Sukuna- muzzle/leash/cock ring/power bottom reader?(Like they are getting fucked but is Dom)
God, you could barely breathe as Sukuna pounded into you, his member absolutely ravishing your stomach. You tugged at the leather leash around his neck, making him let out a low throaty grumble that stutters as he presses his head on your back. The metal of the muzzle touching your hot sweaty skin. His hands are gripped at the mattress below your bodies almost ripping at the sheets. Slick with sweat his tattooed arms flex and relaxed as you move your hips to fuck on him , his eyes hazy with lust he was absolutely lost with the a delusional my aching sensation.
You never thought he would enjoy this so much, especially when you told him you wanted to control but here he is absolutely drooling and shaking, though he didn't make much sound only a few grunts that was until he felt the cock ring he had on hug his erection painfully good that's when he let a few of those delicious low moans out. "That's it- so patient for me," you coo as you got up from your stomach to kiss his covered cheek, tugging the leash up and to the side to expose his flush tan neck for you to bite down on and to claim. His hand grips at your hips nails digging into your skin adding to the already overwhelming sensations. Slamming his dick into your walls you moan out a grin on your face know how much he loves it when you're loud. You continued to kiss up to his ear and whispered, "Want me to take the ring off?" You nuzzled his head, and he hummed afraid one word would stumble out pathetically. "Mmm-Mmhmm".
You tease moving your hips down. "Yeah? Want to cum so hard right?" You lick at his ear, his pace quickens as his stuttering grunts getting louder as his eyes squeeze shut. With a quick move, you slipped him out of you . You see his erection was red and twitching, sliding the ring out you gasp as hot cum spurts out his cock as it bobbed with every string that flowed out, a broken hum escaping Sukuna's throat.
Toji- handcuffs/blindfold/oil/chest play/toys
At first Toji didn't feel good about the blindfolds and handcuffs, when you said it wasn't for you but for him. "I mean I'm ok with it but I don't know if being the one tied down is for me." He says as he get handcuffed to the bed and you hummed giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Come on at least try it — here." You say covering his eyes with the blindfold leaving him in darkness. "Just listen to my voice ok?" You whisper in his ear, he nodded and chuckles. "Yes master." His jokes stopped when he felt a liquid being poured on his chest it was cold but soon hot when he felt your hand smearing it all over him. Your warm hands spread from his arm, chest then abs. Hands slow and greedy.
This vulnerable state made him dizzy he didn't know what you'll do next, what to expect a soft caress over here? A firm grove over there? Every touch he let's put a soft gasp as chills run up his spine. "Is this a perverted massage?" He breathes out as your hands tease his chest and nipples. In complete darkness he can hear your smile. "maybe" you say before latching your lips against his erect, brown nipple making him clutch on the handcuffs. You hummed as you sucked and kissed all over his chest and down to his abs.
You could feel his muscles contract, flinch and twitch again your lips it was oddly satisfying. "That's it baby focus on my touch." You speak and Toji was certainly doing just as you say. Well, it's the only thing he can do. Before he knew it his hard cock was out of his pants and displayed to you somehow he felt extra sensitive almost terrifying. "Poor Toji so hard with no treatment." You hum rubbing his tip with your oiled palm his oozing pre mixing with the oil.
The older man bucked his hips turning his head to the side in embarrassment blindfolded, naked, cuffed so much, so new and so vulnerable. He suddenly whipped his head back when he heard a buzzing sound. "what- what was that?" He asked nervously before arching his back off the mattress as the buzzing object rubs at his base. "Fu-fuck!" He hissed as it raises up to rub at his tip then again, going back down.
Before he knew it the buzzing increased two? Three? one taped to each of his swollen nipples and another rubbing on his hard, overstimulated cock, It's so much for his first experience. completely destroyed when you shoved 3 in his ass. His legs couldn't stop shaking no matter how much he clenched and his dick was twitching like crazy ready to explode, his tongue slipping out his mouth as he cums for what seems like the 10th time a pitiful confused moan escaping his lips- "nngh!?" Toes curl into the sheets, his body arching up off the bed as the cum spurted out of him. And all you did was pepper him with kisses. "that's it, one more ok?" With a dizzy nod and sly smirk Toji replied "s-sure.."
Choso- soft dom/bj (Choso receiving/public restroom/embarrassment/ lingerie (on choso)/ he eats his own cum
"Ssh you're doing so good." You whisper into Choso's blushing ear. "Hic...ss.. sorry..hic" he tried to control his sobbing it was just so embarrassing enough to make his neck and ears burn. But honestly, that shame? Felt Kinda....good. "Aw poor baby, don't cry." You say kissing his tears away as you stroke his cock. You look down at the black lace lingerie that Choso lewdly wore, nipples exposed for only you to see. Just a couple of strings that were supposed to be a bra clung to his body, while lowering your gaze you see he wore the cute matching see-through panties that had a slit in the middle exposed his shameful erection.
Another loud sob escaped Choso's lips and he quickly covered his mouth making you smirk as you whispered. "Not so loud don't want those people outside the stall to know you're doing something so dirty." You tease as you hear other people chat from outside of the stall. Choso shook, holding onto the metal of the toilet almost falling on the floor if you didn't pin him to the wall. "You look so cute Choso, it's so erotic these sounds you make, so excited to be in public." You say and he presses his head to your shoulder.
