#they usually will just use his (dead)name so as to avoid having to use a pronoun

[poor-boy-orpheus]

.

[minisugakoobies]

Cross My Heart | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, friends to lovers (?), non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: pussy drunk mingyu, late night texting, biting/marking, fingering, lots of flirting, lots of teasing, grinding/dry humping, dirty talk, cunnilingus, face sitting, come eating, hand job, mingyu's a messy boy, OC is needy and mingyu loves it, mingyu has maybe the tiniest bit of a praise kink, use of pet names - pretty, mingyu requests death by pussy

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.

Text Prompt: You: I can’t stand you Mingyu: Then sit on my face

A/N: Hiiiii I'm writing for svt now and I'm starting with Mingyu because he's driving me insane. This is actually the first in a planned series of 13 svt fics based on text prompts. I'm fully in my self-indulgent era, so this is for everyone who, like me, needs some munch 'Gyu right about now 👅

Unbeta'd as usual. If you like this and want more svt fics from me, please let me know! I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s finally here. After months of planning, you and your friends have flown halfway around the world for a week of vacation. The six of you arrived just a few hours ago, and after the long flight, the long wait at the airport for your luggage, and the long drive to the hotel, you’re exhausted. 

Well, mentally you’re worn out, at least. Your body? Is still on your old timezone, where it’s currently tomorrow morning. So it thinks that you need to be awake, even though it’s night where you are. You had stayed awake the entire flight here in order to avoid this very problem. 

Fucking jet lag got you anyway.

Unlike you, Seungcheol and Vernon are having no issue sleeping. The three of you are sharing one room, while Minghao, Wonwoo, and Mingyu are sharing another. You glance over at the two lumps tucked in their beds, snoring away like you would be if your body wasn’t so confused.

Because you’re trying to be a good friend and let them sleep, you’re lying on your bed, scrolling lazily through your various social media apps. You could watch something, but you don’t really have the focus right now. Yet you want something pleasing to look at. Something to mindlessly enjoy while you wait for exhaustion to overwhelm you. 

So, naturally, you turn to your favorite nightly pastime - scrolling through your social media apps, looking for any new posts from Mingyu.

It’s an addiction, borne out of your raging crush on your friend. Well, really, he’s Minghao’s friend, you don’t know him as well as you do the others, but still. You’re friendly enough around each other. Which is because Mingyu is so nice, such a sweet and funny guy who always makes you feel more than welcome whenever he’s around. 

He’s also a blatant flirt. At first, his cocky smiles and playful words made you think he might be interested in more than just being your friend, but it wasn’t long before you realized he’s like that with everyone. So you tamped down the hope that burned in your chest, leaving only a simmering crush to smolder forever.

It’s morning back home, where most of your friends have barely started their days, so your feed is fairly dead. There are a few photos from Wonwoo from the flight, including one of Minghao sleeping with his mouth open that you immediately save to your favorites, a couple from Vernon, and, of course, several from Mingyu. You tap into his page.

Mingyu’s an avid photographer, particularly of beautiful things - breathtaking landscapes, delicious meals, himself. Mostly himself, to be honest. Not that you’re complaining. It’s maybe the most mutually beneficial relationship you’ve ever been in. Mingyu loves to provide pictures of himself. You love to admire them. A win-win all around. 

You tap back to home and refresh your feed. A new post appears, from Mingyu. The jet lag must be getting to him, too, if he’s awake and posting right now. The photo is another selfie, this time of him lying in bed, one arm resting behind his head, showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep. God. Could he be more gorgeous? 

Clicking into his page again, you rub your thumb over the screen to make his photos flip by in an endless parade of hot Mingyus. It’s ridiculous, you muse, watching picture after picture roll by, to think about how much time Mingyu must spend on these photos. Making sure he’s got the perfect lighting to bounce off his muscles just right in those gym selfies. Or figuring out the best angle to show off that sharp jawline of his. Just ridiculous. And yet, every second isn’t spent in vain, considering how the photos drew you in like shiny trinkets to your magpie eye. 

It would be so easy to think of Mingyu as a modern day Narcissus, endlessly snapping selfies, drowning in his own reflection on his phone. But he’s never struck you as conceited. It’s something else - a desire for connection, perhaps. A need for-

A tiny heart floats up your screen and you gasp. Shit. You just liked the post the scroll stopped on - one of his many gym selfies, frame zoomed in on his torso, his hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to show off his rippling abs.

Your eye drifts to the date of the photo. Posted eight months ago. 

Quick as lightning, you hit the screen again, shattering the little heart icon. Your pulse is beating too fast. There’s no need to panic. He couldn’t have seen that. Maybe you’re overreacting, but no one needs to know you’re lurking in his profile in the middle of the night, especially not him. 

A notification drops down over Mingyu’s face. A message.

Mingyu: Someone’s up late. 

Ah, damn. You were too slow. And now he’s in your DMs. 

After taking a moment to shriek quietly into your pillow, you write back. 

You: Can’t sleep

Mingyu: Same. Jet lag’s got me fucked up

Mingyu: You know what always helps when I can’t sleep?

You: What?

Mingyu: Creeping through someone’s old photos

Even though he’s not here looking at you, your neck flames with embarrassment anyway. You could play it cool. If only you knew how to do that. 

You: Shut up

Mingyu: It’s ok, I’m flattered

You: Oh fuck off

Mingyu: No really, I am

Mingyu: I like that you want me so bad

Pressing your mouth firmly into your pillow, you swallow another screech. Here we go. Right into the flirting. You can’t handle this right now.

You: Idk what you’re talking about

You:  It was an accident

Mingyu: Oh you were accidentally admiring me? 

You: How did you even notice? Are you just staring at your phone, waiting for attention?

Mingyu: I mean yeah

You snort. 

You: You’re ridiculous

Mingyu: Maybe. But I’m honest about it

You: I’ll give you that

A few seconds go by, then a minute, then two. Maybe you’re boring him. Maybe he’s found something else to entertain him. Or someone else.

When the next notification comes in, you jolt a little. 

Mingyu: What else will you give me?

And now your heart does a funny jump as you stare at his words. God, what a question. How you wish he were asking for real, and not just being playful, like he always is. 

Would it be too real to reply with the truth? “Whatever you want?”

You: I don’t know

You: What do you want?

Mingyu: What if I say you?

Suddenly you don’t understand words.

You: Why would you say that?

Mingyu: Because it’s my answer

Mingyu: I’m being honest again

You: That’s the jet lag talking

Mingyu: Oh come on

Mingyu: You really don’t know?

You: Know what??

Mingyu: How I feel about you

Is he being serious right now??

You: If this is a joke I don’t get it

Mingyu: Not a joke

Mingyu: Hold on

The notification icon on your app suddenly lights up. One heart. Two. Three four five. You open your notifications and immediately start laughing. Mingyu’s going through your oldest photos and liking them, one by one. 

Mingyu: See? I’m obsessed with you

Seungcheol grunts in his sleep, and you press your arm harder over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself better.

You: You’re so annoying, oh my god

Mingyu: So annoying that you can’t stop looking at my photos at 1 am?

Mingyu: Or flirting with me?

You: Is that what’s happening? Are we flirting?

Mingyu: Ok don’t act like you don’t know

Mingyu: I flirt with you all the time

You: You flirt with EVERYONE all the time

Mingyu: Yeah but I only mean it with you

Like any other time this happens, any time his words make your head spin, you put on the brakes, stopping before you start to believe you might have a chance. 

You: You’re so dumb

Mingyu: Are you really going to pretend you’re not enjoying this?

You: Who said I’m pretending?

Mingyu: Me. I know you’re loving this

Mingyu: Because you want me soooooo bad

You: Shut uppppp

Mingyu: Go on, yell at me

Mingyu: You’re cute when you’re mad

You: No really

You: I can’t stand you

Mingyu: Then sit on my face

Your mouth falls open, an amused huff of air escaping in a befuddled laugh at his unexpected response. 

You: What?

Mingyu: Come shut me up. Sit on my face.

You’re blinking so hard, you can hear your eyelids clapping together.

You: Fuck off. Stop playing. 

Mingyu: Who’s playing? I’m serious

Mingyu: Smother me with those gorgeous thighs of yours. I’ll go out a happy man. 

Your gorgeous thighs? He’s never said anything like that before. What the fuck is happening.

You can’t help but picture it - him lying on his bed, you kneeling over him, fingers tangled in his dark hair as you ride that pouty little mouth of his. It’s not the first time you’ve fantasized about it, but it’s the first time the vision has felt… possible. 

Mingyu: No response? You’re just gonna leave me hanging like this?

You: Don’t tease me

Mingyu: Trust me, there are a million ways I’d love to tease you, but this isn’t one

You lay down again, rolling onto your side, curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to contain all the excitement rushing through your veins, keep it from spilling out and over into the room where your friends are still sleeping.  

You: You’re really serious?

Mingyu: Cross my heart and hope to die

Mingyu: Between your legs

Again you laugh.

You: You’re such an idiot

Mingyu: Does that mean you’re not coming over?

You: Like right now??

Mingyu: Why not? 

Mingyu: Wonwoo and Minghao both slept on the plane. They went out exploring

Mingyu: I’ve got the room to myself

You bite your lip, a little harder than you normally would, the sharp sting confirming that you are not dreaming and this is, in actual fact, happening right now. 

You: I guess if I’m not sleeping anytime soon

In the dim light from your phone, you eye the path to the door. You can easily make it out of the room without waking anyone. Should you so decide. 

You: I could come over

Mingyu: I promise I’ll make it so good for you

Mingyu: Eat that pussy like you deserve. Make you cum on my tongue over and over

You inhale sharply. He’s definitely never talked about your pussy like that before. Reading his words has you positively throbbing.

Mingyu: Please, just let me taste you

What else is there to say to that but -  

You: I’m coming over

It’s a short walk to Mingyu’s room. A rush of anticipation hits you as you raise your hand to knock. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, bringing you face to face with the man whose social media you can’t stop stalking. Mingyu’s shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging alarmingly low on his hips, and if you weren’t already planning on crushing him with your thighs, this insta thirst trap of an outfit would push you right over the edge. 

“That was fast,” he laughs, stepping aside to let you in. “Did you run down the hall?” 

“I thought I told you to shut up,” you shoot back. 

“And I thought I told you to make me,” he smirks, reaching for you at the same time you reach for him, practically mashing his teeth against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Despite what he just said, he’s kissing you, too eager to wait for you to do what he demands. 

It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue, both of you doing your fair share to keep the other silent. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say speechless, because Mingyu’s definitely not being quiet, moaning into your mouth, and you’re certainly whining loud enough for the other rooms to hear you.

He presses you back into the door, chest to chest, hip to hip. You tilt your head and he follows, chasing your mouth, as if he’s needing another taste. Your hands roam over his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, covering every inch of warm skin that’s exposed, and he slips his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly tight. Not for one second do your lips part. This is the type of kiss you’ve always read about in your favorite stories - the one that makes your knees weak, makes your head float, makes you forget everything but Mingyu. 

It’s delicious. It’s amazing. It’s every superlative you can think of. But it’s not enough. You want more. Part of you wants to tell him to get on with it, take you to bed, because you’re here to make him eat his words by eating you, but the other part isn’t about to quit kissing him any time soon. 

Thankfully, Mingyu takes care of your dilemma by eliminating the choice. Without warning, he bends his knees and lifts you, big hands secure on your thighs to hold you close to him. Okay, now it’s like one of your stories, the way he lifts you like you’re lighter than air. You’d swoon if you weren’t so busy licking into his lips. All that time in the gym is really paying off

He carries you to his bed, displaying his impressive thigh strength by slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, bringing you into his lap. You loop your arms around his shoulders, desperately seeking his mouth, as if the 0.2 seconds between kisses might kill you, which, honestly, it feels like it might, and you’ve never been in this situation before, making out with the man of your dreams, so for all you know, it will, so why risk it? 

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” he says between kisses. 

“You can go as fast as you want,” you reply, without even a second’s pause. “Just don’t stop.” 

“Damn, and here I was worried I was coming off too excited,” he grins, face lighting up in delight. Then he kisses your cheek, whispering against your skin at your offended huff. “It’s okay, I like how needy you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but you know he felt the way you shuddered, so you give up the weak protests and start kissing him again, twisting your fingers in his hair to keep him close. 

Mingyu finally stops laughing when you take his bottom lip between your own, sucking and licking at the plump skin. With a groan, he digs his fingers into your sides, and he starts to guide you back and forth, rolling you over the eye-catching bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a sight that makes you clench, thinking about how much you want to sit on it now, just pull him out and ride, too needy to feel him inside you to even take your clothes off.

But again, you want more. You want what he’d promised earlier.  

He nips his way down your throat until his mouth latches at the base of your neck, sucking and biting, and you whimper, squirming in his hold. “

‘Gyu, please!”

“Please what?” 

He doesn’t lift his head, too absorbed in sinking his vampire-like canines into your soft skin, not sharp enough to pierce, just hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises blooming there tomorrow, little souvenirs of this moment. 

Please everything, you think. You want it all, whatever he’s willing to give, you’ll take. You’re feeling greedy as fuck right now. 

“I want what you promised me.” 

“Hold on,” he intones seriously, right before laving his tongue over a fresh mark. “Let a man at death’s door enjoy his last moments.” 

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid,” you groan, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together. He’s just - just such an idiot, such a stupid sexy idiot and you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

“Fine,” he says after a few minutes of frantic making out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, hands circling around your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Time for my last meal.” 

He kisses away your embarrassingly pleased moan, and then he maneuvers the two of you around so he’s lying on the bed on his back and you’re straddling him. As he watches with rapt attention, you peel off your shirt. Since you’d been dressed for bed, you hadn’t bothered to throw on a bra. Judging from Mingyu’s expression, you made the right call.  

“Pretty,” he breathes out, wide eyes finding yours, and you have to take a beat, have to take a moment to sit and let the reality of the situation wash over you. The two of you are here, together, in this hotel room half a world away from home. Both wanting this. It’s clear to you now just how eager Mingyu’s been since you walked in. He wasn’t lying - he wants you just as much as you want him. 

With this new understanding, you stand up to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, before straddling him again, and lowering yourself for another kiss. Immediately, his arms are around you, gliding down your back, all the way to your bare ass, taking the biggest handfuls he can. 

“You drive me insane. So pretty, so hot.” 

Mingyu’s words kick the simmering heat in your gut into a full blown fire. You moan into his kiss, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands grips your side, helping you chase the friction, while the other slips between your bodies. When his fingers brush your inner thigh, he lets out a strangled groan. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”  

“Your fault,” you gasp, lips fervently pressing against his, licking at the seam of his mouth until he allows you in, so you can roll your tongue over his like you roll your hips. 

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he grins, long fingers cupping your mound, trapping the heat there in his palm as he rubs it against you. You keen, thighs already twitching. You’re going to lose your mind before you even get to his face. 

You’re not alone in that feeling, as he suddenly reaches for your thighs, urging you to crawl up his body. “Get up here, please,” he begs, flat out begs you, and you slide forward as fast as you can. You need his mouth, right now.

Hovering over him is a little surreal - MIngyu’s big brown eyes are gazing up at you in a perfect replication of your favorite daydream, only it’s so much better than you’d ever imagined, because the expression he wears is one of complete awe, like he’s the one living out his fantasy. Again you feel bold, so you run your fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He moans quietly, low in his throat, like he’s trying to hold it in, and your mouth quirks in a half smile as you kneel. 

“Nice knowing you, ‘Gyu.” 

He hums a happy note, lips vibrating lightly just as your cunt reaches them, and you moan quietly. You don’t settle all the way down, because as much as you were playing along with this whole death-by-pussy dream of his, you are slightly worried that you might actually suffocate him, if not because of your weight than because of your dire need, that you might get too lost in the aching desire that’s building inside you, spurred on by the way he’s brushing the lower half of his face and down your folds, just breathing you in, teasing you with his touches but not giving you what you so desperately want. 

“‘Gyu,” you whine, tilting your pelvis forward, to catch his tongue as he traces your inner thigh, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He blows a puff of air across the wetness, sending goosebumps running at the cooling sensation. 

When you try to shift again, he’s quick to wrap his hands up around your hips, holding you still. Not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to let you know - he’s in charge now. 

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, tenderly pressing a kiss into your skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise. Cross my heart, remember?” 

With that reminder, he pulls you down further onto his face. His tongue slides into you, nose bumping your clit, and you whimper, hands flailing at your sides, seeking something to cling to, finding nothing but the warm air around you. The pressure on the sensitive bud combining with the wet hot muscle plunging between your slick folds is overwhelming in the best way.

“‘Gyu, oh, that’s so good!”  

Mingyu nods his head vigorously, nudging his nose around, letting his tongue drag up and down your slit. It almost feels like he’s agreeing with you, backed up by the way he grunts brokenly, this deep rumble in his chest that gets strangled halfway through his throat. 

You’re not sure at what point you start thrust your hips. Mingyu helps you find the right pace, big hands guiding you forward and back, forward and back, until you feel the rhythm all the way from your ears to your toes. 

As his mouth slides up to suckle on your clit, his left hand also snakes upwards, cupping your right breast, thumb rolling over your puckered nipple. You shudder, nerves sizzling like power lines, lit up by his every touch.

“‘Gyu…” Mingyu’s mouth pulls another whine from you. You glance down, catching the furrow in his brow, the sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh my god.” 

“Mmmmphf,” Mingyu agrees, or so you assume, unable to understand anything he might be mumbling into you. A particularly sharp suck on your pulsating clit makes your back arch, and Mingyu’s hand falls from your chest, disappearing behind you. 

The sudden rustling of fabric draws your attention. You glance over your shoulder, only to whimper when you catch sight of Mingyu’s hand stroking his erection, band of his sweatpants hastily shoved down, stiff cock so flushed it brings a matching heat to your neck. 

If you were more limber, you’d reach for him, give him a helping hand, but you can’t stay twisted around for long, not when Mingyu’s tongue makes you refocus on his mouth. It’s too difficult to think about anything else right now but the way he keeps plunging inside you, using the thick muscle to fuck you shallowly. 

You can’t stop mewling like a cat in heat, rutting back and forth over Mingyu’s tongue. Even in your daze, it doesn’t escape your attention that Mingyu’s absolutely pussy drunk at this point, depraved moans buzzing endlessly against your most sensitive spots because he refuses to detach his mouth from you long enough to let them escape. Every muffled note reverberates deep in your core, joins the tense chord that’s building inside you to a crescendo. 

“‘Gyu, please.” 

At the sound of your plea, Mingyu stops stroking himself, bringing his hand around to find your clit, middle finger drawing circles around and around and around. 

When you double over, hands sinking into the plush bedding on either side of Mingyu’s head, he grunts, tipping his head to the side so he can speak. “You okay?” 

“Fuck, Mingyu, ‘m good,” you giggle, suddenly hit by a burst of glee, perhaps due to the lack of oxygen in your head, since all the blood in your body is concentrated in your clit right now. “I’m having an amazing night.” 

Mingyu hums again, sounding very pleased, and you meet his gaze, and suddenly you wish his phone was nearby, so you could snap a photo, because this look - hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, pupils blown, nose to chin coated in your glistening wetness - this is a look worth capturing.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath, and the sincerity in his voice steals your own away. If you had any nerve, you’d confess something right now, something you weren’t planning on telling him tonight or tomorrow or maybe ever. But you keep silent, only breathing a tiny exhale of surprise as he slides out from under you, and nudges you onto your back.

Mingyu folds you in half easily, because you’re giving no resistance, letting him shape you the way he desires, and then his mouth is on you again. Now that he's lying facedown between your legs, he’s able to get some much-desired friction without using his hands, grinding his neglected cock into the bed as he concentrates on you. 

His tongue glides over your throbbing nub again, and then his right hand ghosts over your slit. You whimper a soft “Please,” and that’s all he needs to slide his finger inside. The intrusion has you squirming, urging him silently to go deeper, and to your relief, he obliges. But he also locks his other arm over your legs, holding them so you can’t keep bucking your hips up. 

“I said, stay still,” he mumbles, with no anger or heat behind it, just amusement, laced with a slight tinge of cockiness. He knows he’s frustrating you, judging by the curl of his lips as he plunges his finger in and out slowly, way too slowly, teasing you with what you need most. You try to press your hips down onto his hand, to make him glide faster, but he just leans into you slightly, big arm stopping your movements. 

Your whine is beyond petulant. “Don’t tease me!” 

“Pretty, I promise you, when I tease you, you’ll know.” 

And then he adds his middle finger, curling both, pressing on the most sensitive spot on your inner wall. Over and over, his fingers flutter, massaging until starlight bursts behind your eyelids. 

“It’ll be something like this.” 

He withdraws his hand.

“Gyuuuuuu.”

If he was slightly cocky earlier, he’s fully arrogant now, face breaking into a wide grin while he laughs. “Wow, so whiny. You do want me bad.” 

“I swear to god if you dohhhhHHH-”

You break off in a moan when he lowers his face again, loudly lapping at your wetness. Clever fingers alternate between scissoring and stroking, following the changes in your breathing, and you hope that he’s close to being satiated, because you’re teetering on the edge of your climax, only the slightest bit more stimulation necessary to push you over. 

“Mingyu. Mingyu, I’m gonna cum.” You open your eyes, raising your head enough to look at him, to watch with a dropped jaw as he buries his face in your cunt, his own eyes closed in ecstasy, and oh, that’s it - “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!” 

Your warning cry - though clearly appreciated by Mingyu, who groans in answering refrain, hips humping the bed furiously - is ultimately unnecessary, given how hard your walls suddenly clench around his fingers. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, fingerfucking you through your orgasm as your lower half trembles beneath his heavy arm. He holds you in place as best he can, sweetly kissing your clit, while you wail and writhe, pressing your palm into your mouth to keep your cries from waking the rooms around you. 

Eventually your tremors slow, turning into occasional twitches, before your body finally relaxes. Mingyu continues to lap at you, every pass of his tongue getting lighter and lighter, until he lifts his head. He’s the perfect image of lust, eyes dark and desirous, and you claw at his shoulders, needing him close again. 

“Kiss me.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing you over himself more as he rises up to meet you. His cock is hard between you, and you moan, knowing that you did that, that he got this turned on just from eating you out, and extend your fingers to wrap around him.

The unbidden sound he utters when you take his cock and slide it through your soaking folds, coating it in your wetness, is the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Careful, pretty,” he pants, looking down at your hand. Under his close gaze, you circle the head of his cock before rubbing your thumb over and around the slit there. “‘M close.” 

“Wanna make you come, ‘Gyu,” you tell him, and he hisses, hips bucking into your grip. 

“Fuck.” His long fingers cover yours, guiding you into a faster pace. “But I’m gonna make a mess.”

“Do it. Make a mess.” The need to make him completely fall apart takes possession of you, makes you say things you’ve never said to anyone else. “Come all over me.” 

Mingyu whines, chin dropping to his chest. He’s barely blinking as he stares at your entwined hands. 

“Pretty… don’t say that….”

“Please, ‘Gyu.” All shame has fled your body. “I want it.” 

No further encouragement is needed. Mingyu grunts a few times before he’s painting your stomach in so much white, in little drops and big splashes, doing exactly what you told him, eyes rolling back in his head as he does.

When his high abates, he sits back on his heels, gazing at the mess he created, all the sticky sweat and semen that covers your body. A delirious thought comes to you. Is the sight beautiful enough for him to want to take a picture? 

“Wow,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head. “You’re even prettier when you’re covered in me.” 

His dead serious expression is enough to break the haze of lust hanging over you. You throw your arm over your face, too flustered to look at him. “‘Gyuuuuu!”

“Changed my mind, I’m calling you ‘whiny' from now on.” The bed shifts as Mingyu rises. He laughs all the way to and from the bathroom, laughs even harder when you glare at him, reaching for the towel he holds. He surprises you by nudging your hand away. “Let me.”  

His touch is so gentle as he wipes away his mess, then your own. When you’re both clean enough, he lays on his side, draping his arm over you. “Think you can sleep now?” 

Oh, you can sleep. You’re feeling satiated in a way you haven’t for a long time, and now that the rush has worn off, you could knock right out. You should probably go back to your room, ride this calm wave right into sleep, not let yourself get too excited at the thought that this vacation might be the best one ever.

Instead, you grin, sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.” 

“Oh?” Mingyu’s smile mirrors yours. “What do you wanna do instead?” 

“I might have some ideas.” 

He lets you pull him down for a kiss, humming eagerly.

“Tell me what you want, pre-”

A sharp rap on the door startles you both.

“Dude, don’t you dare!” Minghao hisses through the wood. “We’ve been out here forever!” 

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© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[suiana]

imagine yandere! drider who makes himself at home in the corner of your room one day.

you come home from work, absolutely tired and just wanting to have a break... only to hear a weird scratching sound coming from your room. what the hell could it be? surely it's just your imagination? so you make your way towards your room nonchalantly, pushing the door open and...

"wha-?!"

"oh, darling."

you freeze, staring at this... absolutely gorgeous drider who had made himself at home in the corner of your room... you were originally going to let things be until you saw the many tiny babies on the back of his spider lower body. screaming and throwing your bag at him, you slam your door shut and run away from your room as fast as you could. shit, shit, shit! a spider dilf?!

...you were going to escape until you hit your toe and started crying on the ground. the drider came out of the room (with babies and all) and nursed you back to health.

and that was your first meeting with the hot asf spider dilf in your room.

you later learned that he was surprisingly gentle and didn't mean for you to be scared by his appearance. you wanted to tell him the truth. that well, you weren't scared by his appearance, sure, you were stunned when you saw this whole ass grown dude in your room but he was hot so it doesn't really matter. but rather, his kids scared the hell out of you with their tiny beady eyes. however... you're sure that if you said that, he'd try and kill you. you've seen how caring and loving he is with his tiny spider babies after all.

you've also come to learn that he really loves making intricate web designs. designs that absolutely sparkle when the light hits them in a certain way... they're all so beautiful and mesmerizing that you can't help but compliment him whenever you can.

"hey, your patterns are beautiful as usual dude."

"ah... thank you love."

he blushes, avoiding eye contact as he shakily pulls out a flower from behind his back. right, he's been giving you these gifts at random too. it's cute. well, not when he just started out though. he used to gift you dead rats.

you were horrified when you woke up one day and saw a dead rat on your desk. what the fuck?! your drider roomie didn't seem all too phased, even looking at you expectantly as he waits for a compliment. you had to explain to him that humans don't accept gifts like that. he looked rather deflated the rest of the day after that. talking about how his spouse must hate him and stuff. you didn't know he had a spouse.

you've also realized that he's weirdly overprotective of you.

you can't even go out on dates anymore. or... talk to anyone for that matter. he once threw your phone at a wall when he saw you texting this guy you were planning on meeting up. he also gets all pissy and starts making weird spider sounds while his children crawl around your feet. you were super grossed out by that at first but you've grown used to it by now.

"dude stop, i just want to go on a date!"

"no."

"why?!"

"you already have me! that's why!"

he gets all pouty, arms crossed over his huge tits as he nags you about trying to cheat on him. you never really said anything about that before. surely he's just roleplaying because you sometimes act like his lover by giving him food and asking how he is. but this has gone too far! you have to say something!

"we aren't dating, what are you on about?"

"yeah, because we're married."

what.

you stare at him, jaw dropping as his kids tug on your pants and chat noisily. did he just... say you guys were married? you try searching his face for any lies, only to be hit by the fact that he was serious.

that's when everything starts to suddenly fit together in your mind. the gifts, the name-calling, the fact that his kids love you... damn, maybe it was also because you complimented his webs that solidified his belief that you two were together. you read somewhere that male spiders make patterns to impress potential mates.

"um..."

"hmph! don't go on any dates anymore. i can't believe you keep trying to be unfaithful. our kids will be sad you know!"

damn it, looks like you got yourself a drider husband now.

[fangirl-dot-com]

☕️That's That Me Espresso

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Singer!Reader (fc Sabrina Carpenter) Genre: Fluff/SMAU Summary: Max had been single for the first time in almost 4 years. What do Lando and Charles do? Lightly set him up with a very popular acquaintance. They just hope he likes espresso.

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

There was a different type of electricity in the air that Max was not familiar with. Sure, every race had that adrenalinistic atmosphere that, really, he had gotten numb to. But this, this was different. He might have even gone as far as to call it a “breath of fresh air.” 

His whole body was tired, especially after a grueling race. Why the FIA decided to push the Brazil Grand Prix to the dead middle of summer? He didn’t know why. But he had said enough passive aggressive remarks about the weather. The reason they gave was to avoid the typhoons that normally showed up during the later months of the year, when the usual race was scheduled. 

The Dutchman didn’t mind. The race last year, although the weekend had been soaked, hadn’t even been canceled. Sure there was rain, but they had raced in wetter conditions before. But, he had no control over the schedule. 

If he had been in charge, the calendar would have only 10 races comprised of all historical tracks, no US races, and sprints would be cast into the nearest dumpster. 

But Max Verstappen was not in charge of the Formula 1 calendar, and he was now standing backstage to some concert that Lando and Charles had dragged him and some other drivers to. They explained that it was for their girlfriends, but Lando didn’t have a girlfriend and Max knew he and Charles genuinely liked the pop genre. 

He just never bothered to listen to specific music. He went more by the vibes the song gave, and if he liked it, he liked it. There was no reason to go deep into the discography of the artist and the albums. 

Music was just music to Max. 

Well, that was until the lights dimmed and the most beautiful person, well to Max’s opinion, walked out in almost 6-inch heels and the shortest white skirt. 

Now, Max had been single for almost three months. He had known that Kelly was drifting, but he didn’t make any attempts to draw her back in. The close to four year relationship just fizzled. 

However, he was confused when his friends celebrated the breakup. Lando had gently told him that, while Penelope was very sweet, Kelly had been using him. Charles also brought up the fact that Kelly had said that she had a “magical meeting” with him when he was 19, practically a child with how fast he had to grow up. 

The 9 year age gap pretty much put people on edge about her. 

But Max had no time to dwell on that as he watched the female dance around, pretty skirt flipping up every time she skipped on stage. Her voice echoed through the large speakers, and Max found himself head bobbing to the beat. 

When there was a brief intermission, Lando had snaked his arm around his neck. 

“So how are you liking it?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink after. The Dutchman hadn’t taken his eyes of the door where she had gone through. 

“She’s very pretty.” 

Lando snorted, making Max turn to face his friend. 

“I didn’t ask about her mate, but good to know. I can introduce you to Y/n after the concert is over if you’d like me to.” 

Max’s eyes widened. 

So that’s what your name was. He thought it was very fitting, and he could start to daydream of how the vowels and consonants would sound through his mouth. He wondered if his lisp would accidentally seep through. 

“You would?” 

Lando sighed before calling Charles over. The brunet was quick to round the other side of the two drivers, now taking up Max’s left. 

“Yeah mate?” 

Lando slapped Max on the back, making him wince a bit, muscles still sore. 

“Our race winner here seems to be a bit infatuated with Y/n.” 

Charles wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Is he now? They’d be a nice pair wouldn’t you say Lando?” 

Max tuned the last bit of their conversation out as he watched you prance out of the door you disappeared through earlier. He didn’t know what caused you to look over as you were putting in your in-ears, but you did and your eyes met his. 

You quickly blushed under the gaze of the unfamiliar blond man as your eyes darted back to the ground. You had recognized Lando to his right (your left), but the man remained a mystery to you as you began to sing the second half of your set.

You kneeled on the edge of the stage and reached out for a Brazilian flag that a fan was desperately waving around. You took the soft fabric and wrapped it around your shoulders for the rest of the evening. 

Max thought you looked like an angel. The lights reflected your blond hair perfectly, creating almost a halo around your face. He himself wanted to give your stylists a raise for picking out the perfect hair, makeup, and outfit. 

You had a big smile as you waved to the crowds after your last encore. 

“Brasil! Voce tem sido incrive! Todos voces tem meu coracao! Te amo e boa noite!” 

You even had the voice of an angel. 

And you were now walking toward their group. Max was not prepared. Thankfully Lando and Charles were as they stepped in front Max and congratulated you on the concert. Every now and then in the conversation, your eyes flitted to the blond man, who was looking everywhere but you. 

“Y/n! I don’t believe you’ve met Max yet! Max this is Y/n, and Y/n this is Max Verstappen, current world champion.” 

The last words made Charles huff a bit, only being behind Max in the points this season by a small margin. You put your hand out for a shake but Max just looked at it, stared, then looked back up. 

“You’re very pretty.” 

He wanted to slap himself in the face, but your giggles that flew out of your mouth made him want to melt into the ground. Your hand covered your mouth as you looked up at him. Even with your heals, Max was still a half a foot taller than you. You know that it’d be closer to a full foot without your shoes, which you were desperately wanting to get out of. 

“Thank you. You’re very handsome, but I guess you hear that too often.” 

He actually didn’t. Most didn’t go for his stockier build, rounded features, and flat hair. He knew that many preferred Charles’s slim waist and Lando’s boyish looks. But here you were, looking up at him like he was God’s gift to mankind. Your round doe eyes were hitting all of his buttons. 

He smirked. “Not too many, but I only remember the gorgeous ones.” 

Oh, so he could flirt. That was news to Lando and Charles as they watched the interactions nearby. 

Lando leaned over when Max fished out his phone from his pant leg almost shy at the action. “I didn’t think he had it in him. I wonder if he has ever had the chance to try to date.” 

Charles hummed. “He had a few girlfriends before Kelly. But again, they were all older. Y/n is only 22.” 

When you trailed off to go change, Max walked over to the duo with a dopey smile. 

“I think I’m in love.” 

y/nl/n has posted

liked by landonorris, y/nisqueen, mothery/n, and 3,205,094 others y/nl/n brasil! you were amazing! Te amo, te amo! I will miss you all 💚💛🇧🇷

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y/nnation this concert was just chef's kiss!!

y/nisqueen the outfits, the flag, the hair - oh my gosh I love her

f1xy/n did anyone else see that tweet about the f1 drivers in attendance??

norris/n I hope that lando was there, him and y/n would be so cute

maxxy/n I think y/n and max would be so cutie tho

landonorris great show once again y/n!

y/nl/n glad that you and your friends could come see!!

teamy/n your honor I love her

Another giggle left your lips as you were driven back to your hotel. Your manager was watching you with fond eyes, happy to see you all smiley. Your last relationship had not ended well, leaving you heartbroken and depressed. But your emotions fueled you to write your best album yet.

“I’m going to guess that you’re texting you driver,” she wiggled her eyebrows at you, making you sink into the seat, phone covering your face. 

“Maybe. Mila, he’s so perfect. He’s very . . . sweet, but at the same time he’s sharp. He’s a bit like my every morning drink.” 

Mila sent you a warm smile. “Speaking of morning drinks, do you still want your espresso sent to your room at the normal time, or do you want to sleep in?” 

Your brows furrowed, mind running quickly. You opened your notes app and began typing. 

“Espresso.”

A few months passed with you and Max growing closer and closer. People online could definitely tell that the Dutchman was more smiley, but no one knew why. They could only speculate that he was in a relationship, but he hadn’t really been anywhere in the past few months that could signify a blooming relationship. 

You were up writing late when your phone buzzed, the familiar pattern letting you know that a certain blond was calling you. Your eyebrows pinched as you noticed the time. You pressed the green button before saying hello. 

“Hi schatje,” the familiar pet-name flooding the room. 

“Why are you up so late? Don’t you have a race tomorrow morning?” 

Although you were in two different countries, you and Max miraculously were in the same time zones, meaning if you were up late so was he. 

“We have the sim race this weekend.” 

“Maaxxx.” 

“Y/nnnnn, I’ve done it before. And plus, you’re also up.” 

You nibbled on your lip. “I couldn’t sleep. Lyrics are just racing around my brain.” 

“That or you had your espresso too late again.” 

You smirked as your eyes landed on the empty espresso mug on the bedside table. 

“I’m taking the silence as ‘yes Max. I had an espresso too late.’” 

Max’s favorite sound, your laugh, sounded through his phone that was resting on his simulator. The two of you had some weird humor, but you never failed to make Max laugh and neither did he. 

The sound of him shifting the gears was better than any white noise machine could be. Max tried his best to focus on his race, but the scratching of your pencil and your sporadic sighs kept him a bit distracted. 

“Would you be fine if I put a hint in my song? I like having you all to myself, but I want people to know that you make me happy.” 

Max almost virtually crashed. You never ceased to amaze him. 

“That’s fine with me liefling. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

y/nl/n has posted

liked by gracieadams, y/nvideo, maxverstappen1, and 3,405,295 others y/nl/n ☕️ espresso is now yours :) let's call it the bop of the summer

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maxxy/n ayo max, why are you here so early 🤨

f1xy/n what the hell is a polar bear doing in Arlington texas

y/n.nation when she says bop of the summer, it's the bop of the summer

maxverstappen1 ☕️

y/nl/n ☕️

queeny/n what the heck is this supposed to mean?????

user204502 this song has been on repeat

Max hadn’t know when you were going to release the song, he just knew that you were. He hadn’t even realized that it was out to the public until Charles had mentioned something. 

