze. “you said yes. you planned it. you got dressed in your mirror and thought about someone else seeing you like that. thought about someone else sitting across from you while you were full of me.”

your breath stutters.

“shiu, it didn’t mean anything—”

“you were going to let him think he had a chance,” he says, voice sharper now. “let him smile at you. laugh. maybe offer to walk you home. not knowing this pussy’s been ruined beyond recognition.”

his hand slides up your thigh.

"spread your legs."

you hesitate. “the door—”

he turns to you, and it’s not a look. it’s a warning.

“spread them.”

you do.

he pushes your skirt up. doesn’t remove it. just drags his fingers between your folds, slow and unforgiving. you're already wet.

“you knew i’d find out,” he says. “you fucking knew. and you wanted me to.”

you gasp as he slips two fingers inside you, curling immediately.

“you thought maybe i wouldn’t care? that i’d let you go? let someone else take this tight little cunt and figure out too late it only reacts to my voice?”

“shiu—please—”

“no,” he snaps. “you don’t get to beg yet. i’m not finished talking.”

his fingers fuck you slow, deep, methodical.

your legs shake.

“you think your blind date would know how to hold you like this?” he says, voice softer, almost amused. “how to curl his fingers just right so you’re dripping before you even get his pants off?”

you whimper.

“he wouldn’t know you need to be told you’re a good girl when you’re close. wouldn’t know how much pressure it takes to make you cry.” he pulls his hand away. grabs your chin. forces you to look at him. “get on your knees.”

you drop immediately.

he stands, undoing his belt with steady hands.

his cock is already hard—thick, flushed, leaking.

“open your mouth,” he murmurs. “show me what’s mine.”

you do.

he slides in with a slow, possessive thrust, groaning low when your lips wrap around him.

“fuck, just like that,” he mutters. “this mouth was made for me.”

he fucks your mouth slow at first. then deeper. rougher. holding your head still, eyes dark with something unreadable. “you were gonna let him buy you dinner,” he pants. “while you’re here gagging on me. what the fuck were you thinking, huh?”

you try to respond, and he laughs. breathless. bitter.

“don’t talk. swallow.”

he cums down your throat with a low growl, hips twitching, cock pulsing, his fingers buried in your hair. he doesn’t pull out until he’s sure you’ve taken every drop. even then—he holds you there. breathing hard. and then he says, soft, “friday, you’ll be here. that same time. on your back.”

he cups your cheek.

“you’ll make it up to me properly. because if i ever hear that someone else even looked at you like they could have you—”

his thumb drags across your lips. “—i’ll make sure the next time i fuck you, it’s somewhere they can hear.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he’d heard it during a staff lounge conversation, casual and cutting all at once.

“your favorite’s going on a blind date friday,” one of the adjuncts said with a chuckle, biting into a biscotti. “cousin set it up. cute guy, apparently. she deserves a break—bet she’s been stressed with finals.”

hiromi hadn’t looked up from his espresso. hadn’t said a word.

just stared into the dark liquid like it was reflecting the exact shape of your betrayal.

“a break,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word on his tongue like it was poison.

“yes,” he added, standing, “perhaps i should offer her one myself.”

you step into his office later that day, papers in hand, expecting to go over your thesis on moral relativism and postmodern legal structures.

you don’t expect to find him already seated at his desk like a judge behind a bench—robe replaced with a charcoal suit, tie loosened, gold pen resting on his fingers like a gavel waiting to drop.

“professor?” you say softly.

he doesn’t answer. just gestures to the chair across from him.

“sit.”

you do.

“you’re being tried,” he says.

“tried for what?”

he opens a folder on the desk and flips a page with deliberate care.

“charges,” he says, eyes not leaving the paper, “include deception, abandonment of contract, and attempted trespassing of personal property.”

“personal property—”

“my cock,” he clarifies, calm as ever.

you blink. your mouth opens.

but nothing comes out except, “i canceled the date.”

“after accepting it. after planning it. after entertaining the idea of another man—an outsider, an intruder—touching what’s been shaped by me.”

you cross your arms. “i didn’t sleep with him. nothing happened.”

he finally looks up.

and smiles.