His hips twitch as you stroke his cock, his eyes grow wide as more people enter the restroom his dick twitching in your hand and you laugh. "wanna show these people you're having a good time?" You said before you squatted down taking him in your mouth making him moan a little too loudly. "ngghh-eait!wait! Hic! hannggh." His head slammed back on the wall with a loud bang. His hand desperately grabbed at the bathroom bar. You couldn't help it! You wanted to make him louder, I mean look at that desperate tear filled face. Your hands snaked from his lace thigh highs to his ass giving it a good squeeze as you suck him off. Humming pleased with the way his free hand traced the string of a bra, teasing himself as he gropes and pinches his pink nipples.
He bit his lip staring at you, his hips rocking faster as he felt his climax rushing in. It felt so close, his tear stained face looked so cute covered in sweat and blush. His furrowed brows and puffy eyes stared down in hunger and need only for you. "L-like that!" He whispered as he reached his peak cum spurting in your mouth. You giggle getting up, grabbing his face roughly enough for him to get dizzy as you kiss him deeply let him taste himself and all he could do was breathe heavily, pushing into you and in pants you pull away. "This time Tuesday got it?" You say and Choso nods "y-yes" he says his cum in the corner of his mouth.
See Yourself Become the Villain (Book 2) Chapter Eleven
Found Family! The Boys and Supe! Reader
Yandere Platonic! Homelander and Supe! Reader
Platonic! Solder Boy and Supe! Reader
Chapter Eleven: Homelander Encounter
Summary: Herogasm goes to hell, and a monster reappears.
Chapter Warnings: Homelander
White heat burned at (Y/N)’s skin. Light blinded them to the world. (Y/N) had no senses. Instinct was laid bare. And (Y/N)’s instincts were to fight. Their powers flared to life, green and purple breaking through the blinding white light. A dome blossomed around them, MM, and Butcher. (Y/N) had no idea what they were doing, it was pure instinct, an instinct to protect and shield the child within them and the people around them. A soft memory of fear and instinct and red eyes flashed to their mind, a need for a shield building. It strained against the radioactive blast, but (Y/N) didn’t let it fall. Not until the light dimmed and the air cooled. The strain was too much, and the shield broke. Debris rained down on MM, Butcher, and (Y/N). The house foundations crumbled around them, and (Y/N) was knocked to the ground.
Their head rang with screams and varying energetic frequencies. They stared up at the cracked ceiling. Parts of the sky gleamed through the house, and they blinked. The air still vibrated with energy, screams of pain and terror still echoed in their heightened senses, and despite some of the building remaining standing, (Y/N) could feel it quivering and readying to topple. But their bones ached, and they couldn’t force themself to sit up. Not yet.
Next to them, Butcher groaned and pushed fallen beams off himself. He looked around, the distant screams echoing towards him. He frowned. (Y/N) lay underneath debris, just staring upwards. He glanced over at where MM lay. He knelt and felt his pulse, panic flitting through him. He let out a breath. MM was alive—alive because (Y/N) had shielded them all, even if for a few moments. Those moments had been precious for survival.
(Y/N) forced themself to sit up. Dust fell from their shoulders, and they coughed. Several burns on their arms screamed in pain, but (Y/N) was used to the sensation. They stumbled to their feet, leaning on the wall. It groaned, and they tried to stand on their own. (Y/N) looked at Butcher beside MM, and worry flashed through them. They saw Butcher straighten without reaction. He’s alive. (Y/N) was relieved. They had managed something good. Even if it would kill them, they would do something good.
Footsteps approached, and (Y/N) tensed, abilities flickering even with exhaustion. Soldier Boy stepped into the room, also looking tired—though more from mental exhaustion, if the look in his eyes was anything to go on. He grunted and touched his stomach. Not all mental.
“Sorted?” said Butcher, looking at Soldier Boy.
Soldier Boy looked around. “What happened?”
Butcher glanced at Soldier Boy up and down. He was not only a loose cannon, he had no idea of what he was capable of.
“You did,” said (Y/N) tiredly, running a hand through their hair to shake dust off. It wasn’t a cruel statement. It was a fact. There was no point hiding what Soldier Boy had done from himself.
Soldier Boy frowned, disturbed. He wanted to ask for more, but he was stuck on looking at the destruction around the teen. Yet they had survived. A tough son of a bitch they were, that was for sure.
Slow footsteps echoed, and the crunch of gravel underfoot announced the next survivor of the blast. Butcher’s eyes narrowed. (Y/N) went still, eyes widening.
Homelander!
“William Butcher, Soldier Boy, and Borealis,” said Homelander, lacing his hands behind his back. “Of course you’re behind this. This whole thing.” His eyes didn’t move from (Y/N), but they all knew he was blaming Soldier Boy and Butcher, not (Y/N).
Soldier Boy glanced at (Y/N), identifying the name as their hero persona. He also identified the way their eyes were more alarmed and alert than they had been even when facing Soldier Boy himself down. Soldier Boy wasn’t a fan.
“It really is all about me,” said Homelander, eyes sliding back to Butcher. “William, we made a deal to fight to the death, you and me. This is cheating.” But Homelander couldn’t be completely angry. After all, it had brought Borealis back to him. “Deal’s off.”
His eyes turned red, and lasers shot Butcher into the wall. Butcher hit the ground, and (Y/N) flinched, instincts flaring as green and purple lights flickered around them. They knew his Temp V was still in his veins, but the memory of those lasers on their skin had (Y/N) ready to retch.
“Borealis, I’m disappointed in you,” said Homelander. “Supporting these two after all they’ve done…I’ve taught you better.”
“You taught me nothing but what it means to be cruel,” said (Y/N), trying to force the emotion from their voice. The ache of so much abuse bled in their every word.