“Y/n’s new song is great, non? Didn’t know that you two were soft launching, but I’m happy for you two.” 

Max never ran faster than he did to get to his driver’s room to listen to it. He never thought that you’d ever write a song about him, but here it was. The title was catchy too. 

Thankfully, you were waiting for him when he got back to Monaco. The first thing he did was lean down to kiss your lips. You could never get over the feeling of his lips against yours. The broadness of his shoulders made you feel safe as he caged you in between himself and the door. 

His large hands fit perfectly against your hips as he brushed his face against your neck. Your hands gripped his shirt that was thankfully not a Red Bull polo. 

“I take it you liked the song?” you managed to get out, breathless against him. A hum vibrated against your neck, letting you know that he was pleased. 

He finally gave you a bit of space once he kissed you on his way back up. 

“Espresso?”

You giggled, head digging into his chest. “I had one almost 15 minutes ago.” 

“Of course you did.” 

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as you just stood in the walkway to his house. The place finally looked like someone was actually living in it, and not looking like an Ikea display. 

Little bits of Max were visible everywhere, now that he didn’t have to hide his stuff away in his little mancave. His suit was now on display with pictures of his various wins decorating the walls. But in between all the racing were bits of you left behind. Pictures of your stages filled in the gaps. 

But Max’s favorite bit was the circle stain of dark espresso by your side of his bed. 

“Come with me to Silverstone and later to Zandvoort.” 

You looked up at him, still not getting over the foot in height difference. Your neck had to crane for you to look him in the eyes. 

“Think about it,” Max continued. “You’re taking a small break from your tours when Silverstone happens. And then Zandvoort is the Sunday before the Netherlands concert.” 

You couldn’t say anything but yes. 

Lando was surprised to see your hand held tightly in Max’s. The last thing he knew is that you and him were texting, but he didn’t know if it went any farther than that. The Briton was happy to learn that you had been behind the Dutchman’s wide smiles between races. 

He thought you looked absolutely tiny next to Max, even in your usual heels. Lando did notice that you weren’t visible in the garage during the practices and even the race on Sunday. When it was him, Max, and Charles on the podium, he took his chances to ask. 

“Where’s your superstar?” 

Max visible brightened at the mention of you. “We’re not public yet. I think we like the privacy a bit too much.” 

Lando looked confused. “But the song?” 

He watched as Max leaned back with a laugh. “Mate, everyone thinks she’s in a relationship with either you or Sebastian of all people.” 

“Why would it be Seb?” Charles piped up, finally joining the conversation. 

“Because she sings something about calling me a honey bee. People are trying to connect that with the racing lyric and Seb’s bee keeping skills.” 

The photographers thought that they were getting good pictures of the three enjoying the post-race celebrations as they caught giant smiles and laughs. They probably couldn’t even imagine the conversation that was going on. 

It wasn’t until Zandvoort that people started to catch glimpses of you in the paddock. You smiled widely as you stepped through the turnstile, hand clasped in Max’s. Cameras were clicking wildly, but you knew how to ignore them. 

You were here for Max and Max only. 

You had wanted to find something orange to wear, but the weather was a bit rainy and cold. Max had convinced you to wear something warm, much to your chagrin. When you had pouted earlier in the hotel room, he just leaned down and kissed your lips. 

“Hmmmm, espresso. My favorite.” 

You had rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because you were up late again. I was able to get some more work done though.” 

“Must have gotten some from you then.” 

The Red Bull driver was able to secure his home race win, putting him just behind Charles in the standings. The Ferrari driver had been driving like a madman all season, and Max had just now been able to catch up to him. However, you knew how scared he was of losing his champion title. 

But, this year, he had you to be his support. Whether he won or lost, you’d still be there. Unlike Kelly, you didn’t push your way into his life. You let him choose you when he wanted. There was no constant grabbing at his arms to pull him away from his crew. 

When Max finally made his way to you, he just brought you in close. He wouldn’t have been able to kiss you with his helmet on anyway. When he pulled back, he was surprised to see tears in your eyes. His face must have had confusion written all over it as you shook your head. 

“Happy tears. I’m so proud of you.” 

The validation he got from you meant so much more than any he ever received. As Max looked down at you from the top step of the podium, you looked up at him like he hung the sun. The Dutchman would never fall tired of your gaze. 

y/nl/n has posted

liked by maxverstappen1, mothery/n, verstopen33, and 4,204,938 others y/nl/n oh, he looks so cute, wrapped around my finger

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mothery/n WAS NOT EXPECTING THE HARD LAUNCH WHAT

f1xy/n thank you y/n for feeding us with boyfriend max material

verstappen33max I don't think I've seen him so smiley

maxverstappen1 💙 schatje

y/nl/n 💗 my love

y/nisqueen awwww I love them your honor

landonorris rue, when was this? 🤨

charles_leclerc me as well 😊

maxverstappen1 I think since February??

landonorris SINCE FEBRUARY???

charles_leclerc congrats!!

y/nl/n thank you charlieeeee

y/nvideo this is now my otp for the rest of my life 🥺

A week later, it was Max’s turn to stare at you the way that you stared at him. The little pink number that you were wearing was turning Max’s thoughts into something more that just hugs and kisses. But, he put those away (maybe for later) and just continued to enjoy the set that you had chosen. 

He couldn’t believe that he was back in the same place that he had been eight months ago. But, there he was, still as starstruck as he had been. He loved to see you skip around, skirt still flinging around and heels still adorning your feet. 

As the evening was closing, he just couldn’t wait to bring you back to the hotel to love on you, even more than he had already been doing. He wished time could speed up just a bit because he knew you were it for him. 

There was a before you, a during you, and he never wanted there to be an after you. 

He, along with the rest of the crowd and fellow drivers, got confused when you didn’t leave the stage after the last song. But, as slow piano music left the giant speakers, Max immediately knew what was happening. 

In the past couple of months, you had been holed up in your studio, really only seeing Max whenever he dropped off lunch or when you came back to his house. And many times, he was surprised to see Charles there as well, dressed in comfy clothes and glasses on his face. 

Piano sheet music always covered every inch of studio space when the Monegasque showed up, meaning that you were in the middle of creating a masterpiece. And, Max got to listen to multiple different melodies that the two of you put together. However, he wasn’t allowed to listen to any of the final demos which eventually got turned into songs. 

Tears pricked his eyes when he heard you explain yourself to the crowd. You had turned a bit to face Max as you talked. Your message for him more than the crowd. 

Your smile shined in the bright spotlights. 

“This next song is one that I wrote for a very special person in my life. You all know who it is so I won’t embarrass him.” 

Max could never be embarrassed by you. 

“I call it Lover, because that is what he is to me. My one and only love. Max, my espresso, I love you dearly.” 

And so dearly, he loved you too. 

y/nl/n has posted

liked by dior, maxverstappen1, y/nfan, and 4,205,893 others y/nl/n a song for my lover? how about an album 💖

lover is now yours on all streaming platforms

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y/nfan I THINK I BEAT MAX TO THE LIKES

y/nfan never mind...

y/n.nation the new song and now new album, max please keep keeping her happy

charles_leclerc glad to be a part of the album y/n!

y/nl/n thank you Charles! merci beaucoup 🫶

maxverstappen1 my lover 💖

y/nl/n my one and only 💙

landonorris ok, when do I get an album??

y/nl/n I can set you up with one of my friends?

ynsmax and we all say "thank you max!"

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

[gh0stsp1d3r]

second chance ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

warnings: r is a mutant w/ blood manipulation powers :3, death is mentioned, grief, angsty and fluffy

a/n: I wanted to make the readers power dark but her personality the complete opposite. I like dark and brooding characters w/ sweethearts LMFAOO it’s my favorite trope atp

MASTERLIST

Being sent to the void and being trapped in there was not how this was supposed to go at all. You stood up, confused as to where you were. You looked wildly around the deserted world, finding no one around you.

Sometimes you wonder how exactly it is that you got into this shit. After your boyfriend died saving the world, you let yourself go, not the happy go lucky person you usually were. Your friends noticed, you sulking around during missions, usually not saying a word to any of them.

Why’d he always have to be the damn hero?

And now you missed them, it was too quiet here for your liking. Your gaze landed on a patch of trees, seeming like the only form of life there. With a huff, you picked yourself up and walked towards the forage, walking around for a while until you came across something rather odd in this place.

A car? Here? It was random. What made you even more confused was the blood splatters all over it, the windows cracked. It was fresh blood, not dried yet, you could tell that much.

Slowly and curiously,you walked towards the car, peering inside quietly the two of them, Wade wrapped up in the seatbelts. Then your eyes were stuck on logan, heart stuttering and breath stopping at the sight of his bloodied body.

His eyes snapped open, eyebrows furrowing and forehead creased, he was going to attack you, barreling out of the car and standing in front of you before you jumped back and his movements paused.

You had already created a shield of their blood from the car, holding your hands out in front of you. You stared back at Logan, examining you as if it was as if he was wondering the same thing you were.

Is that you?

You put your hands down, blood falling back into the soil, both of you left staring at each other in silence.

It went on like that until Wade left out a cough, gasping and sitting up, struggling against the seatbelts.

“Motherfuck-“ he murmured out, both of you turning your heads to watch the man get out of his restraints.

He hopped out of the car, turning to the both of you staring back at him now. “You know what, I forgive you for that back there.” He told Logan.

“Gonna introduce me to your friend?” You asked with a small smile, both of them turning to look at you.

It was the first words Logan had heard you speak in a while, and Jesus, you even had the same smile.

“Pool. Dead.” He held his hand out, which looked broken. “Or Wade. You can just call me Wade.”

“Your um…” you cleared your throat, motioning to his floppy hand, that he quickly fixed back in place.

You shook his hand. “Y/n.” You mumbled.

“Where have I heard that name before…?” He asked, mostly to himself.

“I’m part of the x-men.” You told him. He snapped his fingers, remembering you suddenly.

“Oh, yeah! You’re dead in my universe.” He said the last part flatly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Didn’t go so well for you. You have like… the blood bending powers, right?”

You snickered at his choice of words. “Blood bending is from avatar. Blood manipulation.” You corrected, but nodded anyways.

“So you’re like… Marie Moreau from gen v?”

You didn’t understand his reference.

“Are you two done?” Logan asked, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Cool your jets, wolvie.”

You had to suppress a smile at his choice of words, wolvie. You used to tease him with that nickname all the time. He glanced at you, before fixing his gaze back on Wade.

“What are you guys doing here anyways?” You asked them.

“Long story.” Logan spoke, still avoiding your gaze, his mind suddenly being flooded with the worst memories he has.

“Okay, then what are you guys planning to do? Except for stabbing each other.”

“We’ll catch you up, Katara.” Wade spoke, all of you piling back into the car, you staring out the window as Wade explained everything.

“Wait, let me get this straight, so she was your girlfriend but then she died, in your universe?” Wade whispered to Logan, who just grimaced and nodded, downing the rest of the alcohol in this place.

“I find it kinda hard to believe that you, the epitome of I have a grey cloud over my head at all times, and her, the living embodiment of fucking sunshine. She’s like fucking.. princess peach. You’re like bowser.”

Logan scoffed, glancing back at you for a moment. He was right. Despite him not getting the references, he knew what he was trying to say.

He ruined everything he touched, everything he went near. It was better to stay away from you, even if you are from another universe.

They didn’t get the chance to talk about it, because the others began walking in, Logan and wade taking one last glance at you before you all turned to them.

“You know, princess, you should talk to him.” Wade spoke suddenly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, an innocent gesture.

You furrowed your eyebrows at Wade. “Princess?”

Somehow, in the few hours you knew wade, he was pretty nice, and you two quickly became friends.

“You remind me of like princess peach or something.”

Your eyebrows remained furrowed, face full of confusion.

“Oh my god, you guys don’t have Mario in your universe?”

You shook your head. “No clue what you’re talking about right now.”

“That’s.. tragic…”

“Anyways, what were you saying? Who should I talk to?”

“Mr dark and brooding outside.”

“Logan?”

“You know I’m talking about logan.”

You sighed, shutting your eyes for a moment and nodding, leaning your head back against the couch you sat on, recalling everything about the man.

“I was his friend for years. We met… through the X-men shit or whatever.” You waved it off. “I was… in love with him. I still am. We… eventually started dating, and we both were probably the happiest we could be. Then he had to go be the fuckin’ hero.” You said with a bittersweet laugh, Wade listening intently.

“It’s been 1 year, 3 months, and 11 days.”

“Wow… that is… bringing a tear to my eye.” He flicked the stray tear off his face, shaking his head to himself.

“Well, to me it looks like him and mini him are done talking,” he gently shoved your shoulder with his arm, motioning for you to go outside.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” You murmured when he kept shoving you to the edge, small smile still on your face.

You shoved your hands into your pockets as you left, he glanced back, ready to tell whoever was coming up to go away, his words getting caught in his throat when he saw you. He turned back around, swallowing down the alcohol in seconds.

You sat next to him, both of you silent until you spoke up.

“Am I dead in your universe?” You asked him, voice almost a whisper.

He nodded, still not turning to look at you.

“Oh. You’re dead in mines.” You said, also turning to look ahead.

“How’d that happen?” He asked you, you were shocked that he was engaging in any conversation. You answered quickly.

“He was ripped in half.” You swallowed, remembering the scream you had let out, the cries you choked out on that day. “Right in front of me. Y-He told me…” you hesitated, turning to him, reaching for the bottle in his hands. He gave it to you, you taking a swig, the alcohol burning down your throat.

“He told me that he loved me, and that we needed to leave. I regret leaving. I regret it all.” You told him quietly, he stared at you now, and you stared at him back, passing him the bottle again.

“She was… stabbed, in the heart.” He told you, voice wavering for a moment. “I was so pissed off,” he chuckled for a moment. “I couldn’t kill them.”

You listened intently to the man.

“I never thought I would see…you again.”

“I know. It’s odd.” You said with a quiet laugh, both of you staring at each other for a moment, just sitting in silence, a collective understanding that maybe, just maybe, you were put in the void by fate.

A second chance. That’s what it was for you both.

[entirelysein-e]

『 Sins of the flesh 』

☼ synopsis: You catch your roommate Choso getting off with his little silicone fleshlight and decide to help him get off, indulging in his sinful fantasies of a threesome with the help of his toy.

☼ character: Choso

☼ wc: 2.2k

☼ cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, dom!leaning reader, Choso getting caught, mutual masturbation, cum eating, cunnilingus, sex toys (fleshlight), mentions of sex

☼ notes: so uhm this happened 🫣 totally not self indulgent as always- I would never | don't forget to sign up for the taglist! | requests are open!

Having Choso as your roommate was the best thing that could have happened to you. That man was almost nonexistent while you were home, next to your shared dinner and movie night on Fridays - A thing you started since you found out you both enjoy the same genre of movies. Otherwise, he was as quiet as a mouse, never bothering you or taking up too much space. The shared living room was always kept tidy, although his room was a pure mess, but he would never make his chaotic habits a problem you'd have to sort out.

When your work day ended earlier than usual, you made it your first priority to let your mouse of a roommate know, texting him a simple “coming home early! :)” a habit both of you grew used to, just to let the other know to take private things into your own rooms. The moment you entered the shared apartment, the lights were out and it made you a little suspicious. He should be preparing dinner already; perhaps he just forgot it was his turn this Friday?

As you made your way towards your room, you casually walked past Choso’s room since just the small hallway stood between your rooms, doors across from each other. A small whimper made you stop dead in your tracks, almost alarming every molecule in your body for a potential threat. Your head snapped towards the noise - Choso’s room - just when another noise came through the crack of the door. The heat rose up your cheeks, the tips of your ears suddenly became hot to the touch when you heard the way he just moaned your name. It wasn't a pained moan, your body letting down its guard upon hearing how pleased he sounded and you should be repulsed. You should loudly announce your early arrival and stare him down when he comes crawling out of his room, but you didn't. Instead, you leaned against the doorframe, trying to spy through the smallest crack in the door, to see him lying sprawled out on his bed, one hand holding onto the pillow beneath his head as the other fisted tightly around the fleshlight he used to pump his own cock.

The sight made your thighs clench and you started to imagine how hot it would be to ride him, how pretty he would look beneath you and how cute his whines could get when you made him cum. “Ngh yes! Just like that,” he whispered and his brows knit together when his hips started to meet the movement of his hand. Perhaps you could slowly push open the door and get a better view of this breathtaking scene to fulfill your own perverted fantasies?

Just as you wanted to put your hand against the door to grant you a better view, the shift of weight made the floor creak beneath your foot and Choso ripped the blanket over his body, covering the shameful act of getting off to the thoughts of his roommate.

“Hello?” He called out, cheeks burning bright red and you simply knocked against his door, trying not to act obvious - like you didn't just watch him masturbate like a little creep.

“I’m home early. Can I come in?” You ask through the almost closed door in front of you and you hear the fabric of his blanket shifting.

“Uh… yeah, I just got out of the shower." Choso lied, trying to excuse his lack of clothes as you opened the door. His hair was dry, of course and he cursed himself for that excuse - why would he go hide in bed naked after a shower?

You glanced around awkwardly, avoiding to look at Choso, who had the blanket up to his chest, his face sticky with sweat and a few stray strands stuck to his blushy skin as he avoided your gaze as well.

“I texted you that I'm home early so you could already co-” *thud* You stopped talking mid-sentence as the rather loud thud cut you off, both pairs of eyes snapping to the source of sound - and there it was in all glory: A slicked-up silicone fleshlight.

Both of you were unsure about what to say or do, your eyes glued to the toy until yours suddenly darted around the room, looking everywhere but the toy as you cleared your throat.

Choso wished to be swallowed whole by the ground, to disappear in a box of shame upon getting caught like that. He shouldn't have allowed you in, told you he's changing and now he's in this unbearable situation.

“I- I didn't know you were… busy,” you lied to break the uncomfortable silence, but your eyes kept flicking back to the silicone pussy on the floor, glistening in the soft light as the lube that was running out of it slowly pooled beneath it. It took a while for Choso to muster up the courage to speak again, the bed creaking when he sat up to reach for his toy.

“I'm so sorry… I didn't mean for you to… see,” he mumbled ashamed, unable to let his eyes wander towards you as the toy disappeared under the blanket again, but you shook your hand and wiped off the sweat that formed on your hands.

“Can I help you? Can I please you with it?” Your voice almost cracked, but you were sure of it, wanting to indulge in your fantasies if he'd allow it. “I heard you moan my name,” you continued, simply pointing out the fact to let him know that you're aware of what he was thinking about.

To everyone's surprise, Choso gulped and his Adam's apple bobbed visibly, the soft fabric of his blanket slowly sliding down his chest when he stopped clutching it tightly. “You don't have to… but I wouldn't say no to you,” he confirmed verbally, not expecting you to indulge in his sinful acts, but gods - he craved your touch. He couldn't stop imagining how soft your hands would feel against his skin, how your skin would be glowing when you're riding him, or how sweet your kisses would taste after you came around his manhood.

With legs like jelly, you walked over to his bed and the man simply leaned forward to capture your lips in an almost innocent kiss. Both of your insecurities were felt, but things quickly escalated when you slowly pulled back the covers to touch his skin. Your fingers raked over his chest down to the little happy trail and back up to his chest, where you teased his sensitive nipples. A small whimper escaped his lips, which gave you a chance to slip your tongue into his mouth.

When you parted from the kiss after what felt like a small eternity, a small string of saliva connected your lips and eager hands peeled the covers back further. Your eyes went from his down his body, eventually resting on his cock, which almost let you gasp in awe of how well endowed your roommate really was. With a firm grasp, you take ahold of the fleshlight that rested next to his thigh and your other hand grabbed the base of his cock, your eyes looking for any signs of hesitation.

“Please,” Choso begged, his voice barely above a whisper when you grabbed his cock, the anticipation of the pleasure you'd bring eating him alive. Your eyes were fixated on his when you moved to straddle his lower legs, your lips coming closer to the tip of his cock but leaving just as quickly after you simply spat on it, the fleshlight engulfing him seconds later. The sight was one to behold, his dark eyes rolling back as his jaw slowly went slack to let out the softest moan known to mankind and one of his hands flew up to grab ahold of the pillow again. Seeing Choso so lost in pleasure turned you on beyond belief, wishing you switched places with this shitty piece of silicone you used to fuck him instead. The lewd, squelching sounds filled the room alongside Choso's breathless moans and you simply couldn't bring yourself to look away, moving the fleshlight just slightly faster.

Choso was chasing after his high when you picked up the pace, his hips meeting the thrusts of your hand since he was so close when you made your presence known.

“Are you gonna cum for me like a good boy?” You asked sweetly, the grip on the silicone toy tightened to help him reach his peak faster. You wouldn't edge him - at least not this time.

The man beneath you could only nod helplessly at your words, his moans and ragged breath made answering quite hard, but you didn’t expect him to moan your name this lewd when he spilled the seed into the fleshlight, hips sloppily thrusting into it when you slowed down to not overstimulate him.

“What a waste,” you mumbled more to yourself upon pulling the toy off of him, his cock already growing soft, but he heard your words, unsure if you meant that he was disappointing. His brows furrowed together, but your next move made his cock twitch and grow hard once again.

Without letting a drop go to waste, you brought the silicone cunt up to your lips and put your tongue out to catch the cum that slowly drizzled out. The first drop hit your wet muscle and you whimpered, the hot, salty liquid resting on your tongue before swallowing it down. “Get off with it. Rub your pussy with it,” Choso ordered with a hoarse voice. He didn't want to be selfish, you deserved to find pleasure with the very same toy and he didn't care if it was filled with his own cum, he'd paint your walls white any day if you'd only ask him for it.

Wondering if you just heard him correctly, you processed the words in your head before nodding in such a needy way before shedding your clothes in record speed. You should be ashamed to sit on your roommate's bed with your legs spread wide while you rub his cum-filled fleshlight over your glistening cunt, the silicone clit nudging yours just the right way. Yet the shame never came, perhaps it was drawn out by the overwhelming pleasure you felt upon smearing the cum all over your already wet folds, humping the pussy-shaped silicone like a bitch in heat while Choso palmed himself to the view.

“You're so fucking hot,” he mumbled out, moving his hand to cover yours and rubbing the toy against you now to help you get off just like you helped him.

Nodding your head as it fell back, you started grinding your hips a little harder. A small stain of your own arousal mixed with his seed started to stain the sheets, but neither of you cared, minds hazy as you got each other off.

“Need to have two fucking- need to have one on my face and another riding me." Choso moaned his fantasies out, dreaming of having two women use him for their pleasure and it was enough to send you over the edge, whining desperately when he moved the fleshlight against your sensitive clit faster to prolong your orgasm until you pushed him away, thighs closing out of instinct and it made you chuckle softly.

“You couldn't even handle two women.” Your words sounded teasing, but perhaps you can start preparing him for it.

The man barely heard your words, his fist working faster over his cock to reach a second orgasm. Only your hand pushing him down onto the bed ripped him out of his own thoughts and before he could ask what you're doing, your dripping wet cunt was right above his face as you straddled his head.

“W-what?” He asked slightly confused, wondering if you'd want to take this further than just mutual masturbation and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“You wanted two pussies, got a real one and a silicone one here, so go ahead,” you said smug, a grin tugging on the corner of your lips when you reached for the lube on his nightstand and squeezed a generous amount over the fleshlight before wrapping it around his cock for a second time tonight.

Choso's mouth fell open once again, his cock was so sensitive, but he needed this, needed you. He needed you so badly that he didn't even mind his own cum coating your folds as his tongue started dragging through them in a lazy zigzag motion before his lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves to suckle on it ever so gently.

“That's my good boy. Make me cum before you do and I'll let you finish in my cunt,” you moaned out when his tongue eagerly flicked over your clit upon hearing your offer. Of course you wouldn't make it easy for him, the fleshlight gliding over his dick faster with each stroke and it took everything in Choso not to release, needing to feel your pretty pussy milking him. Perhaps he should have let you catch him sooner.

[servicpop]

i'm doing it, are you? domestic au ; detective oc (callahan) x bottom male reader

: cw : dialogue bolded , use of daddy (1) , phone sex

Callahan was a quiet man. Usually at home he wouldn't speak a word to you with the exception of a few breaths and murmurs, asking you to move aside when he's walking by or telling you to come sit with him when he's reading a book.

Callahan was quiet, yes, but that didn't mean he didn't care about you. He'd call you over, fingers tangled in the stiff pages of a classic as he beckons you over with his index finger. When you so obediently oblige, he loosely wraps an arm around your waist, hoisting you closer to his body. Callahan's fingers trace down the exposed flesh of your thigh, grabbing it and draping it over his own leg.

He doesn't say another word to you, he just held you in his embrace while he read. You weren't complaining though, with multiple hours of seemingly unsolvable cases and heated discussions was sure to have burnt Callahan out, and you respected and cherished the little moments you two were together.

The majority of the week had been Callahan in his office, staying late while he chipped away at a particularly difficult case. You barely saw him, only seeing him in the dead of night taking a shower and quietly slipping into the blankets of your shared bed. He was always gone by morning.

Callahan couldn't take it! It had been so long since he's got a proper look at your adorable face — he hates to admit how deeply he adores you. His index and middle finger were pressed into his temple, rubbing deep circles into his head. Callahan sighed, throwing his pen onto the stack of papers and folders as he leaned back into the chair, picking up the phone he discarded onto the corner of his desk to avoid distractions.

Your contact was at the top of his list. He was quick to call you — face time you. When you picked up, Callahan couldn't help the small huff of relief to see your face so close to the screen. "Hey," He murmured, wedging his phone between his keyboard and his monitor, letting the phone stand on its own.

"What's up, Marshall?" He just wished you'd actually say his first name for once; 'Marshall' reminded him too much of work. He watched as you mimicked his actions, placing your phone against a cup full of ice on your bedside table, praying that it wouldn't fall over. His eyes flickered and a smile threatened his lips. You were tightly wrapped in your blanket, hair dishevelled, and a toothy smile on your stupid face.

"How... has your day been?" Callahan asked, his voice monotonous and low. His fingers rested on his thigh while he watched you through the screen, his eyes twitching at the sight. You shuffled to propose yourself up on an elbow and Callahan got a peek of your collarbone and a hint of your perky chest. You were wearing your pyjama shirt with nothing underneath.

"It's been alright," The breath Callahan let out was one that would be recognised in bed, shaky and filled with desire. Your voice was so soft and almost grumbly from how comfortable you were. Since when did his pants get unbuttoned?

Your eyes fluttered when you noticed his odd movements, his eyes seemed to be trained to the screen and his hand disappeared under the desk. You could only see his watch. "What are you doing?" You giggle, your eyebrow raising in slight confusion. Callahan just sends a glare to you through the camera, the slight hitches of his breath were picked up by the microphone.

"Take it off, show me," He grumbled, punctuating every word. Callahan glanced down at himself, his thick cock draped over his palm, pulsating with need. Shit, he was so down bad for you. You seemed to comply with no hesitation, shifting the camera so it could prop up against the headboard. You were sat on your shins, staring up into the camera with those round eyes of yours.

He watched as you slipped out of your pants before stripping off your shirt. "Face down, ass up," Callahan barked out a command like he was giving an order. His hand dragged from the base to the head, biting back a groan as he watched you bend down, your hair spilling over the sheets as you laid your head flat on the bed.

"Put a finger in." His voice was hushed, almost embarrassed from how lewd his words were. He felt like a teenage boy asking someone for nudes. It wasn't mature, he knew that. But you somehow brought that out of him.

Callahan watched as your arm tucked underneath your body, your finger plunging into yourself. He could see it with the way your eyebrows knitted and your lips parted into a thin 'O'. His fingers grazed his tip, circling his thumb and his index around the head, imitating what it would feel like pushing into you.

"Put another one in, you know I'm bigger then that," He breathed out pushing his fingers along his length with the timing of your hands. Callahan glanced back at himself on his phone screen, realising that he wasn't giving you much to work with other than his voice and the image of his face.

Reaching out his left hand, Callahan pulled his phone forward and tilted the screen down so you could see his entire dick plaster the screen. He still left a bit of his face in frame — he knew you liked it that way. With the timing of your hand, he fisted his cock with the same pace. Everytime you rocked yourself against your fingers, Callahan pumped himself.

Just the sight of you gripping his white sheets with one hand and the other occupied with pleasuring yourself, caused beads of pre-cum to bead from the slit of his tip. "Faster," He grunted, his hand turning into one blur on your screen from how fast he was moving his hand, "You wanna make your daddy proud, yeah? Go, let me see those pretty eyes." Right now, Callahan would've gripped your hair and lifted your face off the bed to get a good look at your face. He was enamoured by how your eyes were always wet with thick tears.

When you lifted your head, Callahan busted all over his hand. He groaned — as if he was caught off-guard from how quickly he just came — and sat there with a hand over his cockhead, attempting to catch the sticky substance in his hand instead of it spilling all over his desk.

He breathed heavily, his sunken eyes glanced to his screen and saw you mirror his actions, your thighs trembling as white painted the already white sheets. "Miss me that much, Callahan?" You teased, wiping the back of your palm against your forehead to collect any stray drops of sweat.

When he heard you coo his first name, Callahan knew he had to come home. He turned off his camera before grabbing a tissue, roughly cleaning himself up before pulling his pants on, fumbling with his belt as he slid it on. "I'm coming home," was all Callahan said before he ended the call with you.

a / n ; just something quick for Callahan ... this isn't canon btw !! an alternate universe where reader is Callahan's spouse or partner !

[diariesofthelover]

A New Regular

synopsis: After his favorite bookstore in Gotham went out of business, Jason had to find a new one that he’d actually like. He decided to check out one a couple blocks down from his apartment in hopes that it’ll be a decent replacement, when he goes in he finds something worth coming back for.

notes: Jason Todd x reader, 3rd person pov, reader works at a bookstore.

Of course Jason’s favorite bookstore went out of business. It was a small store tucked away in one of Gotham’s less populated neighborhoods meaning that they never got enough sales and it didn’t help that their star customer was “dead” for a couple years.

Now he had to go searching for a replacement, god he had a strong dislike for that word, something that’ll at least be adequate enough since he knew that nothing could ever replace his original bookshop. Not with all the memories, the owners who knew him so well, the atmosphere, and that certain smell that brought him back to the last time where he actually felt happy. The place meant more to him than just a bookstore, it was a piece of his childhood that wasn’t tainted by anything, and now it’s gone.

His search began with another small shop that was only a few blocks down from his apartment, convenient. He wasn’t excited about this, no, he didn’t want to be doing this in the first place. His place should’ve never closed, it should still be there running and waiting for him, but it wasn’t which upset him more than he thought it would.

With a slight scowl on his face he made the walk to the unfamiliar bookstore by his apartment. Jason’s hood was up as usual, trying to keep his face away from people on the street for numerous reasons.

After a few minutes he made it to the possible replacement. It was nuzzled in between a cafe and a record store, fitting. It was small, smaller than the rest of the businesses on the block. With uncertainty Jason walked in, a doorbell sounded signaling his entrance. There were only a few other customers in the store, quietly picking out books to escape to, and no workers in sight.

“At least I won’t be bothered,” he thought to himself.

He headed straight for the classics, hoping to stumble upon a work he hasn’t read yet, practically impossible. As he searched through the novels he heard footsteps coming to this section, being who he was Jason was able to pick up on them several seconds before they got to where he was. When the steps came to a stop Jason looked up from the books to see who was near him now, was it curiosity, paranoia, or both?

What he faced was someone who was either an employee or an extreme book enthusiast as she was holding a stack of books that went so far up that her face was hidden behind the literature.

His first thought was to help, that’s the kind of guy he was or at least used to be, but he didn’t do anything as he looked away and went back looking for books to read. He wasn’t interested in meeting new people and talking to strangers anymore, even if they shared the same love for reading as he did. In fact, the idea alone made his stomach churn which is why he minded his business and kept to himself. People were probably better off without him in their lives anyway.

All of a sudden there was a crash as each book fell to the floor, the noise startling him a little.

“Shit,” he heard the girl swear under her breath as she squatted down to pick up the books.

Jason glanced over to her, she had a name tag signaling that she worked there as well as a defeated expression on her face. The longer he stood there not helping, the faster the guilt began to seep in.

God fucking damn it, fine.

Before he could even register what he was doing, Jason squatted down across from her helping her retrieve the dropped books.

“Oh thank you, you really didn’t have to,” she said shyly.

Jason didn’t respond, instead he gave her a slight nod as his way of saying, “no worries”. He was trying his best to avoid any eye contact and keep his eyes locked on the books but he couldn’t help but take a look at her face.

She was beautiful, fuck, so beautiful actually she may as well of come out of one of the novels she dropped. He quickly looked back down again hoping a blush hadn’t formed on his face, he knew that if he spoke now he’d stutter and make a fool out of himself.

She couldn’t help but steal a couple of glances of him as well. Her gaze went from book to him then back to the books then to his perfect face again. Some may have found him to look incredibly intimidating, most actually, and she did but she also thought him to be incredibly handsome. Maybe she’d been reading too much but he looked like he’d be a character from any of those classic romance novels that she loved.

Jason rose as he gathered the remaining novels. She looked up at him from where she was kneeling below him and to her he looked like god. Forget Austen’s novels, he was from a greek myth. His shoulders muscular and broad even under his red hoodie and brown leather jacket, his thighs thick with muscles hidden under the denim, and his height…well he was certainly tall, much taller than she. She had to be mindful of her facial expressions as she gawked at him for far too long.

He tried to make himself look smaller, tried to relax his muscles and hunch over. He didn’t want to intimidate her or scare her off. After being resurrected, his body began to change rapidly. Yes puberty kicked in but the lazarus pit was like an intense steroid resulting in him being huge, an absolute unit.

Sure, he liked how he looked when he was suited up as Red Hood but when he was without his mask and armor, he left like a brute. His size made him feel like some sort of monster. He didn’t want to scare good people away, especially women, but he knew he appeared incredibly intimidating to them all regardless of what he wanted.

And the scars, god that was the worst part for him. His body is scattered with them from all the fighting he’s done and violence he’s endured, his face not left unmarked either. As a kid, he thought they were cool, that it meant that you were strong and a survivor, now it makes him feel weak and reminds him of what has happened to him and what he became as a result. Each scar held a story, not the kinds he wants to be reading about.

All of these thoughts were swirling in Jason’s head as the bookstore worker looked up at him in what he thought was horror and disgust.

To his surprise she stood up with half of the novels in her hands with a sweet smile on her face.

“Thank you again, that was very kind of you,” she softly said still with a smile on her perfect face.

Jason hadn’t been called kind in awhile, it caught him off guard for a moment as a small smile broke out on his face.

“No problem,” was all he chose to say as he handed her the rest of the books.

“Do you need help finding anything? I practically know where everything is, especially in this section,” she let out a small laugh.

“I,” he cleared his throat, “I’m just browsing, thank you,” his deep voice contradicted his shy tone as he turned his back to her before she could see the blush that threatened to paint his structured face.

“Okay, well just let me know you if need anything, I’ll be around,” she said a little awkwardly.

Disappointed, she went over to the shelf behind Jason to do her job.

The two couldn’t help but look over their shoulders to sneak glances at one another, never catching each other in the process.

She only had one more book left to put away, Frankenstein. Of course, it was on the same shelf that Jason was currently browsing through.

“Excuse me, sorry,” she came up behind him to slip the last novel on the shelf. Jason stepped to the side giving her space, his eyes caught on the book in her hand.

She noticed his possible interest and stopped herself from returning it to its place.

“Oh, did you want to see this one?” She had a hopeful expression on her face as she reached the book out for him to take.

Jason read Frankenstein when he was younger but he hadn’t gone back to it since his death, he feared that it would hit too close to home. He didn’t want to relate to the monster, especially as much as he did, he wanted things to be different. He’d oftentimes fantasize about a life where he didn’t get killed or at least a world where Batman avenged him, these fantasies only screwed with his head more. Maybe it was time for him to really look at reality through a fictional lens, maybe it could help him figure some shit out.

Jason accepted her offer, his calloused fingers brushing against hers when he grabbed the book.

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he examined the new cover.

“I really enjoyed that one, it’s actually one of my favorites,” she beamed but got no response from Jason. She quickly grew embarrassed as she felt that he was bothered by her talking and overall presence. In reality, he wanted to hear more. After a couple of seconds of awkward silence, she turned away ready to leave him alone.

“Why’s that?” He suddenly asked causing her to turn back around again, his focus still on the book in his large hands.

Caught off guard she took awhile to respond, “The story, the character, well everything about it really I could go on and on.”

Jason finally looked at her, his cheeks heated but he didn’t care he wanted to talk to her.

“I’m listening.”

The pair went on to discuss the book that they both had a love for. Luckily, the store remained relatively dead and no one intruded on their conversation. Jason was mesmerized by the way she spoke and the way she thought. She was charmed by how good of a listener he was and his own takes.

For the next couple hours they had jumped from book to book, connecting pieces of their personal lives to literature, it was their way of getting to know each other.