“you think penetration is the only act that counts in my courtroom?”

he stands. paces slowly behind you. voice steady.

“tell me, did you pick an outfit? something tight, something pretty? did you wear perfume? maybe that gloss you like, the one i can taste for hours after i’ve finished with you?”

“i—”

“answer, counselor.”

“…yes,” you whisper.

“good,” he says. “we’re making progress.”

he walks back in front of you, palms flat on the desk, leaning in close.

“defendant, please rise.”

you stand, nervous. throat dry.

“remove your shirt.”

“professor—”

“you want leniency? cooperate.”

you unbutton. let it fall off your shoulders.

“bra.”

you hesitate.

he raises an eyebrow. “i can add obstruction to the list.” you unclasp it. drop it. his eyes drag down your chest with the hunger of a starving man hiding behind courtroom procedure. “now,” he murmurs, circling you again, “state your defense. clearly. and convincingly.”

you clear your throat.

“i didn’t mean to betray you. it wasn’t real. i didn’t want him. i canceled. i only want you.”

“and yet your actions—”

“do not match the intention,” you finish. “but your honor, if we judged solely by intention, half the world would be in prison.”

he pauses.

smiles.

"touche."

then he grabs your waist and lifts you onto his desk like you weigh nothing. “but,” he says, stepping between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs, “my laws are stricter.”

“what are my sentencing options?” you whisper, breath catching as his fingers drag closer to your soaked cunt. “option one,” he says, slipping two fingers inside you without warning, “i fuck you until you cry.”

you gasp, hips jerking.

“option two,” he continues, curling them deep, “i fuck you until you forget what dating even means.”

“and option three?” you moan.

he smirks.

“both.”

his mouth crashes into yours—hot, punishing, possessive. he tastes like espresso and judgment. you cling to his shoulders, thighs trembling as he fucks you with his fingers, slow and rough. “what’s this?” he growls. “tight. fluttering. wet. evidence suggests you like being punished.”

“i do—fuck—i do—”

he pulls back.

undoes his belt.

“bend over the desk. court is now in recess.”

you turn, arching for him, breath shaky.

his cock slides in deep—all the way.

you scream.

he grunts, hands gripping your hips. pace brutal.

“this pussy,” he pants, thrusting hard, “takes me like it was custom-built. you think someone else could manage this? think he’d know how to stroke this spot—” he slams in. “—or what you sound like when you’re just about to fall apart?”

you’re crying.

not from pain. from overstimulation. from being seen. known. owned.

“guilty,” he hisses, fucking you through it.

“guilty—yes—i’m guilty—”

he cums deep, cock twitching as he fills you.

he leans over you, lips brushing your ear.

“sentence: mine. indefinitely.”

you nod, sobbing into the desk.

he kisses your shoulder.

“case closed.”

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bluemoonbun · 5 months ago

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Reader is implied to like feminine things, though gender identity is kept ambiguous.

Damian was a good brother. That’s what he always told himself. He was a good brother, a good son. He was cold, rude, and erudite, but he was able and willing to help anyone who needed it.

When he arrived at Wayne manor, Bruce told him the general run down of why you were to be avoided when it came to anything vigilante related. You were still pure, a year younger than Damian but without any of the pain. The only one in the Wayne manor that could have a shot at becoming a normal person. Damian envied that, but kept it to himself. His anger often boiled to the top, drops of green venom dripping from his mouth when you tried to annoy him into spending time with you.

Your complaints of him ignoring you was scalding water on his already raw nerves. Why would you complain about not being the center of attention for five damn seconds? He would trade anything for the life you had. A life where you could lay around after school and never worry about a rogue bullet lodging itself in your arm, or a poisonous plant releasing psychedelic spores into an open wound.

You could and would never join the Robins. You were weak; it was in your blood. Always sickly, always the pacifist. You wouldn't survive a day in his life. And you weren't living his life; you were living his dream.

But apparently the effort the family was putting in wasn’t enough.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that the manor felt… off about two weeks before the fight with Joker. He couldn’t trace it for the life of him at first. When he realized by the second week that he hadn’t spoken to you in days, or really seen you around the manor at all, he wrote off the worms writhing in his stomach. You must’ve been busy with a class assignment and had little time to annoy him with your demands of time together.