Homelander tutted. “I’ll have to remind you of who we are later.” Then, he looked at Soldier Boy fully. “You were my hero growing up. I watched all your movies, hundreds of times. You are one of the only two people nearly as strong as me.” His gaze flicked to (Y/N), who looked back evenly. They refused to cower.
“Buddy, you think you look strong?” scoffed Soldier Boy. He had heard the implication in Homelander’s words, and he remembered what (Y/N) had admitted to in their desire to take down Vought and Homelander. The treatment of the Russians was the same as their treatment at Homelander’s hands. Soldier Boy felt the heat in his chest burning with anger. “You’re wearing a cape. You’re just a cheap fucking knockoff.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” said Homelander, gritting his teeth. “I’m the upgrade.”
He flew forward and slammed Soldier Boy through a wall. They hit another wall, and Soldier Boy grunted. Homelander’s eyes lit up to laser Soldier Boy, and another body slammed into him. Homelander hit another wall as (Y/N) hovered in the air, glaring as they landed. Homelander lunged, and Soldier Boy blocked him with his shield. He swung, hit Homelander, and ducked when Homelander punched back. Homelander’s fist broke the wall, and (Y/N) swung at Homelander. He stumbled to the side, and he growled.
“You hit me?! After everything I’ve done for you?!” Homelander grabbed (Y/N), flew up, and slammed them onto the ground. “You ungrateful little—”
Soldier Boy hit Homelander off (Y/N), and (Y/N) rolled to their feet, powers flickering to life. They sent a blast of energy at Homelander, who took the hit the wall. Cracks splintered outwards. Homelander gritted his teeth, pushed back up, and lunged. None of the three supes were letting up.
On the ground, MM started to wake up. He could see Soldier Boy fighting. Distracted. He had a chance to shoot. He could do it. He could do it.
“MM! MM!” Starlight knelt next to MM, trying to help him out. “I need your help. People are hurt. MM, please.” MM tried to run at Soldier Boy and stumbled. Starlight caught him. “MM, please! He doesn’t control you. We have to help these people.” As much as Annie wanted to run to (Y/N) and pull them from Homelander and back to safety, she had to prioritize the people injured outside due to Soldier Boy’s attack. “It’s up to us.”
MM swallowed. He wanted revenge. He wanted to run straight into his own death to avenge his family. But he stepped away. MM chose to save people instead of killing people.
As for the person he wanted to kill, he was busy giving as good as he got. For every hit that Homelander gave him, Soldier Boy gave a hit back. (Y/N) sent a blast at Homelander, and Homelander sent lasers at them. (Y/N) shouted, chest burning. They stumbled back, and Homelander grabbed them.
“I’ll handle you when we’re home,” said Homelander, throwing them back into the wall.
(Y/N) hit the ground. Soldier Boy swung at Homelander, and Homelander caught his fist. He swung his other hand, and Homelander grabbed the other hand, too. He kicked Soldier Boy back, grabbed him before he could get up, and choked him by the throat.
“You really had me going for a minute there,” said Homelander. His hand tightened around Soldier Boy’s throat.
(Y/N) pushed themself up, and their head spun. Their chest burned, and they felt blood dripping down their skin. The world wavered around them, and a tone rang in their ear. Their powers sparked, and (Y/N) felt their heart pound.
“Oi.” Butcher stepped up, alive and well.
Homelander looked at him, truly surprised. Butcher smirked. His eyes lit up, and golden lasers threw Homelander off Soldier Boy.
“What the fuck?” Homelander pulled himself to his feet.
Butcher stepped into the room fully. Homelander stepped into the center of the room and looked at Butcher. At another side of the room, (Y/N) stood, watching warily. Their powers were ready to go, and they weren’t backing down.
“What have you done?” said Homelander.
“Scorched earth,” said Butcher with a smirk.
Homelander lunged and punched Butcher. Butcher blocked him and swung back. For each hit one got, the other could return it. Neither felt the hits. Butcher shot lasers at Homelander, and Homelander leapt into the air. He and Butcher sent lasers at one another. (Y/N) took that moment to strike. They blasted energy at Homelander, and Homelander was thrown back. Soldier Boy grabbed his cape and dragged him to the ground. Homelander hit the ground hard, and (Y/N) kicked him, energy hitting Homelander.
Homelander gasped as he felt the pure energy strike him. Pain. Real pain. Soldier Boy slammed Homelander into the wall, and Butcher swung at him. Homelander stumbled. Butcher and Soldier Boy punched him at once, and when Homelander tipped to the side, (Y/N) punched him. Homelander ducked the next attack, pivoted away, and shoved Butcher into the wall. He grabbed Soldier Boy and threw him, and Homelander grabbed (Y/N), digging his fingers into the wound on their chest. They stumbled back, but when he next swung, energy exploded out from them, throwing Homelander back.
Homelander tried to lunge back, but naked Hughie appeared out of nowhere and knocked him to the side. Homelander whirled, glared, and his laser eyes began to glow. He shot lasers at Hughie, but Hughie teleported away. Homelander lunged, and (Y/N) grabbed him. They pivoted, slammed him into the ground, and shot pure energy at his chest. Homelander grunted, the energy shoving him into the ground until it cracked. Soldier Boy moved to (Y/N)’s side and pushed Homelander into the ground. Butcher joined them, and Hughie teleported over. They held Homelander down, straining their strength.
“Do it!” shouted Butcher.
Golden light built in Soldier Boy’s chest, and (Y/N) felt the frequency. It vibrated, and (Y/N) grabbed onto the frequency. Their powers glowed in green and purple, and they glared down at Homelander. Homelander growled and shouted in anger, eyes glowing red.