He felt silly for ever worrying about finding a place that at least was decent. He ended up finding a treasure, one worth coming back for again and again.



[coffee-and-geto]

“I THINK HE DID IT BUT I JUST CAN'T PROVE IT (HE DID IT)”

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”

❦ pairing: professor!toji x f!reader

❦ summary: you are a student of criminal studies at a prestigious university with one goal in mind: get your father out of prison one day. but how will you react when your new professor in the subject, as attractive as he is odious, comes to replace your old teacher who has deserted the post? especially when that new teacher is keeping a secret that will jeopardize your plans. one thing’s for sure, your life will never be the same again...

❦ warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, dead dove: do not eat!!, toxic parental relationship, yakuzas, mention of violence, vulgar language/insults/alcohol/bullying/suicide, use/mention of weapons and drugs, murder, art by @/521jie.

❦ wc: 19,055 (sorry for all this length. next parts will be less long—at least I hope so...)

“No way…” 

“Is it true?”

Whispers of gossip rippled through the crowd of students packed like sardines in the Keio University courtyard under a grayish sky, crying its fine April rain. A back-to-school gathering announced straight away upon the opening of the doors of the prestigious school spared no curiosity.

Not even yours.

It’s was as if the news uttered has echoed like a clap of thunder in your ears.

Amid this gathering, you have a direct view of the main rostrum of the university, which usually serves as a stage for annual events. Mr. Yaga, the principal, stands, the handle of a microphone wrapped in his fingers, patiently waiting for a silence that you think takes an eternity to muzzle all those voices.

“Your attention, please.” Mr. Yaga’s voice resonates throughout the courtyard and cuts off the chattering. “As I just mentioned, Mr. Kiyotaka Ijichi, the professor of criminological theory, has submitted his letter of resignation at the beginning of this semester.”

He lets a silence permeate the consciousness of his students before continuing in a solemn voice, “He didn’t wish to give any justification for this sudden decision, and I doubt that this news will please the master’s students in criminal sciences. We have sent an express request to the Tokyo Academy to find a new professor worthy of teaching in this school. Temporary schedules will be sent by email this weekend pending a new professor for this position. Please be patient. Our staff is well aware of the concern you may feel. But we can assure you that we are doing everything possible to enable you all to excel in your studies.”

It’s done.

The image of your former professor of criminological theory—the man who previously handled your dominant subject—begins to fade from your mind. The subject for which you usually strive has just slipped from your hands like a wet bar of soap. 

No matter Yaga’s words.

The chances of a qualified and worthy professor walking through the doors of Keio University is like ‘looking for a needle in a haystack’.

You stop listening to the rest of the principal’s back-to-school speech and understand that it has ended when the crowd of students disperses under the squeaking of their shoes trotting on the wet grass of the courtyard.

“Don’t you find it strange?”

A mischievous voice whispered in your ear making you jump. You glance in your peripheral vision and the fresh breeze finally blowing on you making you catch a glimpse of blue hair.

“Miwa,” you mumble without turning around.

A discreet chuckle follows. You begin to leave the courtyard without lingering, and Miwa theatrically sighs your name before slipping to your side in your attempt to quicken your pace. You’re one of those people who avoided Miwa Kasumi.

Alias the university gossip girl. The one to whom you can never hide any of your secrets.

Miwa’s gaze follows you as you hurry towards the exit gate. She has a smug smile on her lips. A smile that screams ’you know what I’m talking about’.

“So, your teacher resigned without giving any explanation?” Miwa says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How strange...” A second laugh escapes her lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You quicken your pace, not wanting to further prolong the conversation, already too long for your liking.You don’t respond to Miwa’s remarks—unsure if it’s because you have nothing to say or because you already know the reason for her approach.

Miwa finally sighs in annoyance. “Why are you in such a hurry? Don’t you want to listen to me? Don’t you want to discuss Mr. Ijichi?” she asks.

But you already know what she wants to talk to you about.

The light rain from earlier is now heavier, and drops crash down on the top of your head. You anticipated it, which is why—still immersed in silence—you take out your umbrella from your bag and unfold it over you.

“C’mon... Talk to me a little...” Miwa insists with her teasing tone. She gives you a pout, pretending to be hurt by your indifference.

You sigh and stop walking, standing at the edge of the university gate. “What do you want?” you finally give in. You check the time on your phone, pretending to be in a hurry.

“I’ve got an exciting article lined up for this week.” Miwa locks her blue eyes on you, and for a moment, you feel naked. It’s as if her eyes exist only to probe people’s minds. “And guess who will be in the spotlight?”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “I don’t know,” you mutter uncertainly, your eyes fixed on her with uncertainty.

Miwa raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your lie. “It’ll be a weekend surprise, I advise you to stay active on the blog.” Her icy-sweet tone makes you want to run away, but you remain silent.

She winks at you before slipping away.

If the students of Keio University couldn’t bring themselves to continue living their student lives—with the apprehension of seeing their names displayed in bold on Miwa’s blog every Sunday, revealing the juiciest secrets of their private lives—this year, she subtly gave you a new piece of information about the extent of her new targets.

This year, even the teachers won’t be spared.

°°°°

“I think... Well... Let’s say next Friday? Would that work for you?” The secretary’s voice and the clicks of a computer mouse reach your ears.

You stand in front of your fridge, looking at your calendar fixed with decorative magnets. After a few seconds of thought, you nod before replying, “Yes, that would be perfect,” momentarily forgetting that the secretary at the penitentiary you’re contacting can’t see you.

“Very well. I’ve scheduled your appointment, and we’ll contact you by email to confirm your visit. Your father will be informed, of course.” You can feel the secretary’s pleasant smile in her voice. She seems to be waiting for your confirmation.

To which you quickly respond before ending the call.

Your mind has been distracted since you left the university this morning. The news of Mr. Ijichi’s unexpected (or almost) resignation and Miwa’s announcement about her next article this Sunday had you overthinking. However, setting up the visit with your father in prison, sweeps away some of the weight on your shoulders.

Yet, in the darkness that settles in your apartment as evening begins, you sincerely hope that no other news will distract you so from the goals you’ve set for yourself.

°°°°

One skill that sets you apart is your undeniable sixth sense.

Just two days ago, you feared more or less unpleasant news, but this Sunday, two caught your attention when your phone emitted notification sounds from two different sources—but nonetheless related in some way.

The first comes from a blog you reluctantly follow titled “Keio’s gossip.” Although the author of the articles posted remains anonymous, every student on the Keio University campus knows their true identity, without having the necessary evidence to do anything against him—or rather her.

Miwa Kasumi is indeed the author of the articles that publicly displayed the slightest gossip concerning each student. A majority has already tasted it, and the flavor was far from the sweet mochi sold as dessert culinary specialties in the heart of Tokyo—according to the faces that the ’pointing fingers’ made on Monday after the weekly publication of an article every Sunday afternoon.

With your eyes glued to your phone screen, you discover the article that was posted a few minutes ago on the blog. The light from your phone is the only source illuminating your room as you sit cross-legged on your bed. Your mouth opens slightly, and you resign yourself to reading the article, the title of which tightens your heart:

’Kiyotaka Ijichi: voluntary or forced resignation?’

Your eyes begin to move back and forth from line to line, and a vise grips your chest as you continue to swallow the horrifying words recounted in the article.

“It was true that Professor Ijichi was subjected to certain remarks from his students,” confides a second-year master’s male student in criminal sciences. “Jabs, sometimes even inappropriate remarks. But no one really reacted... We all thought it would stop at some point...”

“Last year, we all thought he would eventually commit suicide,” adds a history female student. “He was the type to just take it and wouldn’t dare respond or discipline his students for fear that their parents would put his position at stake at the university. Spoiled brats with excessive power, you know.”

“Yet, he was a very good teacher. He was very kind, attentive, and always spoke with humility, no matter who was in front of him,” affirms another female student, on the verge of tears. “He really didn’t deserve this...”

“It was after several other testimonies like these...”

“So, we concluded that...”

“...Kiyotaka Ijichi, former professor of criminological theory at Keiô University, therefore decided to resign from his position as a professor, which would also imply that suicide, could have been a very different departure option that he left behind at this prestigious school. The constant harassment of students, mostly from children of parents with high financial means, would thus be the real reason for Mr. Ijichi’s departure.”

“Keiô private university regularly proclaims its impeccable professionalism through numerous awards, the excellent teaching of its professors, and the discipline of its students. Here is a fact that calls all of this into question—particularly regarding the treatment of teachers. Does Keiô University really admit students for their promising futures? Or is it swayed by the big checks provided by parents from the upper bourgeoisie?”

You finish reading the article, and your brain is bombarded with thoughts racing at over a hundred kilometers per hour, but no words can break through the barrier of your lips.

Even after his departure, Mr. Ijichi couldn’t leave in peace.

A sense of injustice runs through your veins, but you can’t do anything about it.

Why did Miwa feel the need to write this article?

Was it really necessary?

You leave the article page, which is starting to receive comments as you watch the numbers increase below the end-of-page bar, and you redirect yourself to your email inbox.

It’s always the weakest who suffer the worst treatment from society. Whether it’s in the family, at work, with friends, or even at school.

You bite your lip and check the second notification in your inbox. As you expected, Keiô University has sent you your schedule for the coming week. You even expect to find empty slots in your schedule. But strangely, your major subject—criminological theory—fills its place on the colorful digital file with different colors according to the subject indicated. You think there’s an error or something. Until you read the name of the professor in charge of your courses.

T. Fushiguro.

You hastily exit the downloaded file on your phone and open the email sent by the university. After a second reading, your eyes widen like saucers.

“Regarding the replacement of the former criminological theory professor, a request has been submitted to the university. The director’s decision has been finalized. The new professor, Mr. Toji Fushiguro, will therefore lead the courses in this branch for master’s students in criminal sciences from the beginning of the semester.”

Two contradictory feelings finally want to burst in your chest.

The first is relief. You can finally resume your goals serenely without having to worry about the delay you might have experienced in the case of a prolonged wait for Mr. Ijichi’s replacement. What other good news can offset the frustration you felt less than two days earlier?

But the second taints this joy that you should feel: doubt. Keiô University is known for its excellent teaching, which includes rare, highly qualified, and renowned professors. It goes without saying that each of them has at least one doctorate mentioned on their CV. So how, over the course of a single weekend, could your former professor of criminological theory have been replaced so quickly? That’s where Miwa’s article strikes you.

“Is the university being swayed by big checks?”

You need a teacher. And not just any teacher. A teacher who would help you get a degree that would help get your father out of prison. So the fact that the university found a new professor so quickly leaves you skeptical, and your sixth sense wandering behind you like a ghost does not bode well.

So you pray that, for once, your sixth sense is wrong.

°°°°

“How’s he called, again?”

You bite your lip, your gaze lost in the rainy landscape of the courtyard outside the window. “Toji Fushiguro.”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales through the window opening next to which she’s leaning against a shelf. She glances at your absent expression with a slight smile on her lips, and then flicks her finished cigarette butt over the window ledge, making sure it’s extinguished by the damp grass outside. She sighs and stands up. “Let’s go. The bell is about to ring.”

You grimace but obey her words, pushing your back off the wall of the university library and following her along the rows of books stacked so high on wooden shelves that ladders are provided for students invested enough in their studies.

It’s already Monday, and you dread your very first class in criminology theory with your new professor Toji Fushiguro. Is it necessary to mention that, for the first time since your entry into the university a few short years ago, you don’t feel well? But in a normal way, like any average student? No, you have a bad feeling. Something’s off. And you can’t put your finger on it, the only thing you found to do is lament to Shoko, your trusted friend.

“Stay strong. You’ll brief me afterward, won’t you?” Shoko encourages you with a friendly elbow nudge to the arm followed by a wink from one of her eyes marked by violet circles.

You respond with a nervous laugh, and she waves before leaving you in front of the library doors as she heads towards the wing dedicated to medical sciences. With a knot in your stomach and a desire to go home and bury yourself under your blanket, you head towards your classroom in the building reserved for law students.

When you arrive at the amphitheater door, a small herd of students begins to gather in front of the swinging doors, clustering together like a school of fish. The most eager are female students who, dressed in their university’s pine green uniforms, make the most noise with their conversations, the subject of which soon pierces your ears.

“Did you see him this morning?”

“Yes! He’s so hot!”

Giggles echo until you notice that the class line-up is oddly divided. The girls are glued to the closed doors and the boys are standing back, lined up along the corridor walls. Most of them pay no attention to the girls’ chatter and pass the time on their screens—laptops and phones alike.

When the bell rings throughout the university, you enter behind your peers and sit at the end of a central table in the amphitheater. Your eyes scan the stage reserved for the professor after the last steps at the bottom of the room, and your eyes finally settle on a singular silhouette.

Your breath catches, and you almost feel your pupils dilate as Professor Fushiguro leans over his desk, with his open laptop in front of his eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, it’s as if you’ve been robbed of the ability to speak, think, and soon, to breathe.

You don’t know which details unsettle you the most—from his tall silhouette and broad musculature adorned by the beautiful navy blue shirt so deep that from further away you would have mistaken it for black; to his hair, the jet-black locks similar to stalagmites that brush his ears and neck, to his sturdy and prominent jawline.

Everything about him is so grand.

And so beautiful...

You catch yourself looking at him for too long, and your thoughts drift too far. Heat floods your face. Fortunately for you, you weren’t the only one staring at him so much—and with interest—which you use as an advantage to mask your embarrassment when you take out your belongings.

Professor Fushiguro has a beauty that you don’t consider fair for just a simple professor.

As the amphitheater falls into a heavy silence, Professor Fushiguro raises his head towards his students, and the class begins as soon as his voice is heard by all ears.

It’s—

Deep, profound, calm, composed, and above all...

...magnetic.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t need to ask for silence for the class to hang onto his every word. Nobody seems to react as he doesn’t mention his previous colleague—Mr. Ijichi—not even once.

With furrowed brows, you rest your elbow on your polished wooden desk space and don’t take your eyes off your professor. Under your mask of attentive student, the screen of your laptop hides your chest, where your heart buried inside beats to the rhythm of cannonballs launched at full speed.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

That’s the sentence you keep repeating as Professor Fushiguro continues his class, unaware that three-quarters of his class have stopped listening to what he’s saying since the first word crossed his thin lips—and prefer to admire his only physiognomy built by God himself.

Fuck.

You knew it.

You knew this replacement couldn’t be normal. The way things concluded with such a quick replacement couldn’t help but hide something.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

You force yourself to tear your eyes away from your teacher and start taking notes on the course introduced on ’The Evolution of Crime and Detection Methods Throughout History’. He provides an appendix with a manual to be obtained by the end of the next two weeks, and you try to type its title into your schedule for the coming days in the Notion app on your phone without being distracted by how well your ears welcome the timbre of his voice.

You swallow and close your eyelids for a few seconds, analyzing each word in an attempt to understand the course he almost entirely reads from his printed sheets held in one of his hands just below his nose.

“...legal reforms have also shaped our understanding and treatment of crime. For example, the abolition of the death penalty in many countries reflects a change in our values and conception of justice. These reforms reflect our evolution as a society and our commitment to principles of justice and humanity.”

You open your eyelids after a minute in hopes of refocusing. Unfortunately for you, your eyes fall directly onto emerald orbs that stare at you for a moment.

With a lower lip curled up in a sign of noticeable annoyance, Professor Fushiguro doesn’t say a word and eventually averts his gaze from you, resuming his magnetic monologue.

You bite the inside of your cheek and hide behind the screen of your laptop, your cheeks probably flushed. Perhaps he thought you were dozing off in his class... You curse yourself internally despite the fact that he made no remarks.

At the end of what seems like an eternity, the bell rings, signaling the end of the class. The entire class stands up simultaneously, and you expect to have to wait for the exit door to be unblocked by the herd of students eager to leave the amphitheater.

But to your great surprise—which ultimately wasn’t so unexpected—a part of the group of girls whose conversation you overheard just before the start of class descends the room’s steps towards Professor Fushiguro.

You purse your lips and leave the class with a nonchalant step, your bag hanging from your shoulder.

You feel how long this semester is going to be...

°°°°

“And how are the classes?” your father asks through the window that separates you from him.

Your index finger traces distracted patterns on the metallic surface of the side of your table where your forearms rest, supporting your slightly hunched shoulders. You are still haunted by the image of your new professor.

“It’s okay. We have a new professor in criminology theory,” you reply, looking up at him.

Your father raises an eyebrow. “For what reason?” he asks suspiciously before wrinkling his nose. You notice he has a three-day beard and that his wrinkles appear more pronounced than usual—or at least, since the last time you visited him.

“Actually, the old one resigned, and the university found a new one.”

This time, your father’s eyebrows furrow. “So fast... Is he any good? I hope they didn’t hire some nobody who—“

“No,” you quickly cut him off, shaking your head, “he’s good.” You refrain from adding ’why don’t you take an interest in me?’ And your heart twinges every time you see your father show more interest in your studies than in yourself. Your avoiding eyes wander over the contours of the window that separates you from him, sitting across from you in a somewhat tense position—shoulders slightly hunched inward, and hands clasped on the table.

He seems to notice it and clears his throat before sitting up straighter on his plastic chair. “You... remember my friend Miguel?” your father starts, changing the subject. He speaks in a more concerned tone. “The one who went to Kenya.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you focus your gaze back on him before blinking. “The one who was with you?” you ask with a bitter taste in your mouth. Miguel was your father’s ex-business associate, who, unlike your father, wasn’t imprisoned when the police arrested him.

“Yes. He wrote me a letter earlier this week,” he replies, “to ask how I’m doing and to let me know that he’s coming back to Japan next week. He said he’s inviting you to dinner with his wife and daughter.”

You process the information at the same pace as your swallowing. Your father slides an envelope—no doubt already opened by the prison administration before him—through the communication slot between you under the window. You take the envelope and read the letter inside.

“Why?” you murmur.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know.”

This simple sentence reminds you of something he’s told you before.

’Miguel hasn’t done anything. Nobody has anything against him. They wrongly accused me. I did it for you. I’m not like the others.’

And by ’the others,’ he referred to other associates who were arrested along with your father a few years ago, for the same reason—embezzlement.

To the tune of a considerable sum of just over a hundred billion yen.

Your father assured you that he wasn’t involved in any of it and that former acquaintances he thought were trustworthy led him to be involved against his will in a whole story that ended behind bars.

You believe him, of course.

Your father—with whom you’ve had a rather difficult relationship since your mother’s death when you were in middle school—seemed to want to rebuild a healthy father-daughter relationship with you. And who were you to refuse? You wanted your father to give you the affection you dream of every night after seeing a father and his daughter eating ice cream in a square, or a father and his daughter shopping at the mall.

Everything you’ve never had.

And when your father opened his arms to you at the end of your high school studies—still undecided about your direction for further studies—your father let you know that studying criminology could be ideal. And with that, maybe you could help him get out of the unjust prison that prevents you from being fully happy.

You love your father.

So it didn’t take long for you to become one of the top students in your university class in criminal science studies. You want to excel, and that in all areas. It makes your father proud. It stretches his lips into a smile that warms your heart. Who calls you ’my angel’ and admits wanting to hug you.

Things he would never have told you before.

“Yes,” you reply, lifting your chin. “I’ll visit him. Don’t worry. I promise.” Your voice softens, and you refrain from letting tears fill your eyes as a faint smile stretches across your father’s lips.

“Thank you.”

°°°°

“Don’t tell me he’s that handsome?” Shoko lets out a giggle that resonates through the speaker of your phone.

“Want to bet that most girls drool over him every night, imagining him in their beds?” You mutter with a hint of aggression aimed at the pot whose sushi rice you ate for lunch has stuck to the bottom. You scrub the leftover rice with your metal sponge in the kitchen sink and let out a sigh.

You glance at the screen of your phone leaning against the tiled ledge, giving you a FaceTime view of Shoko sitting at her desk in her bedroom. She giggles and brings a pen to her mouth to nibble on its end—a tic she has to replace the cigarette usually in that spot. “Just like you, for example?” she teases.

Your cheeks warm up. “Excuse me? You know that’s not true.”

“Nuh-uh…”

You purse your lips as your heartbeats accelerate at Shoko’s words and her sarcastic tone. No, you didn’t have wet dreams about Professor Fushiguro. But that doesn’t stop most female students from gossiping about the entirety of Professor Fushiguro’s physique—aka Hercules’ twin body. And from what you’ve already heard during the first week of classes, they don’t mince their words.

But you can’t say you were indifferent to him. The rest of the week flew by so quickly that you find yourself on a Wednesday afternoon discussing your life on FaceTime with Shoko. She has to study for her medical exams, and you didn’t have time to see her during the first weekend due to the workload your friend endured.

You toss the metal sponge into a corner of your sink and grab a classic, foamy sponge to scrub the surface of your pot, now smooth and immaculate.

“Oh, by the way. Are you free this weekend?” Shoko asks, looking up from her books.

You rinse your pot, turning on the faucet, and sniffle mournfully. “Nope. A friend of my father invited me to dinner with his wife and daughter. I spoke to him on the phone this morning.”

“Damn. We need to meet up so you can show me this professor too. I feel like everyone has seen him except me.”

“Even Satoru,” you chuckle as you dry your hands. “Have you heard him curse about him? He has a beautiful rival, I must say.” You continue to smile at the memory of your friend with albinos hair and cerulean eyes who was shocked to see his popularity among the female gender decline in less than a week. You shake your head, still shaking with laughter. “The look on his face…”

Shoko giggles in turn. “I guess you’ll also be studying on Sunday?” Her smile fades, and she rests her cheek against her palm a bit bored.

“Unfortunately.”

She snorts after seeing your apologetic smile.

“But don’t worry. I’ll find time for us to meet. And also to show you—”

“Yes, the man of your dreams,” Shoko cuts in with a laugh, “literally!” 

You gasp at her words. "Shoko!”

°°°°

“And on this one, we were visiting Paris. We were so young…” You lean in slightly to observe the photo that Miguel, your father’s friend, is showing you.

“Oh, he never told me he traveled so much. I remember him mentioning taking my mother to Spain once, but he never talked about his trips with you.” You smile politely, sweeping away the twinge in your heart that makes you want to wince.

Miguel adjusts his beret and tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you reply, rocking back and forth on your feet, “but I suppose he didn’t think about it. He was often tired when he came home from work when I was younger.” You force your smile even more at Miguel’s surprised reaction, which stretches the features of his smooth, dark skin.

Unlike your father, Miguel is clean-shaven, and you have no doubt that his well-groomed appearance—from his navy blue suit and charming tie with silver stripes—speaks of the comfortable life he enjoys and shares with his family. This simple fact rekindles the cuts in your heart that you’ve tried to mend over the years. But is it enough?

“And otherwise, is he doing well? Will he soon have served his sentence?”

“No, he still has a few years left,” you reply with a hint of intentional bitterness that wipes the smile off your face. “When I think that he was wrongly accused while he’s innocent…” Your fists clench, and you notice Miguel freezing. You furrow your brow, curiosity piqued by his behavior.

“Yes,” he says with a embarrassed throat clearing and a nod. “Yes, of course. The justice system is really too manipulable. I didn’t know he told you he was... innocent.”

You note Miguel’s tone. He doesn’t seem certain of what he’s saying, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that he didn’t have a sentence to serve unlike your father, of whose innocence you’re convinced.

“Yes, he is,” you repeat firmly. Your gaze wanders around Miguel’s main living-room, which is decorated very chicly, in beige and black tones—warmed by the soft light of the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the fireplace in the background. It’s the epitome of a luxurious and cozy home. Yet again, something you don’t have.

You swallow back the bile rising in your throat, and as Miguel is about to continue the conversation, his wife, dressed in a stunning red velvet evening gown, enters the living room, a smile on her lips and a large plastic spoon in her hand. “Are you staying for dinner, dear?”

You’re taken aback for a moment and glance at the time on your phone then at the bay window in the living room, which offers a view of the already darkening sky. “I have to pick up a package from a nearby store before it closes... So, I’m not sure. Do you mind if I go and come back? I’ll be quick.” You offer her the same polite and forced smile you gave Miguel a few minutes ago.

“No, not at all. You’re welcome, my dear.”

And you purse your lips at the nickname but don’t let anything show. Miguel’s wife walks you to the front door, and before you have a chance to turn the handle, you hear small footsteps behind you. You turn around and see Miguel’s nine-year-old daughter, holding her Barbie doll close. Her brown pigtails sway slightly with each step, and she offers you a shy look.

“You’re leaving? Already? I haven’t shown you all my dolls yet…” she murmurs in a small voice. Her mother giggles, and you do the same. You take a few steps toward the little girl and bend your knees to her height.

“No, sweetie. I’m just going to get something outside, and I’ll be right back for dinner. We’ll even have time to play, if you want.”

“Yippee!” she exclaims, throwing herself into your arms and threatening to knock you over.

You burst into a genuine, light laugh. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Miguel’s daughter pulls away from you, a huge smile on her face, and her mother opens the door for you, apparently pleased to see her daughter showing affection for you.

Without lingering, you quickly leave the Oduol’s huge luxurious house and head to the tobacco shop a few hundred meters away. You ordered the manual that Professor Fushiguro requested for the coming weeks, and your order needs to be picked up from a store where the package was deposited. The air outside is icy and sharp for an April evening. It has been raining every day, and strangely enough, the sky has decided to hold back its tears this evening—just like you.

Arriving at the store, you ask to pick up your package, and once you have it under your arm, you almost immediately regret it. The warmth of the shop contrasts too much with the icy cold of this evening. In the deserted streets, not even a cat dares to show its nose. The neighborhood where Miguel lives is usually quiet because it’s reserved for the wealthiest. You clearly don’t live as luxuriously, and that’s somewhat reassuring. It’s as if anything and nothing can happen here.

As you turn the corner of the street where Miguel lives, bursts of orange light catch your attention. You barely have to look up before your package slips from your hands and collides with the pavement.

Miguel’s pavilion, as beautiful and luxurious as you saw it earlier, is on fire.

Despite this, silence reigns in the street. It’s as if no one sees what you see—huge flames licking at walls now darkened by the heat, and beams giving way and crashing onto the gradually shrinking lawn, also consumed by the fire. You want to scream and call for help—anything. But a silhouette emerging from the front door of the house seals your lips shut. You would have hoped it was Miguel, but you don’t live in paradise.

It’s indeed a masculine figure with an imposing muscular build, tall stature, and a black compression shirt, walking towards a motorcycle casually parked near Miguel’s fence. A large sports bag hangs from his hand by the handle. He effortlessly loads it onto the back of his bike despite its obvious weight. You’re afraid the man will notice you—though he hasn’t yet—but the paralysis freezing your limbs prevents you from making any move. While there’s no outward sign of activity, your heart rebels. It thumps so loudly in your chest that you almost fear the man might hear it from where he stands.

He straddles his bike and puts on his helmet before you have a chance to identify his face. The evening’s darkness obscures any chance of recognizing the arsonist. Once his motorcycle helmet is securely fastened, the man starts his bike and glances back one last time.

Familiar emerald eyes fall upon you.

And as the man turns away without a hint of reaction, he lifts his foot from the ground and rides off into the night’s silence.

A silence that persists even as you rush to the front of Miguel’s house and scream with all the strength of your lungs for help, calling out the names of his wife and daughter. But only the crackling of flames burning your hopes for their survival answers you.

°°°°

You can’t breathe.

The air escapes you.

Emerald irises glare at you from the corner of your room where you’re paralyzed by sleep. Thin lips stretch into a smile that haunts you like a cursed spirit. You blink, and the silhouette is now leaning over you on your bed, hands clasping around your neck with a powerful grip.

It suffocates you.

And its irises stare at you impassively.

Choking you in a deadly silence.

DING DONG.

DING DONG.

DING DONG...

You wake with a start. Your forearm rests on the polished wooden table of the university library, a small patch of saliva staining the fabric of your white shirt from your sleep. Still bleary-eyed, you look around and notice the ghostly silence of the library. You retrieve your phone from your pocket, and the displayed time tells you three things.

The first is that the bell that just rang was the second warning for the start of classes.

The second is that you’re late.

And the third—the worst—is that you have class with your current nightmare: Professor Fushiguro.

You hastily grab your bag and dash through the corridors towards the law studies building. Of course, your classroom had to be the farthest one, and of course, you’re running late. Your lack of sleep, caused by the multiple nightmares you’ve been having lately, only serves to increase your stress, which is clearly not what you need.

What you witnessed last weekend.

Breathless, you gently push open the swinging doors of the amphitheater, praying with all your heart that the class is still chatting as they settle in.

But as if your poor heart wasn’t exhausted enough, as soon as you step through the swinging doors, a familiar and magnetic voice interrupts, and a heavy silence greets you, with all the students’ heads turning towards you. Heat climbs up your neck, and you dread a fainting spell.

“You’re late.” Professor Fushiguro’s icy voice is as cutting as the iceberg that split the Titanic and resonates throughout the lecture hall. You struggle to swallow, nearly choking.

Mumbling apologies, you lower your gaze, not wanting to meet eyes that has haunted you recently. After sighing, Professor Fushiguro completely ignores you, and you take a seat on the nearest chair, still red with embarrassment as he resumes his lecture. Two male students whisper to each other, their voices audible enough for you to hear as you take out your trembling laptop.

“What’s up with him today?”

“I don’t know. He seems to be in a murderous mood today, according to the other classes.”

You clear your throat softly. Your hands shake so much that you can’t type a word on your keyboard without making multiple spelling mistakes. Your already empty stomach twists, and you suppress the nausea lingering in your chest.

“The time is up. You will submit your essays on my desk,” Professor Fushiguro orders in his deep voice.

Your pen continues to scratch your paper with its blue ink as you lift your head abruptly, panic flooding your face. “No, no, no…” you murmur, looking over your sheets, knowing that the work is insufficient.

Professor Fushiguro had given an in-class essay assignment on the recent topics introduced on criminality. Unable to write a single word during the first forty-five minutes, the limited time left had triggered a realization that made you forget about Professor Fushiguro and recall that your grades affect the relationship you’re trying to build with your father. The mere image of his disappointed face is enough to bring back the nausea you felt earlier.

Most students rise almost immediately and descend the lecture hall steps to submit their work. Yours, which must contain half of what the others have provided, will not secure an average grade. You are already certain of it. While you are usually one of the top students in your class, this year is off to a rough start, especially given your delicate situation with Professor Fushiguro.

Resigned, you abandon your pen and pack your belongings into your bag. You’ll start your first grade of the year with an F – and, more importantly, with a professor/student relationship whose outcome you don’t even know. Is Professor Fushiguro plotting something against you?

As you drop your papers on his desk surrounded by girls who you often see gossiping about his beauty—which you no longer appreciate— you intentionally meet his gaze. Your breath catches.

Behind his statue-like mask, Professor Fushiguro’s emerald irises pin you in place. With a hatred you sense is more intense than the incident involving Miguel that led to his death and that of his wife and daughter.

Turning your head away, you spin on your heels and climb the amphitheater steps. But you distinctly hear Professor Fushiguro dismiss the group of admirers sharply. “Leave the room if you have no questions about the class.”

Regardless of his lack of comment.

You will do the same—hoping he won’t touch anything directly related to your life.

And you push aside yet another bad feeling that you hope is wrong.

°°°°

But you are wrong, even years later, to doubt your sixth sense.

With shaking hands, you hold your corrected essay paper returned by Professor Fushiguro. Covered in red pen marks, a large F – circled in the corner of your sheet is the only thing that catches your attention despite the background chatter of the class. In a situation like this, you would have gone to see your professor and asked for clarification on what you did wrong and to understand what went awry. But you can’t.

A sigh escapes the barrier of your lips as you shove your paper into your bag, trying to forget how it’s not even the mediocre quality of your work that cost you this grade, but rather that every paragraph you wrote had been aggressively attacked with crimson ink. This means that Professor Fushiguro probably didn’t grade you so poorly out of some revenge.

At least, that’s what you hope.

Until the next classes resume, and each of your assignments submitted to Professor Fushiguro ends with an F – or F + (the latter when he seems to be in a good mood). You can’t count how many times you’ve run your hand over your face to sweep away the frustration that overtakes you—especially when you see other students getting results you should have. Assignments for which you put in maximum effort. Yet, nothing seems to change.

“It’s true that no other article has been posted since…”

“Do you think she has another scoop?” a frustrated voice says from behind a bookshelf.

“According to some students in her class, she no longer shows up for lectures.”

“Weird…”

“Good riddance, I say! It’s been paradise since we stopped reading anything on her damn blog!” curses a student, storming away from the aisle followed by his friends.

You lift your face from where it’s buried in the crook of your folded arm on the table. Only the faint sound of Shoko’s keyboard tapping reaches your ears. You exchange a glance with her to see if she caught what you just overheard.

Shoko takes a small breath that she releases in a small sigh. Stretching, she yawns before pulling out a bottle of your favorite drink. “Here. Keep sleeping instead of listening to such crappy gossip about Miwa. At this rate, you’ll end up just like me.”

You offer her a tired smile and take the bottle, eagerly gulping down its contents. You eat much less at home, sleep less, and spend most of your time dozing with your arms crossed on one of the tables in the university library, soothed by a sense of security reinforced by the fact that you’re not alone and the sound of the rain beating against the windows is one of the most relaxing sounds to fall asleep to.

You’re constantly on the alert at home. You startle at the slightest noise and constantly feel like danger is lurking overhead. You have no one to confide in.

You haven’t revealed anything to Shoko either.

Omitting from the police and your friend that you know the identity of the murderer of the Oduol family, you lied by saying that fear and shock caused memory issues. A policewoman took note of your statement after escorting you to the police station following the fire you urgently reported. You bluntly responded that you saw a vague figure leaving the house but don’t know more. The policewoman, sympathetic, brought you back safely home and kindly offered for you to provide any details regarding the ongoing investigation in the coming days. She then left and you haven’t contacted her since.

You’re exhausted.

Tired of studying for courses where you end up with a poor grade every time, of having insomnia that prevents you from sleeping with the constant fear of being killed in your own home.

And the worst part is your grades.

You dismissed the excuse of the mediocre quality of your first assignment. But as for those that followed, you almost gave your soul. You don’t understand the mistakes you make in each assignment. And you don’t dare to talk to the source either.

You’re too afraid.

Especially of opening your mouth during his classes.

But the next one might be even harder—because the next session will focus on a themed debate.

°°°°

“The nature of redemption for criminals.”

The debate opens for your next few hours, and you’re trapped in the amphitheater room that’s become your nightmare. For the first time, you see Professor Fushiguro questioning students and engaging in conversation with them on a topic you never thought he would address. He responds with the perfect image of a teacher. And it unsettles you.

For a criminal, he’s surprisingly good at it.

Snide remarks keep blooming in your head with each student’s intervention that receives a response from your professor. You’re so frustrated that your clenched teeth start to hurt your jaw. But you say nothing. You know you mustn’t open your mouth. But still, you burn with the desire to participate. To respond with your arguments, to shut Professor Fushiguro up, and to spit out all the hatred and frustration you have against him. But nothing can break your forged silence.

Nothing except—

“...even the most ruthless criminals may have the opportunity to redeem themselves and find redemption, provided they sincerely express remorse and commit to changing their behavior. Malcom X, Shaka Senghor, or even Piper Kerman are excellent examples of individuals who have committed reprehensible acts but have managed to reintegrate into society after serving their sentence and showing real change,” asserts Professor Fushiguro, standing with his lower back leaning against the edge of his desk and facing the class.

His calm and composed voice makes you want to scream what you’re holding back from replying.

Redemption my ass!

Your eyes burn into Professor Fushiguro’s figure, and when his gaze lingers on you, you notice the small smirk forming on his lips.

A smug and discreet smile but one that openly mocks you—because you can’t say anything about it.

And that’s the last straw.

You rise from your seat in front of the entire amphitheater, chin held high. “I disagree,” you say in a loud, clear voice that resonates in everyone’s ears.

Professor Fushiguro loses his smug smirk and turns it into a mask of ice. He raises his eyebrows—probably surprised that you’re speaking up. “You disagree?” he repeats your words slowly and doesn’t blink once. For the first time since the beginning of the year, you have his full attention publicly.

“Yes,” you affirm with conviction. You maintain a steady voice that threatens to tremble under the rapid beats of your heart.

Your last name rolls off Professor Fushiguro’s tongue like venom. “Well, then, enlighten us with your objection,” he says sarcastically and provocatively but in the silence of the room, you dare not cross any line.

Not yet.

You take a tiny breath of courage. “I have doubts regarding the possibility for some criminals to truly find redemption, especially when they have committed particularly heinous or repeated acts,” you retort. “Don’t you think that raises some neglect towards the personal responsibility of criminals? I believe it’s necessary to also consider the interests of the victims in the rehabilitation process.”

Throughout, the class as well as Professor Fushiguro haven’t taken their eyes off your bold mouth. Your teacher’s neutral face doesn’t change, but you sense a hint of irritation in his voice when he speaks up.