After the fight, however, he was a war of a thousand emotions. How dare you leave them? Why would you turn away an easy life fat on nepotism for a group of murderers, con men, the dredges of Gotham’s society?

Were you truly that desperate to be acknowledged that you’d turn your back on the family who did everything for you? He hopes you’re happy there, since you were clearly so upset at not being given attention.

Over time, however, things start to change. A few days after Jason made a full recovery, Damian looked at one of the drones Tim managed to get a chunk of code from. It took a lot of trial and error, and the development of an entirely new program to grab some of the code before it bricked itself, and enough all nighters and energy drinks that any doctor would faint, but it was managed. The code was dense, optimized to work with the least bloat possible, well tagged variables, and even a handful of comments in the code.

//Buy Bane those Boston Donuts from the donut shop on 5th //Why does this code need to be here so it doesn’t auto brick itself. What is in the code protecting it from the wrath of God //Louie likes Texas barbecue ribs. Possible treat? //DO NOT FEED THEM WHOLE RIBS. COOKED BONES BAD. //SINCE WHEN WAS THIS VARIABLE A STRING??? IT WAS AN INT 5 LINES AGO //Help the hopeless lesbians get together. //Would Harley and Ivy dating make Harley my mom or Ivy my big sister? Both???

His eyes skimmed the retrieved comments, laughing at a few. It seems that Bane, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn were the most common subjects of the notes, though a few mentioning the Iceberg lounge asking what non-alchoholic drink you’d like added, or Riddler offering you another puzzle to keep your mind active. Even Joker was mentioned, though it seemed mostly transactional.

It was strange seeing you in this light. You seemed to have a lot of spice in you, but a heart made of gold. You were definitely surprised whenever one othe villains offered to take you on some trip to amusement parks, regular parks, even just willingly watching anime with you. It was odd to see. Surely someone at the house did those things with you? He didn’t but he was extremely busy with school and vigilantism. Jason was legally dead, so surely he had all the time in the world.

“How was I supposed to relate to them? They’re what, 12 and into shit like that one with the cat looking dog thing and the robot girl. I have shit to do. Y’know, managing Crime Alley?”

Well, Dick had come over to hang out plenty of times. Surely he’d spent at least a few hours with you every now and then? “I have an entire team and criminals to manage of in another city, Damian. I don’t have as much time as you think to do whatever it was with them they’d wanted to do”

Maybe Tim? “I have college and stuff, Damian. And I don’t have the energy to put into hanging around them. I’d probably just be sleeping most of the time.

Bruce? “I have to manage you, Gotham, and the Justice League, Damian. I barely have time for myself.”

… Alfred? “I tried, Master Damian. However I’m constantly pulled thin between so many tasks. Besides, all you have is school most days, and you’ve had summer vacations and weekends. Shouldn’t you’ve had plenty of time to spend with your younger sibling?”

… He did have the most time outside of vigilantism. And it took him a week to realize you were missing.

You had to realize that they were under extreme stress though, right?He couldn’t spend all his free time with you. He had his own friends to hang out with. How were you two even supposed to relate?

One day at dinner, the thoughts were thrashing in his head, slamming against soft tissue and tearing through brain matter. He aimlessly poked at the food on his plate.

“You alright, replacement?” Jason asked, pausing in his extremely rare dinners with everyone else. Alfred had promised him a tray of fudge to take home this time around, and nobody made fudge quite as good as he did.

“… They were gone for two weeks.”

Everyone stopped eating as he continued.

“Two weeks. Two full weeks before they showed up at that fight. Did anyone here even know? I only noticed after a week and assumed they were just holed up in their room with a class assignment or something.” He was rambling. Everyone was quiet and looking at each other. How did it manage to slip past everyone? They were detectives, for Christ’s sake.

They were your family.

—

Dinner ended with guilt wrapping around their throats and pulling.

Eventually, all of them found themselves in your room. It had been emptied, but showed no signs of struggle. All the small items, the comforter, and your clothes were gone. But what was taken left something behind. Copies of photos of you winning state level competitions, letters requesting your attendance at seminars, photos of gold medals and blue ribbons spread across the floor. Most damning of all was the most recent photo. A certificate by some big time tech company being handed to you. Edward Nashton stood behind you, a firm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

When had this happened? They never remembered hearing of something like this. A news clipping on the back told them it was maybe a week before you left.