“Hughie! (Y/N)!” Butcher shouted at them. “Get out of here!” The explosion would kill them. There was no doubt about that.
“No fucking way,” said Hughie.
“No!” (Y/N) was in it until the end. The cost to them didn’t matter.
Red, gold, green, and purple lights flashed in the air, and the waves of energy crackled against one another. Homelander roared and shoved back with all his strength. The others went flying and hit the ground. Homelander lunged to grab (Y/N), and they shoved back in panic, energy exploding into fireworks. Homelander didn’t flinch and grabbed (Y/N) by the arm to drag them away. He had to get take them. They were his.
(Y/N) screamed as his grip pressed down on their bones. They tried to pull away. Soldier Boy grabbed (Y/N) around the middle and pulled back. Homelander narrowed his eyes, but Soldier Boy didn’t flinch. Butcher’s lasers hit Homelander in the side, and Homelander was knocked back. He had to retreat, empty-handed.
Butcher stared up after Homelander, also empty-handed. Hughie panted, knowing he had sacrificed his relationship with Annie for nothing. (Y/N) just stared upwards, taking deep breaths. He hadn’t gotten them. They weren’t being dragged back to Vought. Soldier Boy panted, the energy in his chest calming with each breath (Y/N) took. He held them tighter. He had done something right.
l
Starlight watched MM check over another person. Some were too far gone. Some would be treated by the coming EMTs. Some could be helped by him in the moment. They did all they could. She frowned as she watched Soldier Boy emerged out the remaining side door of the building. Behind him, Butcher walked out. Then Hughie. Then (Y/N). Butcher, Hughie, and (Y/N) paused and looked down at Starlight and MM. The pair looked up at them. Starlight swallowed her disappointment in them all. At least (Y/N) was alive. She could be grateful for that. But she still had to lower her gaze. Hughie swallowed his grief. (Y/N) looked away and kept walking. They would do whatever it took to take Homelander down. Safety didn’t exist while he was out there. The consequences to (Y/N) didn’t matter.
l
That evening, Starlight laid another sheet over yet another body. She walked down the street, gazing at each corpse from the house. The EMTs were carting away bodies and emergency room patients, but Starlight was left there with anger burning through her. She turned away and held her phone out to MM.
“This is a bad idea,” said MM.
“Homelander helped make me America’s sweetheart. He’s gonna regret that,” said Starlight. MM took her phone and pressed play on the livestream. Starlight squared her shoulders and began. “I’m in Montpelier, Vermont. Twelve heroes and civilians are dead, a lot more are wounded. Homelander and Vought are gonna tell you it was the supervillain and that they have it handled. They don’t. It was Soldier Boy. I know I sound insane, but…Soldier Boy doesn’t care about protecting Americans, and he probably never has. Most heroes don’t care about you. They only care about their image, and…Homelander is the best of them. He’s hurt people.” Starlight took a breath. “He’s done something to Maeve. He-He did something to Borealis. I don’t what they’re going to do to me for telling the truth, but I’m going to keep doing it, and I should’ve done it sooner. I’m sorry. And one more thing. I’m not Starlight anymore. My name is Annie January…and I fucking quit.” The livestream ended.
l
(Y/N) collapsed onto the couch and pulled antiseptic and burn cream towards them. They began to apply it to their arms. Near them, Hughie ran to the bathroom to throw up the effects of Temp V. Butcher went for a drink. Soldier Boy collapsed onto a nearby chair and leaned back with a tired groan.
“Soldier Boy,” said (Y/N), rubbing aloe onto their arms. Soldier Boy looked up. “Thank you.” They didn’t have to say for what.
Soldier Boy knew it was for pulling them back when Homelander tried to take them. He nodded to them. “Ben.”
(Y/N) glanced up. “What?”
“My name. It’s Ben.” He wanted someone living that he respected to know it.
"For generations demons had always haunted the world, stealing souls
Feeding their king
Giving him strength
Gwi- ma
Till heroes rose to rescue
Born with voices that drive away the darkness , singing songs of courage and hope.
They aren't just hunters
They are performers, who's songs ignite the soul, bringing many together. With such connection
The first hunters weaved and created a shield that protects our world. Grasping the moons light, and the ignited souls light, weaved together in perfect harmony
The hon moon
The hone moon, a divine being created from hope, love, song and passion. But most importantly Life.
For generations a new trio is always picked to fulfill the hunters greatest duty.
The golden hon moon
Hon moon was only at their lower stages in its existence. The golden hon moon would transform it's very being into pure light and keep all humans safe and away from demons.
That is it's divinity greatest destiny. "
Celine smiled as she guided all three newly formed huntresses to a garden.
"so this divine being is like hundreds of years old then" Mira comments. "No duh" Zoey exclaims "ah I heard so much about it, are they pretty as you say they are?" She asked excitedly.
Celine smiled "yes, they are. I met them when I was your age, they are quite the being" the woman said fondly.
Rumi hummed, for years she heard about the Honmoon. This Honmoon was only a concentrated form it decided to take, the Honmoon is actually everywhere all at once, they are probably seeing them right now. She felt nervous to meet them.
"well, can't wait. Kinda nervous aren't you Rumi?" Zoey asked, adding more jump to her step as she hugs Rumis arm.
Rumi blinked rapidly and laughed "I am, I kinda been hearing about them for years now" she explains. "Wow and just now you get to see him? You should sew" Mira smirks.
Celine only chuckles as she turns forward, they nearest a gate, pearly white decorated in gold trim.
The light of the Hon moon grows denser and brighter, its threaded form all pointed to one center that was just behind those gates.