“I understand your concerns, but we cannot afford to condemn individuals outright without giving them a chance to redeem themselves. Even those who have committed unforgivable acts deserve a chance at redemption, for that’s how we, as a society, progress towards a better future.”

You hold back a sarcastic laugh.

You don’t care about the consequences now. You release all the frustration you’ve been holding back, crossing your arms over your chest to reply, “Allow me to doubt the nature of redemption for those involved in clandestine criminal activities. Some individuals may claim to seek redemption while continuing to commit reprehensible acts in secret,” you emphasize, raising your eyebrows and curling your lips. “Perhaps it would be useful to question the sincerity of their repentance.”

It’s as if the breath of the entire class is held.

Professor Fushiguro remains silent, but you feel him freeze at your words.

“On what examples are you basing this, exactly?” he asks in a sickly sweet tone before pursing his lips.

His response makes you let out a scoff.

Seeing Professor Fushiguro’s game, you cross the forged line. He’s testing you to see if you’ll dare to speak up. And that’s exactly what you do.

“Is this a joke? Well, let’s see…” You pretend to think, and release all your frustration accumulated over so many days. “What about hitmen?”

Never have you shown such insolence to a teacher. You realize you’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble when right at that moment, the bell rings to signal the end of classes and Professor Fushiguro utters words that sign your death sentence.

“You’ll come see me.”

As the entire class rushes to pack up their belongings, you ignore the whispers behind you and stuff your laptop into your bag with slow, feverish movements. Your heart is pumping rapidly, and your tongue, burning just a minute ago, now feels numb.

You descend the emptying amphitheater stairs and wait for the double doors to let the last student pass before approaching Professor Fushiguro’s desk. He hasn’t moved from his position, partly leaning against the edge of the desk. You leave a safe distance between the two of you, ready to sprint if he tries anything against you. But will he dare to do it within the university premises?

“You displayed a certain insolence during the debate,” he begins in a low voice. His eyes scrutinize yours, but this time, you don’t look away.

“It was a glimpse of my frustration,” you reply with coldness.

“Oh? Your frustration?” He tilts his head to the side, a sarcastically surprised expression on his face.

“I suppose you know the cause.” You leave a silence for a response he doesn’t give you. So, you continue, “Stop giving me unjust bad grades. I know you’re doing it with the intention of ruining my academic record.” Your voice is as low as Professor Fushiguro’s, who sneers at you.

“I could easily inform on you to the police, you know. I haven’t said anything until now, but they assured me they’re keeping an eye on my voice,” your courage loosens your tongue but raises the heavy, fast beats of your heart in your ears. Blood pounds in your ears.

Toji purses his lips but doesn’t falter in the face of your threats. “And I could sue you for defamation. You have no proof, my lovely.” A smug smile stretches his thin lips, and you notice the hint of a scar drawing in their corner. He leans slightly forward so that his low voice can only reach your ears. “By nosing around into things that don’t concern you, maybe the absence of your colleague Kasumi, which worries the principal so much, will eventually affect you too." He grins as he sees your eyes widen in horror.

“...Are you involved in that?” you whisper in a hoarse voice, to which he responds with a shrug.

You’ve put yourself in a situation that may be worse than it already is, but you value your life. You take a step towards him and speak with less confidence. “Fine. I’ll keep quiet. But change my grades in return. Or at least, give me a better grade next—”

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “You’re not in a position to negotiate. And what makes you think I trust you?” His smile turns into outright mockery. “Your word means nothing to me.”

The noise of students’ conversations waiting behind the amphitheater doors grabs your attention. You don’t have time to argue any longer.

As you prepare to respond one last time, your face contorted by Professor Fushiguro’s blunt refusal, he interrupts you by raising his index finger to impose silence. “A word of advice. Don’t risk playing with the devil when you don’t know what hell looks like. Don’t venture into a game where you’re not ready to risk your neck.”

°°°°

“In a delicate yet profitable context, I’ve organized, with the help of the principal, a collaboration with the police to put you through a real investigation exercise. The main subject of the investigation revolves around the worrying disappearance of a student from this university. As you’ve probably heard from leaked rumors, Miwa Kasumi’s disappearance was reported a few days ago by her family to the police station. We’ll take advantage of the investigation’s opening to help the police find Miwa with your assistance and to use this situation to your advantage by putting you in the field. Professor Fushiguro will supervise this exercise with me.”

The words of your criminal justice professor—Professor Higuruma—come back to you as a distant voice seems to call you.

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

A snap of fingers brings you back to reality.

You raise your head to your father, who watches you with concern from behind the glass that separates you from him. “Yes, yes. Sorry.” You rub your eyes, burning with tiredness and reddened with burst blood vessels.

You’re back in prison for another visit to your father, who has been informed of Miguel’s death. You told him everything in detail—naturally omitting the perpetrator of the fatal fire. After over an hour of questioning you, your father changed the subject to discuss your studies.

As usually.

“And the classes?” he says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Usually, at this point in the semester, you give me updates on your grades.”

You swallow hard. “Uh... Well, the workload is a bit heavier and—”

“You got bad grades?” your father interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

His conclusion catches you off guard.

“No... Well, my grades aren’t as excellent as they used to be but—”

“Answer my question.”

You blink. “I... Yes.” You take a deep breath. “But wait, Dad, I can explain—”

“And do you think this is how I’m going to get out of this rathole? I thought you wanted us to reconnect,” your father retorts, shooting you a sharp, annoyed, and disappointed look. He crosses his arms over his chest before standing up. “Don’t visit me again until your grades improve.”

“No, wait! Dad!” You exclaim, standing up abruptly and pressing your hands against the glass that separates you as your father’s back leaves the inmate visitation room. “DAD! DAD!”

Your voice breaks under the punches you give to the glass to hold him back—in vain.

°°°°

Toji enters a sushi restaurant and glances around to analyze each customer, looking for a particular person. His eyes settle on a man tattooed up to his neck, and he joins him at his table, taking a seat across from him.

The man looks up at Toji, his face lighting up as he recognizes him. “Ah! Here’s my guest. Please, order whatever you want.”

Toji nods in greeting. "Oyabun."

An elderly waitress approaches their table and smiles kindly at them. “Have you already ordered, gentlemen?”

The oyabun nods and turns to Toji. “Place his order. I’ve already eaten. You’ll put it on this account.” He takes a business card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to the old lady.

“Takoyakis,” Toji orders without a glance at her.

The lady takes note of the dish and leaves. Toji leans his elbows on the table and leans just enough to inform him, “I handed the bag to a kaikei. You didn’t tell me it contained so much money. I remind you that you still haven’t paid me.”

The oyabun puts on a serious expression and takes out a joint from his jacket. Toji lets his eyes wander vaguely over the pockets and wonders what else he could pull out.

“Do you remember the issue concerning the clan? Well, this money you recovered from Oduol belongs to me and is partly what I’m reclaiming.” He takes on a paternal tone and lights a lighter to scorch his spliff. “The rest of the sum still eludes me. I can’t pay you yet. But you know I’m not a scammer, Toji. I’ve always paid you, haven’t I?” The smell of cannabis reaches Toji’s nostrils, and he wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“And you can’t pay me with the money I recovered?” Toji asks, almost... urgently. “I’m sure the bag already has enough to cover all my other unpaid missions.”

The oyabun shakes his head and inhales the smoke from his spliff. “This money is mine,” he replies before exhaling, “and that means you should be paid with the money that’s rightfully yours. You still don’t realize the astronomical sum one of those bastards owes me.”

“So I have to keep playing the good teacher? Where are you sending poor Shiu to look for work, seriously? I’m already struggling to pay my rent, you know? I want to get back to my real full-time job,” Toji retorts bitterly.

The waitress approaches their table and sets the plate of takoyakis in front of Toji, wishing him bon appétit before slipping away. He loosens his chopsticks and crosses them to pick up a sauced ball between them.

“I know, I know. Listen, Toji. I already have some issues to sort out, but you have my word that as soon as I’m done, you’ll be paid in one go. It’s this problem that’s preventing me from paying you. I need you, and you’re already helping me a lot. Oduol had a part of the money that belongs to me, and I recovered it. Thanks to you,” the oyabun smiles wide—revealing gold canines. “You’re my best man. You’re the only one I truly rely on. You’re under my protection as long as you stay with me.”

"I need nothing but my dough," Toji answers back with less pronounced bitterness but still irritate, and the oyabun knows his words have managed to appease him somewhat. Toji swallows his takoyaki balls one by one and casually adjusts the loosely unbuttoned collar of his black shirt.

The oyabun leans back in his chair and pours himself a glass of sake. His fingers adorned with silver rings grasp the glass, and he drinks its contents in one go. “While you’re waiting for your next target, you can take it easy.”

°°°°

Toji’s calloused hand tidies his course papers on his desk as the students in his class hurry to leave the lecture hall in the usual cacophony. He hears giggles behind him and sighs in annoyance before rolling his eyes.

Those pissy girls in uniform again.

The lecture hall grows quieter, and a quick glance over his shoulder informs him that you are still packing up your belongings. The group of girls approaches him, and he turns halfway, exasperated.

“Professor Fushiguro,” one of them begins before cackling like a hen, followed by her peers, “we wanted to ask you—”

“No, I haven’t changed my cologne. No, I’m not a former national boxing champion, and no, my shirt isn’t from a luxury brand, but from a thrift store. Now, go away,” he cuts them off sharply.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again, hoping not to have to fend them off any longer.

Since his first day here, Toji has been the constant subject of discussion among both professors and students alike. And he knows it perfectly well. But he didn’t expect to have a fan club of ‘pissy girls in pine green uniform’—as he calls them—during his very first class.

The girls stop giggling and freeze. They look at each other and give up. The group wishes him a good day and finally leaves the lecture hall, leaving Toji in peace. But Toji knows he’s not alone. You are already descending the stairs with measured steps.

He sits at his desk, waiting—and even praying—that the bell rings earlier than expected so that you don’t have to talk to him. But Toji has never been lucky. If that day were to come, it would be because God has shown him mercy.

“Professor,” you murmur cautiously once you’re at his desk.

Toji ignores you, feigning to focus on his laptop. He knows he has nothing to do on it, but he prefers to keep his eyes absentmindedly on the screen rather than having to talk to you.

“Can you explain to me what my mistakes were in this assignment?” you continue with a fragile sweetness that almost prompts Toji to lift his gaze from his PowerPoint to check if you’re crying or not. “I don’t understand my errors despite your corrections…” You hand him your paper marked in red ink.

Toji doesn’t respond and pretends to turn a deaf ear while correcting elements of his slideshow. His peripheral vision notes that you have approached him, reducing the distance to about one inch.

You are crossing a boundary that is forbidden to you.

“Please,” you insist with a hint of impatience.

Toji is about to continue ignoring you when he freezes in place as you place a hand on his forearm resting on the polished mahogany desk and gently squeeze it with your fingers. The contact of your hand sends an unusual shiver down his spine, and the warmth emanating from your palm on his skin is as scorching as the fires of hell awaiting him in exchange for his sins. He regrets rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing forearms defined with muscles and a few raised veins running across the surface of his pale, almost translucent skin.

Turning his neck slightly to look at you, Toji squints and murmurs in a threatening tone, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Your eyes meet his, and he almost feels the dilation in his pupils as he realizes the mirroring effect of yours.

You were on the verge of tears.

“Please…” you murmur as your eyes speak for you in a unspoken plea. “I swear I won’t say anything. It’s my grades that matter to me. I have secrets to keep too, and I don’t want to get involved in yours.” But seeing that he offers no response and merely stares at you without any further reaction, you continue, “Professor, please—”

“Enough!” he snaps in a half-annoyed, half-angry whisper. With a sudden movement, he pulls his arm away from the weak grasp of your hand. “Go away.”

“But—”

Once again, you’re unable to continue your pleas because of the bell ringing for the next classes, along with the voices of the next class with Professor Fushiguro behind the doors.

Swallowing back your tears, you turn on your heels and crumple your umpteenth paper, marked with an additional F –, adding to the frustrated sob that escapes your mouth as you leave the lecture hall in long strides.

All under Toji’s eyes, who, for the first time, has a heart still pounding from a confrontation he would have preferred to avoid.

°°°°

The rain pounding against the windows of the lecture hall is so loud that it drowns out the voices of the police officers. A policewoman, annoyed at having to raise her voice, borrows a lapel microphone from Professor Higuruma and stands in the center of the small platform reserved for the professors.

“Testing. Can you hear me? Perfect,” she says with a smile. “So, as we’re trying to tell you, this amphitheater has been reserved specifically for us, the police, as speakers.” She gestures toward Professors Fushiguro and Higuruma, who stand in a corner of the platform with their hands in their pockets. “Thanks to your professors,” she continues, “we can now officially open the investigation into the disappearance of student Miwa Kasumi, reported missing by her parents a few days ago. Your professors have deemed the situation, while concerning, suitable to put you in a real investigative situation. No report has been filed yet. Kasumi’s parents have provided us with some information about the last time they saw her.”

She clasps her hands behind her back to replace her smile with a serious and professional demeanor. “So I’m counting on you to help us write this report. You’ll give us all your information, and vice versa. We’ll sort it all out, and we’ll print it out for you. Over the next few days, you’ll be tasked with gathering information by visiting the last places Kasumi went before disappearing and gathering testimonies. Your invaluable help, combined with our own research, will constitute key elements. As soon as we feel we have enough and your professors have enough to grade you, the investigation will no longer concern you and will be entirely our responsibility. If you have no questions, I think we can begin.”

The policewoman joins one of her coworker sitting at the desk assigned to a professor and starts typing on her laptop.

Sitting at the back of the room, you stare at Professor Fushiguro. He stands nonchalantly leaning against a wall next to Higuruma. You notice that he has his lips pinched and his eyes alternate between the police officers. A thin, sinister smile curls your lips.

Of course, a hitman isn’tt comfortable in front of those who could send him to prison on the spot.

You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands and yawn.

The police’s questions begin.

Your insomnia from the previous night has left you in a murderous mood. Your reddened and burning eyes from crying all night don’t help you keep your eyes completely open under the aggressive lights of the amphitheater.

But you don’t take your eyes off Professor Fushiguro for a moment. You’re not going to let a fool like him ruin your life for grades. If you have to resort to extreme measures, you will. And that’s what you’ve been trying to do since your last desperate altercation with him. You gave up your dignity at that moment. This time, you’re already looking for something—a threat, anything—to make him change his mind. The police right now must be making him very uncomfortable—because a word from you, and he could end up in handcuffs. But you can’t.

At least not yet.

As the session nears its end, a police officer sends the report to each student’s university email and also sends it to be printed at the university library. So as you come to pick up your copy at the bottom of the amphitheater, you pass by Professor Fushiguro without a glance. As you turn on your heels, your eyes rise to meet his. He doesn’t break eye contact, but you know he can’t have failed to notice your bloodshot eyes and your silence in front of the familiar policewoman—the one who escorted you home after the fire at the Oduols’.

Despite her inquiries about your memories, you claimed that you don’t really remember who the man was.

°°°°

At the end of the week, your research has finally paid off. And there’s no way this time that Professor Fushiguro will give you yet another F –. You’re prepared to go to great lengths to force him to stop his blackmail.

Your knuckles rap three times on the door of Professor Fushiguro’s office. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears, and you enter the room. You immediately close the door behind you and observe the surroundings. Contrary to what you might have imagined, the space is decorated in a traditional academic aesthetic—large bookshelves filled with books of all sizes adorn the walls, floral wallpaper, or even a Persian rug with complex blood-red patterns sleeping at the feet of a burgundy sofa.

You clearly doubt that the aesthetic taste of the office comes from him.

“I’ve come to bring you my report,” you say after clearing your throat.

Professor Fushiguro, seated at his ebony wood desk, pays no attention to you and keeps his eyes glued to his computer. The only response is the clacking of the keyboard keys.

You take a few steps and reach the desk. You carefully place your report down and sit in one of the armchairs facing your teacher.

With your heart pounding, you take a small breath and waste no time. “Professor? Can we get back to what I was trying to tell you last week?”

Professor Fushiguro continues to royally ignore you, and you close your eyelids for a second.

This can’t go on any longer.

“Stop ignoring me.” You suddenly stand up and close Professor Fushiguro’s computer with the tips of your fingers. He barely has time to remove his fingers from the keyboard and looks up at you.

His eyes narrow like those of a cobra, and he’s about to respond—undoubtedly about your insolence—but you raise your hand in the same way he has done with you before to impose silence and hiss a “no!”

The professor’s thin lips part in surprise at your boldness. He doesn’t say a word and waits for what your audacity has in store for him. For the first time, you leave him speechless.

“Now, you’re going to listen to me until the end.” You lean dangerously toward him across the desk and place a hand on its surface. A determined gleam shines in your eyes, and your tongue loosens immediately. “You seemed particularly nervous during the first intervention with the police, or am I mistaken? You were very tense despite your facade of a relaxed man. And you saw me. I didn’t say anything.” You grit your teeth and hold back the urge to strike him in the face with his silence. Your throat is already painfully tight. You really hope he’ll listen to you until the end.

“I know you were bluffing about Miwa because you would never have dared anything directly with the police. Nothing will happen to me. So if you decide to do nothing about my grades thinking you can relax, you’re sorely mistaken. You underestimate me far too much. If I won’t speak about your crime, I’m ready to create one against myself. I’ve been kind enough so far,” you declare in a strained voice. The accumulation of silence over these weeks is too much today. 

You’re exhausted. You take a breath that has shortened.

But after all the reactions you could have hoped for from Professor Fushiguro, the one he offers you catches you off guard. At first, a slow smile stretches across his lips, then a chuckle escapes him, and finally, he bursts out laughing. The heat rising to your cheeks spreads all over your face, and the blood pounds in your ears.

“Let me laugh a little more. Who’s talking about bluffing here, again? Do you think I’m going to swallow that?” He leans his elbows on the desk with both arms to rest his chin on the back of his intertwined hands and looks at you with his emerald irises. “I don’t believe you, pretty girl. You’re capable of nothing. And I’ve already told you. Your word means nothing to me,” he murmurs with a mocking smile that curls his lips.

“Oh really?” you murmur under your breath. “That’s what I thought. You know you’re the subject of almost every conversation in this university, Professor Fushiguro. Wouldn’t it be detrimental to your already dubious reputation if a professor like you—who looks more like a model working for Calvin Klein than anything else—gets involved in an unpleasant affair with a student? You underestimate the cunning of women. Knowing that three-quarters of the female students have already had wet dreams about you. And believe me, it’s certainly not the stress of student life that stains their underwear every night. Nothing is indifferent to anyone in this university.”

The image of your father walking away from the inmate visitation room comes to mind. Your eyes sting, but you try to hold on and not break down in front of him.

Caught up in the momentum of emotion, you lean so close to him across the desk that the distance between your two heads is only about eleven inches. “I stand by what I said. I won’t let my academic record rot for a man like you. I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them. Even if it means committing immorality.”

With these final words, you can’t hold back a tear escaping from one of your eyes and letting it roll down your cheek.

You don’t give him time to respond and turn on your heel to leave the office, wiping away the other tears that finally streak your cheeks.

°°°°

“And another loss, my friend.”

Shiu Kong chuckles beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. He shuffles the blackjack cards and picks them up one by one. He glances at Toji’s indifferent expression. “What? Is that all it does to you?”

Toji shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey. “Nothing new. I never have any luck.” The liquid burns his throat for a moment, but the sounds of the casino machines distract him, and his thoughts keep drifting to your face he encountered the previous day.

Shiu takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. With a nod of his head, he offers one to Toji, who declines with a shake of his head. “It’s a shame you lose at games that could earn you a little cash—of course—but which can quickly accumulate thanks to many rounds. Must be better than your teacher job, right?”

“I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them.”

Toji leans back in his chair, sighs, and runs a hand over his tired face, trying to rid himself of your voice in his head. He hasn’t forgotten the sound of your sobbing or your sniffles every time you left after trying to change your grades.

Toji has never felt the slightest guilt.

And he doesn’t want it to start now.

Especially when it involves you.

“Yeah. It really is a shitty job.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but he has the right to refuse visitors.” The voice of the penitentiary secretary sounds slightly irritated.

“But—”

“I’m sorry to insist, but even if you come in person, it won’t matter. He’ll probably remain in his cell,” she interrupts hastily.

You purse your lips and sit on your bed in the dim light of your room. “I see... Thank you,” you murmur softly, your voice breaking.

“Have a nice day, miss.”

The line disconnects, and you let your back sink into the mattress.

Your father requested to refuse your visit if you try to contact him in any way. Your throat knots horribly, and it feels like the knot is laced with thorns.

It’s all his fault.

Professor Fushiguro is your tormentor.

You hate him so much.

He ruins your life in every way—without you being able to do anything about it.

All you ask for is your father’s love, as you dream of every time.

Were you asking for too much?

Or perhaps you simply don’t deserve it.

°°°°

C +.

“C +.”

You blink several times.

No...

You must be dreaming.

From your seat at the back, you watch Professor Fushiguro finish distributing the corrected reports made by the students in the class. When he returns to his desk, the rest of the students quickly pack up their things, following suit. With Professor Higuruma present, the rest of the class will continue in a different amphitheater to update the police, who will collect all the information provided by each student.

But you still can’t believe that Professor Fushiguro, the man who has been threatening you and making your life difficult from the start, is starting to give you better grades. A “C +” isn’t the best grade you’ve ever had, but in theoretical criminology, it’s worth celebrating.

A bubble of hope swells in your chest.

Throughout the continued class, you’ve been trying to catch Professor Fushiguro’s gaze, but to no avail. Without even knowing why you’re doing it.

“Very well. Excellent, I would even say,” the same policewoman declares during the first intervention. Her voice projected through the microphone is clear and captures everyone’s attention. “Thank you, dear students. According to the overall assessments and reports from your professors, Miwa was seen in some very undesirable places just before her disappearance. Other information has been taken into account, and I ask those who know of such... prohibited areas, not to disclose their locations. Please. This part of the investigation is for the police only. We plan to involve you in real investigation work with the agreement of your professors, but for now, do not attempt anything dangerous to find your missing classmate.”

The entire class exchanges sarcastic looks.

It’s true, after all. Miwa ins’t the favorite student of most students at Keio University. She has always posted articles against any student who has a secret that could draw attention to her blog.

“But I want to emphasize that if you obtain any further necessary information before our next meeting, you are welcome to share it. Your help is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your hard work.”

Applause erupts from the group of police officers alongside Professors Higuruma and Fushiguro. The class joins in, and whistles echo through the room.

Your eyes continue to search for Professor Fushiguro’s, but not once has his head turned in your direction. A pang of disappointment pricks at you without understanding why. If he has finally decided to listen to you and stop his threats, you should be happy about it. Not that you’re not pleased, but you want him to pay attention to you.

And in a good way.

°°°°

The coffin lids finally close, plunging the Oduol family into the sleep that death offers them.

You can’t help but bite your lower lip.

The committee attending the funeral is much smaller than you thought. The morgue is filled with just over half a dozen people—including you. The majority consists of a few men in suits, one of whom, presumably their leader, is tattooed all the way up to his neck.

Without exception, they all prayed.

You’ve wondered many times who they are. Especially when, in your somber attire, a glance from you is enough to meet the gaze of the tattooed man. His indifferent eyes glanced at your silhouette, perhaps wondering who you are, but you didn’t speak to each other—because the men didn’t linger at the morgue either.

If you sideline that, on the way back to your apartment, you constantly wonder why Professor Fushiguro had to kill Miguel. And the image of the huge gym bag he carried with him twists your stomach into a bad omen.

It contained money, you have no doubt.

And then, Miguel was wealthy.

He was also your father’s friend.

But unlike him, Miguel didn’t end up in prison for embezzlement. You begin to wonder if Miguel’s wealth came from the infamous sum for which your father is behind bars. Is the money being pursued by other people?

If this deduction is true, Miguel had been a target while free, while your father has not been for years.

If Professor Fushiguro decided to target Miguel, it must also be related to why your father is imprisoned. But one last deduction lights up your brain, and suddenly nausea grips you.

Is Professor Fushiguro also after your father?

°°°°

Your fist knocks three times on Professor Fushiguro’s office door.

A muffled “come in” allows you to enter the room with a steady step. For some reason or another, you are no longer afraid to speak with your teacher—despite the fact that you haven’t said a word to him since the first time you came to talk to him in his office like today.

You’re not afraid anymore.

And only when it concerns your father.

You carefully close the door before sitting down on one of the armchairs opposite him as he doesn’t deign to look at you. Professor Fushiguro is buried in a small stack of students’ papers to correct mercilessly as he did for you.

“Hello, Professor.”

Silence.

Undeterred in the slightest, you continue, “I would like some explanations about the report you corrected. I don’t understand my grade.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and his pen scratches a sentence on the paper he’s working on. You take the opportunity to take out your own report handed in a few days ago in class. You remain perfectly silent, waiting for an answer that you’ll force out of him if necessary.

Several minutes pass, and you wonder for a moment if he will open his mouth at any point.

Your request seems to have been heard when he sighs in annoyance and sets aside one assignment to move on to another before glancing at you and your report. “Can’t you read?” he says sarcastically. He shifts his attention back to another assignment to correct.

“So you’re still giving me bad grades on purpose?” you ask, furrowing your brows, a feeling of revolt swelling in your chest and encouraging your tongue to say what you’ve been holding back. “I thought you had changed your mind about—”

“Can you stop chattering like a magpie for two minutes?” he cuts in, looking up at you with a stern expression. “How do you expect me to do anything if you never shut up?”

Silence.

“...So,” you blink, “do you agree?”

“One more word, and I change my mind.” He adjusts his dark tie over his black shirt, and your gaze follows the movements of his hand holding the pen.

A few minutes later, Professor Fushiguro pushes his papers aside and sighs. You wait for him to focus his attention on you, and when he does, his deep voice snaps like a whip in your ears, “What’s wrong this time?”. He’s annoyed. And he doesn’t hide it.

You show him the red marks streaking your paper with careful words you endeavored to put on. “I didn’t understand why I got this grade. I took it seriously. I think you’re grading me too harshly.” You tilt your head slightly to the side and squint. “And I don’t understand your correction.”

“So you can’t read.” He leans his elbow on the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, then straightens up.

“I said I didn’t understand,” you insist. You purse your lips.

Professor Fushiguro seems to relent, because for the next ten minutes, he turns the paper towards him to re-explain the notes framing the margins of the pages.

When he finishes his oral correction, a question gnaws at you, and you scrunch your nose.

“I have a question.” You pause. “Are you grading me this way because you’re being harder on me or because you’re really grading me?” Your expression of indifference hides an analysis of your teacher’s facial expressions.

“I thought I made myself clear. I’m not threatening you anymore. But that doesn’t stop me from grading you as you should be.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Your old teacher was unbelievably mediocre. No wonder you’re surprised by such poor results when reality hits you.” He raises his eyebrows as if what he just said was such a mundane fact that you seem stupid for not understanding it earlier.

You purse your lips in an indignant pout. “Says the professor who bought his degree,” you reply almost venomously.

Professor Fushiguro raises an amused eyebrow. “So you think I faked my degree?” A smirk curls his lips.

“Coming from someone…” you murmur, searching for your words, “...like you, it’s obvious.”

“Sometimes, what seems most obvious to us is very far from reality.”

“So are we making peace?” you ask, resting your hands on your thighs, a hint of suspicion.

Under his gulp, Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillates. “I suppose so. But that doesn’t mean other threats can’t come your way, and for real this time.” His tone, sickly sweet, sends a shiver down your spine.

“I see. So, I’m not exactly your bosom buddy?” you say sarcastically. You cross your legs and fidget with your fingers. “So, my grade is deserved?” The corners of your lips twitch in a murmur of frosty disappointment.

An imperceptible nod from the professor is his response. “Since I’m not a ‘real teacher,’ as you put it, I might as well do my job properly to avoid arousing suspicion. If you have no further questions, the door is open.” His hand vaguely gestures to the door behind you with a sign. But you notice that he looks up insolently.

He looks like a teenager.

He pulls his laptop towards him, but you speak up again, your heart pounding. “No, I still have questions.” He rolls his eyes and pushes your report back towards you, probably hoping to silence your questions.

“I attended the funeral of the man you—” He gives you wide eyes and suddenly turns his face towards the closed door of his office. You lower your gaze to your intertwined fingers and freeze. “Anyway. I know it’s the last thing you want to talk about but…” You lean forward slightly. “Do your targets have any connection with Miguel?”

Professor Fushiguro purses his thin lips and glares at you. “No,” he murmurs reluctantly. He squints suspiciously and speaks in a voice so low that you have to lean in even more to hear him and not miss a word of his response. “I work under orders, period. I have no connection or relation with anyone. And you should stop sticking your nose into business that doesn't concern you. Or there will be consequences.”

The vise gripping your chest loosens, and you sigh with relief.

“Oh, one last thing.” You take your corrected paper and put it back in your bag. “Do you have, um, any textbooks to recommend to improve my grades? I won’t ask you anything else after this,” you add hastily, seeing his expression about to give you a flat no.

He sighs again and thumbs over his shoulder to the library behind him. “First shelf from the top on the right.”

You quickly get up and start looking at the books with dark bindings. Some vases with green plants adorn the wooden shelves, and you stand on tiptoe to try to grab two books that you can only touch the bindings with the tips of your fingers.

“I can’t reach them,” you say without turning around, breathless from the effort.

You reach higher, while the size of Professor Fushiguro looms behind you. He mutters to himself, and when your nails finally grip a leather-bound book, you pull on it and lose your balance. Your hand clutching the book sweeps the vase nearby, and in the momentum, you expect it to fall on you.

But it doesn’t.

A powerful hand pulls your forearm, and your nose hits something flat and hard. A second later, a crashing sound is emitted at your feet.

Your eyes, closed in fear, open, and you immediately look behind you.

The potted plant decorating the bookshelf has just shattered right where you were seconds ago. Your breath catches, and your heart races against another heart. The scent of masculine cologne fills your nostrils, and a single movement of your head puts you face to face with Professor Fushiguro.

Who just saved you from a trip to the hospital.

His strong arms encircle your waist in a firm and secure hold against him. Silence weighs in the room as your eyes get lost in the emerald ones of Professor Fushiguro—whose dilated pupils, alert from his movements, probe you. You swallow imperceptibly, and his warm breath brushes your face.

It’s as if time has stopped.

But the bursting of a storm outside breaks the moment, and you let go of the book you’re holding with the tips of your fingers.

Immediately, and in a synchronized movement, you both pull away from each other and avert your gaze. With flushed cheeks, you lean down to pick up one of the books, and as soon as you straighten your torso, two other books hit your chest.

Professor Fushiguro holds out the books to you and doesn’t wait any longer to lean towards the broken vase where soil has scattered on the floor. Neither of you speaks a word, and the sounds of rain beating against the window replace the silence of a few seconds ago.

You clear your throat and approach the pieces of pottery vase to pick them up, your cheeks crimson. But the same hand that just saved you pushes you away with a sharp gesture.

You raise your eyes to Professor Fushiguro who gazes back at you with...

…uncertainty? Embarrassment? You’re not sure. His eyes are too clouded.

“Leave it. You have your books,” his voice mutters before he turns around to pick up the pottery shards. You don’t see his face because by the time you perceive the expression he wears, he’s already turned his back to you.

Not wanting to push further under his tone indicating you should leave quickly, you nod anyway despite the fact that he can’t see it.

With your books and bag over your shoulder, you stride quickly towards the exit of the office, almost having legs like jelly. The areas of your body that came into contact with him burn, and you open the door before stepping halfway through and freezing.

You glance over your shoulder. Professor Fushiguro turns around at the same moment. Seized by some unknown impulse, you regain the use of your voice to whisper three words, “Professor Fushiguro... thank you.” Before swiftly disappearing without giving him a chance to react.

And your tone indicates that you’re not just thanking him for the books.

°°°°

Back in his apartment that evening, Toji slumps onto his couch, exhausted. He rubs his eyes with one hand and turns on the TV, a habit of his to avoid overthinking when sleep calls but his mind won’t rest. Unfortunately for him tonight, his heavy eyelids flutter open every time he tries to drift off. So he eventually gives up on dozing off, sleep eluding him. A shadow catches his attention in the dim light cast by the TV in his otherwise darkened living room.

He recognizes your silhouette.

He’s speechless by your sweet, angelic smile. Your shining eyes caress him with their gaze, and your lips are delicately parted. Paralyzed, Toji swallows hard but doesn’t move an inch, his eyes almost bulging in shock at seeing you here—while you, you lean towards him with a slowness that he thinks might be an eternity.

“Professor Fushiguro... thank you.”

His heart skips a beat.

His lips feel dry as if sewn shut, while you draw back and glance at the TV broadcasting the day’s news. You shift your focus back to Toji and grace him with the most angelic smile for the second time.

Angelic.

That’s the only word that registers in his brain, unable to think.

But he knows he’s never seen that smile on your lips in reality.

It’s the first thing he thinks about as he blinks his tired eyes, which soon squint as the harsh light from his living room TV makes him realize that it’s all just a dream.

°°°°

“Where did you get this?”

You swallow thick.

The policewoman’s question echoes in your head.

You purse your lips and reply in a barely audible whisper, audible only to her. “In a bar…” you lie. The sharp, piercing gaze of the policewoman silences your voice, and suddenly, you feel intimidated.

“Really? And when? In such a short amount of time?” She bombards you with questions while raising her thin eyebrows. She briskly takes the report folder from your hands and begins to flip through it without really reading your findings.

Your heart pounds in your chest like crazy, and your body temperature rises a notch. Lying has always made you anxious. And lying about where you actually went—a casino—will be no exception for you today. You sneak a discreet glance towards Professor Fushiguro, who approaches his desk in the lecture hall, the very place where you are confronted by the policewoman.

Your eyes lock onto his with insistence as the suspicious policewoman continues to grumble while flipping through your report. “Did you do your research all by yourself?” the policewoman insists, squinting her eyes.

You nod and turn your attention back to her. “Professor Fushiguro is aware,” you add a bit too quickly, blood pounding in your ears. “He has read my report and is aware of the situation.” You turn to him. “Isn’t that right, Professor?” This is your moment to send a distress signal to the only person who might save you at this moment.

The policewoman clicks her tongue against her palate and looks at the concerned Professor Fushiguro with annoyance, tacitly asking him to confirm your words.

Please, please, please...

Professor Fushiguro brings his hand to his chin and rubs his jaw. Now standing next to you facing the policewoman, his imposing physique towers over both you and the policewoman. During the split second of your silent eye contact exchange, you pray that he will cover for you and support your lie.

You dread that your heart will stop beating when he slightly parts his lips and declares in his deep, grave voice, “Yes, she came to see me.”

“You see?” you immediately insist with a forced smile. The heat on your face must be apparent now, but you choose to be in denial when neither of the two interlocutors makes any remarks. “I found a witness in a bar who told me they saw Miwa there. Professor Fushiguro tried to call her using the contact information she provided, but she didn’t answer.”

You cough, and your foot brushes against his.

Professor Fushiguro lifts his head a little and sighs, playing along with your game. “I had already decided to call her back as soon as possible, but I see that Miss has been a little more impatient than expected.” He tucks his lower lip and gives you a sidelong glance. His expression is icy and nonchalant—almost grumpy—as usual. “I understand your suspicion when we see that a student is the only one submitting a report, knowing that no other student has done so. And that the information she seems to... provide has escaped the police.”

You feel your armpits becoming slightly damp with sweat under your white shirt. You clear your throat. “Yes. I apologize for not being clearer from the start.”

The policewoman hums and sets your report aside on the table, visibly irritated. “It will be reviewed as soon as possible.”

You sigh as your steps lead you to your seat in the lecture hall and thank God that the noise of the students has helped to conceal your discussion. Perched on your chair, you lock eyes with Professor Fushiguro for the umpteenth time. And a gleam in his emerald eyes reminds you of the clear message he has already indirectly conveyed to you.

Clear explanations will be necessary.

°°°°

“Wait. I know—”

“What the hell is this now?” Professor Fushiguro cuts off sharply, carefully closing the door to his office. He returns to his seat and drops heavily into it. Rubbing his eyelids with one hand, he lets out a sigh.

Taking advantage of his momentary silence, you continue, “Listen to me, at least. I didn’t go to a bar. I lied.” You nervously fidget with your fingers on your thighs. “Actually, I went to... a casino.”

Professor Fushiguro’s eyes widen, and he tilts his chin up to your face, wrinkled with your confession. “Excuse me? And the police warnings?” He exhales irritably through his nostrils, and you could swear you see smoke coming out like a bull.

“Listen, you just have to call the woman and tell her to simply overlook the fact that I met her in a casino rather than a bar.” You force a smile, hands now sweaty. “She’ll agree, I’m sure. I’ve already saved her contact details on my phone. We just need to do it before—”

“And why didn’t you do that at the time? You knew you weren’t allowed to go there for the investigation.” Professor Fushiguro’s jaw tightens, and this time he tugs at his indigo tie—a perfect match for his black shirt, you can’t help but think—to loosen it a bit. “I can’t believe I defended you…” He sighs, dismayed.