“The Wayne prodigy stated that their family had more important things to see to than such an occasion. I can’t imagine something more important that either of my kids being recognized by a multi-million dollar tech company! I remember postponing an anniversary with my husband to celebrate our child placing second in the science fair. But I guess that’s just the Waynes for you!”

That’s just the Waynes to you.

But it’s ok. He can make it better. He can be a good big brother. He can spend time watching anime with you and decorating your room with lace and fairy lights and go makeup shopping with you. You just need to come home. Now.

---------------- Taglist! Ask to be added! Edit: It is now closed!

@jjsmeowthie , @jsprien213 , @ladyrosemone

#yandere jason todd x reader #platonic batfam #yandere batfam #yandere dc #batfam x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere damian wayne #yandere damian x reader #Damian: God. How can they be so demanding? They have all the money and namebrand products they could want #Damian: What do you mean the person that spent the most time around them took a week to notice they're missing #moonie posts #moonie writes #Little Bishop!Reader

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journalofmoonlight · 1 year ago

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This airport Orange Juice could really use some champagne.

#tater thots #lax airport #lounge access #get you a husband who travels in ✨style✨#but also won’t leave you in coach when there’s only one first class seat available

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dior-luxury · 3 months ago

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How'd They React To You Skipping School

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . comedy/drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] cater . leona. floyd . vil . rook . silver . sebek . malleus

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: I had like no idea of what to post, so I just decided to post one of my drafts!

Cater Diamond

Cater is used to you doing your own thing, but when he realizes you're skipping school without telling him, it throws him off. He first notices your absence in class when he glances over at your usual seat and finds it empty.

"Huh? No way. Did she sleep in?" he mumbles, tilting his head.

He checks his Magicam feed just in case, and sure enough—there you are, chilling at a café, sipping on a fancy drink with a little dessert on the side.

"Omg. She’s out living her best life while I’m suffering in Trein’s lecture?? Rude."

At first, he considers letting it slide. After all, it’s not like he never ditches, but the more he thinks about it, the more a nagging feeling settles in his chest.

So, the second class ends, he shoots you a text.

Cay-kun 🧡: Baaaaabe, why am I seeing u on my Magicam instead of in class? U cheating on me with a strawberry shortcake? 😭🍰

You don’t reply right away. He sighs, leaning against a hallway wall. Then, an idea strikes him. If you’re going to skip school, why not have a real ditch day adventure?

Thirty minutes later, you’re peacefully enjoying your alone time when a very familiar voice chimes in from across the café.

"Omg, no way. What are the chances? I just happened to be in the area~", Cater says, sliding into the seat across from you with an easy grin.

You roll your eyes. "Cater, you totally left school to find me."

He laughs, taking a sip of your drink without asking. "Busted. But c’mon, how could I let my precious girlfriend have all the fun by herself? We could’ve planned a whole cute ditch day together!"

Though he’s joking, there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—concern, maybe? You don’t miss the way his fingers drum lightly against the table, the way his usual easygoing smile seems just a bit forced.

"Next time, at least tell me, okay? I wanna make sure you’re safe. Plus, if you’re gonna skip, might as well do it with style. Matching outfits, cute couple photos—the whole deal."

Even though he’s being playful, you know he’s serious. And honestly? You wouldn’t mind skipping with him next time.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is no stranger to skipping school—hell, it’s practically his hobby. So when he hears from Ruggie that you didn’t show up to class, his first reaction is to scoff.

"Tch. So what? Not like it’s my problem."

But as the day drags on, something bugs him. He expected you to at least text him if you were gonna skip.

By the time lunch rolls around, his patience is gone.

Instead of going to class, he heads straight to his usual napping spot in the botanical gardens—where, conveniently, he finds you lounging on a bench, headphones in, eyes closed as you soak in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, he just watches. Then, with a sigh, he plops down beside you, one arm draped over the back of the bench as he tilts his head toward you.

"You got some nerve skippin’ without tellin’ me."