"now then girls, best behavior. One must treat this being with respect, it is our world's greatest protector" Zoey grinned stiffly and widely as she talked. Her posture stiff, Mira and Rumi follow suit.
The gates opened before Celine could even touch the gate. A breeze blue in, gentle and warm.
"oh great Hon moon we thank you for meeting us, sooner then we had anticipated" Celine bowed deeply. Zoey squeals silently, Rumi elbows her making Zoey squeak in quiet and Mira snickers silently before being elbowed by Rumi as well.
As Celine bowed she could hear the horseplay going in behind her. She only rolled her eyes and sighed.
"Celine"
A voice spoke, softly and velvety. One that can sooth anyone.
The girls froze from in their place.
They glowed around them as the Honmoon glowed and from it a silhouette formed.
"what did I say, I told you to call me Honey!" The echoy-ness of the voice fades. The light dims down and all they see is a beautiful being, almost human however to pretty or... handsome? One couldn't tell.
"apologizes Honey" the older woman states.
Honey giggled and floats down from their tree and grinned "are these my new dolboneun salam?"
"yes these are-"
"wait I want to guess" Honey states. The girls quickly fixed themselves up.
Honey walks to them and hummed, thinking
"Zoey" they turn to the black haired girl with the always bubbly happy look on her face.
"Yea!" She states. "It's so nice to meet you, I've waited so long" Honey squealed. They both end up squealing together.
Honey cleared their throat then look to the tall magenta red haired girl. "Mira"
"bingo" Mira throws a hand hand gun.
"bingo bongo" Honey smiled "I love your makeup, shadowy eye make up is pleasing to look at" they smiled. Mira hummed and smiled "damn right"
Honey then turns to The purple haired girl
"and Rumi" they spoke with a small exhale.
Rumi tensed up the most and glanced at Celine. She herself was also nervous. Honey stared into her eyes.
"you look as beautiful as your mother" Honey spoke with a warm smile. They fix Abit of Rumi messy hair.
"I....thank you" Rumi spoke and blushed slightly.
Honey backed up and smiled "I'm excited to be in your care, let your voices carry me to my next stage of Destiny"
The reader is not a woman. Otherwise, no pronouns are used and race is ambiguous.
The end of class doesn’t seem to come fast enough. But finally, finally, everyone files out of the classroom. A few of the students send Joe lovelorn gazes, but he only has eyes for you. And you only have eyes for… the bookshelves around the room, apparently.
It’s horribly ironic, Joe thinks, that you’re so blatantly restless and disinterested. You’re barely even looking at him.
He thinks he loves it.
Joe is underwhelmed and unimpressed with the wide majority of his students, and this semester is no exception. At least, until he reads your first paper…
Sigh. I have a weakness for charismatic and popular characters being frustrated and intrigued by the one person who isn’t affected by them. (cough cough, Felix fic, cough couch, Finnick fic, cough cough, this one…)
This fic is Joe/Reader centric. Again, the reader is either masculine/male or nonbinary. They’re written to not be a woman, basically. I especially love the idea of Joe breaking his pattern and falling for a super queer-presenting person and falling HARD. Come on, we knew this was coming.
I have almost zero canon knowledge. I’ve never actually watched this series—I’ve only seen Trixie and Katya watch it. Canon does not exist to me.
Joe has finally escaped his past. He’s creating something of a life for himself in London. Here, he isn’t Joe Goldberg, obsessive stalker and murderer; instead, he’s Jonathan Moore, literature professor at Darcy College. It’s a humble life, compared to what he had before. Surprisingly, he’s starting to enjoy it.
Except… his students aren’t the brightest. Joe isn’t sure what it is—if he’s distracting them, or if he just isn’t that great of a professor. (The mere thought amuses him. He knows he isn’t the problem.) Ultimately, though, no one seems very engaged in his class. And, even worse, hardly anyone has a grade above a C.
Joe sighs as he reads through another mediocre essay, red ink littered across the margins. He shakes his head in annoyance and writes “D” in the top right corner, before adding it to the pile of graded papers. It’s abundantly clear to him that this semester’s batch of students are just like the last group: unmotivated and incompetent.
Joe grabs the next paper, taking a deep breath and preparing himself for more mediocrity. He’s so accustomed to skipping over the introduction that he nearly neglects the thesis. Joe thinks he’s seeing things at first, but there it is: a well-constructed thesis. He reads through it once, twice. It’s not bad.
But Joe’s not going to get his hopes up, so he continues reading skeptically. It only takes him another paragraph to acknowledge that this student is a good writer. Perhaps even a great one. He only feels more satisfied with each additional page he reads. By the time he gets to the end of the paper, his heart is nearly racing. He’d been waiting for something to ruin it, but nothing happened. That essay was… quite good.
Joe goes back to the first page and stares at the heading, scrutinizing your name at the top of the paper. It bounces around his mind even after he grades the paper and attempts to put it back in the pile; even as he takes it back in a few minutes to read it again.
He soon finds himself looking forward to his next class. You haven’t left his mind, despite the fact that he has no idea what you look or sound like. Regardless, your name lingers in the back of his mind as he carries on with his day, crafting lesson plans and responding to the occasional email. And he finds himself distracted with contemplating just what you could look like.
During his next class, he finds himself actually paying attention during attendance, if only to put a face to the name. You’re near the end of the list, and it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to speed through the list and just call out your name.