You notice his under-eye circles are a bit more pronounced than usual but refrain from commenting.

You bite your lower lip and dare to speak up nonetheless. “She gave me informations because she also owns a bar. And... she has quite a few contacts who—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts off abruptly. “I don’t even have the energy to reprimand you properly.” Leaning on his desk, he clasps his hands to address you. “Stop pursuing the investigation outside of class. You’ve done enough.” It’s an order, you notice.

Determined, with your eyes narrowed in frustration that is starting to hit you like a shockwave, you assert, “To make progress, ongoing work is not enough.” You straighten your back a little to show him your determination. “I’ll find Miwa.”

Professor Fushiguro’s incredulous face is presented to you. But he doesn’t seek to ask you why you are so attached to a student with a reputation more than unfavorable.

Perhaps it’s the strange, subtle attachment you have to her? Just because she never pointed fingers or denounced your situation with your father, which could have shattered the reputation of your school record? For that alone, you thank her by searching for her.

“And... it’s also kind of you to have covered for me.” Your voice softens. “I promise you that if the woman listens to us, there will be no more problems.” Your lips twist into a slight, embarrassed smile against your will. “So, thank you.”

Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillate as he swallows. His lips part for a moment then close again, and he hums in response before averting his gaze.

Your smile widens, and all the nervousness you felt evaporates. You gain a bit of confidence, and when he rolls his eyes, you can’t help but let out, in a whisper, “I don’t see why you’re being grumpy when everything is under control.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a real troublemaker, you know? A trouble magnet, I would even say.” He stands up, a sign that the conversation between the two of you is over.

But you remain seated.

The unpleasant remark pinches your heart, but you don’t lose your smile. “Perhaps... you’re precisely the one who’s supposed to protect me and save me from these problems—even in your role as a teacher.” You lower your gaze to his large, calloused hands. “Despite your hands stained with the blood of your sins,” you hold back a broad smile and add, looking up at him, “and your grumpy bear behavior.”

Hands in his pockets, he takes a step towards you—one that would require two for you—and his stature looms over you despite his stooped spine to meet your eyes squarely. “Unfortunately for you, a sinner cannot afford to protect the wings of an angel. He might dirty them.” He pauses to tilt his head slightly to the side. “Or worse, burn them in trying to help.”

His words hit your heart and make it skip a beat.

Palpitations seize you, but you brush them off with a blink of an eye. Your eyes get lost in the emerald of Professor Fushiguro’s eyes. The parting of your lips is the only thing that allows air into your lungs. You also ignore the strand of hair that has escaped from your hair and refrain from blowing it away.

It serves no purpose.

Especially when it’s him who tucks it back behind your ear without a word.

°°°°

Under the usual hubbub of the lecture hall, where students discuss yet another assignment given by Professor Fushiguro, your fingers shake under the featherweight of your corrected paper. But instead of dreading to see the grade marked on it, your breath catches as you discover it.

You can’t believe it.

Or maybe you don’t want to believe it.

It’s unreal.

“A +.”

You lift your gaze from your corrected paper, which bears barely traces of ink from your professor’s pen. Your heart leaps in your chest as you meet his eyes.

Professor Fushiguro has his hands buried in his pockets, as always, and he looks at you with a neutral expression—perhaps omitting the obvious glint in his eyes. You try to guess his expression, and a faint smirk gives you the answer before he looks away.

°°°°

At the end of class, when the amphitheater is empty, you decide to descend the steps to speak with your professor, your heart strangely drumming in your ears.

“What did I do to deserve such a nice grade?” you start with the beginnings of a smile. You adjust the strap of your bag and absentmindedly play with the dangling end of the compression strap.

Professor Fushiguro responds without stopping to organize his lecture notes. “My hand slipped,” he replies sarcastically.

You curl your lips into a smile. “We can say it slipped at the right moment on the right paper.” A gentle warmth rises to your cheeks.

He doesn’t respond and closes his laptop.

“Also, were you able to contact the woman from the casino?” you ask in a low voice.

He hum in response, and as he doesn’t seem willing to continue the conversation, you purse your lips together into a tight pout.

“Has your opinion of me changed, at least? Do you no longer see me as a danger?” you insist in a whisper.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t speak right away. He carefully packs his belongings into his own bag, avoiding looking at you with care. When he finishes, he finally lifts his eyes to yours, and his tone towards you is so peculiar that it catches you off guard. “Your mere existence is a danger. You sow trouble wherever you go.” Yet, his tone is neither dry nor hurtful.

But unbeknownst to you, in Toji’s eyes, you are simply the embodiment of danger.

“I shouldn’t be so lenient with you. Especially when you are the only person who knows a truth that risks my life.”

You furrow your brows. Your tongue burns, a sign that you’re dying to ask him what he’s implying. Professor Fushiguro is a part-time hitman, and that’s no secret to both of you. So why is he saying such... mysterious things?

“I will restore justice,” you assert with conviction. “I will find Miwa.”

As you exit the room with determined and confident steps, your brain still simmers about your professor and his strange remark.

But one thing is sure in your mind amidst all your doubts.

You will get your father out of prison. And you will prove his innocence.

That he was unjustly imprisoned.

°°°°

“Lost again,” Shiu scoffs, a smirk on his face and a cigarette dangling between his teeth.

Toji grunts before scowling. He exhales in annoyance and rubs his eyes, burning with tiredness and bloodshot. Sounds of disappointment from the pachinko machine he faces taunt him before displaying his mediocre score on the screen. Once again, Toji has lost at a game where he hoped to earn some extra money alongside his poorly paid teaching job.

“Anyway, I’ve got a new mission from the oyabun,” Shiu announces.

Toji suddenly perks up, awakened by the mention of his true job, which was enough for him before the problems his boss faced. “Spill it out.”

“Oh? Awake now?” Shiu chuckles. He raises an eyebrow before continuing, “And let me tell you, buddy, this ain’t just any target.” He takes out a lighter from his suit jacket pocket and lights the cigarette between his teeth. “According to oyabun, it’s a former associate who used to work for him before deserting the clan. And that son of a bitch stole some of the money he had. It represents a significant portion of what belongs to the clan. Get it?”

Toji stares into space, though his ear is still attentive to Shiu’s explanations. His muscular arms hang halfway between and against his negligently spread thighs on the chair he’s sitting on. Veins bulge along his forearms, exposed by his black t-shirt—he can thank his long gym sessions for the gift.

“But the man isn’t alone,” Shiu adds. “He has an associate from the same hole, but oyabun doesn’t want you dealing with him. He asked me you to focus on the associate currently at large. The rest of the kyodai will fill you in on the other details.”

Toji nods and is about to respond when a security guard with eyes concealed behind black sunglasses approaches them. “If you’ve lost and don’t have any more money, free up the seat,” he orders coldly, feigning a certain authority by crossing his arms, which only serves to annoy Toji.

The latter stands up. And even a blind person could sense how tall Toji is. He towers over the guard by two heads, who, despite his broad, stocky shoulders, pales in comparison to Toji’s stature.

“Hmm?” Toji’s face is filled with nonchalance and scowls, having lost his game, and especially with a cold anger that constantly boils within him but never explodes. His almond-shaped eyes narrow, and he tucks his hands into his pockets.

The guard’s lips part slightly, and he swallows, unable to utter a word—mesmerized by the figure of the man in front of him.

Toji shrugs and walks past Shiu, who’s been waiting for him. “Let’s go,” he says.

°°°°

Camouflaged in dark clothing and a hood of the same color, Toji sits at a small, discreet round table in the corner of a seedy bar. His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the back of a man seated on a stool at the counter. His new target.

His gun is fully loaded and strategically placed at his waist so that a single movement would allow him to eliminate the target as quickly as he would leave this place where the various scents of mixed alcohols sting his nostrils. There aren’t as many people as Toji had expected—which suits him just fine. His target sips from a sake glass and reads one of the newspapers provided for patrons.

A single shot, and a new sum will be added to the one awaiting him.

Toji prepares to reach for his weapon when the bar’s doorbell tinkles softly.

And there, Toji realizes he’s truly cursed from birth.

With your usual gait, you take a seat on a stool three spaces away from his initial target.

God fucking damn it.

You grip a small notepad and pen between your fingers and place an order. From where he’s seated, Toji can barely hear your voice. Fragments reach him, and he just wants to set fire to this bar as he did to the man’s house weeks earlier.

Of course, you haven’t seen Toji.

From his ‘hideout’, you may not even notice him at all.

And, thrown off by the situation—for the first time on a mission—he doesn’t know what to do. Should he kill his target as planned, despite your disturbing presence? What if he accidentally harms you due to another unforeseen circumstance? Toji swallows thick. He could, but something within him prevents it.

Especially when he hears snippets of your voice conversing with the bartender. And Toji just wants to smack you for disobeying him.

“...gone missing for a few weeks now…” Your voice reaches his ears in snippets. “It’s worrying, and…”

The bartender, eyebrows furrowed, shakes his head. He continues to wipe pristine glasses. Toji grits his teeth when a group of men—mostly tattooed and wearing piercings—takes seats on the stools beside you. Even from his vantage point, Toji sees you flinch. But you don’t falter. You continue your questioning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices two men from the group engaging you in conversation. For a moment, he restrains himself from getting up and breaking their bones. Toji suppresses his impulses. His eyes never leave your form. From your nervous tic of biting your lip to your foot tapping gently on the stool’s lower bar.

But you’re not the only one who notices, especially as you alternate between your interrogation with the bartender—who’s starting to grow suspicious—and the multiple evil glances thrown your way by other patrons.

Why did you have to be here on the same night as his mission?

But your inquiry goes largely unnoticed when a distinct voice from one of the tattooed men is heard all the way to Toji’s table, even drawing some attention from his target, who slightly turns his head toward you. “You sent by the cops?”

You freeze in your chair.

A bead of sweat rolls down Toji’s neck.

You quickly shake your head, your lips mouthing a stuttered no. The pressure on you intensifies when Toji discreetly listens and hears the bartender slamming a clean glass onto the counter, angrily cutting you off, “I don’t want to be associated with anything or anyone. Especially not with the cops.”

Toji’s heart races, and he abruptly stands from his table to slip away to the restroom when he notices the glinting blade of a knife slowly emerging from the pocket of one of the men sitting at the counter. Toji discards his stifling hood and adjusts a few details to avoid being noticed as ‘the hooded man in the corner of the bar’.

He rushes out of the dingy men’s restroom and adopts a casual stride as he heads toward you. The men along the counter turn toward him as you’re almost in a panic.

Toji positions himself just behind you, towering over the entire group surrounding you—including the bartender. From his peripheral vision, Toji’s heart stills as he sees the blade of the knife from one of the men slide back into his pocket.

He still places his hands on your waist, exerting a slight pressure on the flesh. The warmth of your body sends waves to Toji’s cold hands. He leans dangerously to the side of your neck and peeks a small kiss there, causing you to slightly startle and turn around.

Toji offers you a reassuring smile despite the turmoil in his mind at this very moment. His alert eyes try to capture your attention, and you seem to understand.

“How long have you been waiting for me, angel?” Toji asks softly.

You look up at him—your pupils dilating in surprise at his unexpected presence—and you blink twice. Your lips part, and you weakly blow out, “A while already.”

“Forgive me. Can we go now?” Toji gently squeezes your waist, a clear sign of refusal for a no.

You nod in the silence of the bar, and Toji takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He leads you to the exit where no one dares to utter a word. His mere stature was enough to deter the group of men who are—without a doubt—members of enemy yakuza clans that Toji’s oyabun explicitly forbade him from contacting.

Too bad for the mission.

°°°°

The cool night air whips against your face. You try to pull your sweaty hand away from Toji’s much larger one, but his firm grip keeps your fingers intertwined in silence, and you refrain from throwing a tantrum like the children in supermarkets.

He leads you to the back of the grassy courtyard of the bar. A single beech tree planted near a wooden fence prevents you from slipping and falling when suddenly, Toji’s muscular arm sends your back colliding with the trunk. The pain from the impact brings tears to your eyes.

With anger etched on his features, Toji opens his mouth to say something. But the bell on the bar’s door chimes the very next second, letting out the group of men from earlier along with some new faces. The group is much larger than before.

From your position, you can’t see them, but nothing escapes your notice, and you understand. Toji senses that attention is directed towards the two of you, and under an impulse that escapes him, he leans towards you and presses his lips against yours.

Caught off guard, you freeze and widen your eyes. You run a hand over his chest to push him away. You can’t comprehend what’s really happening and push against his chest, but it’s futile.

In the end, you find yourself awkwardly returning his kiss to cut it short. Toji’s lips are cold but so soft against yours. They steal your breath away, and you almost get lost in them.

Until a male voice laughs and declares cheerfully, “Are the whores out here too?”

Coarse laughter erupts from the group of men. Your blood boils in your veins, and you prepare to push Toji away for good and defend your dignity. But Toji runs his hands along your sides and slips them under your shirt to access your bare skin, drawing slow and pleasurable circles with his thumbs on your stomach. He deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but let out a small moan that cuts short your desire to revolt. Toji’s tongue brushes against your lips to request access to yours, and your palm pressed against his chest gives you a glimpse of his racing heartbeat.

You part your lips, and your tongue meets his in a warm, wet kiss. You lose your breath, and the sound of the footsteps of the group of men fades into the silence of the night. Toji freezes his lips and gently pulls away from you. His lips are glossy from the shared kiss, but no smile lights up his features. A dark gleam animates his irises.

Your chest simply rises and falls with the rhythm of a breath you seek to regain. A warmth rises in your neck to the roots of your hair. Toji’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes you, and his hands withdraw from under your shirt.

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”

❦ a/n: so there we go! i hope you all enjoyed this first part ;) english isn’t my first language, so be gentle. @gojonanami this incredible girl who one day restored my taste for writing and kindly let me know to feel free to tag her if I post my fic. thank you Sab!

[etherealising]

a buried and a burning flame

part two out now!

pairing(s): richie jerimovich x fem!reader

summary: constantly arguing with your student’s father wasn’t on your bucket list for this school year, but how can you stop when he just makes it so easy to get under his skin? based on this request.

warning(s): implied age-gap | misogyny | angst | make out session | heavy petting | dry humping | borderline exhibitionism | minimal editing |

wc: 11k

A wide forced smile graced your lips as you looked at the very obviously out-of-place man sitting in the small classroom chair that was usually occupied by the small bodies of your second graders. Your foot tapped impatiently as you waited for the line to connect, the last call went straight to voicemail and you were begging the universe for it not to happen this time as you felt the heat of the man's scowl sear into you.

“Hello, this is Tiffany Gattina speaking.”

You perked up as soon as you heard a greeting, “Ms. Gattina?” You listened as she repeated your name, relief flooding through you that you’d finally gotten ahold of the woman.

“Yes, hi it’s me.” You cringed at the immediate panic running through the woman’s voice. “No, no Eva’s perfectly fine, but there is an uh…Mr. Jerimovich here claiming to be her father.” You looked up, the man’s loud scoff sent a wave of irritation through you, the urge to roll your eyes growing the longer the two of you stared at each other.

Your attention was pulled back to the phone as you listened to the woman you were used to seeing during pickups explain their familial situation to you. “Thank you for clarifying, but seeing as he isn’t listed on her yellow card, legally I’m not allowed to let him take her off of school premises.”

The sound of Mr. Jerimovich releasing a disbelieving laugh caused you to grit your teeth, your body swiveling around so he was forced to glare at your back.

“Shit, okay I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You listened through the phone as Ms. Gattina shuffled around, her keys jangled as the line went dead before you’d even got the chance to say goodbye.

It was immature but you stood against the wall with the phone to your ear for a few minutes more, quiet hums leaving your lips to give the illusion you were still speaking with someone so you wouldn’t have to be subjected to spending too much time alone with the irate older man. The cold tiny fingers patting your elbow made you jump, eyes finding Eva’s small figure looking up at you as she waited for you to hang up the phone. A feeling of guilt raced through you as your eyes darted to her childlike smile, while you were here trying to avoid her father you were also avoiding Eva.

You felt ridiculous saying goodbye to a dial tone before moving to place the phone back on the receiver mounted to the wall, “What can I do for you, Miss Eva?” You smiled as her nose scrunched up watching as she waved for you to bend down so she could whisper in your ear.

“Is it okay if I go to the reading corner?” You let out a quiet laugh at her question as you stood up nodding your head and watching as her face lit up in excitement.

“Just remember to put the books back where they go.” You watched as she skipped over to the decorated corner, a smile lining your lips at all the work you put into making your classroom as inviting and comfortable to your kids as ever, but the thought slowly dwindled as you remembered why exactly she was here after hours.

A small sigh escaped you at the loud noise leaving the intruder’s phone followed by his equally as loud commentary, the sounds bouncing off the once quiet walls of your classroom made you want to scream. You walked to your desk opening a drawer and shuffling through the files in hopes that you’d find an extra yellow card. The universe was on your side as you pulled a blank yellow card out, smoothing the crease out in one of the corners. If this man was gonna take up space in your classroom, the least he could do was fill the card out so the two of you didn’t have to repeat this interaction.

You had to steel your nerves before standing up, reaching to pull a pen out of the cup on your desk before approaching the boisterous man with all the false confidence you could muster. You stopped in front of him clearing your throat to gain his attention and forcing yourself not to snap as he leisurely looked up at you before his gaze returned to his phone, you had to stop your mouth from dropping open at the blatant disrespect before composing yourself as he locked his phone and placed it face down on the table.

“Mr. Jerimovich-,” Your words were interrupted by the screeching of the chair legs against the linoleum eyes watching as the man raised to his full height and impeded on your space.

“Listen, sweetheart,” you raised your brows at the nickname eyes locked on his. “I’m just here to get my little girl alright. And there was no need for you to go snitchin’ to her mom and shit.”

Your eyebrows rose further up your face, eyes darting to Eva to ensure she wasn’t privy to this dispute, tuning out her father as he kept running his mouth. Your head snapped back in his direction as you caught the last of his tirade, his words implied that you were unqualified to even be a teacher.

“Listen Mr. Jerimovich.” You paused, sending him your most condescending smile. “Let me paint you a little picture, let's say I don’t know, corner store Joe comes up to the school during dismissal tomorrow points at that sweet little girl over there, and spins some story about being her uncle. Have I lost you yet?”

There was venom in your words as you watched him roll his eyes before nodding for you to continue. “I would be a shit teacher to send that precious girl off with the first person who tried to claim her. So maybe you are her father. I'm not taking that away from you, but until Ms. Gattina walks through that door and confirms your identity, I am not letting Eva out of my sight. Understand me?”

His eyes hadn’t left yours through your whole spiel, darting between them as he let your words sink into him, you watched on as he reluctantly nodded a feeling of triumph raced through you.

“Great, now you’re gonna sit back down and you’re going to spend the rest of the time you're here feeling out this information card, okay?” You pressed the yellow card and pen into his chest, your eyes falling to the “Original Berf” logo before looking back at him once more.

The cold metal on his hand brushed against yours as he grabbed the materials from you, the gold wedding band on his finger drew your attention, the sight of it intriguing you. You watched him in curiosity as he sat down grumbling words under his breath you couldn’t even begin to understand, your staring was interrupted as he shot you an annoyed look, eyes looking you up and down trying to figure out why you were hovering.

Irritation radiated off of him as he waited for you to take your leave, the glare in his eyes loud and clear that your presence was no longer welcome. You sent him one last forced smile before turning on your heels to utilize however long you were stuck with him to grade and go over lesson plans.

You stopped in your tracks as something occurred to you, the noise of your shoes hit the linoleum as you made your way back to him, “One more thing Mr. Jerimovich, don’t ever cuss in my classroom again.” Your words were punctuated by a saccharine smile, his lips rolling in as he repressed himself from saying something he might regret.

Teaching children right from wrong would always fill you with a sense of purpose, but having to deal with their asshole parents made you question your career choice more times than you’d like to admit.

The last thing you wanted to spend the end of your Friday doing was trying to play mediator between two grown men who couldn’t accept the faults of their children. As soon as you sat them down and began to explain the situation, you became the bad guy, and when they weren’t jumping down your throat, they were having a screaming match with each other, you only hoped Mrs. Monroe across the hall was having an easier time occupying the two children she’d agreed to keep company for the time being.

A lull in the screaming match allowed you to speak up. “I understand the urge to defend your children and while I respect it, please let me explain the full incident.” Neither man said anything as they looked at you, both of them giving off the impression that they’d rather be anywhere else than here listening to you.

“During arts and crafts time there was a bit of misunderstanding between Noah and Eva. I’m not exactly sure how it started as I was helping another student bu-,” You paused as Mr. Vanderbilt let out a disbelieving laugh, his hand waving off your silence to get you to continue.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your pants as you had to remind yourself that you couldn’t just assault your student's parents, you cleared your throat before continuing. “Mr. Vanderbilt, your son threw a pair of scissors at another student. And while I’m sure you have more pressing matters to deal with, this is Noah’s third write-up this month.” You watched the agitation rise on his face, his mouth moving to form sentences before you spoke over him, “And regardless of his age, his actions fall under the category of assault, and as I’m sure you know this is a zero-tolerance campus.”

There wasn’t even a few seconds of silence between your words before the man spoke up. “I can assure you it was an accident and had you been paying attention to all of your students, I’m sure me and Mr. Jerimovich wouldn’t have to be here wasting our time.” You watched on in disbelief as his hands raised lazily to unbutton his suit jacket which probably cost more than your yearly salary.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to gather your thoughts in the most professional way possible whatever you had to say not seeing the light of day. “This child Ava, was she injured? If not then I really don’t see why I’m here in the first place.”

“Her names Eva you fuckin’ jagoff.” Mr. Jerimovich’s loud voice rang through your ears, and you could see you were once again losing control of the situation.

The more boisterous of the two men turned in his chair, his chest puffed out as though he was preparing himself in case this turned into a physical dispute. Your eyes bounced between them both knowing that Mr. Vanderbilt would be on the phone with his lawyer faster than Mr. Jerimovich could even throw a punch.

“Excuse me!” Your voice raised a few octaves, the overly polite persona you put on fading the longer you sat with them. “While the safety scissors didn’t break skin, there is a bruise on Eva’s collarbone. And you’re here Mr. Vanderbilt because Noah is prone to these outbursts and it’s gotten out of hand now that my other students are at risk of being hurt just because he may be overstimulated. I would appreciate it if you and your wife took the time to find the root of his problems, I mean no disrespect Mr. Vanderbilt but oftentimes this behavior usually begins at home.”

The sneer on Mr. Vanderbilt’s face was the last thing you wanted to see at that moment, you’d had enough experience with privileged and pretentious parents to know your Friday was just going to continue getting worse.

“They just let anyone teach our children nowadays don’t they?” His condescending smile was enough warning on its own. “Noah’s a great kid and listen I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but that’s just how boys are. I think the real issue at hand is the fact that my child’s education has been put in the hands of well…a child. Where did you say you received your degree from again?”

Indignation settled heavily in your chest as you watched a self-assured smirk paint his lips as he rose from his chair. “The way I see it, if you knew how to do your job none of this would’ve happened, I mean how hard is it to babysit a bunch of six-year-olds for a couple of hours?” You watched in silence as he stood to his full height, hands smoothing out his ridiculously expensive suit. “I’ll make sure Principal Pacheco hears about how unqualified you are to be in a classroom.”

The silence was loud as you watched him sashay out of your classroom door, eyes locked on his back the whole time mind racing with what you did in a past life to even deserve half the shit you were subjected to dealing with.

“What a fucking joke.” You jumped in your seat at the gruff voice part of you had forgotten he was there considering his silence, something that shocked you seeing how outspoken he already proved he was. “Asshole dad and asshole kid, am I right? What a fucking prick talkin’ to you like that, yo I don’t know how you put up with that shit.”

You blinked in rapid succession trying to follow his fast-paced words, your mind trying to figure out why he thought he could be so casual with you. You were snapped out of your stupor as he stood long legs leading him to the door, you pushed off the chair moving to meet him before he could step foot outside.

“Mr Jerimovich please wait,” he stopped his movements hand stalled on the door as he looked at you.

“Given the situation, I know it sounds a bit ridiculous, but Eva was also written up today.” You paused watching as his eyebrows furrowed.

“After the incident, while I was checking her for any wounds, she began to yell at Noah using…explicit language.” The man’s full body turned to you, his shoulders hunching over as one hand raised to swipe across his mouth, the sound of his incredulous laugh danced through your ears.

“Let me get this straight, some little punk ass kid assaults my little girl, your words. And you write her up because she says a few bad words.” You could understand where his irritation stemmed from, you debated just letting her off with a warning but then other students began repeating her words and the only way for you to help Eva understand the gravity of her actions was to give her consequences.

You began playing with the bracelet on your wrist unsure how much more verbal abuse you could take in one day. Your thoughts raced with the best way to go about this situation and somehow convince him to understand your duty as an educator.

“Between me and you, I don’t think Eva’s reaction was wrong, she’s allowed to feel whatever she needs to. But her response is where I had to draw the line, other students were repeating her words.” You hoped the look in your eyes could convey whose side you were on in this situation.

The man in front of you sucked his teeth as he shook his head, humorless laughter followed, “Is this the shit they teach at whatever fancy-ass little school you went to? She was hurt and probably angry, what the fuck did you expect from her. Listen, lady, I don’t know if you were raised to just roll over and take shit but that’s not how I’m raising my daughter.”

Whatever hold you had on your anger quickly slipped away as he continued speaking, “You don’t get to come into my classroom with your stupid little matching tracksuit and the smell of god-awful food wafting off of you and try to tell me about myself. And you also don’t get to insult my education and upbringing to make yourself feel better about the fact that the only impression you make in your daughter’s life is the string of curse words that constantly leave your mouth.”

He let out a real laugh this time, hands clapping the noise echoed around the mostly silent classroom, “So she can fucking speak up for herself, you’re just full of fuckin’ surprises! Why don’t you just teach my daughter like you’re paid to and leave the parenting to me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t sure when the two of you had gotten so close but you could feel his huffs of breath ghosting across your face, sure he could feel yours as well. It was a few moments of intense eye contact, neither of you wanting to be the first to end it, somehow doing so would be a sign of defeat.

“I would appreciate it from now on if your ex-wife or Eva’s stepfather was my only point of contact where she’s concerned.” Your words were punctuated by your eyes glancing at the gold band on his ring finger.

It was a low blow and although you didn’t particularly like the man in front of you, you knew that he didn’t deserve the blaze of your full anger. But you also didn’t deserve to be consistently disrespected for just trying to do your job.

You watched on a bit guiltily as his face dropped, his eyes darting between yours before settling into slits as he glared at you, his look of disgust making you feel like you needed to exfoliate the whole day away immediately upon returning home.

No more words were exchanged between the two of you. You watched as he turned back to the door to exit once again, his tall lanky body drifted across the hall collecting Eva. You stood in the entrance of your classroom lip tugged between your teeth as you watched them disappear down the hall. A guilty wave was sent to the small smiling child as she eagerly waved goodbye to you.

The classroom was all prepped and ready to go, the assortment of donuts were all lined up separated between vegan from non-vegan. Events like these always had a good turnout, part of you wishing these types of days were around when you were still in school.

You were nervous and while you wanted to believe it was because the school year was slowly coming to an end and you’d need to figure out how you were going to support yourself over summer break, you knew that some of the nerves had to do with being in the presence of a certain student's father.

Trying to occupy your racing mind, you double-checked that the coffee and hot cocoa were warm and ready to be served. You moved to the door of your classroom, eyes tracing over the ‘Donuts with Dad’ sign you’d spent all night making, chuckling at how much effort and creativity you’d put into something that would be gone in an hour or two.

You took your place in front of your classroom door, the time on your watch letting you know the main doors would be opening soon. Swarms of students followed by their father figures walked through the halls, your hand waving to greet the first few pairs to enter your classroom letting them know it was alright to help themselves.

The routine of greetings went on for a little while longer, you’d have to tamp down on the way your eyes constantly roved over the heads of other parents hoping to see the tall lanky figure that for some reason raced through your thoughts no matter how much he infuriated you. It had been a few weeks since the last spat the two of you shared and while he hadn’t stopped picking up or dropping off Eva, not that you actually expected him to. Neither of you had spoken a word to each other in the time between now and then. You weren’t sure what it was but as much as he annoyed the shit out of you, you found yourself missing the irritation he caused you, the way it felt almost fun to have someone push your buttons for the hell of it. It sounded insane the two of you had only met on two occasions and neither of them left a good taste in your mouth but you couldn’t help but want more interactions with him, it was finally getting to your head, spending every waking minute with children was finally pushing you over the edge so much so that you willingly wanted to argue with a parent of your student. Maybe it was time to take your friends up on that offer of a night out.

A parent calling out to you drew your attention, your eyes peeking into the classroom to see that it was pretty much full aside from the obvious missing duo.

The rest of your time was spent with each parent and student duo individually. Checking in to make sure they were all doing okay and answering any questions a parent may have had regarding their students' learning experience. You’d learned from Noah’s uncle who he’d chosen to bring that his parents weren’t as involved in his life as they should’ve been and that he was trying to talk them into getting him into behavioral therapy. You appreciated his honesty and you appreciated even more that he wasn’t quick to write off Noah’s behavior as him just being a boy but mostly you were surprised when Noah shyly handed you a letter of apology a similar one in his hand addressed to Eva.

After your rounds, you relegated yourself to your desk taking the time to answer emails and begin planning end-of-the-year activities, your eyes wandered to Eva’s empty cubby every so often concern sinking into you at her absence. There were about 30 minutes left before the adults would have to begin leaving, you were so engrossed in the pro and con list you made about working during a summer school session that you hadn’t realized the duo patiently standing in front of your desk.

The clearing of a throat jolted you eyes quickly flashing up, the surprise clear on your face. Your eyes darted between Eva and her father before your mind finally began working. “Eva! We were worried you wouldn’t be joining us today. There’s only about 20 minutes left but you're both welcome to enjoy some donuts and drinks.”

You pointed in the direction of the table where the refreshments were situated smiling at Eva as she eagerly bounced away. You were surprised to see her father still standing in front of your desk. The awkward air radiated heavily between the two of you, you could see his mouth opening and closing as though he had something to say but decided against it before turning to catch up with his daughter.

Focusing back on your previous task seemed almost impossible as your ears eagerly listened out for the heavy lilt of a Chicago accent, you didn’t want to seem too eager by approaching the duo so soon, but as the time on the clock continued to tick down you knew you’d have to get it over with.

Quickly standing you smoothed out your blouse before making your way to the table. They were situated at pulling up a chair of your own and trying to ignore the heated glare on the side of your head. “Good morning you two, are you enjoying yourselves?”

Eva’s wide smile punctuated by the faint whipped cream mustache helped to alleviate any lingering doubts that had settled within you. Reluctantly you turned to the only other adult seated at the table; the displeasure of you being seated next to him was evident across his face. You shuffled in your seat feeling uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze, “Is the coffee to your liking?”

It wasn’t much but you couldn’t sit and stew in the awkward tension forever, hoping that although you’d both made horrible first and second impressions of each other you could just let bygones be bygones. You drummed your fingers together as his stare stayed locked on you giving nothing away about his current thoughts.

“Ain’t nothin’ to write home about.” His shoulders shrugged in dismissal as he looked away from you, busying himself with the grade-appropriate decorations around your classroom.

Eva was none the wiser to the bad blood between you and her father as she continued munching on her donut, fingers making shapes out of the crumbs that now decorated her table. You twiddled your thumbs trying to figure out the best way to bring up your next topic of conversation.

You cleared your throat, gaining the older man’s attention once more, “Mr. Jerimovich, I’m not sure if you’ve heard but we have a field trip coming up,” there was no indication on his end that he was listening, just an unnerving blank stare trained on you. “Unfortunately one of our chaperones had to back out at the last minute, and I thought seeing as you haven’t joined us on a field trip this year you might be interested.”

His already too-big body hunched forward, his knee harshly knocking into yours under the table as he leaned into your space across the desk, his movements forced you back sitting ramrod straight in your chair. “Sorry sweetheart, I’m not too sure that’s a good idea and all ya know seeing as how you made it clear I’m a horrible influence on children. Wouldn’t want to corrupt anyone else’s kids.”

You bit your lip hard, the words you said to him all those weeks ago finally coming back to bite you in the ass. You had no one to blame but yourself and as easy as it would’ve been to go tit for tat with him in this moment, you were trying to be the bigger person and put this animosity between the two of you to bed.

A solid hand landing on your shoulder stopped whatever words you were struggling to string together. The unwanted weight caused you to look over your shoulder, surprised to see Noah and his uncle whose name you didn’t remember standing behind the three of you.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt but I wanted to make sure Noah apologized while I was still here.” You subtly shrugged hoping he’d get the hint and remove his hand and luckily for you, he did. The sound of a grunt met your ears as your eyes flashed back to the initial pair you were speaking with. Eva’s discomfort was palpable as she held on to her father’s arm, the young girl not too keen on the turn of events, if she was uncomfortable then Mr. Jerimovich was downright murderous in the way he sized the other man up, an unnecessary brawl sure to happen if you didn’t step in.

“Eva sweetie, Noah wrote you a letter to apologize for his actions. If you're interested in accepting it that’s great, but I won’t force you to if you don’t want to.” She nodded shyly at your words as she looked at you, her eyes moving up to look at her father as they spoke to each other in a few glances only they understood.

You wished Noah’s uncle would’ve let you handle the situation how you saw fit instead of bombarding the poor girl, probably making her feel as though she had to accept the letter because she was pressured by his presence. Eva’s eyes found yours once more, a reassuring smile on your lips to assure her whatever decision she made was entirely fine. Her small hand reached out palm face up as she waited for Noah’s letter, the small boy hastily tossing it in her hand while mumbling a reluctant sorry under his breath.

The air was awkward as you waited for the intruders to leave a forced smile drawing to your lips as the man’s hand landed on your shoulder once again this time squeezing it a bit. You let out a sigh of relief when they returned to their previous seats, your thoughts not as jumbled as before as you turned to try and persuade Mr. Jerimovich of your offer.

“You know you got a lot of nerve talkin’ about the impression I make on my daughter, now you’re beggin’ me to save your ass and lettin’ that jagoff fondle you in front of kids. I mean if I’m a shit influence you’re shittier.” He finished his sentence by taking a bite of his donut, the crumbs catching in his facial hair caused your lip to curl up in disgust.

He was lucky Eva had run off to dispose of her trash and that the ruckus of parents getting ready to leave drowned out his words. “Need I remind you Mr. Jerimovich that you are in my classroom, a classroom full of children, and still you don’t have the self-control to control your cussing” You stood up dusting the imaginary crumbs off your pants, “Clean up your mess and make sure you have your life together the next time you step foot in my classroom.”

“Yeah whatever sweetheart I dunno what’s got you wound so tight, but you better take care of it before you end up bitter and alone.”

A sarcastic laugh escaped at the irony of his words, “Remind me again, which one of us still wears the wedding ring from their failed marriage?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but arguing with him sent you on a power trip of some sort, your hand reached out to break a piece of his donut off before eating it, your own sad little war prize.

His glare was the most vicious it’d ever been as he watched your mouth work around the sweet treat, “I hope you fucking choke.”

“You too sweetheart.” Your smile was a borderline snarl as you moved past him, shoulder-checking him on your way to clean up any leftover messes.

Regret wasn’t something you experienced often but as you stood listening to the tour guide your shoulder bumping into the tall man next to you from time to time, his annoyed huffs of breaths meeting your ears, you realized that you were your own worst enemy.

When you arrived at the school this morning your excitement was at an all-time high. As much as you loved teaching your students it was nice to get out of the classroom and go on field trips, you also appreciated not having to teach for a day. So as you waited with the other second-grade teachers for all the students and chaperones to arrive you were sure nothing could ruin your day, but that all changed when you saw Eva walk up with her very smug-looking asshole of a father.

You hadn’t given it a second thought before you removed yourself from the conversation with Mrs. Monroe legs working overtime to meet up with the father-daughter duo before they could join the rest of the waiting group. Eva smiled brightly as you approached them excitement written across her face the small girl had talked about the trip all week.

“Good morning Ms. Eva, are you ready to explore the museum?” Her head nodded rapidly as she giggled, her hand swinging back and forth in the cage of her fathers, “Why don’t you go join the others while I have a word with your dad.” She nodded, squeezing her father’s hand before taking off across the parking lot to join the growing group of second graders.

Looking at the man standing in front of you, you could see your reflection in the stupid-looking sunglasses he wore, the both of you staring each other down. Your eyebrows furrowed as his hand raised in offering to you, your eyes darting from his face to the slip of paper he was holding out. From the color of it, you knew exactly what it was before grabbing it, the chaperone slip you sent home with Eva and asked to make sure her mother got it.

“You know Mr. Jerimovich, it takes a lot more than filling out a chaperone slip to chaperone a field trip.” You couldn’t help but rub it in his face, a part of you needing to antagonize the older man, to be the winner of every interaction the two of you shared.