Your eyes snap open. "Leona? How’d you—"

"I am the king, y’know. I got eyes everywhere."

He leans in, his voice dropping to that low, lazy drawl that always sends a shiver down your spine. "So? You got a reason for dodging class, or you just felt like slacking?"

You mumble something about needing a break. Leona raises an eyebrow, letting out a deep sigh.

"Hmph. Well, can’t say I blame you. But if you’re gonna play hooky, at least do it right."

Before you can react, he shifts, lying down with his head in your lap, eyes already closing.

"Since you’re already here, you might as well stay. I ain’t letting you run off alone again—next time, you skip, you tell me first. Got it?"

His words are firm, but the way his hand lazily rests on your knee, fingers tracing absentminded patterns, tells you everything you need to know.

You weren’t just skipping school—you were skipping him. And Leona Kingscholar doesn’t like being left out.

Floyd Leech

When Floyd finds out you skipped school, the reaction is instant and dramatic.

It starts when he bursts into your dorm room, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Shrimpyyyyy~ Why weren’t you in class today?"

Before you can even answer, he flops down onto your bed, stretching like a lazy cat.

"I was soooo boooored. Sitting in class with no Shrimpy to tease? Ugh, it was awful!"

You roll your eyes. "Floyd, it’s just one day. I needed a break."

The air shifts.

Floyd props himself up on one elbow, his usual playful smile still in place, but there’s something more intense behind his eyes now.

"Hmm. A break from school? Or a break from me?"

You blink. "Wait, what? No, that’s not—"

Before you can finish, he’s suddenly on top of you, his long fingers gently but firmly pressing against your wrists. His grin widens, but his grip tightens just slightly.

"Y’know, if you wanted to play hooky, you could’ve just told me. We coulda done something fun together." His voice drops to a murmur, lips brushing against your ear. "But instead, you ran off all alone… That’s kinda mean, don’tcha think?"

Your heart skips a beat. "Floyd, I didn’t mean it like that—"

In an instant, his mood flips back.

"Hehe, just kidding~!" He suddenly rolls off you, laughing as he sprawls out on the bed again.

"Buuut next time you skip, I’m coming with you. No ifs, ands, or buts. Shrimpy doesn’t get to run away from me, got it?"

Despite the playfulness, you know he’s dead serious. And honestly? It’s safer to just agree. Because when Floyd wants something…

He gets it.

Here’s how Vil, Rook, and Silver would react to you skipping school, each in their own unique way!

Vil Schoenheit

Vil notices your absence immediately. He keeps a close eye on you—not in an overbearing way (or so he claims), but enough to know when something’s off.

It starts when he walks into class and sees your seat empty. He frowns.

"Where is she?" he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

Even Rook, who usually lets things play out naturally, raises an eyebrow at Vil’s reaction.

"Perhaps ma belle has decided to take an impromptu escape from the drudgery of academia?"

Vil clicks his tongue. "Hardly. She wouldn’t skip for no reason. Which means…"

His eyes narrow as he pulls out his phone and dials your number. It rings. And rings. No answer.

Vil is not amused.

By lunch, he has had enough. With a sigh, he closes his notebook, stands up, and says, "If the professors ask, tell them I’m handling a… personal matter."

A few students exchange glances, but no one questions him. When Vil Schoenheit is on a mission, he gets what he wants.

—

You’re lounging at a quiet spot near the outskirts of campus, enjoying the rare moment of solitude, when suddenly—

"There you are."

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice.

Vil stands before you, arms crossed, his violet eyes burning with irritation.

"Would you like to explain to me why you’ve chosen to neglect your studies today?"

You stammer out something about needing a break. The pressure of school, the endless expectations—it was all just too much.

For a moment, Vil just stares at you. Then, with a sigh, he walks over and gracefully sits beside you.

"I understand," he says at last, his tone softer now. "But running away won’t solve anything, my dear. If you were overwhelmed, you should have come to me."

His fingers gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his expression unreadable.

"Your beauty, your mind, your potential—they are things that should be nurtured, not neglected. And if anyone dares to say otherwise, they’ll have to deal with me."