Finally, he gets to you and says your name. You raise your hand. His chest lurches as he looks at you, everything clarifying and blurring around you. It’s such a nonchalant gesture. Hell, you didn’t even care to speak. “Welcome,” Joe says before he can stop himself. Your lips are pulled into an awkward, completely ingenuine smile and you nod. You seem confused at the thought of him welcoming you when he didn’t do the same for the other students; and annoyed at the brief attention the remark garners you. Joe updates the attendance, fighting off the urge to smile for some reason.
He can’t fight off his curiosity for long. Twenty, then thirty minutes pass. And he reaches the brink of his patience. His lectures are meant to be interactive, but the majority of the class doesn’t care to participate. You aren’t necessarily vocal, but you’re clearly listening, at the very least. And Joe finds himself eager to hear what you have to say. He asks a question. No one answers. And he lets the room descend into a tense and uncomfortable silence.
Joe looks at you, sharing something of an apologetic grimace. You stare for a moment, before slowly raising your hand. It’s hard for Joe not to acknowledge you within the millisecond, but he waits a few moments before calling on you to make things seem more authentic.
Your answer is nearly perfect. You cite direct evidence from the text in your assertion, referencing multiple implicit themes present from the beginning of the book. Joe nods and thanks you for your answer, internally satiated with the knowledge that his preconceptions about you were correct. You’re brilliant. This class is probably too easy for you.
He manages to exercise inordinate patience and stop himself from keeping you after class. Instead, he resigns himself to a night spent searching for anything and everything he can find on you. Joe’s actually looking forward to it. He wants to learn more about you. You’re clever; you’re undeniably attractive; and you’re entirely unaffected by his machinations. (Joe wants to eat you alive.)
He’s never felt this way about someone before. And his previous infatuations had all been women. That doesn’t seem to matter, though, does it? The feeling he gets in his chest when he looks at you is undeniable. And within the next few classes, he’s surrendering to the urge to get you in a room alone with him.
“Stay behind for a moment?” Joe asks you near the end of one class. He allows his eyes to wander across the room as he asks, making sure his voice is just loud enough for the other students to hear.
“...Sure,” you agree hesitantly. Joe knows he’s left you virtually no choice—asking you in front of the entire group. He did that on purpose, of course. You almost seem to recognize that, as your eyes flit about in recognition of the spotlight he placed you under.
The end of class doesn’t seem to come fast enough. But finally, finally, everyone files out of the classroom. A few of the students send Joe lovelorn gazes, but he only has eyes for you. And you only have eyes for… the bookshelves around the room, apparently.
It’s horribly ironic, Joe thinks, that you’re so blatantly restless and disinterested. You’re barely even looking at him.
He thinks he loves it.
Joe takes the proffered opportunity to study you, amused to find that you’re wearing sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. A lot of his students dress up—probably to impress him, he thinks to himself wryly—but here you are, wearing what he can only imagine to be comfortable clothing that you practically threw on. Your hands fidget ever so slightly in your pockets as you explore the room around you, showing no indication of even noticing his presence. Joe studies you for a while longer before finally saying your name to catch your attention.
It’s gratifying to see the way you almost force yourself to drag your gaze towards him. Your eyes meet his and, for a moment, Joe just stands there. Every word he means to say falls to dust on his tongue as he looks at you. You look so fucking bored, as if you’d quite literally rather be anywhere else.
Finally, Joe thinks to himself. A challenge.
He taps his fingers against his desk a few times in faux restlessness, seeing your eyes track the movement. “How’d you like the book?” Joe asks after a few moments. He doesn’t even really need to ask—he knows exactly what you thought of it, because you had written about it rather transparently. Somehow, he still wants to hear your answer anyways.
“It was a book,” you respond vaguely. And Joe feels a genuine laugh crawl out of his throat. He’s just as startled by it as you are.
“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it, yes,” he agrees. You were the only one to genuinely analyze the rhetorical style and consider how it impacted the story. You were the only one to find fault with the author’s pretentious language and shitty metaphors. “I must admit, I was impressed with your essay,” Joe continues. He reread it several times. He closed his eyes and imagined you sitting in the library—or perhaps even in your apartment—writing the paper, a concentrated expression on your face. He stood outside of your building and stared up at your drawn curtains, envisioning you typing away on your laptop. But you don’t need to know that.
Truthfully, when Joe began looking into you, he was annoyed to find that you have little to no social media presence. The few accounts you have are private. Joe had to do a bit of work—and, even then, he doesn’t have nearly as much information as he should. He’s forced to actually pay attention to your answers now.
“Thanks," you say, seeming surprised as you blink at his compliment. He’s broken out of his thoughts.
Joe doesn’t bother responding to your gratitude. “You’re doing well in this class,” he states instead. You’re the only person with an A. Joe has earned himself something of a reputation on campus for being the strict and exacting American professor with rigorous standards. Yet here you are, passing his class with ease. He would be annoyed, if he didn’t find you so intriguing.
You don’t seem to know what to say to him. Joe continues speaking. “What program are you in?” he asks, despite already knowing the answer. Communication. Transfer student. Perfect GPA. Peer tutor at the writing center on campus.
“Communication,” you respond, unknowing of his internal dialogue. Joe hums, pretending that information is new.
“And how do you like the program?” he continues, secretly a bit entertained by your short answers.
“It’s good," you respond. And wow, you’re giving him absolutely nothing to work with. It’s almost amusing. Joe feels his lips quirking at the edges. You’re not even trying to hide your disinterest. It’s fascinating.
“Just good?” Joe prompts you.
“I’m enjoying it,” you answer. There’s an awkward, tense silence for several long moments. Joe doesn’t make a move to break it, and neither do you. Then, just as he begins to think he’ll have to keep it going, you continue speaking. “Did you need me for something, Professor?” you eventually ask.