His lips curled into a smug smile as he took a step closer to you invading your personal space. The fact that he hadn’t removed his glasses infuriated you, you didn’t enjoy the fact that you could see every emotion racing through your eyes in the reflection while all of his were guarded.

“That little lizard brain of yours sure doesn’t do a lot of thinking does it?” Calling you a lizard was so out of pocket it almost made you laugh, but you bit the inside of your cheek as he continued. “Mrs. Monroe was kind enough to help me through the logistics, bless her heart she also had some choice words about your chicken head ass but I don’t kiss and tell.”

Your arm ached as he rammed his shoulder into it while walking past you to join the group of waiting children and adults. You never hated a student's parent before but something about Mr. Jerimovich just made you tick, and if Eva wasn’t one of your students you surely would’ve ripped him a new one by now.

The conversation happening at the adult's table droned on, you elicited quiet hums in order not to be pulled into the conversation not too keen on making small talk with people you couldn’t care less about.

“Oh Richard, I’ve been meaning to ask about the restaurant. I went by the other day for one of those lovely beef sandwiches but the windows were all boarded up. I hope Michael’s death didn’t ruin the business.” Mrs. Monroe’s voice was laced with what some might call curiosity but you’d known the woman long enough to know she was just a nosey old woman trying to sink her teeth into whatever form of gossip she could.

You had no problem keeping your attention on the complimentary lunch provided by the museum, but then you realized who this mysterious Richard she was speaking to must’ve been and your eyes found the man’s face as he began speaking.

“Nah, just renovating trying to take the restaurant in a new direction.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin, eyes meeting yours before finding Mrs. Monroe to your right.

It was hard to appear disinterested, but it's not like he would willingly divulge any personal information to you. Not that you wanted him to but you couldn’t help but be a little bit curious about the man who raced through your mind every time you ran through hypothetical arguments with him.

“Such a shame that boys dead. A morbid way to go, isn’t it? Shooting yourself in the head.”

The liquid running down your throat came to a stop as you choked on the water. Your airways constricted because of the accidental slip-up, Mrs. Monroe’s blasé way of speaking had caught you completely off guard and now here you were fighting to get air in your lungs as her wrinkled hand patted you on the back.

Relief came soon after, your lungs gulping down the outside air like a fiend, your wide watery eyes locked on electric blue ones across the table. “I’m gonna check on the kids, would you mind helping Mr. Jerimovich?”

It was almost imperceptible but the look of appreciation that ghosted through his eyes was probably the only form of thanks you would get for helping him out of this situation. The two of you rose from your respective seats grabbing your trash before making your exit and stopping by the trash cans before beginning to make your rounds to check in on the students. The air was quiet between the two of you, and not in a comfortable way but more so suffocating.

“So you own a restaurant?” Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything but you weren’t sure how much awkward silence you could take.

You turned to look at him, the two of you stopping in a shaded area of the courtyard, the furrow of his brow enough to let you know he didn’t fancy making small talk with you. You let your eyes fall on all the children, watching as they conversed while eating, doing your best to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

“Nope,” his voice caught you by surprise, gaining your attention as he stared straight ahead. “I’m just some cog in the machine,” His eyes dropped to yours with little to no emotion scattered through them as he looked at you.

A tight smile lined your lips unsure of whether you should keep the conversation going or let it lapse back into silence. “I uh, I’m sorry to hear about your friend, he must've been struggling.”

His loud scoff proved that you’d chosen the wrong topic to fall back on, his body turning to you hostility lined his shoulders as he stood straight up. “You don’t know shit about Mikey.” The snarl decorating his lips was vicious, his eyes darted around your face daring you to speak again.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect it's just-,”

“Just what? Need more leverage to throw in my face the next time you have a little fuckin’ tantrum.” His words were full of anger, eyes lit up in excitement as though he was just waiting for you to bite, to latch onto the bait he’d set out for you.

And you took it just as easily, “A bit full of yourself to think you take up any space in my mind.” You crossed your arms over your chest as the lie left your lips, it's not like he needed to know that though.

He smirked the rise and fall of his chest brushed against your forearms, “You’re a fuckin’ liar.” His voice dropped an octave as his eyes darted around your face before trapping you in his gaze, “You wanna know how I know?”

You didn’t, but that didn’t stop you from nodding your head anyway, anticipation rolling around in your gut as you awaited his words.

“Because I do,” you frowned trying to understand what the hell he was trying to say. “I think about you and that bratty ass mouth of yours.”

His words were like a scrambled puzzle in your mind as your brain worked overtime to try and understand the exact meaning behind his words. It would’ve been presumptuous to believe he meant them in the way your brain was screaming he did, but what else could it mean when a man told you he thought about you?

The sound of a child crying pulled you from your stupor, dissipating whatever tension had risen between you and the man in your personal space. You wanted to say something, needed to say something but it's like your brain had turned to mush, no thoughts made any sense, no sentence structures that could live up to the words he just told you.

So you left. Turned on your heels to find the student whose wails had only grown louder and hoped your brain would return to its default settings sometime soon. Although you knew you would ruminate on his words long after today.

The time on your dashboard told you it was five minutes past the time you agreed upon for the reservation and if you sat in your car any longer your date would consider you a no-show. You sighed grabbing your clutch and keys off of the passenger seat before slowly exiting the car, a part of you wanting to just drive home and forget this ever happened.

Initially, you hadn’t planned on accepting his offer of dinner, not usually one to mix your professional life with your social life, but upon realizing how long it had been since your last date you figured accepting the invite would be harmless.

Taking one last look in the reflection on your window you steeled your nerves and made your way to the entrance of the restaurant. One last deep breath rattled your lungs before you opened the door and let the delicious aroma of food attack your senses. Upon entering you were immediately greeted by who you assumed to be a host.

“Welcome to The Bear do you have a reservation?” You stared blankly at the man in front of you eyes occupied with tracing the few patches of ink that were visible on his skin, you could tell you were making him uncomfortable as he began fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket.

Your eyes found his once more an apologetic smile on your lips, “Yeah, sorry uh I think the reservations under Vanderbilt? I’m meeting someone.”

The man stood across from you nodding eyes falling to the reservation book on the podium, his finger tracing the name before looking up at you once more. “Right this way m’lady.” He did a mock bow motioning for you to follow behind him, his actions getting a quiet laugh out of you.

You followed him through the maze of tables eyeing the other patrons as you passed them before coming to a stop. A quiet thank you passed between you and the host as he gracefully pulled your chair out for you before letting you know they’d be back to take your order shortly. You watched as he walked off, not ready to be left alone on your first date in months.

“Was starting to think you might not show.” Beau’s words tore you from your thoughts as your eyes flashed to his, an apologetic smile lined your lips.

You tried not to fiddle with your hands, moving them from atop the table to settle in your lap, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

He waved your words off as though you could’ve been an hour late and he wouldn’t have minded, “Have you been here before? It's fairly new but I think it used to be a sandwich place, the head chef’s some bigshot from New York.”

Quiet hums escaped you at his explanation, you would’ve never come to this restaurant of your own volition, the aesthetics were beautiful, and having only been here for a few minutes you already found it comforting. But your salary wasn’t designed to be spent on an establishment such as this.

“No, this is my first time.” The casual conversation was helping to steel any leftover nerves you had

“Well, I hope I can make it worth it.” He was charming, to say the least, you’d give him that, his words drawing a small smile out of you, maybe this would go better than you expected.

The two of you engaged in small talk a few minutes more discussing which entrees the both of you were thinking about getting before you were finally interrupted.

“Well aren’t the two of you just a handsome couple please forgive my forwardness but you complement each other exceptionally well.” The words were spoken from behind you, you had to stop yourself from laughing at how thick they were laying it on, Beau preened across from you like he’d got the best promotion of your life. “Are we ready to order?”

Beau gave a polite nod as his hand gestured towards you, “Ladies first.”

You smiled eyes checking the menu one last time before turning to give your order, your brain short-circuited at the figure standing over your table. Neither of you spoke, and both of your smiles slowly disappeared as realization set in at the same time.

“Mr. Jerimovich?” You hadn’t seen him since he chaperoned the field trip, usually bumping into Eva’s mom or stepfather during pick-ups and drop-offs.

“Sorry sweetheart, that's an off-the-menu item.” His voice had an underlying tone of humor in it as his eyes subtly traced across your face before taking in what he could see of you above the table.

You stared up at him taking in the crisp suit he was wearing, surprised that he owned something that wasn’t made predominantly of spandex and cotton. Amusement danced through your eyes and your lips ticked up in a small smile the longer you stared at each other. “Do you have any recommendations for what's on the menu then?”

The man stared down at you, eyes bouncing between yours as he rolled his lips in trying to hide the smile threatening to take over his face. “Well we’ve got rave reviews about our steak which I do have to agree with, but that makes me a bit biased.” He paused for a second making sure he hadn’t lost your attention. “But if your taste buds are longing for the sea, our amberjack might be what you're looking for.

You nodded, resting your head against the knuckles of your fist as you continued smiling up at him. “Sounds delicious, I’ll have the Bucatini.”

A laugh shot through him, the small shake of his head almost imperceptible as he gave you one last look before turning to the man across the table. Your own eyes found your date across from you, a surge of guilt raced through you as you realized you’d written off his presence. You listened as Beau ordered, the two men trading words regarding items on the menu before you were once again left alone with your date.

“You two seemed friendly, did you know him?” He was trying to play off at being nonchalant but the curiosity in his voice gave him away.

“Hardly, he’s a parent of one of my students.” You were surprised Beau hadn’t remembered him from the ‘Donuts With Dad’ event, but there was no way you were gonna bring up what happened between his nephew and Eva while you were off the clock. “So, tell me about yourself.”

And so he did throughout the whole meal, you were barely able to get a sentence out before he was back to making the conversation about him. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it but you didn’t care all that much to call him out on it.

You’d zoned out after Beau once again began talking about his job in finance, listening just enough to know when you needed to appear interested. Your mind went back and forth on whether getting dessert is a good idea or not.

“Can I interest the lovely couple in our dessert menu?” It was like he read your mind, two dessert menus held in his hands as he looked between you and Beau, his stare seeming to linger on you longer than necessary.

Before you could even open your mouth to speak Beau’s voice spoke for you. “I think we’ll just take the checks, boss. Do me a favor and split it as evenly as you can.”

There was a moment of silence surrounding your table, you wished you could say you were surprised but that was far from the truth. While Beau initially seemed like a decent guy, the topics of conversation he always seemed to land on told you this was a signature move of his one of those “tests” to see if his dates were interested in him or the moneybags that came with his family name.

“You’re fine with that right, I mean I think it's only fair.” Beau’s words were aimed at you now eyebrows raised as if daring you to say no.

You rolled your eyes, fingers tracing around the wine glass you’d been babysitting for most of the night before you looked up at the older man a tight smile on your lips “We’ll take the check please.”

You watched in relief as his car exited the parking lot, a huge weight lifted off your chest at having been done with that date. He’d left with the promise of calling you the next day but you already knew you wouldn’t be answering that call.

Footsteps sounded from behind you, your lack of self-preservation skills had you spinning around before you’d thought better of it, upon seeing his face you leaned back onto the hood of your car arms crossing around your chest as you waited for him to stop in front of you. His hand stretched out in the distance between you before any words were spoken, your eyes fell to the wrapper in his hands, the streetlights bouncing off of it.

“You’re not trying to poison me are you?” His grip loosened around the square package as it passed from his hand to yours.

He shrugged hand falling back into his pocket, “Don’t think so highly of yourself princess, that would mean I gave a shit about you.”

A small chuckle left you as your eyes fell on the package in your hand, it took you a minute to figure out what it was before you realized it was a donut, a smile tugging at your lips as you thought about the last time the two of you had been together and donuts were involved.

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence for the first time since your initial meeting, neither of you knew what to say to the other seeing as this was your first ever interaction that hadn’t turned hostile.

“Don’t they have rules and shit about dating your students' parents?” His words were punctuated by the motion of him slipping a cigarette between his lips, his other hand using his lighter to light it. You watched as he took a few drags, not at all surprised to find out he was a smoker.

He took a few more puffs of the cigarette before holding it out to you in offering, your nose scrunched in disgust as you shook your head no before responding to the question he asked. “Technically he’s not a parent and the school year ends this week. So come Friday afternoon my students will no longer be my students.”

You looked at him, not breaking your stare as you opened the sweet treat, breaking off a piece and savoring the myriad of flavors as they settled on your tongue. The two of you fell back into that silence, the quiet chatter of Chicago’s nightlife filled in the absence your voices left.

“What the fuck did you see in that kid anyway?” You shrugged, breaking off another piece of the donut and eating it. “I mean who the fuck spends a whole date talking about how rich they are and then splits the bill? Motherfucker didn’t even leave a tip and you did.”

Amusement decorated your face as you watched him pace his tirade about your lackluster date borderline passionate. “Yo and don’t get me started on how fuckin’ boring that kid was. Like what the fuck would he even know what to do with a brat like you.”

Your eyebrows raised watching as he stomped out the cigarette, his body full-on facing you once more. You held the last piece of the donut out to him, eyes falling to his hand as it grazed yours, the glaring lack of a wedding band around his finger intriguing you.

He popped the bit into his mouth, lips wrapping around his forefinger and thumb as you spoke up. “You talk as if you know me.” Your eyes left his lips to hold his stare once more, “Tell me Mr. Jerimovich, what would you do with a brat like me?”

This was dangerous territory and you knew it but that didn’t stop you from wanting to dip your toes in and see how you’d come out the other side. You watched in anticipation as he looked at you, eyes heavy with every word running through his head that he wasn’t saying. His feet moved him forward, your knee brushed against his thigh as he slotted himself between your legs, your head tilting up to look at him from your seated position on the hood.

The air between the two of you was charged, both of you waiting for the other to bite first. You held his gaze determined to not be the first one to give in, his eyes left yours for a moment pools of blue dipping to the curve of your lips. You stilled as his hand reached out, the rough pad of his thumb gently rubbing across your bottom lip before tapping against it, his eyes daring you to open up even a little bit. Wherever he was concerned you would never back down from a challenge, and you didn’t, lips wrapping around the warm appendage as you sucked gently the taste of icing dancing across your tongue.

“I’d take care of this mouth of yours, wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with someone else.” It was like the world had gone silent, all you could hear was his husky voice and the loud pop your mouth made as he removed his thumb.

You could see that his pupils had blown wide, almost positive that yours looked the same, “What if I only want trouble with you?”

There was a split second of stillness before his hand shot out, the roughness of his palm wrapped around your neck with no intention of harming you, just a weight trapping you between him and the car. Without a second thought your hand reached out to wrap around his tie, a small pull on it was all you needed for him to get the message.

It was hot and heavy, all tongues and teeth the moment his lips found purchase on yours. All the months of pent-up frustration between the two of you were being poured into this kiss, your tongues locked in a battle as if whoever won was proof that they were the superior opponent. You took your chance to bite his bottom lip, the motion pulled a low grunt from his chest, his free hand moving to cup the small of your back as he scooted you even further down the hood, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist practically sitting in his lap at this point.

Surprise shot through you as the pressure on your neck became much more than decorative, as his large palm squeezed, your mouth opened wider in a gasp as he took the chance to shove his tongue down your throat. The eroticism of it all had your legs tightening around him as you searched for any friction, coming up empty as you languidly sucked on his tongue.

His mouth ripped away from yours, lips peppered heated kisses along your jawline as you looked at the stars through your lust-addled gaze, “Your mouth tastes like shit.” You weren’t sure why you said it but it was like you needed to rile him up.

A hoarse laugh left him as his lips and tongue began to lavish kisses around your throat, hand moving to push the sleeve of your dress down as his lips found your shoulder. You were lost in the ecstasy of it all before a sharp pain shot through you.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” His question was followed by another bite in the same spot as your head rolled back enjoying the painful ache it brought.

“N-no,” your words were broken off in a wanton moan as his lips glided across the exposed skin of your chest before his teeth sank into the flesh on your other shoulder.

It’d been so long since anyone had touched you like this and your brain felt like it was going into overdrive. You weren’t sure if he knew exactly how to make your body sing or if you were just so touch starved the simplest of touches would get you going.

A gasp escaped you as you felt his calloused fingertips skating up the exposed flesh of your thigh, the position he had you in made your dress bunch up around your waist. His mouth was still decorating the skin of your neck and while you should’ve told him not to leave any marks you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore, not when his fingers found the elastic of your panties that sat against your hip, and not when his big hand began massaging said hip.

You let out a quiet whine as his hand teased the band of your panties, the hand having skated further under your dress as he snapped the elastic against your skin. Your hand reached out to grip his bicep trying to ground yourself as his teasing made your head spin.

“P-please touch me Mr. Jerimovich.” You knew exactly what you were doing calling him that but in that moment you didn’t care, you just wanted him to stop teasing you.

His head shot up from your throat hand paused at your waist as he stared you down, his eyes were more black than blue now. The feeling of his blunt nails digging into your hip had you wincing, before you could even string together a sentence your mouth fell open on a high-pitched moan as his hips rammed into you the hardened length of his bulge began grinding into you both of his hands on either of your hips as he helped you rock yourself against him.

You could see the enjoyment in his eyes at watching you fuck yourself against him, each drag of his cock hit your clit deliciously the mixture of friction from your panties and the seam of his pants had your eyes welling up with tears as you bit your lip at the stimulation.

“You gonna fuckin’ cry?” You shook your head at his condescending question doing a horrible job of trying to remain unaffected. “You’re a real fuckin’ brat you know that? Arguin’ with me every chance you get, coming to my place of work with that fuckin’ loser.”

The raspiness of his voice was going to be your kryptonite and you needed him to shut the fuck up. Your hand untangled from his tie to reach for the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss just to get some silence. This kiss was different, a bit slower, and somehow a bit more passionate than the last. His lips moved tenderly against yours, his hands that found a home on your hips doing the same the slowness of the kiss translating to the tempo as he bucked up into you.

Your brain was already too overstimulated to try and understand why your heart began to feel like it was beating out of your chest, to piece together why being held against his chest like this felt like something you could see yourself enjoying and getting used to. Your mouths moved in sync with the tameness of the kiss not matching the ferocity either of you usually bestowed upon each other. The slowness of his hips rocking into yours was the icing on the cake, two bodies yearning for each other, for more than this parking lot tryst.

The sound of a car door closing pulled you from the fantasy drifting through your head, your body arching as far away from him as it could even though your need to continue being touched told you otherwise. His hands quickly left your hips, his whole body caging you in as he looked around the parking lot to make sure no one could see you. The noise had come from across the street, the civilian entering their car none the wiser to the reckless behavior you were engaged in.

It hit you all at once as you looked up at him eyes wide and filled with tears that slowly began to shed. Your palms pressed into his chest shoving him away from you as you hurriedly scrambled to get off of the car, hands fumbling to pull your dress down jumping in place as the warmth of his hands began helping you.

“You good?”

“No!” You hadn’t meant to shout but your nerves pushed you over the edge, you shook your head as he raised his hands in defense. “I’m a teacher and I almost let you fuck me in public. What if someone saw? I could lose my job.”

The consequences of your actions were beginning to set in. You were too busy in your world of lust whatever logic you had seemed to slip away with every caress of his fingers, every press of his mouth. You weren’t a reckless person and maybe that’s what drew you into this situation: a desire to throw caution to the wind, the tears streamed down your face as you ran through every negative scenario racing through your head.

“Hey, c’mere,” you didn’t get a chance to argue before his hands were pulling you into his chest, one holding your head against him while you tried to calm down. “Shh, you’re gonna be okay. I promise no one saw, nothing's gonna happen.”

You scoffed, moving your head to look at him, not interested in any lies. “Mr. Jeri-,”

“Richie.” His hand on your neck began massaging soothing circles into your flesh, the light touch calmed you a bit, “Call me Richie.”

It felt too personal. From the way he held you in the dim parking lot trying to alleviate your worries, to the way he looked at you eyes full of an emotion you weren’t quite used to seeing as you stared at him.

“I…I should go.” You made no move to step out of his embrace, eyes locked on his as his hand gently squeezed the back of your neck.

You stepped out of his embrace, the chilly Chicago air sent a shiver down your spine at the loss of body heat. You watched in silence as he stripped out of his suit jacket, your eyes landing on the smear of your makeup against his once pristine white shirt, eyes falling a little lower to the wet patch you’d left on the front of his slacks, white-hot shame shooting through you. You didn’t say anything as he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders, nodding your head in thanks too embarrassed to apologize for the stains you’d left on his clothes.

Neither of you spoke or made any indication of moving, his hands falling back into his pants pockets as you tugged the jacket tighter around yourself.

“Richie? Where you at man were ready for that little debrief thing you like doing.” The voice made you jump trying to fold in on yourself while Richie stepped in front of you hiding you from view in case the person walked around the derelict fence hiding the two of you from the back door to the restaurant.

“Just uh give me a minute Marcus!” Your eyes stayed glued to his back, wishing more than anything for this whole night to end and pretend it never happened.

He stood still until the sound of the door slamming shut reached his ears before his body swiveled back around to face you. “You good to drive home?”

You nodded, sending him a tired smile as the two of you began walking to the driver’s side door. Digging through your clutch you found your keys unlocking the car, stepping out of the way as he opened the door for you guiding you to get in. You stopped with one foot in the car turning to shimmy out of his jacket before his hands landed on your shoulder stopping your movements.

“Don’t worry about it.” You unconsciously settled into him, his fingers working out the tension you held onto. Your breath hitched as his hands skated from your shoulder to your neck before finding purchase on your cheeks, the rough skin of his thumbs gently swiping the tear stains away.

You felt vulnerable under his gaze, not sure if you were comfortable with him looking at you without that glimmer of anger and frustration in his eyes. He leaned forward unexpectedly, chapped lips burning a tender kiss into the skin of your forehead, lips lingering for longer than necessary before he pulled back.

“Do me a favor and get home safe.” The side of his lips ticked up in a smile.

Before you could lose your resolve you leaned in, kissing the edge of his lips where the ghost of a smile began before stepping the rest of the way into your car and watching as he stepped out of the way to close your door. He watched you drive off a small wave of his hand sent in your direction.

You drove home in a daze, mind still back in that parking lot. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as your car filled with the scent of nicotine mixed with pine trees the only culprit of the scent was the jacket neatly sat in your passenger seat. The choice of cologne was so odd it was surprising you hadn’t smelled it when you were trying to devour Richie in the parking lot, a smile raised to your lips before you started laughing at the chaotic night you had.

Your laughs died down as you promised yourself that it would never happen again, even though you could feel the growing urge to throw yourself into whatever that was headfirst. But logic was slowly coming back to you, giving you a myriad of reasons why it was a horrible idea and why it couldn’t happen again.

And now all you had to remember the moment was a jacket that smelled like nicotine mixed with some weird woodsy musk cologne and the yearning feeling left behind by his bruising kiss.

a/n: i hope you’re all doing well please enjoy! feel free to interact however you see fit! 🫶🏽

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“My darling.” // CelticSlave!Aemond Targaryen x VestalVirgin!Reader

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

MDNI.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

Summary: Fetching water a little later than usual shouldn't really affect much of your life right? You're wrong, and you wouldn't find out until you found a celtic slave in a bad condition named Aemond.

WARNINGS: extreme noncon to dubcon, unprotected p in v sex, blood kink, degradation, breeding kink, violence, blood, murder, slight angst, stockholm syndrome(?), reader basically falls in love with Aemond even though he nonconned her, manipulation. not exactly historically accurate, this is just fiction so do not take it heart, hoping it isn't offensive, + not proofread // requested by @slytherincursebreaker !!

WC: 3.5k

You were an illegitimate daughter of a politician in your country, taken away from your mother to keep the scandal underground, you never had an easy life and your father only did the bare minimum, and to say your step mother and half siblings did not like you at all, they saw you as a pest more than anything, when the pontifex maximus was choosing vestal virgins to serve the goddess vesta, he had eyes for your family, specifically your sister but she did not want to go, and so they sent you instead, seizing the opportunity to get rid of you.

It did not mean you were fully free from their clutches however, as you grew in the monastery you were always slightly discriminated against but the other 5 priestess, having heard the rumours about your bastardised birth. But you still managed to get by, you remember how earlier this morning your half sister came to visit you, telling you that she is to be married soon, she came to rub it in your face because you were sworn to celibacy, and you could not engage in activities like such. She even bought her suitor along, who you swore looked at you with such lust, and you felt very creeped out.

This is why you deliberately didn't go and fetch water from the spring earlier today, he often came to visit the temple and watched you perform your duties to the goddess vesta.

Choosing to fetch water at such a late time shouldn't have any repercussions right? I mean, you did not do it earlier because you had a reason not to, not wanting to entertain the eyes of your half sister's suitor, so you're doing it now.

Wrong.

You didn't realise the threat back then, when you found Aemond being beaten up by a bunch of other men, kindness was something that came to you naturally, seeing him in such a state made your heart wrench, you shooed off the other men, reprimanding them for their behaviour and used your status as a vestal virgin to scare them off before looking down at the man who was covered in mud, and seemed to bleeding.

He had silver blonde hair, with only one eye as the other socket seemed empty, you wondered what had happened to him.

“Are you alright?” you ask and you he groans, turning over unto his back, you should leave, you shouldn't help him, but here you are picking him up, leaning his body weight against you and bringing him through one of the secret tunnels in underneath the infrastructure of the building, it was connected directly to another country, was made to use it in order to escape from war or to invade other lands, none of the common folk knew about this, and the people who knew didn't come here often either, as there was no such need for it anymore.

You sit him down in one of the 'rooms' which is just a big spacious squared tunnel, he plops down unto the ground weak and tired, breathing heavily, you quickly went back outside and fetched the water you forgot about and gave some of it for him to drink, you watched as he whimpered, swallowing in pain before he finally looked at you.

“T-thank you.” his voice was so weak, he was barely able to get any words out.

You gave him a gentle smile, and you realised that it was probably late, you had many questions for him but you kept it to yourself for now because you didn't want to bother him anymore, so left back to the temple where you resided.

“Why are you up so late?” you heard the head vestal ask, raising an eyebrow as she took in your appearance, mud covering your prestigious clothing, “I went to fetch the water head priestess, but I fell down on the way back.” you lie looking down, hoping she believes it, and to your surprise, she does believe it, she tells you to go to your quarters after putting the water down, so you do just that.

You visit the badly hurt person from yesterday once again, you knew you were not supposed to have any type of contact with a man, to remain pure as they will taint you, but you really could care less when its about helping others, you found him lying on the ground, likely sleeping, but your footsteps woke him up and he looked at you curiously, you gave him a small smile before giving him the bread you managed to sneak out without anyone noticing, along with water, you gave it to them and sat down, he reluctantly ate it before drinking the water. “Why are you doing this?” he asked you and you shrugged, “Is it so wrong to help a fellow human out?” you question back and he goes quiet, “You i never really got your name, or how you ended up in that situation.” you tilt your head as you watch him purse his lips.

“I am a celtic sex slave.”

You froze, he was a slave.

“My mistress threw me out, and I ended up on the streets without any shelter, and those men just wanted someone to mess with.” he sighs, swallowing the bread. You felt pity for him.

“Till you found me of course, I am extremely indebted to you my lady.” he says and you shake your head no, “I’m no lady, I am a vestal virgin that title is not of my belonging.” You said, and he tilted his head, not understanding what you had meant, he nodded but then his eyes widened “This is such an honour to be in the presence of such a being, sorry you must see me in this state, and… You had to touch me as well.” he apologises and you look down, you shake your head and tell him that it's okay and you did not mind.

You and Aemond had grown closer, he would tell you about his life before he became a sex slave, how he was treated, how you felt extremely bad, how your people treated the Celtics. And so you shared your problems in return as well, he provided you comfort which you lacked all of your life, for the first time you felt wanted, and you could not ignore the feeling that was starting to bloom inside you.

But you pushed it down, you are a celibate, you should not be feeling such things.

Aemond had taken a liking to you, you had a pretty soul as well as a pretty face, the way you looked in your white clothing, and whenever you would fix your scarf over the head afraid that your hair or skin would show made him more curious to see what is underneath the thick robes of clothing even more. He knows damn well that he isn't the first man to ever lust for a vestal virgin, there were many depraved others.

After Aemond recovered, you had showed him around the tunnels and dungeons, various routes that if something happens he can use them to escape, and you also showed the route which led to his country, and he noted it, telling you that he can use this to go back to his own people again and you gave him a small smile.

Though the thought of him leaving makes your heart wrench.

“Aemond, I have to go and attend to my duties now, I will meet you later okay?” you say quickly before leaving.

Though the later never came.

“She was caught sneaking around with a slave apparently, she kept him hidden, surely she committed adultery as well.” you heard the voice of the chief priestess tell the priest.

“That is utmost dishonourable, as a vestal virgin you are sworn to celibacy, how can you do this?!” He yells at you and you flinch, tears streaming down your face.

“I promise! I promise on the flame of vesta that nothing happened between us! I was just helping him out.” you plead on your knees.

“How can I believe you? That you are not ruined? You were helping a sex slave out? you want me to believe that?” he questions and you shake your head.

“Order her death by live burial, she will be buried underground with no food or water.” he commands, tone final.

You watched as one of the virgins who snitched on you, she smiled cruelly and your face turned into a scowl. She was the one who wasn't a virgin, yet you kept her secret knowing what would happen if others found out, but the moment she discovered something about you? She had gone straight to the chief priestess and told her, even fed her lies.

“No! No! Please listen to me! Nothing happened between us! You can check for my virginity if you want! Please.” you cried, at the priest and he simply dismissed you.

You were grabbed by his guards and were being led to your doom, dragged out of the temple forcefully and then the trial was processing when you heard a commotion, accompanied by panicked screams.

“There has been a rebellion! The celtics have rebelled against us!” You hear someone yell, and everyone panics, the guards that were holding you quickly let go before rushing off to fight, you run after them and go to the temple as well, eyes widening in horror as you saw the blood and how few of priestesses were being violated brutally by the rebels, their clothes were being torn by the celtic soldiers and you were spotted by two men who came over to you, grabbing you by your hands and shoving you onto the ground.

“This one's pretty, let me have her cunt first.” you screamed at them to let go and they fought against them, kicking one of them in the shins cause the man to stumble and fall, “This bitch–”

“Stop.”

They both immediately froze up and turned around, and you froze as well, recognizing the voice. “This one is mine, unless you want your heads fucking cut off, fuck off.” he spits harshly at them, and they bow their head before scurrying off and you furrow your eyebrows, Aemond looks at you with a smirk, the empty eye socket from before now held a blue sapphire in its place snuggly.

“This would not have been possible without you, I shall spare you for this.” he begins, pulling you up on your legs by the hair.

“W-why are you doing this?!” you asked in fear and Aemond shrugged before explaining, “For the benefit of my people of course, you Romans have treated us as nothing but barbarians, however I do not blame you for that, you are a kind soul.”

“I threw my life away for this, let myself get touched by filthy hands for this moment, and finally, it was all worth it in the end.” he chuckles cruelly, and you scrunch your face in a scowl, “The emperor—” you begun but you are quickly cut off by him yanking your hair and making you face where a body was laying, head detached from the body, he tuts, “This one?” he pulls out a head and shoves it right up into your face and you push it away, screaming, he lets gos of the head and it falls to the ground rolling away.

“He was nothing but a coward, running off in the secret tunnels, letting his people die, unworthy of ruling over the people, so instead, I became the new emperor.” he clarifies.

“If you are going to kill me, just do it already.” you spit, and he looks surprised at this.

“Doll, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it long ago, besides I said that I would already spare you, since you were a kind soul, and once again, without you, I would not be here.” he smiles cruelly and you feel your stomach twist.

His grip on your hair leaves before it's attached to your forearm, hand gripping the skin cruelly as he drags you somewhere, and you noticed that it was the head priestess room, the nearest one in the temple. You quickly realised what he wanted to do, so you started struggling, annoyed by this, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, before carrying and entering the room inside, securing the curtain shut before he threw you on the bed.

You try to get up and run away but he pushes you on the bed, gets on top of you, and yanks your clothes away, tearing at your robes harshly, revealing your body to him, you quickly hide yourself but he pins your hands to your side and takes in your body, he groans at the sight of your chest heaving up and down, you wriggle underneath him, trying to kick him off but he captures your legs and pushes them apart before planting himself in between them.

“No! Please! No!” you cry out but he shuts you up with one of his hands, the other one quickly undoes his breeches, revealing his hard cock, he gives himself a few pumps and lines it up against your entrance. His tip prods at your entrance, he doesn't wait a second before shoving his cock inside of you, ripping your walls apart, making you scream in pain as you struggled beneath him, he watches as your blood leaks onto his cock, and his smiles at that before he looks at you, watching tears stream down your face as he takes what he wants, he immediately sets his pace at a brutal one, ramming his cock in and out of you.

Each movement was painful for you, your cries and screams muffled by his hand, your body jolting up the bed as he brutally thrusts inside, traumatising your walls, the free hand grips your breasts cruelly before he pinches your nipple harshly, causing you to arch your back, and whine loudly.

Using the least amount of strength you have you push him heavily off, and to your luck it works cause he is caught off guard making him fall next to you, and before you could get up and run, he grabs your waist and pushes you back onto the bed again, getting on top of you and choking your neck with both his hands.

“I was going to spare you, but it seems you do not want that, take it or fucking die.” he spits on your face and you wince, crying out once again as he enters inside you.

Your body betrays you, you know it when it suddenly starts to feel good, his tip hitting a certain spot inside of you, and soon you're moaning as well, unable to process this foreign sensation. “Yeah, that's more like it, my brave girl.” he coos and bends down to kiss your neck and you whimper when he bites down at your sensitive area.

You grab onto his shoulders for support, and he hums in satisfaction, one of his hands travel down to your clit before rubbing fast circles it, and you felt your stomach tighten at that, before something snapped and you were moaning extremely loudly, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure hit you like a huge wave.

You cried out his name, and he hushed you and continued to thrust inside of you, grunting, you felt his thrusts become more sloppy before he halted, pushing himself into you as far as he could go, and moaned as his seed spurted out of him, he slowly rode it out, painting more of your walls white.

“I want to see you pregnant.” his hand rests on the lower part of your abdomen, as he caresses it gently with his thumb, before pulling out and leaning down to pepper kisses on the area, as if a kiss will ensure your pregnancy.

His hands fondle with your boobs, thumbs flicking the nipples as he massages the flesh, “they will be filled with milk..” he says in a daze.

You saw him getting hard again and your eyes widened, before you could get up on your elbows, he pushed you down once again again, holding your legs apart and pushing them up, making the knees bend, touching your chest.

He lines his cock before shoving it brutally inside again, he trapped you in a mating press while he thrusted above, your walls drummed with pain at the overstimulation, you were whimpering.

“Fucking it take it you slut, look at how your expression matches that of a whore.” he degrades you, hips snapping at each words, you felt a sting in your heart at his mean behavior.

“This is what you were made for, to be a fucking whore that men can use, not a vestal virgin, having this much of a perfect cunt and wasting it is unbelievable.” he groans and you feel tears start to fall down at his insults.

He pulled back and groaned at the sight of how there was still blood covered on his cock, your blood which coated him so perfectly, and he felt him nearing his edge, his hand gripped your cheeks before forcing your mouth open and then he spit into it, “Swallow, you whore.” he commands and you obey scared.

“Fuck, you're my whore aren't you? my pretty little whore who will let me fuck my children into.” he moans. “I can't wait to make you mine, my empress who will rule along with me, give me children, my darling- oh fuck—”

You felt the familiar feeling of heat arise in your stomach again, as he hits the same spot again and again, and soon enough, you're once again reaching your peak, arching your back at the intensity, he then finishes inside of you again.

That night was a nightmare, he took you multiple times, he made you take him in your mouth, and he did the same, lapping at your cunt for hours on end as he relished in your taste.

You remember passing out, unable to take anymore as exhaustion weighed upon you.

You woke up groaning, you slept like a baby, that's until you moved a little bit and your body aches like hell itself, and you get up, stretching to relieve the pain, you looked over to your side and spotted Aemond fast asleep, completely bare and then you remembered the events of the night prior.

You saw the sheets which were now covered in your blood, your virgin blood, and you were pure no more. You felt doom settle in your core but you felt relieved in a weird sense of way.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside, you gathered whatever was left of your robes before covering yourself with it, hiding your intimate parts and exiting the room.

You gasped as the scent of blood hit your nostrils, and almost threw up, but then what caught your eye made you surprised, you noticed how the head priestess, and all the people who have wronged you in the middle, tied up as the guards lazily kept them in check.

When they spotted you, they screamed insults at you and you winced, anger coursing through your veins at such an intense rate.

“My empress, look at them, look at the people who wronged you.” you heard Aemond whisper in your ear from behind you, and you got startled, you turned to look at him and you watched as he was almost naked except the sheets which were loosely held together by him on his lower body, hiding his intimate part, the same sheets which were covered in your blood.

“Look at them, see how they are still blaming you? What do you want to do huh? Does it not make you mad?” he asks and you turn your attention back to them again, it frankly does make you mad. “I would never treat you like that, I love you. My queen.”