You swallow, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

"But…" he continues, tilting your chin up slightly, "if you ever pull something like this again without informing me, I will drag you back to class myself. Understood?"

With Vil, skipping school is not just about missing lessons. It’s about maintaining excellence—and to him, you deserve nothing less.

Rook Hunt

Rook doesn’t need anyone to tell him you skipped school. He feels it.

The moment he steps into the classroom, a shiver runs down his spine. He scans the room, and sure enough—you’re missing.

"Ah… mon trésor, where could you have vanished to?"

Anyone else might have let it go. But Rook? Rook Hunt?

Oh, no, no, no.

This is a hunt.

—

You think you’ve found the perfect hiding spot—a secluded meadow just beyond campus. The breeze is gentle, the grass soft, and the world feels so blissfully quiet.

But then—

"Ah…! What a rare and exquisite sight! A most beautiful creature, escaping the confines of duty to embrace the wild!"

You jerk up, heart pounding. "Rook?! How—"

He smiles down at you, eyes glimmering with delight.

"My dear, you wound me! Did you truly believe you could evade me?"

You groan. "Can’t I have one day to myself?"

Rook simply chuckles, kneeling beside you. "But of course! And what a splendid setting you have chosen! Ah, the crisp air, the golden sunlight—it is a moment worthy of poetry!"

You sigh, leaning back. "So, you’re not going to drag me back?"

Rook tilts his head.

"Non, non, ma chérie. Who am I to interfere with the call of your spirit?" His voice lowers, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "However… I must ask—were you running to something… or from something?"

You pause. You hadn’t thought about it that way.

Rook hums, plucking a flower and tucking it behind your ear.

"Whatever it is, you need not face it alone. If ever you wish to flee again… invite me along, oui? Let us embark on a grand adventure together."

His words are sweet, but the message is clear—next time, he will find you. And next time… you might not mind.

Silver

Silver is usually the one who accidentally skips class (thanks to his habit of falling asleep anywhere), so when he realizes you’re the one missing, it catches him off guard.

Lilia is the first to notice his concern.

"Looking for someone, Silver?" he asks, sipping his tea.

Silver hesitates. "She’s not here. She wasn’t in class this morning."

Lilia chuckles. "Ah, young love. Are you worried, or do you just miss her?"

Silver’s ears turn a little pink. "That’s not—"

But he is worried.

So, after finishing his morning duties, he sets off to find you. It doesn’t take long.

He finds you by a quiet stream, legs dangling over the edge, watching the water ripple. You don’t even hear him approach—until he’s sitting beside you.

"Skipping school, huh?" he says, voice calm but firm.

You sigh. "Are you here to lecture me?"

Silver shakes his head. "No. But I am here to make sure you’re okay."

You blink, surprised.

He gazes at the water for a long moment before speaking again.

"I get it. Sometimes, the world moves too fast. Sometimes, you just… need to stop." He exhales. "I’ve felt that way too."

His honesty takes you off guard.

"But," he continues, turning to look at you, "you don’t have to bear it alone. If you ever need to slow down… let me stay by your side."

Your heart clenches at the sincerity in his voice. Silver has always been gentle, always patient—but beneath it all is a quiet strength, one that makes you feel… safe.

He offers you his hand. "Let’s go back together. But if you really don’t want to, then I’ll stay here with you."

You stare at his outstretched hand. And for the first time today, you don’t feel like you have to run.

Because with Silver beside you, the world doesn’t seem so overwhelming anymore.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek prided himself on being alert, disciplined, and ever-diligent in all things—so when he noticed your absence from class, his first instinct was absolute outrage.

"Where is she?!" he bellowed the moment roll call finished, slamming his hands down on his desk.

The entire class turned to stare. Even Lilia, who was used to Sebek’s theatrics, raised an eyebrow.

"Calm yourself, Sebek. I’m sure she has her reasons," Lilia said, sipping his tea.

Sebek whirled around. "Reasons? What reasons could possibly justify this?! My human— I mean, my beloved has abandoned her education!"

His heart raced in his chest, not just from frustration, but from concern. What if something had happened to you? What if you were in danger? What if—gasp—you were avoiding him?!

No. Unacceptable.

Without hesitation, Sebek stormed out of class, determined to find you and drag you back to school himself.