Joe’s almost impressed that you had the courage to say that to his face. He was convinced he would have you trapped in conversation for a few minutes longer. It appears he’s underestimated you.
“I was just curious about you,” Joe admits. You have no idea how dangerous his curiosity is. He is going to pick you apart. (And, if he’s feeling particularly merciful, he’ll even put you back together.) “Your writing is quite well-developed. I wanted to inquire about your career goals, see if there was anything I could do to assist you.”
“Oh,” you say. You’re shifting your balance ever so slightly as if uneasy. Your backpack’s on your shoulders still, as if you’re going to just bolt out of the room at a moment’s notice. You really don’t want to be here, do you? “Well, thank you. I appreciate that. I don’t think I’m going to be pursuing literature, necessarily, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
Damn it, you are good. You buried your disinterest in faux gratitude. Joe was almost fooled for a moment. He’s suddenly scrambling to find something to say, something to force you to stay in this room, if only so he can pick you apart more—
But you’re already walking away, taking the opportunity you’ve created for yourself to escape. Joe stares after you for a moment, almost in disbelief. He hardly got anything out of you. You pretty much brushed him off and continued on about your day. You threw him off for a fraction of a second, long enough for you to get away.
Did that really just happen?
Joe must be getting rusty.
Joe is quickly learning that you’re a bit of an interesting case. You’re a lot different from the people he would usually go after. He’d almost venture to call you reclusive, because you’re not one to go to parties on campus or hang out with friends very often. You’re independent, which he would ordinarily appreciate—if it didn’t make tracking you down so damn difficult. You’re an unobtrusive presence on campus, clearly content with fading into the background. And your efforts work rather well for you, it seems. Of course, you can’t fool Joe. He would never be bored by you. Anything and everything you do just fascinates him. You’ve been fixed in his sights since that first paper you submitted to him weeks ago.
This fascination is how he finds himself walking into one of the humble coffee shops on campus, pretending to look at the menu when he’s really tracking you down. He knows you tend to come here after your Intercultural Communication class on Wednesdays—and, after a few moments, he finally spots you. You’re nestled in one of the booths in the corner of the room, typing away on your laptop as usual. That’s one of the least surprising things he’s learned about you: you’re rather studious. He didn’t even need to glimpse into your apartment window to learn that, although he did anyway.
Joe feels himself moving before he can stop himself. A few steps and he’s standing at the edge of your table, waiting for you to tear your attention away from your busywork. It takes a few seconds longer than he’d like, and he eventually abandons his patience. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks.
You finally look up from your laptop screen, your eyes briefly finding him. “Professor Moore,” you say, momentarily startled by his presence. “What brings you here?”
“Just stopping by for some coffee before my office hours,” he answers with a slight smile.
“…Well, I should leave you to it, then," you say smoothly. You predictably don’t take the bait—the reminder of his office hours—and instead practically dismiss him. His hand twitches at his side. “It was good to see you.” Liar. You look so uncomfortable. It only makes Joe more persistent.
“Nonsense, I can spare some time for my best student.” Joe waves off your concern, before promptly leaning down and taking a seat in the booth across from you. You’re stoic for the most part, but a flicker of surprise and bewilderment passes across your face. Joe resists the urge to smile at the sight, instead focusing on you.
“How’s your paper coming along?” he asks. You look suspicious and wary. Damn it, that’s right. Joe’s not supposed to know that you started that, is he? Finding the password to your school account had been far too easy, though. From there, he was free to browse your many assignments. And Joe devoured them all—especially the ones for his class. (God, that sounds pathetic, even for him.) “Don’t tell me you haven’t started it yet,” he adds jokingly, jabbing at your quick work pace. You’re at least a few weeks ahead of the course schedule. He can’t bring himself to be irritated by it.
“I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet," you answer.
“Good, good,” Joe says. “And what are you working on now, may I ask?”
“Something for my Digital Activism class,” you respond. Joe looks at you expectantly and you continue. “We have to pick a digital activism movement and use content analysis to determine its efficacy.”
He sits for a bit, watching you continue to ignore him. He’ll occasionally take a sip of his drink but, otherwise, he’s unabashedly staring. Either you’re particularly good at ignoring him, or you just haven’t noticed. Joe gets the feeling it’s the former.
“I have to get to class,” you announce at some point, closing your laptop and slipping it into your backpack. Joe almost laughs. You’re not getting out of this that easily. Absolutely not. Not again.
“Are you going to Winslow Hall?” Joe asks. He knows you are. Even if he hadn’t checked your schedule—which he did—he would be able to come to that conclusion. The college isn’t huge, so a lot of the liberal arts classes are in the same collection of buildings. “I can walk you there,” he offers politely.
“...Okay.” You’re clearly displeased with this turn of events, and confused by the gesture. Joe doesn’t give you any time to retract the remark, instead putting his jacket on and waiting for you to do the same. You’re sneaking suspicious glances at him every few moments. Usually his charismatic attitude isn’t met with such disregard and wariness. It’s a strange departure from the past. Then again, he’s sort of reinventing himself here in London. (Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself.)
Joe heads out of the coffee shop with you, walking at your side and taking note of how you almost seem to shrink on yourself as passersby stare at the both of you. No doubt they’re wondering just who you are—Joe hasn’t earned a reputation for being particularly social. And he has quite a few admirers across campus. You’re almost wilting under everyone’s gazes, your hands fidgeting with the straps of your backpack restlessly. You probably haven’t realized, but your somewhat alternative appearance is only making you stand out more when next to him. It’s kind of funny.