“What do you want, my little empress?” he asks and you make up your mind.

You collect the water in a small dish and Aemond watches you in confusion, but then you make your way towards the flame of vesta, and pour water over it, putting it out and the head priestess' eyes widen in horror.

“Kill them all.” your voice was more clear than ever.

“Spare the head priestess, and that one, for they shall be buried alive.” you say coldly before you walk back to Aemond, who welcomes you in his arms.

“You heard your queen, do as she commands.” he orders his men before he escorts you away from the scene and into the room once again.

He pushes you on the bed and crawls atop of you, “I wasn't joking when I said I want you pregnant, doll.” he coos and you gulp.

“Impregnate me, my king, I want to carry your heirs.”

And that was enough to make Aemond go insane, before he took you once again.

And soon, you fell pregnant.

Giving birth to a girl, who Aemond adored.

Life seemed to be well and perfect.

Maybe you don't really regret this at all.

———

GENERAL TAGLIST ;

@watercolorskyy @cl-0-vr @chompchompluke @namelesslosers @snowystark @spookyaemond @sweethoneyblossom1 @this-isnt-madness @persephonerinyes @eltherevir @sidni3003 @aleidag1rly @cryingforlife @fan-goddess @hannaeditzs @grungegrrrl @thekinslayersswordhand @aemondsbabygirl

Bold is who I cannot tag, DM to be removed!

[cupcakeinat0r]

A Nerdy Middle-aged loser Miguel with a dad bod who teaches your genetics class

pt. 4

After seeing you flirt with that other student, Miguel went back home to his penthouse with a mixture of emotions.

First, he felt angry, and on multiple occasions. For starters, he was upset to see you smile for someone else. He wanted to make you smile like that.

Then he got even more mad that he's mad about that. It was so childish. There shouldn’t be anything between you guys anyway. Buying you things and hugging you and giving you pet names and head messages was already pushing it to the very edge.

Then he was confused. Miguel was starting to think maybe you liked him in that way, too. Was it all just platonic to you? Was it the way he looked? Did he do something wrong?

His heart drops at the thought that maybe he made you feel uncomfortable, or worse, unsafe. Feelings of concern cloud his mind making him toss and turn in bed.

This thought alone was more than enough proof to him that he needs to start treating you like what you are: his student.

<3

That next morning, y’all had class. You scurried in at your usual 2-5 min late mark, Miguel’s eyes reluctantly following you. You sat down and smiled at him, but you weren’t met with your usual sweet, adorable professor's smile. Instead, you just get a surly glare before he starts the lesson.

The whole lecture, Miguel is using every fiber of his being to not look over at you, because he knows that if he does, he’ll fall for you all over again.

When you ask him for help, he doesn’t get as close as he used to, keeping his manly musk away from you. When you raise your hand to answer a question, you’re not his first pick. When you leave little treats for him on his desk, he doesn't even touch them or acknowledge them. And when you leave class and say “Bye, Professor O’Hara! Thank you for class today!”, there’s no more “ Thank you, Mama.” No “Sweetheart”. Not even “hun”. Just “bye”.

It would be like this for about a week, treating you the way he treats the rest of his students. Miguel’s heart was breaking, but this was for the best. For the both of you. You could get anyone you wanted, and he shouldn’t put his job on the line. Besides, you seemed to be very happy with this new guy. Miguel truly believed that he didn’t deserve you anyway.

You were so confused. It was like two different people. Like night and day. You wanted answers. Luckily, y’alls tutoring session was coming up, and there’s no room for him to avoid you then.

You knocked on his office door to be met with an indifferent man. He opens the door with no greeting, completely dismissing you as he lets you in. No gift in sight, though you were expecting that given his drastic change in behavior.

You set your bag down and sit at your seat, Miguel giving you a paper filled with practice formulas for the final. Without even looking at you, he sits at his desk and does something he never did: tend to his own work.

“Just let me know if you have any questions. Otherwise, finish those formulas and you’re good for the day.” He doesn’t even look at you when saying this, his words slightly muffled as he spoke into his hand.

Everything felt so off, it was making you want to cry.

“Professor O’Hara… are you okay?” There’s genuine concern in your voice, but his gaze doesn’t leave his paper.

“I’m fine. The formulas, please.” This is the driest you’ve ever seen him. What’s gotten into him?

“You sure?” All you get is a tired sigh from him before he, without lifting his gaze still, uses his pointer finger to tap on the paper before you.

Not wanting to anger him, you start the practice. It’s dead silent in the office. The air feels stale. Did the lights in here always feel this clinical?

“There. I’m Finished. May you check them, please?” You ask softly, still hopeful that he’ll somehow be normal again, only to be disappointed again.

He finally peels his eyes from his own work and onto yours, his eyes quickly skimming through your paper.

“Good. You may go now.” He mutters in a monotone voice, and back to his papers he goes.

“Professor O’Hara… are you sure you’re okay, you seem off?” You ask one last time.

“Like I said, I’m fine. It’s none of your concern, anyway. See you tomorrow for class, and don’t be late.” The venom in his voice makes you wince. You could cry right here right now.

“Did… I do something wrong?” You feel a ball form in your throat. It's when he hears your voice crack when he finally lifts his head and looks at you for the first time in a while.

Sitting in front of him, just across the desk, is his one weakness. He sees worry, sadness, and confusion on your face, immediately wanting to get up from his seat to take you in his arms and apologize to you; that you can do no wrong and that you’re perfect. All he wants to do is comfort you in this moment, but he can’t do it in the way he wants to. He promised himself he'd distance himself. Partially to save his job but more so that he would prevent heartbreak.

The welling in your eyes only makes it 10x harder.

“Mama-“ the pet name slips and he instantly catches himself. He takes it back by substituting it for something more professional: your first name.

“… of course you didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is fine.” Miguel struggles to maintain his stoic front, but nonetheless still manages to keep it up, making sure you don’t know his true desire.

“Things are not fine.” You snap back. This makes Miguel look up at you from the papers in his hands.

“You don’t say hi to me when I come to class, you don’t look at me during lectures, in fact, you never look at me even when I’m talking to you, and now you’ve started calling me by my actual name… something’s wrong, so please, tell me.” You plead, inching closer to his desk.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m your professor. Besides,” he looks down at his paper again since looking at your pout was becoming unbearable, “I’m sure you’d prefer attention from someone else.” He adds, but this time, there’s actual emotion behind those words. Up until now, he has been incredibly bland, but that last statement was lined with something… like jealousy.

You started thinking. You began to connect the dots.

The only thing that had changed in the past few days was the new transfer in the class. You had gotten along with him very well, even sitting next to each other every class and leaving together.

It clicked.

“Professor O’Hara… I’d say you’re jealous.” Your pout grew into a cheeky smile, seeing right through Miguel now.

“Well, I’d say you’re sadly mistaken. That’s a ridiculous accusation.” You knew you won when he got defensive. He tries to play it off by retreating to his paper again, but it’s pretty evident you stroke a nerve. His fist clenched around the poor ink pen in his hand.

“Oh my God… you’re totally jealous.” You’re completely smiling now, holding back a giggle since you didn’t want to ridicule Miguel to his face. But you had to admit, it was cute.

“And who could I possibly be jealous of, hm? Enlighten me.” He looks up at you through his glasses, the fine line along his brow creasing as he raises it.

“Well, the transfer, of course! How did I not realize!” You allow a chuckle to slip as you confront Miguel.

Miguel responds with silence, cowering back to ungraded papers.

“Awe, Professor O’Hara… he’s gay.” You laugh as you say this. Miguel stops writing to look at you again, his gaze finally softening with small glints of hope.

“… he is?” He asks softly, his hard facade thrown away at last. There he is. There’s that big, soft, kind loser you knew.

“Yes! He’s as straight as a circle!” You chuckle some more. Miguel furrows his brows as he tries to make sense of the situation.

“But you two are always so… touchy. I just assumed that… ” You roll your eyes at Miguel’s oblivion. He’s so cute.

“Oh my goodness, that’s normal! He’s like one of the girls! We're just best friends.” Miguel’s shoulders seem to relax as he sits in relief. His lips begin to curl. He’s not sure if he’s smiling because now he knows you aren’t interested in that guy or because he’s making you smile and laugh.

“Well then, that’s- that’s good to know, mama… because, you know,” he clears his throat, “I wouldn’t want anyone to bother you, is all.” He lies. He looks back down at his paper to hide his growing smile. He shouldn’t be this happy about a student’s lack of a romantic interest.

You break into a fit of giggles at it all, shaking your head as you make your way around his desk, “oh, Professor O’Hara, you’re honestly too cute…” Miguel sees you coming in the corner of his eye, assuming you’re going in for a hug, but instead, you bend down to press a tender kiss on his sculpted cheekbone, pulling back with a soft mmmmmmmmmwah!, The small smack! of your glossy lips. Dumbfounded, he looks up at you with hooded eyes, unsure if he’s asleep or this is reality.

Miguel can feel his face warm up, a tingly sensation taking root at his cheek and spreading to the rest of his body. Yeah, I’m awake. Miguel is in the clouds, looking up at you as if you were an angel that descended from the heavens (to him, you are). It took every bit of restraint to not pounce and absolutely smother you in sloppy kisses. Not yet.

You reveled in your successful advance, smiling down at him as you twirled one of his small curls at the back of his head. He looked absolutely adorable like this. The lipstick stain on his cheek makes you chuckle. It was a little funny; you had this man, twice your size who wore a scowl the majority of the time, absolutely hypnotized. You lean against his leather chair, your elbow resting on its shoulder. You speak sweetly, cocking your head to the side.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Miguel zeroed in on your lips, examining each and every move they make, his mind fogged. He looked absolutely adorable with that lipstick stain on his cheek.

“Good. Have a nice evening then, Professor, and get some well-deserved sleep, kay? Thank you for helping me. You’re the best, as always.” You trail back to your bag and start to leave, practically skipping.

He can feel his heart palpitating and dick twitch under the tight fabric of his pants with each praise and sway of your hips. It’s like you've put him in a trance. He's completely forgotten why he was mad or sad in the first place.

Of course, you wanted to kiss him on the lips, but you don’t wanna go too fast, either. You didn’t want to seem easy, but it was so damn difficult not to with those plump lips of his. Then your eyes went to other places, like his meaty thighs and the way his stomach spilled out of his khakis, his hard cock print just below his pudge leaving no detail up to imagination.

“Oh, and please,” Miguel shakes out of the haze, “It’s ‘Miguel’, mamita.” He smiles at you.

You smile back at him and wave goodbye, “See you later, Miguel.” His name in your mouth sounds like a siren song. You strut out of his office with the new knowledge of your professor’s infatuation with you. This whole time, you assumed he was just a really nice teacher. You didn’t think your feelings would actually be requited.

So that’s why he bought you all those clothes and gave you head messages!

And he definitely is fucking his hand in his office after that kiss! Isn't he just dreamy ?!?!?!?

< 3

The next morning, after class, you helped Professor Miguel clean up by wiping the boards for him. He was at the desk, piles upon piles of ungraded and unread papers awaiting his review.

You watched him, hunched over his desk, brows knitted, and looking stressed out of his mind.

"Miguel," he immediately perks up at your sweet voice.

"You aren't gonna do all that by yourself, are you?" You get closer to his desk.

Miguel chuckles and sighs as he looks at the comically tall pile he has to work on, "Have been for 5 years, mama. Now, you're not gonna volunteer yourself, are you?" He playfully mocks you, but he isn't really joking.

"Of course I am! There's no need to do all this by yourself. You work yourself too hard, Miguel." you start sectioning off a thick bundle of papers, but Miguel waves his hand in refusal before placing it on yours, "No, mama, thank you, but I can manage on my own-" you lightly slap off his hand.

"I am not asking. I going to help. I want to." You divide the pile into two, then pull up a chair next to him.

"Mamita, porfa, va ja. It's getting late and this takes hours. no quiero que tu camine a ete hora." He persuades softly as he lays his beefy arm across the back of your chair, making circles on your shoulder with his thumb.

"Well then, we better get started." You say with a pen already in hand and your first research paper in front of you.

Miguel responds with a deep chuckle in his throat, starting on his own pile seeing that he doesn't have a choice. He softly smiles, stealing a glance at you from time to time. He's just happy to be with his favorite person. His girl.

A/N: Yippie! A kiss! It's on the cheek, but still, it’s a step forward!! Finally! I hope you all enjoyed it!!! n tysm for all the love on this series < 3 I didn't think I'd stretch this out as much as I am pero liiiiiike he's all I think abt ur honor!!!

Want more DadBod!Miguel? Here’s my master list, bae !!

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[moonsaver]

-

Yandere!Alhaitham, stalking(implied), yandere.

-

Ahaitham was a stranger to you.

One that was getting overly familiar.

He was just one of your roommates' friend; they often brought him with another blonde man named Kaveh. You admit – you were slightly jealous at how gorgeous they both were. But it wasn't soon before their visits became routine and your curiosity became indifference. A few short words and conversations took place between you four from time to time, and nothing else happened. The resounding laughter of your roommate and Kaveh usually didn't make past your closed door.

Alhaitham's curiosity, however, reared it's head for its own investigation.

Perhaps you want to blame your roommate. They couldn't just not resist bringing them over for one day, especially when the chatty blond was busy and couldn't make it. Conversation between them and Alhaitham proved to be more on the blander side. Alhaitham, at that point, simply tags along to see you.

You, who manages to spark up a conversation in the dead silence over the dining table. Monotone, casual voice engaging in a dialogue with him, as your roommate awkwardly leaves, feeling discluded. You don't think much of it; you end the conversation quietly (to his dismay), and take your leave.

It's not often his mind teeters to a person outside of those who he actively reaches out to. Sightings of you are strange – they make him glance up from his chosen reading from time to time, often trailing your actions as you shuffle around the kitchen, or the living room before leaving quietly through the front door or returning to your own room.

Nowadays, Alhaitham can't help it. Visits become so frequent it's as though the duo have their own copies of keys to your shared space. Verbalizing your grievance regarding this to your roommate proves ineffective – they're stubborn, or really, couldn't care less. Alhaitham however, makes use of this. Asking for permission slowly faded into quiet agreement, as your roommate and Kaveh got closer, Alhaitham simply familiarized himself more with the living room, the kitchen, and the more personal areas of your shared space.

It was uncomfortable when you stumbled upon him sitting alone here and there, in your living room or at the dining tabls, especially staying for long hours; you don't know if your roommate's going to be back – should you send him away? Perhaps they'll return and throw a fit if they find out you've been an unwelcoming host? Or even if you went ahead regardless, would he leave? What would you do if he insists?

Most of the time, your train of thought was interrupted by Alhaitham welcoming himself deeper into the space, often coming face to face with you. He shamelessly seeks you out, chattering on about a topic of a research you once offhandedly complained about to your roomie. He follows you everywhere.

At some point, he starts following you outside of your home.

You stay quiet. Is it too awkward to address? He's probably also just technically headed in the same direction. You leave the house and suddenly he has somewhere to be. The walk to the bus or the metro station is quiet. You try and avoid looking anywhere near his way – eye contact with him is fatal. You see him in the grocery stores you never thought he'd be in, malls or any public spaces where you'd constantly catch glimpses of grey tufts; you were paranoid. And you were unsure.

And perhaps Alhaitham is well aware of this. And perhaps he monopolized it. You don't know your roommate's out on dates with his, and welcoming himself into your space with the key they so generously provided him with is proving to be of much help.

Of course.. you can ignore the part where it was only one copy, that belonged to Kaveh. Making another wasn't out of the question.

And it's not soon before you're dreadful enough to push, push, push against that teetering line of uncertainty, a hesitant and familiar voice finally resounding in the kitchen again as you ask him; don't you have somewhere else to be?

He smiles. So, he closes the book with a soft snap, you finally ask.

He intends on stretching out the following conversation for a while, stealing a glance at the clock – 8:27 PM, he notes. Your roommate's on the other side of town. Kaveh's with them. You're here alone. There's only 2 copies of the key between you two that opens the front door. And as for your luck – your roommate has it.

It's late. Why don't we shift this conversation somewhere else? His gaze is unfeeling. You can't tell how fatally it's probed you.

--

[praisethegabs]

HATE THAT I LOVE YOU

leon kennedy x f!reader

synopsis: Leon can't stand seeing you around him. You know how much he hates you and you like having fun with it. Things get worse when the two of you get lost during one mission, with no comms to call for help. Leon blames you for everything, until he revels something he shouldn't.

warnings: ENEMIES TO LOVERS. descriptions of injuries, reader taking care of leon, comfort, fake marriage, descriptions of nudity, leon drunk and and reader teasing him. small reference to call of duty characters as part of reader backstory.

word count: 10k +

a/n: heavily inspired by "death of me" by wizthemc. cover from laughingwallaby on x/twitter. it isn't necessary to listen to the song, but I highly recommend it.

"he’d set fire to the world around him but never let a flame touch her" senlinyu

Leon Kennedy hates you more than anything else in this world. 

He hated the fact he was obligated to be your partner, hated the reckless way you always managed to finish a mission practically intact, and hated the way you always succeeded in something, no matter what it was. He hates you entirely, even your perfume is enough to get him on his nerves. 

He hates you ten times more because he knows you know he hates you, and you seem like you don't care about it at all. 

It all started three years ago, when he discovered he would be your new partner. Your name was pretty famous, and so were you. Not that he envies your success, but he never thought he would be under the shadow of someone like you. At first, Leon was very impressed with your skills and the way you work, but two weeks later, he started to despise you, and this feeling turned into hatred. 

You ain’t stupid, you can even feel all the hate he has towards you, and things get better because you have this masochist side of yours that makes you feel happy seeing how angry he can be at you. 

Although you don’t care about the reasons he hates you, the thing is, you can’t deny how attractive Leon can be, and having him as your partner makes every other agent jealous of how lucky you are. It’s Agent Kennedy, the one and only. The guy who rescued the president's daughter and basically did other significant things for the government. 

But, despite the Leon you know at work, his entire life is a blank page. You know absolutely nothing about him, and he doesn’t care about sharing his personal life details with someone he hates. You noticed a while ago that you are the only person Leon ignores and despises completely, and he avoids talking to you as much as he can, only when it is necessary. And when he opens that pretty mouth of his, it usually contains hateful words. 

At this point, you just do your job the way you see fit and come back home safely, not caring about Leon’s arrogant ass. 

“You could have killed us!” Leon snaps at you, his entire demeanor showing stress. He can’t avoid grabbing you by your arm and squeezing it tightly, which makes you groan.

“Well, golden boy, at least your ass is intact and here. I’d like to hear a nice ‘thank you’, how about it?” You smirk and tilt your head, and in response, his entire face turns red with anger.  

“You’re so fucking immature. Do you think you’ll be lucky for the rest of your life?” He raised his voice, his hand on your arm getting tighter by the second. The expression on your lips didn’t make things easier. “One day, you won’t be that lucky, and you’ll probably drop dead somewhere. I won’t be there to pick up your pieces. Do you want to risk your life? Go ahead, I don’t fucking care, but don’t drag me into your bullshit again. I’m your partner, not your babysitter” 

“I’m really surprised you consider me your partner, Kennedy,” you smirk again, and that smirk was enough to infuriate Leon more than he already was. 

Leon was on the verge of yelling at you, but the cold expression that quickly went up on his face was enough to make your smirk disappear. You have never seen him like that, it was weird. 

“Maybe I should change that,” he hissed with cold and dead eyes, finally letting go of your arm.

“Good luck with that, Kennedy,” you coo, crossing your arms over your chest as you speak. 

After saying that, the smile you gave him was enough to make Leon livid. He wanted so badly to take that ironic smile off of your lips, he wished that right now you were a man, so he could definitely teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget so soon. However, you are the same annoying opposite gender that he hates so much. So, instead of beating the living shit out of you, he just watched you leave, turning in the opposite direction to calm himself down before he did something stupid. 

The last mission was very simple: locate and terminate a bioweapon. As you two went there to find the said bioweapon, the entire area was drowning in chaos. The area was isolated to prevent the bioweapon from running away, and alongside you and Leon, there was the entire squad ready to follow your lead. 

It should be simple, right? Here's the part where Leon thinks you're completely reckless. Instead of following the standard protocol, you thought it would be best to use yourself as bait and literally explode the entire block. Your stupid plan really worked, and the bioweapon died in the explosion; luckily, you were left with a few scratches and a bleeding ear — which the doctor said wasn't something serious, although you would be “deaf” for a few days from your right side. 

So, when you got home, the first thing you actually did was take a nap, which turned out to be deeper than you expected. You slept for twelve hours with your phone in airplane mode so that no one could disturb your sleep. The only thing you weren't counting on was waking up to the distant sounds of someone practically wanting to take your door down. Wearing your cat pajamas, your hair a complete mess, and your face swollen after so many hours sleeping, the last person you thought you would see was Leon. 

And he was right there. 

“Do you know I’m out of the clock at the moment, right?” you asked him, with a big yawn seconds later. His face wasn't one of the most friendly you've seen. 

“Yeah? Do you think I’m here because I want it?” Leon rolls his eyes, sounding annoyed and bored. 

“Well, golden boy, if you’re here to yell at me about what happened earlier, I suggest you wait until tomorrow. I’m definitely not in the mood for you,” you said, already closing the door, when Leon suddenly stopped you. “I always thought you were a weirdo, now I’m sure of it. What do you want?” 

“Get ready for our new assignment. And try to dress in something more... elegant.” Leon gave you the file from the next mission. Surprised, you started to read the file, and out of nowhere, you started to laugh in disbelief. 

“Recently married couple on their honeymoon? Is this some kind of sick joke?” You glanced at him, still laughing nervously at your new disguise with him. 

“Trust me, I asked the same question, and unfortunately, that's our new disguise. So, get your ass ready. We’ll be leaving in three hours, Ms. Kennedy,” he said with his Stoic and cold expression as always, giving you a ring made of white gold, which made you think how expensive it was. 

“I’m pretty sure our agency wouldn’t give us this type of accessory,” you said to him, taking a good look at the ring he gave you. White gold, with a beautiful sapphire and diamonds carved around the blue stone. 

“Don’t be late,” Leon said, ignoring your last commentary. “I’ll be waiting at the airport” 

Leon left without looking at your confused expression. You had to read the file at least three times until you finally understood the mission. Leon and you were going to pose as a recently married couple enjoying their honeymoon as you two investigate a famous billionaire that made its own wealth by selling bioweapons in the market. You sighed with the sudden stress, walking towards your room to prepare your bag. After finishing your bag, you caught yourself glancing again at the ring. You were sure the agency wouldn’t give this ring to Leon for a fake marriage. It was something else, but what? 

So, one hour later, you drove to the airport. At least this time, you weren’t late, and Leon wouldn’t be making a scene over it. You found him distracted, wearing sunglasses with his leather jacket, his hair shining in the sunlight. Leon seemed very focused on the book he was reading, and it was a big surprise to see him like that, especially because you knew nothing about him. 

“So, dear husband, are you ready to go?” you ask, seeing him put his book aside. He looked very beautiful with those sunglasses. 

“Yeah, sure.” He nodded, his voice sounding calm instead of the coldness you were used to. You noticed he was wearing his own wedding ring. 

“Will you tell me where these came from?” You started to walk next to him, referring yourself to the ring he gave you, hoping it would be a real answer. 

“Why do you care? It’s just a ring,” Leon replied, avoiding the subject as much as he could. 

“I don’t think it’s just a ring. It has some marks on it, like it was used before.” The egocentric smile on your lips made Leon take a deep breath. 

“It was from my mother, okay? It’s the last thing I had from her and my dad before they died. Satisfied?” Leon harshly replied to you, and you knew you had screwed up. You didn’t know about his family, and the way he replied made you realize it was a hard subject. 

“I’m sorry, Leon. I didn’t know,” you hissed, feeling your entire face burn with shame. 

“Like you care,” he replied in a cold tone, walking away from you towards the airport. 

The rest of the flight was absolute silence. Leon didn’t speak with you and had no intention to do so. You felt terrible, but you decided not to show him any feelings; the guy literally hated you, and showing how you felt was the last thing he would believe. So, thinking about all the years of free hate, you decided it was for the best to pretend you didn’t care.

Naturally, pretending that everything was fine was one of your best qualities. You were so good at hiding your own feelings that no one could read you or decipher your emotions. 

At the hotel, hours later, you were ready to follow Leon and finish the job. Deep down, you were expecting his coldness and his famous Stoic expression, along with his grumpy humor. However, you were caught off guard when he suddenly took your bags and smiled at you. He was, indeed, a full mystery. 

“C’mon, darling. I’ll take your bags for you.” When he said that, you noticed the “recently married couple” game was on. You glance at him and smile broadly, then kiss his cheek.

“Oh, babe, you’re so sweet to me. Thank you,” you said, giving him your bag and walking in front of him like you were some kind of model. Two people could play this game, right? 

After the check-in, you two walked between fake laughs until you reached the master bedroom. Leon could pay, and so could you, but you decided to let him play along since it was his mission, and you were just his annoying partner. 

“Such a cliché… having one bed,” you sighed at the sight of the master bed in the center of the room. 

“We’re married, it should look like that.” Leon rolled his eyes, leaving your bag close to the bed as he analyzed the entire room. 

“No, we’re not married. We’re pretending to be,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed and smirking ironically at him. “And besides, why me? You said you wanted to leave. You could have asked for any other agent”  

“Who said I didn't ask?” Leon replied with the same ironic smirk on his lips, sitting on the armchair in front of you. 

“And what did they say?” Suddenly, you sounded more upset than your usual sarcastic demeanor. You hope Leon didn’t notice. 

“Unfortunately, they can’t give me another partner. Guess I’m stuck with you for God knows how long” He sounded annoyed for a moment, but you chose to ignore it completely. 

You decided you needed a bath. You took a few clothes from your bag and decided to “play” with him. Not only that, but you removed your clothes in front of him, sensually, trying to get some reaction from him. When you glanced at Leon, he was hard.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and you noticed he was breathing heavily. Now he was nervous, and it wasn't anger. 

“We are married. I guess this is what wives do in front of their husbands.” You wink at him, making your way to the bathroom wearing nothing but your lingerie. 

Leon was completely speechless. You could see him swallowing harder, his Adam’s apple going up and down faster. The devilish smile on your lips didn’t make things easier for him, either. It took a lot of strength from him to look anywhere else but you. Leon was clearly uncomfortable and nervous. 

“You know, if you want this mission to succeed, you must pretend you don’t hate me. And for that, you need to trust me, Kennedy. I know you despise my methods, and I know you’re anxious to get rid of me, and honestly, I don’t really give a shit about your teenage behavior,” you said from the bathroom, wrapping your now naked body around a white towel and opening the door again so you could see him. “So, I promise I’ll try my best to not screw everything up. Just try not to act like the asshole you are usually whenever you’re with me” 

“Oh, I’m the asshole now.” Leon finally seemed to wake up from his own trance, and his expression suddenly changed from Stoic to aggressive. "You've acted like a complete jerk since the first day we started to work together, and according to you, I’m the asshole here? You should look at yourself in the mirror, sweetheart” 

“Then why did you stay here with me this entire time? You could have split a long time ago, golden boy,” you say, crossing your arms in your chest, not intimidated by his behavior. 

“I told you. They won’t put me with another agent. I’m stuck with you, and trust me, I wish I could have left a very long time ago,” Leon replied coldly, his blue eyes almost icy with the way he was staring at you. 

But instead of your silence, you caught him off guard.

“I know you’re lying. If you snap your fingers, they will do everything you want. You just have to ask, since you’re their golden boy. They freaking love you, Kennedy, and there’s nothing they wouldn't do to please you. Don’t bullshit me,” you said, walking slowly towards him and hissing, your eyes shining with sarcasm. 

But Leon didn’t give you an answer. Instead, he took his leather jacket and left the room without saying something. You decided to calm yourself down and go straight for a bath, enjoying the candles and their arousal. After what seemed to be a long time in the tub, you left the tub and wrapped the towel around your body; the room was still empty, and you couldn't care less about Leon. If he wanted to act like a pampered kid, that was his problem, not yours. 

You enjoyed the time alone to do your skin care routine, and decided to take care of your own body as well. It was almost eight when the phone inside your room started to ring. 

“Ms. Kennedy, I’m sorry to interrupt, but your husband seems to be causing quite a scene in the hotel bar. I might have to ask you to pick him up; otherwise, I’ll have to ask security to take care of him,” the person on the other side says to you, and immediately, you sighed. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll go get him right now. Thank you,” you said, forcing the most sweet tone of voice you could at the moment.  

You left the room thinking about ending Leon. He could definitely jeopardize the entire mission with his behavior, and this was unacceptable. When you found him in the bar, he was, indeed, causing a big scene. Leon was screaming and scaring the rest of the guests, and there were at least three security guards next to him. 

“Leon, darling, come on. You've had enough,” you said, approaching him and touching his shoulder softly. 

“Are you his wife?” one of the security guards asks you with a serious expression. You couldn’t blame the man, he was only doing his job. 

“Yes, and I am really sorry for my husband. I guess he’s just too carried away…” you said with the calmest tone of voice you could, trying your best to hold him tight. 

“Ma’am, you need to control him. He made a lot of mess in the bar.” The other looked severely at you, with an angry expression. 

“I’m here, aren’t I? Don’t worry about the trouble, we can pay for the inconvenience,” you replied in a harsh tone. Suddenly, Leon threw up, and his vomit fell on the floor. “And we can pay for that too”

“Suck on that, fuckers!” Leon smiled before you dragged him back to your room. 

In the silence of the hallway, Leon had a lot of difficulty walking properly. He was stumbling on his feet and saying incoherent things in your ear. You never saw him like that, and it was pretty weird being his babysitter. You wanted to kill him, but he couldn’t even stand, and possibly wouldn’t remember a thing the next day. 

“I hate you,” you muttered, dragging him across the hallway towards your room. 

“Why do you hate me?” Leon asks, his mouth smelling of alcohol and his words confused. “Am I not good enough?” 

“Where is this coming from?” You raised both of your eyebrows in visible confusion. Finally, you reached the room and unlocked the door, dragging Leon into the bathroom. 

“I tried… to be enough… I know I’m an asshole, but… I’m scared of being hurt again, and… I push people away from me… but you’re so different…” he says between drunken hiccups, which is almost funny, but completely unexpected. “I've liked you since the first time I saw you, and… and…” Leon throws up again in the toilet, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, before looking at you again. You were completely speechless. 

“I think you need a bath,” you muttered, still shocked by his words. Your hands were shaking, and for a moment, you had no idea what you should do. 

“No… I… I need to finish this because I don’t know when I’ll have the balls to do so again…” Leon grabs you tightly, not wanting to let go of you. Biting your lower lip, you nodded. “I know I said I hate you, but… but that’s not true. I only did that because… because I was scared and thought you would reject me… so I started to act like an asshole… I’m so sorry” 

“It’s okay… I should be sorry too, I didn’t make things easier for you since day one” you said to him, sounding more kind than you usually are. He won’t remember this conversation, you are sure of it. 

“I feel complete trash… I should’ve just… asked you instead of acting like an asshole…” Leon said this between other rounds of drunken hiccups. He’s pretty wasted. 

And before this conversation could end in another way, you decided to give him a cold bath. You didn’t remove his clothes, and he complained a lot when he felt the cold water on him. After that, you had to change his clothes, and when Leon saw you touching him, he turned hard again, although he was too drunk to even be ashamed. You had trouble laying him on the bed, but he didn’t struggle against you. 

“I love you,” he whispers before falling asleep. 

The next morning, you decided to leave Leon alone for a while. You couldn’t explain to him what happened the night before because you were too shocked to say something. “I love you,” he said, and his words made a home in your head. How was that even possible?

Leon Kennedy, the guy who hated you with his entire being, said he loved you. He was drunk, and he probably didn’t mean any of those words. Maybe he was just playing a game with you, maybe that wasn’t true. However… drunk people tend to say things they usually wouldn’t say. So, there was a remote possibility that he was, indeed, telling the truth. How could you believe him? 

“Fuck… what happened?” Leon asks you when he woke up, squeezing his eyes. He had a terrible headache. 

“You got drunk last night and caused a lot of trouble in the bar,” you said, throwing at him a small, transparent bag with painkillers. 

“Shit, I can’t remember anything. My head hurts like crazy.” Leon looks at you, and you can see the effects of the hangover on his face. 

“Glad one of us has commitment to the job,” you said, sounding harsher than you wanted to be. Leon looks at you again, but completely confused this time. 

“What did I say?” he asks, and then, as you can notice, he sounds more desperate. If it were at another time, you would definitely take advantage of it, but his words echoed in your head again. 

“Nothing important. Just regular drunk stuff,” you say, shaking your shoulders, avoiding the subject that was hammering your head. 

"Fine.” He nods his head and stands up, walking to the bathroom. 

His words were floating in your head, and it was hard not to think about what happened the other night. At this point, you had no idea how you would finish the mission. Not with his words hammering in your head, penetrating your chest, and making you feel things you really don’t want to.

You hate Leon Kennedy and everything he made you feel.

He comes out of the bathroom, and he has a towel wrapped around his waist. The sight you had of him, all muscular, his body sculpted by the gods, walking like that in his own glory. It made your stomach twitch. You felt your face burning, and right now, you wanted to dissipate from the earth. 

“We have a meeting in one hour.” You had to find a lot of strength inside you to not stare at his chest when you spoke to him. 

“Can you go alone? I’m not really in perfect condition.” Leon sits on the bed, looking at you. He seems to not realize what’s happening. You, in response, shake your head. 

“No, I can’t. Since we’re married, you need to come with me. It sucks, huh?” you replied with a cold smile, looking at him with dead eyes. 

“Jesus, you’re really a pain in the ass,” he says in a deep breath, reaching for the painkillers. 

You decided to ignore his commentary and get ready for the day. According to your new schedule, the man you two went to investigate would be in a meeting and then head to the restaurant. It was the perfect opportunity. You decided to wear a short black dress, making your thighs visible, and a V-neckline, showing a little of your breasts. 

"Fuck” Leon mutters when he sees you, and you can notice he’s a little nervous. Maybe he’s starting to remember what he did last night.

“What?” you ask him, raising both of your eyebrows.

“I can’t find my phone,” he replies angrily, looking the entire room over to find his phone.

“It’s in the drawer.” You rolled your eyes, finishing with the makeup and your hair. Leon sighed in relief when he finally found his phone. “You’re welcome”

He took a few minutes until he finished getting ready. Leon was wearing a navy blue shirt, black shorts, and sunglasses, the same ones he was using at the airport. He was looking very beautiful, but you decided to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Ready?” he finally asks you, looking at you with some curiosity. You nodded, grabbing your purse and walking next to him outside the room.

The hotel’s restaurant was filled with the clinking of cutlery and the low murmur of conversations. Leon and you decided to sit across from each other at a small, intimate table, your gazes scanning the room for any sign of your target.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft jazz playing in the background provided a calming facade to the tension that lingered between them. Leon, with disheveled hair and a pair of sunglasses that only partially hid the evidence of a rough night, rubbed his temples and winced.

"Ugh, I think I might die. I can't believe you dragged me into this after last night. I swear, my head is splitting." he muttered, pretending to be reading the menu.

"This is a mission, Leon, not a vacation. You knew what you signed up for when you took that last shot. Now, pull yourself together. We need to find our guy, and your hangover isn't helping." you shot him a withering look, your eyes sharp beneath a cascade of your hair

"I just don't get why we couldn't have rescheduled this. I mean, who plans a stakeout the morning after an undercover party? It's like the universe is against me." Leon leaned back in his chair, wincing at the light filtering through the bistro's window.

"We don't have the luxury of rescheduling. This is our best chance to catch him off guard, and we can't afford any mistakes. Your lack of professionalism could jeopardize the entire mission. So, get over yourself and focus." You clenched your jaw, your frustration evident.

Leon sighed, realizing he had hit a nerve. He straightened up and took off his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes.

"Fine, fine. I get it. No more complaints. Let's just eat and keep an eye out for our guy. Maybe the food will cure this hangover from hell." he said, waving his hand at the waitress.

"Good. We need to stay sharp. Our target is slippery, and we can't afford to miss any signs. Just remember, we're a married couple on a lunch date. Act natural." you nodded, your stern expression softening slightly.

As the minutes went by, the restaurant was an oasis of calm, its subdued lighting and plush furnishings a stark contrast to the pounding headache Leon was nursing.

Besides his mood and his complaints about the headache, you were the one who maintained a professional demeanor. However, your patience was wearing thin. The clinking of silverware and muted conversations formed a backdrop to your undercover mission.

"Can we make this quick? My head feels like it's about to split open." Leon winced, massaging his temples after minutes in silence.

"You brought this upon yourself, Leon. You can't let your personal life interfere with the mission. We have a job to do." You shot him a disapproving glance.

"I didn't expect last night to turn into a frat party. It was supposed to be a simple gathering." Leon sighed, regret etched on his face.