—

You were relaxing in a quiet corner of the gardens, lying beneath the shade of a tree, finally enjoying some peace. That is, until—

"HUMAN!"

The roar of your name nearly sent you flying out of your seat. Before you could even react, Sebek loomed over you, arms crossed, golden eyes blazing with intensity.

"You dare to SKIP CLASS?! What kind of nonsense is this?! Have you no sense of duty?!"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Sebek, please. Not so loud."

"LOUD?!" he repeated, even louder. "How can I possibly remain quiet when you have committed such a heinous act?! Skipping school—DISGRACEFUL!"

You sighed. "I just needed a break. I wasn’t in the mood for class today."

Sebek scowled. He wanted to scold you further—to lecture you on the importance of education, of discipline, of honor—but then… he saw the tired look in your eyes.

His frustration wavered.

"You… were not in the mood?" he repeated, his voice softer now.

You nodded. "I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just wanted to breathe a little, that’s all."

Sebek stiffened. His grip on his arms tightened. His natural instinct was to demand you push through it—to insist that duty must always come first.

But then… he thought of Lord Malleus. How often had his master been told to put his responsibilities first? How often had he been isolated because of that very thinking?

Sebek hesitated. Then, very slowly, he sat down beside you.

"If you were feeling unwell… you should have informed me." His voice was still gruff, but gentler now. "It is my duty to stand by your side, no matter the circumstance."

You blinked, surprised by the change in his tone. Sebek? Being understanding? That was new.

He cleared his throat. "But! This does NOT mean I condone such behavior!" He huffed, turning away. "If you must rest, then rest properly! Not by… skipping school like some delinquent!"

You smiled. "So, you’re not mad?"

"OF COURSE I AM—!" He caught himself, exhaled sharply, then muttered, "…Just do not make a habit of it."

You giggled. Despite all his dramatic ranting, you could tell he was genuinely worried about you.

And maybe, just maybe… Sebek Zigvolt cared more about your well-being than he let on.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus immediately noticed your absence the moment he stepped into class.

At first, he thought you were simply running late. But as the minutes passed and your seat remained empty, his usual calm began to crack.

"She is not here," he murmured to himself, fingers tapping lightly against his desk.

Lilia, watching from the side, smiled knowingly. "Ah, young love. Worried already?"

Malleus said nothing, but his green eyes darkened.

The moment class ended, he vanished. Not even his retainers could stop him.

—

You were peacefully sitting beneath a willow tree, flipping through a book, when the sky suddenly dimmed.

A chill ran through the air. The once-bright afternoon grew darker, as if the sun itself was hiding.

And then—

"There you are."

Your head snapped up. Standing before you, tall and regal as ever, was Malleus. His emerald gaze bore into yours, unreadable and intense.

"You did not come to class today," he stated. Not a question. A fact.

You swallowed. "I just… needed a break."

Malleus was silent for a long moment. Then, he took slow, deliberate steps forward.

"A break," he repeated softly. "From school… or from me?"

Your eyes widened. "Wait, what? No, Malleus, I—"

Before you could finish, he had closed the distance. He stood so close, his presence towering, consuming.

"Do you understand how worried I was?" His voice was gentle, yet firm. "You disappeared without a word. Do you truly believe I would not seek you out?"

You fumbled for words, guilt creeping into your chest.

"I didn’t think it would be a big deal—"

"You are my beloved."

The way he said it—so matter-of-factly, so absolute—made your breath hitch.

"Everything about you is a 'big deal' to me."

Your heart pounded. You opened your mouth to respond, but Malleus was already sitting beside you, his usual regal demeanor softening.

"If you wished to escape," he murmured, "you need only call for me. I would take you anywhere you desire."

His fingers ghosted over yours.

"But next time, do not disappear on your own. My heart does not take well to such… uncertainty."

A lump formed in your throat. You hadn't meant to worry him—not like this.

You turned, meeting his gaze. "I promise. Next time… I’ll tell you."

His expression eased, and a rare, soft smile graced his lips.

"Good."

And just like that, the sky brightened once more.

Malleus Draconia was no stranger to solitude. But when it came to you…

He would not tolerate being left behind.

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