"Well, you should have thought about that before you started to behave like a pampered kid. But guess what, Kennedy? We can't change that now. We're on a timeline, and we can't afford mistakes. So, suck it up and focus." your eyes narrowed, your tone of voice sounding angry. I love you, his words, still echoing in the back of your head,

As he perused the menu, Leon's eyes flickered across the room, and he stiffened.

"There he is," he muttered, nodding discreetly toward your target who had just entered the restaurant.

"Perfect timing, Leon. Just what we needed." your gaze followed Leon's, and you cursed under your breath.

You two ordered quickly, your argument temporarily set aside as you two maintained the appearance of a normal, albeit slightly disgruntled, married couple. The target settled at a nearby table, engaged in conversation with an associate. As your food arrived, Leon's hangover-induced irritability resurfaced.

"Can we at least eat in peace before we tail him? I'm not in the mood for this undercover drama." he complains again.

"Your mood doesn't matter. We need to catch this guy. Finish your food quickly, and we'll tail him discreetly." you shot him a stern look.

Leon grumbled but complied, glancing over his shoulder at the target. The argument simmered beneath the surface, waiting for the opportune moment to erupt. As the two of you left the restaurant, the hangover weighed heavily on Leon, intensifying his annoyance. You kept your voice low as you two trailed the target through the hotel's corridors.

"Leon, I don't care about your hangover. We can argue later. Right now, we need to focus on the mission." you sharply told him in annoyance.

Leon shot back, his tone sharp, "Well, maybe if you were a bit more understanding, we wouldn't have to argue at all. This headache is killing me."

You shot him a pointed look but decided to let it go for the moment as you two approached the front desk to inquire about your room. The target was believed to be staying on one of the upper floors, and obviously, you two needed to gather information without raising suspicion. As you stepped into the elevator, Leon swayed slightly, earning a disapproving glance from you. The elevator doors closed, and Leon muttered:

"I'll be fine. Let's just get this over with."

The doors opened to a corridor adorned with plush carpeting and dimmed lights. You and Leon maintained their cover, acting the part of the honeymooning couple as you two made your way down the hall. Just as the both of you reached the door to the suspected target's room, a sudden chill crept up Leon's spine.

A group of imposing figures, undoubtedly the target's security detail, emerged from the elevator behind you. Your eyes widened as you discreetly tugged on Leon's arm, directing his attention to the unexpected threat.

"Leon, we've got company," you whispered urgently.

“Well, sweetheart, you won’t like this” Leon said, turning himself to you.

“What-”

Before you could even speak, you felt his lips crushing against yours. Something about his kiss made you feel something inside your chest. The taste of alcohol mixed with mint, the way his tongue danced inside your mouth, it was something you never felt and tasted before.

Leon tilted your chin upward, creating the perfect illusion of a stolen moment between two infatuated lovers. The security guards, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected display, hesitated in their approach. You felt him break the kiss, your eyes meeting with a shared understanding.

“That was close” he whispers, holding your hand as you two walk together in the corridor.

But you were left without any words. His kiss caught you completely off guard and for some stupid reason, you felt your legs were failing you. Something about the way Leon's lips pressed against yours sparked an internal conflict. His kiss was not one of disdain; it was fervent, almost desperate. In that moment, the line between pretense and reality blurred, and you found yourself torn between the mission and your own conflicting emotions.

As you walked in silence next to him, the tension between you two became palpable. Leon, ever the professional, maintained his stoic expression, his eyes scanning the horizon for any potential threats, even with the hangover state. You, on the other hand, couldn't shake off the unease that accompanied you every step. You stole a glance at Leon, his features carved in light of the hallway.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the night shattered as a series of sharp cracks pierced the air. Bullets whizzed past you two, sparking against the cobblestone streets. You and Leon instinctively dove behind the cover of a wall as the realization hit — you two were the targets now.

"Move!" Leon shouted over the chaos, grabbing your arm and propelling you forward.

The rhythmic staccato of gunfire followed you two, echoing through the maze of narrow alleys. The assailants were relentless, shadows in pursuit, fueled by an unseen vendetta. You two sprinted through the labyrinthine corridors, your breaths mingling with the desperate echoes of your footfalls. Leon's mind raced, analyzing escape routes and potential hiding spots. You, feeling your heart pounding, cast glances over your shoulder, your instincts sharp as you matched Leon's every move.

The honeymoon facade shattered as the two agents sprinted down the corridor, bullets whizzing past the two of you. Panic and urgency replaced the hangover-induced haze in Leon's mind. You two reached a stairwell, taking it two steps at a time, the footsteps drowned out by the chaos unfolding behind you.

As you two burst onto a lower floor, you spotted an emergency exit. Without hesitation, you burst through the door, finding yourselves in a garden. The adrenaline-fueled escape continued through the green labyrinthine surrounding the hotel, leaving the luxurious facade behind as you and Leon navigated the maze, chased by both the consequences of the cover being blown and the remnants of the security detail.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Apparently, the said billionaire found out about the two of you, and now, Leon and you had to run somewhere else safe, leaving all your belongings in the hotel. There were gunshots everywhere, and you had to fight for your dear life, protecting you and Leon with a marble statue as a form of barricade to prevent being shot.

“This isn’t how I expected my honeymoon to be,” Leon muttered, shooting one of the security guards.

“This isn’t a honeymoon either,” you replied, firing your gun at the guard, killing him with a perfect headshot. “We are not even married”

“Well, this isn’t how I imagined it, anyway. We need to get out, Ms. Kennedy,” Leon said, offering his hand to you, which you took without thinking twice. You started to run, with Leon covering your back.

You could hear the security guards running after you, two more gunshots. Likewise, you ran for your life, not daring to look behind you, knowing Leon was right behind you, making sure you were protected, which was very odd, considering the history between the two of you.

At the moment, it's the last thing you're worried about. After a few minutes of running, you managed to escape the guards and find a place to hide. You were breathing heavily, and shaking.

“Are you okay?” Leon asks you, looking at the direction you two came from.

“Why do you care?” you simply replied, coughing a little as you tried to catch your breath.

“Do you think I don’t remember what I said last night? C’mon, I might be a drunk asshole, but I don’t forget things easily.” Leon glanced at you, which was more sympathetic than usual.

“This isn’t fair. You can’t say things like that after treating me like garbage for years,” you snapped at him, finally letting your feelings go without any shame. “You can’t say you love me, and the next day you can’t barely look at my face. You can’t say you love me when the only thing that comes from your mouth is hate and disgust. This isn’t fair, and you can’t play like that with me”

After saying that, you decided to walk yourself out and leave Leon alone. Who the hell did he think he was? He had no right to play with your feelings like that. You were so angry at him for throwing that on your shoulders with no responsibility.

Besides, you had important things to deal with, not his bullshit. Your hands were shaking like crazy, and you realized that you had no control over your feelings, and this was very dangerous, especially in your line of work. You needed to calm yourself down, and you needed to do it fast.

Hours later, everything was quiet. Leon was nowhere to be seen, because you didn’t notice when he went missing in the first place, and you couldn't care less about him. It was obviously a stupid idea to try to get back to the hotel, knowing it would be heavily secured after what happened earlier. But, somehow, you felt something very wrong.

The gunshot noises out there were exactly what you didn’t want to hear. You heard screams and loud voices, and immediately, your hand fell to your gun. You heard footsteps, and by the sound, you knew this person was supporting his body weight on his left leg, and was limping heavily. When you were about to attack, it was him.

“What the hell?” you gasped in shock, seeing him limping and, of course, injured.

“I tried to get our comms back” he whimpered almost quietly, as you helped him sit down. He was breathing heavily, his hand pressing tightly on his ribs. “But, as you can see, it didn’t go well.”

“And you say I'm reckless, right?” you muttered, trying to see the size of the damage on him, although he whined again. “You could've died in there, asshole”

“Now I understand why you do things this way,” Leon chuckles, but then he groans in pain, his grip on his ribs getting tight. “It’s way more fun”

“Fun? Are you out of your mind, Kennedy?” you snapped at him. If Leon wasn’t injured at the moment, you would definitely beat the living shit out of him. “I don’t do things like that for fun!”

“Keep your voice down, sweetheart. I don’t want to get back home inside a coffin,” Leon said, as he pressed his hand on your mouth to keep you quiet. In the sudden silence, you were able to hear more footsteps, and Leon kept pressing his hand on your mouth. A few minutes later, everything went silent again.

“I’m not… okay” he mutters, and his eyes meet yours. Blue like the ocean. And then, you finally see the blood spot on his shirt — the same spot he was trying to hide from you. “I’m sorry”

“I swear to God, if you dare to die on me, I’ll personally kill you, Kennedy,” you replied, and then you started to press his wound to prevent him from bleeding to a certain death.

But he smiled. It was a faint smile, but he was really smiling at you. You saw him raise his hand, and he touched your hair, moving the strands that fell on your face. The way he was looking at you, so sad and weak, it was like he was saying goodbye.

“You look so... beautiful.” His voice seems weak, and his breath starts to become more shallow. “I guess… this is what angels look like”

“C’mon, Leon, don’t you dare die on me,” you said as you noticed yourself getting more anxious by the second.

He smiled again and kept looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes. Slowly, he started to close his eyes, and his breath got more shallow, indicating he was losing consciousness. The more you tried to keep him awake, the more he seemed lost. You were slowly losing him.

“Condor One! Condor Two,” someone called you two. It was your squad.

“We’re here” you shouted at them, your hands filled with Leon’s blood as you waved at your squad. “He’s injured and losing a lot of blood”

“Don’t worry, we’re taking you two,” the leader said as the team approached you with medical equipment.

You couldn’t describe the stress you felt with everything that happened in the meantime. Did you two succeed in the mission? Was it over? You couldn’t know. Not until you were sure Leon was safe and sound.

From the helicopter, you could see the sirens, the local police, and the agents from the government. It was almost unbelievable, but it was true. The operation was a success, after all. You glanced at Leon. He was sleeping, or at least he seemed to be.

You tried to rest, but it seemed unreachable. Your body was electric, filled with constant energy that prevented you from closing your eyes. You wanted to sleep badly, but your concern about him was enough to keep you awake. When the helicopter finally landed at the hospital heliport, Leon was immediately taken into surgery. As for you, you had no other option but to wait.

Hours later, you had no news about him, and the anxiety was eating you alive from the inside. At this point, your body was less tense than before, and the first signs of stress and tiredness were finally showing up. You were sitting in a chair, in an empty white hallway, waiting. The hours seemed to slip through your fingers, slowly.

You sighted a kid playing with a purple teddy bear, and for a moment, you started to wonder about the life you led. The choices you made and how you ended up in your job. It was weird to think that while other people had normal lives, you had to risk yours every day, to make sure they would live in a safe world.

It sounded selfish to think like that, but you had every reason to do so since you couldn’t have a normal life. That word didn’t exist in your dictionary. Nor in your days.

Then, you see yourself playing with Leon’s mother's ring on your finger. For a brief moment, you imagined how your life would be if you were married and raising kids. Then, you push away these thoughts; motherhood isn’t your style, not even a married life.

“Ms. Kennedy?” you hear the doctor call you, and the sound of Leon’s surname addressed to you like you were his real wife makes your heart ache.

“Is he okay?” Your voice sounded more hoarse than you thought it would, a small consequence of being silent for so long. The look on the doctor’s face said there wasn’t good news.

“Your husband has lost a lot of blood, but we managed to stop the bleeding, and the surgery went well. Our main concern is with his brain injury…” The doctor pauses for a brief moment, wondering how to tell you the next news. “But, unfortunately, he’s in a coma.”

The news came at you like a violent wave. Suddenly, the world around you stopped, and you couldn't hear anything else. Your eyes were wide open, your chest was burning and aching, and for some stupid reason, you didn’t want to believe those words. How could Leon be in a coma? It was your thing to play reckless, he had no right to leave you like this.

You saw the doctor talking to you, but you couldn’t hear anything; everything around you was running slowly. What the hell was he saying? His lips moved slowly, just like the rest of the entire world, but you managed to understand: he was asking you if you were okay or if you needed something.

You felt like you were drowning, unable to reach the surface, surrounded by darkness. You wanted to scream and cry, but you couldn’t. You felt trapped by an invisible force, holding you tight and keeping you shut.

It was the sight of Chris that made you turn back to reality, and finally, the scream that was trapped in your throat came out from the core of your lungs.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Redfield said quickly as he held you before you fell to the ground. Your legs were shaking just like the rest of your body. “It’s okay”

“It was my fault, Chris.” Your voice was muffled by desperate chokes and sobs. “He’s in a coma, and it’s my fault”

“It’s not your fault, okay? It could’ve happened to you or him. Leon knows what he does, and I’m sure he did that to protect you" Chris tries his best to comfort you, although it seems impossible at the moment. He still holds you tight, for which you are very grateful, because you know you’ll fall if he lets you go.

Leon had no one in his life. You knew that the moment he told you about the ring. The “family” he had consisted of Chris and Claire, Jill, and Rebecca. You had no room for this. Leon made that pretty clear years ago, but now everything is different. You had to tell everyone what went wrong, how he got injured, and why it ended like that. You had to describe the entire mission, you had to remember everything. Now you were sitting again, with Claire holding your hand, while Jill and Chris were talking with Rebecca. Your eyes were locked on your hands, still stained with his blood. You were completely shocked, with no reaction or words.

“He’ll wake up, I know he will,” Claire whispers as a way to comfort you and give you kind words.

“He said he loves me,” you managed to say, although you doubted Claire would hear it. You wanted to hold onto something real, that would help you deal with what was happening.

“He always did, I’m glad he finally told you that,” Claire said, and you were a little surprised she heard you. More surprised to hear something you thought would never exist.

“But I don’t think that’s true. He always hated me.” You finally look at her, your eyes seeing something different from the dried blood in your hands.

“Do you think Leon is capable of hating you? He’s so in love with you, he can’t even hide it,” Claire said, and then she smiled largely while holding your hands.

But you find it hard to believe those words. Your mind was conflicted between what Claire was saying and what Leon said before he fainted. You wanted desperately to believe it, but deep down, you weren't sure. You finally received authorization to see him, with the benefit of being his “wife” and a government agent, but when you stepped inside his room, seeing all those loud machines around his body and a giant bandage on his ribs, his clothes were perfectly folded in the chair. His skin was pale and cold to the touch. He was almost lifeless, and seeing him like that made you sob again.

“I’m sorry… I never wanted to see you hurt,” you muttered, hoping he would hear it. You held his hand, praying he would wake up. “If you can hear me, then come back to us... I miss you fighting with me”

But there was nothing — not even a small squeeze on your hand. You were trying to convince yourself that he heard you and that he was coming back to you, and that was the lie you were desperately trying to believe. How silly you were. How desperate and pathetic you felt. It could be days, weeks, months, or years, how could you possibly predict when he would wake up? It was up to him.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily, Kennedy,” you said last, as a single tear fell from your eye. You wanted to be brave for him.

And as an answer, he squeezed your hand weakly.

Three months later.

“Goddammit, this hurts!” Leon groaned angrily at you when you tried to remove the bandage from his ribs to clean it.

“Stop moving, asshole,” you said back, glancing at him and then rolling your eyes. “Then it won’t hurt”

“You’re so fucking gentle,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. You waited until he stopped moving so you could change the bandage.

“Hey, I’m not the one with open wounds,” you teased him, then finished removing the bandage, being extra careful with the stitches on his skin.

“How does it look?” Leon asks with a soft voice. You noticed that he never actually looked at the wound.

“Terrible, but healing,” you smiled kindly at him, cleaning around the wound with the antiseptic and the wet cotton. You saw his skin chilling, and soft groans coming from his mouth.

Leon hated seeing his scars. He hated having them; he hated knowing what caused them, which was why he barely sees himself in the mirror; he avoids his own image. One month ago, Leon woke up from his coma, and although he was very confused, at first, due to his brain injury, he had no memories of the mission or what happened before he got hurt. Chris had to explain everything to him like he was a toddler learning how to communicate.

“So… that was it,” Chris tells him, after explaining why he was in a hospital bed with a huge wound on his ribs.

“Shit… I’m tired,” Leon muttered, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to relax his beaten-up body on the bed. “Two months?”

“Yep. You slept like a baby,” Chris chuckled, making fun of the situation to lighten up his mood.

“Where is…” Leon started, as it seems pretty obvious that you weren’t there with Chris.

“Oh…” The smile on Chris’s lips disappeared slowly, and he became more serious, sitting more appropriately on the chair. “Well, um…”

For some unknown reason, Leon was anxious. He didn’t know why, but he felt eager to know why you weren’t there with him; he was sure he heard you say you missed him fighting with you, but at this point, he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. And the way Chris kept looking at him made his heart beat ten thousand times faster. When Chris was about to tell Leon about you, someone knocked on the door, and when the person came inside, Leon felt disappointed to see it was a nurse with his medication.

“Mr. Redfield, you’ll have to leave now. The visiting hour ended a few minutes ago, and the patient needs to rest,” the nurse says, leaving the tray with Leon’s medication on his bedside table. Leon sighed, glancing at the window, while he laid his head on his pillow to rest.

“Before I go… I want you to have this,” Chris said, getting closer to his bed with something in his hand. Leon glanced back, curious. When Chris opened his hand, Leon saw his mother’s ring, and he felt sad. “You know, she was here with you the entire time”

“Then why is she not here now?” Leon asks, holding the ring in his hand and avoiding Chris’s gaze.

“Give time to time,” Redfield said before leaving his room.

Leon hated being in the hospital with different wires connected to his body. Nurses checked on him constantly, asking a lot of questions, taking him through thousands of exams to see if he was doing better or worse, and doing physiotherapy. They said the brain injury had damaged his body, and, besides the wound on his ribs, Leon had broken his arm and would have a disability in walking and doing normal things. Of course, with the proper therapy, he would walk again and have a normal life, but he needed to cooperate.

Leon had already convinced himself you didn’t care, but on the third week after he woke up, he was taken into another exam. One hour later, when he came back to his room, he found you asleep on the chair, wrapped around your jumper, seeming tired to the bones. The nurse helped him lay back on his bed, and he remained silent, just watching you sleep. He wanted to keep every detail about you, even the small ones. Suddenly, you moved on the chair and woke up, yawning. Nothing he had rehearsed in his head prepared him for this moment.

He had given up on hope, he thought you would never see him again. Maybe you had found another partner, or maybe you had moved on with your life. Perhaps you just didn’t care about him. Maybe and more maybe…

"Hey,” you said, noticing he was too shocked to even pronounce a word. “How are you?”

“Fine, I guess,” he managed to say, and he wanted to punch himself because he sounded very rude. “That’s not what I meant…”

But, to his surprise, you just smiled. Chris told you about his amnesia, he told you that Leon wouldn’t be able to walk for a long time because of the damage to his brain from the injury. You were hoping he didn’t remember what happened before he fainted that day. It would be easier for both of you.

“I came here because Chris told me you woke up, I wasn’t in the country, so…” you said, feeling your cheeks blush a little. He nodded quietly, and the expression on his face told you he was sad. “I had to finish our last mission. Do you remember anything?”

“Not so much, everything is a little messed up, and every time I try to remember something, my head hurts,” he says, taking a deep breath and laying his head on the pillow again. “I remember me in front of your apartment telling you about our mission; I remember giving you my mother’s ring; and the fight we had at the airport… I remember a few things from the hotel we were at, but nothing more… Sometimes I have a few flashbacks. I remember getting hurt trying to get our comms back, breaking my arm, but..."

“It’s okay, don’t force yourself. You know you’ll remember eventually,” you said to him, trying to give some comfort. “You’re alive and recovering, that’s all that matters now, Leon”

“It sucks being here… I want to go home, but people keep telling me I’m better here and that medical bullshit,” he sighs, then he looks outside his window again.

“About that… I’m here to offer something,” you said to him, already thinking it would be a terrible idea.

“What would that be?” he asks you, raising both of his eyebrows in a slightly curious tone.

“Come live with me…” you simply said, shaking both of your shoulders like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Until you recover, of course”

At first, having him live with you proved to be a difficult task, mostly because Leon thought he was a burden and strongly avoided his appointments. In his head, he could treat himself alone, he could take care of his wounds and do the chores in the house. However, he could barely leave the bed, and he complained every time you tried to convince him to attend his appointments. Even Chris tried to coax him into getting out of the house, but Leon refused like a pampered kid. It was very difficult.

“You know I can’t do everything on my own, right?” you asked him after finishing changing and cleaning the wound on his rib.

“I know, but… I’m sorry,” he says with a deep sigh, looking at you with guilt. “I know I’m making this more difficult than it should be…”

“It’s not your fault, but I really need you to understand that sometimes even the toughest agent needs help. You can’t avoid medical care forever, Leon,” you said, looking straight into his eyes.

“I’m an asshole, right?” He managed to smile a little, then he looked at you. “I never thanked you for taking care of me”

“What can I say? You didn’t make things easier, either.” You smiled at him, looking into his blue eyes.

“I have something I need to tell you,” Leon whispers, then bites his lower lip and avoids your eyes.

“Shoot me”

“I… remember what happened… before the coma. I remember the mission,” he says, finally taking the courage to look into your eyes. You decided to stay calm, but not cold. “I was scared, I never thought I would almost die… but then you were there with me, and I felt at peace”

“Why did you give me your mother’s ring?” you decided to ask. You needed to understand.

“Because it was personal, I wanted you to have something personal from me… I knew one day I would come close to death trying to get your ass out of danger, and I thought you would feel better having something mine,” he explained, and then, everything made sense. He truly cared about you.

“You’re such a fucking idiot, Kennedy.” You smiled at him, then you laughed.

“Hey… what’s wrong? Are you okay?” you asked after knocking on his door. He glanced at you, his eyes swollen after crying for God knows how long.

This entire month that you took care of him was enough to learn how to read him. Before, he was pure mystery — the person who hated you the most. Now you know when he’s happy, angry, or uncomfortable. You know how to decipher him, read his face, and understand how he feels.

Leon still sleeps in the guest’s room, but sometimes you can hear him wince and cry, and sometimes you can hear him sobbing. You woke up to the sound of him crying and decided to finally ask. You had been wondering for weeks, thinking he wouldn’t talk about this subject. But you needed to try it, anyway.

“I… it’s nothing, I’m okay,” he said, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes.

“C’mon, you can talk to me. We’re friends now,” you say again, sitting on the edge of his bed and smiling.

“It’s just a silly nightmare…” Leon whispers softly, looking at his arm plaster. You had signed your name on it, followed by Chris, Claire, Jill, and Rebecca. “It’s Raccoon City. The same night over and over again”

“You were there? I’m surprised,” you said to him, and he smirked slightly.

“I was a rookie cop, late as hell on my first day. I had recently graduated from the Police Academy,” Leon explains, gazing at the ceiling, then at you again. “I survived that night, met Claire, saved Sherry… then, they forced me to work for them, and here I am”

“Forced? What do you mean?” You raised your eyebrows, confused.

“It was a deal I made to keep Sherry safe… I never told this to anyone,” Leon whispers, and you imagine how cruel it was for him to be forced to work all those years for the government. “How about you? How did you end up being an agent?”

“Before the government, I was in the army. Special Forces. I worked with Task 141 across the earth, until I decided to leave before things went to shit” you tell Leon, which makes him glance at you completely surprised. “I miss my buddies Price, Roach, Soap, and Ghost”

“It’s so weird to think how our lives were different… I was forced to join the government, you decided to do it for yourself…” Leon whispers, analyzing his own choices in life. “Now I can truly understand why you work the way you do…”

“I made a lot of bad choices, I’ll admit that. But after everything I did in the past… you actually get used to your own method of working,” you say to him, hugging your legs. “Maybe that’s why I do things the way I do. I like the adrenaline and danger that come with it”

“I’m sorry for calling you reckless,” Leon said after a brief moment of silence.

“That’s okay, trust me. I've heard worse things before,” you chuckled.

Leon seemed more calm, although his eyes were still red and swollen. You heard the first drops of rain hitting his window, and the noise of the lightning outside announced the rain. For a moment, there was only silence between the two of you.

“I hate this stupid arm plaster,” Leon suddenly says, and then you laugh.

“But there are our names signed on it. And I made a drawing when you were asleep” You showed him the drawing you made. It was a cat and a few flowers.

“Flowers? Really?” Leon frowned, glancing at you.

His last appointment provided good news. His ribs seemed to be healing, and soon he would be able to remove the arm plaster. After the appointment, you drove Leon to his physiotherapy session, and for the first time after he woke up from the coma, he finally decided to cooperate with himself. For some unknown reason, he wasn’t grumpy today.

“What? They’re cute!” you protested while laughing at his reaction. “But I’m serious, you need to sleep now. Tomorrow you have that physiotherapy session and an appointment”

“Well, if you keep doing home exercises, soon you’ll be fully recovered,” the doctor tells him, sitting in front of you two.

“Home exercises?” Leon asks, looking briefly at you, knowing you would definitely force him to do his exercises.

“Yes. It’ll help ease the pain and help with your mobility.” She nods, noting something on the paper. “And, most important, you can’t avoid your appointments, Mr. Kennedy”

“Yeah… I’ll keep coming,” he said, his entire face red as a tomato.

When you drove him back home, he certainly wasn’t expecting a surprise from your little family. Claire, Rebecca and Jill decorated your entire apartment, while Chris went to buy food and drinks. Because of the thousands of pills he was taking, Leon wasn’t allowed to drink any alcohol, which you gladly thanked him for. He was better sober than drunk.

The smile on his lips and the way his eyes were shining were more than he could put into words. You noticed that Claire even bought party letter decorations that were hanging from your ceiling, with the sentence ‘Happy Birthday, Leon’ in blue and yellow.

“Come on, you guys gotta be kidding me” he laughs with happiness, hugging everyone carefully.

“What? You really thought we would forget your birthday, golden boy?” you tease him, drinking soda and giving him one cup.

“This is… amazing” Leon seemed lost in his own words. “I don’t deserve you guys”

After singing him the birthday song, you guys celebrated his birthday with those blue birthday hats and a special cake the girls baked for him. Chris was talking to him, while you and Rebecca were chatting about types of coffee. Jill and Claire seemed to be very focused on their own conversation about TerraSave.

“Guys… I wanted to thank everyone. I know sometimes I’m a pain in the ass, but after everything that happened to me in the past three months, I have a lot to thank for… especially you.” Leon glances at you with shyness. “You took me into your home, took care of me, and had to hear every stupid joke I made, even my grumpy humor”

“That was the hard part, believe me,” you say, winking at him, which makes everyone laugh.

“I know. I was a jerk, and we had a lot of arguments with each other, but recently I found out that…” he paused for a moment, certainly thinking about what to say. “Life can be shitty sometimes, and bad things can happen to us… and this last mission made me see things I thought would never happen to me. I nearly died, but I got a second chance, and I don’t intend to waste it”

You knew exactly what he was talking about. Living with him for the past three months proved to be an interesting task. You knew him, and that was enough. Hours later, it was only you and him, sitting on your couch as the rain struck against the window. The fireplace gives off a warm temperature inside the living room, and, despite the silence, you two are more connected than before.

“I must say, there’s one thing I’m sure won't change,” Leon laughs, looking at his hands, after a long time of silence. “Being almost killed truly made me see things…”

“Such as?” You lifted your head to look at him.

“First, I actually never asked to be reassigned to another partner. I only told you that because I wanted to see how you would react” he said, looking at you. “And…”

“What's the second?” You laugh at his confession, mostly because you knew that a long time ago.

“The second is… I really hate the way that I love you”

[gay-jesus-probably]

I like the general fandom trend to just take the plot of Hyrule Warriors as a loose guideline at best and just use the whole concept as a good excuse to get blorbos to interact across timelines, BUT I'm very disappointed that everyone is missing the comedic potential of a very specific squad of characters:

Young Link (aka Mask), who walks out of the nightmare of Majora's Mask and immediately gets portal kidnapped into a temporal war, takes one look at the whole mess and decides that you could not fucking pay him to admit to being the resident expert on Time Shenanigans. He introduces himself with the title of Hero of Termina, and definitely doesn't have any other ones, that would be crazy. Hero of Time? Never heard of him.

Tetra, who is a kickass pirate captain with zero patience for people trying to shove her into the Designated Princess role, and realizes immediately that Oh Fuck, this Hyrule has a lot of Ideas about how the Hero and the Princess are supposed to properly play their parts, the second they realize she's technically a Zelda they're gonna shove her in a goddamn dress and damsel her again, that's not happening. So she's definitely just a really cool pirate captain, nothing else going on here at all, definitely not the heir of the Hylian royal family in her time, that'd be crazy.

Ravio, who is literally just a palette swapped Link, meaning that the second his hood comes off, things are gonna get Awkward. There's no way in hell he's dealing with all that Hero baggage, that's Link work, so that giant bunny hood/mask is practically superglued to his head, and he's not taking it off for love or money.

Spirit Tracks Zelda, who is just in the Phantom Armour the whole time, and passing herself off as just a friendly ghost posessing a suit of armour to help the Hero of Spirits. Of course she isn't Princess Zelda, that's ridiculous, if she were a Zelda then people would start getting really weird about her technically being dead, and boy does that ever sound like a whole Thing she doesn't want to deal with, so she can't possibly be Zelda, she's just a nice ghost knight. Also, her teenage grandma is here, and that's kinda weird, so it's easier to just not admit to being royalty and avoid that awkward conversation.

Finally there's Sheik, who is not the Princess Zelda of the era straight up abandoning her war torn country for months at a time so she can risk her life in extreme cosplay for no clear reason, but is instead the actual Sheik from Ocarina of Time, who just beat Ganondorf like a month ago and is still trying to process what the fuck to do now. Also, he's been pretending to be a boy since he was ten, and is realizing there's a pretty good chance that he isn't pretending anymore, so that's a whole other can of worms. But for the last seven years of his life, being Princess Zelda meant certain death, so he's not really inclined to introduce himself like when in a new and stressful situation (not to mention he might actually just not be a girl named Zelda anymore), so he automatically introduces himself as just Sheik the spooky ninja man, and fuck he's in too deep to back out now, looks like he's committing to the bit. If you think you sense the Triforce of Wisdom on him, no you don't.

Cue shenanigans as the five of them attempt to hide that they're all actually kind of A Big Deal. The group motto is "Nobody says shit", which is usually delivered as a frantic hiss whenever someone slips up. Just the reunion between Sheik and Mask alone would be absolutely buckwild given how they parted, and how they're both frantically pretending to Not be involved with each other. For added hilarity and/or drama, Sheik gives his semi-bullshit cover story of having just been a friend of the Hero of Time, then runs into said Hero of Time and they both have to desperately pretend not to know each other, because if anyone picks up on the mountain of baggage between them then Mask is busted, and he won't hesitate to drag Sheik down with him out of sheer spite. Not to mention the weird balance of Sheik being used to this Link being a teenager that's actually a small child, and now has to adjust to Link who is a small child that's actually a teenager.

Also, i really feel like we're all missing out on the comedy potential of Ganondorf recognizing Young Link on sight and the two of them immediately launching into a grudge match with some extremely personal and specific insults on both sides. Meanwhile literally everybody else is just standing there watching, trying to process the fact that out of every single person that's been pulled out of time, Ganondorf only has personal beef with a literal nine year old.

I just feel like we're all really sleeping on the potential for Shenanigans here. The whole thing is an absurd mess, why not have some fun with it?

[livelaughlovesubs]

(Repost cuz tumblr still doesn’t like me- seriously, it’s the six time @nvllxiety)

Dom!reader x sub!akutagawa (reader is gender neutral)

Warning: handjob, overstim, overall very soft

Today your love came home especially early. Despite that fact he looked extremely exhausted and tired, your heart throbs a little whenever you see him in that state. You wanted to take care of him, to make him feel loved. Which is why you were hugging him gently as you two lied on your bed. Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind, chin placed on top of his head. “How was your day aku?” You whispered softly, noticing how tense he was. The boy took a deep breath before explaining, “it was fine as usual.”

You never knew if what he said was the truth, or maybe he doesn’t know better. Another reason why you try to be as tender and patient with him as you could. One of your hand found its way to his hair, ruffling through it while scrubbing his scalp slightly. “I see, as long as you are doing well.”

Akutagawa didn’t need to look at you in that moment to know you were smiling. As always you were being your kind and caring self, something that irritated him as well as made his heart pound. This feeling was weird, it hurts in his chest but he doesn’t want to let go. Suddenly you moved closer to him, those arms of yours tightening around his cold body. You were warm, or at least warmer than him. The warmth radiating from you was heating him up, his body was no longer cold. Now his cheeks were getting hotter, and that curling sensation in his stomach grew stronger. Truly bizarre.

“Hey, ryuunosuke.” He could swear his ears just got redder from the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue made him feel tingles. Was this because you used his first name? “Do you… want me to help you? Down here.” You asked in a quiet manner, then your eyes wandered towards his crotch. “…huh…?!” The boy shook a little, this was surprising, why was his body acting so strange today. A shiver ran down his spine, and you noticed it. You didn’t rush him, waiting once again, matching your pace with his. “If you want to.” He answers, not looking into your eyes, rather avoiding them. “I see, thanks.”

God, he can read you like an open book, can’t you stop grinning at him like this? It was almost embarrassing. He grabbed a pillow, holding onto it like how you were holding him. Panting into the fabric while you slipped a hand inside his pants. “Cute.” You mumbled at the sight unfolding in front of you, feeling your own heartbeat rising.

Slowly you wrapped your hand around his half erect member, he let out shaky gasps as you did. With even more meticulous effort you gave him a handjob, moving it upwards in slow motion. When your fingers reached the top, you rubbed his tip a little, collecting the precum leaking from him to use as lube. He started to trembled, now grasping the pillow even tighter. You knew he was shaking because you could feel it, that was how close your bodies were. Without rushing things too much, you picked up the pace, your hand now moving a tad faster. His face was red as a cherry, completely different than his normal pale complexion. The shame and embarrassment he felt was practically painted on his needy expression, eyes half lidded as he tried to not squirm away from your touch.

In the end, he wasn’t able to keep himself still. Jerking his hips back and forth, matching the rhythm you set. Small whimpers started to slip from the boy. “Mhm..! Hu-uhgnn, hm..” those already barely audible sounds he made were further muffled by the pillow he was holding. If it wasn’t for how dead quiet the room was, you wouldn’t have been able to hear them. The only other noise that occurred were the sounds of yours and his breathing, as well as the blankets being moved aside. Soon enough he reached his limit, clawing at the pillow like a cat while you gazed at him with loving eyes. What are you going to do with him? He was so adorable you were going to overdose on cuteness.

“Ahh…haa-ha, nghhh…” Akutagawa whines a last time before he came, his slim figure trashing around a little. His shoulders also jerked upwards for a split second and his face twisted into one of bliss and want. You could feel something wet dripping down your hand, a familiar sensation by now. “Good job, aku, you did well.” You praised him again, feeling content with him. “mhm.” He gave back meekly, still not daring to look at you.

“… and are you up for a second round?” What? The boy had to think for a moment, you wanted another round? His ears just tainted bright red, it made you chuckle a little. While he was still ponding over your suggestion, you moved your hand again. He yelped, “eh-uhh..!” Now finally facing you, staring at you with hesitant eyes. “It will be fine, leave it all to me.”

This time he was a bit more expressive than before, jumping at every contact. It’s obvious he was more sensitive now, his shoulders were raised to his ears as he bit into the pillow. Was the pleasure too much? Was he ashamed of his voice? How cute. Your hand moved slightly faster, you could hear the pounding of your own heart, it was getting louder and louder. “Mhm..hngnnn, hmm..!” The boy let out some high pitched sounds. He was trying his best to make it easy for you, but in the end, he didn’t succeed. His legs clenched together, the overwhelming feeling was taking him by a storm. It felt so good but also frustrating, how he was losing himself over such a small thing.

“Ah.. y/n.” Akutagawa whispered, not knowing why he called out to you. “Yes? I’m right here with you, don’t worry, you are safe with me.” You reassured him, knowing that he was getting closer which is why you picked up your pace once again. “Hmm-!” Chocked out moans escaped him, a sigh that he was enjoying himself. This made you feel proud, of yourself and him. “So good, so so good for me.”

“Please..” he managed to say between ragged breathing’s, mouth hung agape while he continued to shiver. “It’s alright, dear.” You said, smiling when you noticed him looking back at you. “Ah-ahhHHh…!” Not long after he came again, this time his entire body shook as he came. Another wave of build up ecstasy washing over him, enough to make his mind go blank for a second. “You did so well, I’m proud of you.” You said, while kissing his head, hand still moving though slowly to help him come down. A sigh of relief and disappointment came from the male when he realised this was over. Now he was even more exhausted than before.

Even more of his fluid was running down your hand now, you grabbed a tissue to wipe it away. This was only a temporary solution, you should get a towel. “I’ll go to the bathroom, okay?” You proposed but he turned you down, switching positions so that he was facing you and snuggling against your chest. “… just a minute.” He demanded and closed his eyes. This act caught you off guard, but it wasn’t bad. Haaaah… you just can’t say no to him when he’s being this sweet and vulnerable.