“Here we are,” Joe announces after your rather uneventful walk. “See you in class tomorrow,” he says, letting a charming smile slip onto his face.
“Bye,” you say with an awkward, strained smile. He’s caught your genuine smile from afar—this tense pull to your lips is the furthest thing from it. It’s like you’re determined not to let your guard down in front of him. And within moments, you’ve already entered the classroom—as if you’re fleeing from him.
In the coming weeks, as the semester starts to wind down, Joe decides to adjust his curriculum slightly to make the final assignment a partner project. It’ll boost some of the slackers’ grades—assuming they actually put in the work. But he knows that’s not the real reason why he’s giving the class this work. The real reason is sitting in the back of the class: you. Inexplicably, Joe wants to observe you speaking to someone else. He wants to see how you act when you’re forced to speak to someone else, to a peer. How will it differ from how you speak to him? Are you naturally wary, or is he special? He’s smirking at the thought.
This partner project is how Joe currently finds himself in between the bookshelves of the campus library, subtly peeking through the gaps in the books to look at you and your partner. He’s hanging on to your every word, regardless of how mundane or unassuming it may be. There’s something positively captivating about you. (And this feels like it should be a blow to his pride, somehow. Joe has watched people before, many times. He’s never sunk to such depths: watching you do virtually nothing as you complete your schoolwork.)
Then again, you’re not a particularly scandalous or public person. This is the best he can do. You like to keep to yourself, after all—spending hours in your apartment with your eyes glued to your laptop, or your phone, or a book. Joe shakes his head in annoyance, forgetting himself for a moment.
“What do you think of Professor Moore?” your classmate asks curiously. Joe suddenly snaps back to attention, feeling himself lean forward and peek through the gaps in the bookshelves to study the look on your face. That was rather fortuitous.
You’re frowning at the question. “I’m not sure,” you say after a moment. The fluorescent lights of the library hum in impatience. Joe breathes slowly. “He kind of gives off serial killer vibes.”
Joe is sure there’s a huge chunk of context he’s missing, but he still has to duck below the shelves to hide himself as he laughs. Oh, you have no idea. His shoulders are shaking with mirth. It takes concerted effort for him to reel himself back in.
“How?” your classmate asks, clearly thrown by your honesty.
“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. You’re acting a bit uncertain, but Joe gets the feeling you’re just pretending for your classmate’s benefit. After all, you’ve made little effort to hide your skepticism whenever he speaks to you individually. “He fits the demographic. White man, conventionally attractive. Kind of emotionless.” Conventionally attractive. That’s not even a compliment—it’s just the truth. But it somehow satisfies Joe anyways.
“I guess," the woman responds, clearly unconvinced.
“Why do you ask?” you question her.
“Just wondering,” she shrugs. “He seems to talk to you a lot.”
Joe can see your eyebrows furrow from his position behind the bookshelves. You don’t exactly look pleased at the thought. “I don’t think so,” you say to your classmate. You don’t have anything else to say on the matter, supposedly, because you turn your attention back to the project.
This is fun, Joe thinks. Surprisingly so.
Unfortunately, you soon part ways with your classmate to return to your apartment. Joe follows you on the way back, annoyed at the knowledge that he’ll never get another chance like that again: one to hear your honest, unfiltered opinion on him. At least, not without asking you directly. Your words ring in his ears, even after he returns home that night and gets ready for bed.
The next few weeks are par for the course. Despite his best efforts, he can’t quite seem to get you alone—save for your regular visits to the coffee shop. But that’s not enough for Joe, and he knows it. He needs so much more. He needs to sink his claws into you, rip your rib cage apart until he can finally see that damn heart of yours. And then maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally understand you.
He’s… not doing well with this whole “reinvention” thing. Ah well.
It isn’t until one early afternoon that his resolve finally starts to weaken. Joe’s sitting in his office, scrolling through his inbox when he finds an email from you—buried between the bureaucratic nonsense sent from the university and automated notifications from the grading system. His heart jumps unpleasantly, until he sees the headline of the email: “Class Tomorrow.” That doesn’t bode well. You’re probably not going.
Indeed, as he opens the message and skims through it, his eyes find the important parts: “sick” and “absence”; and then, “apologies for the inconvenience.” Despite it all, you’re formal and polite. He appreciates the fact that you notified him of your absence: so many of his students will ditch class without warning. It’s nothing more than a common courtesy, but somehow, it’s still rather rare. He has an attendance policy on his syllabus, but it is often ignored. Joe shakes his head and returns his attention to your email. Then he reads it again. And a third time.
He scoffs at himself. What the hell is he doing, reading a simple email over and over again? Is that really the best he can do? Joe sighs and refocuses his thoughts on the remaining emails sitting in his inbox, fighting off thoughts of you.
As it turns out, rereading your email is far from the best thing Joe can do. He can do much better, like stand outside of your apartment and look through your windows. His eyes explore the scene: the tissue box and unusually cluttered table near your couch, the somewhat exhausted look on your face, the uncharacteristic lethargy to your movements. You look kind of miserable.
You must have a fever, because you’re only wearing a tank top and shorts. Joe doesn’t think he’s seen this much of your skin before—this fall hasn’t been a particularly warm one, so he’s used to seeing you in sweatpants, jeans, sweatshirts, sweaters… He is absolutely not used to this—was not prepared to feel this uncomfortable stirring in his gut, this horrible restlessness and urge to get moving, to do something to distract himself from whatever this is—
Joe rubs a hand over his face and takes a slow breath. Get a hold of yourself, he admonishes himself. He continues studying your apartment from his vantage point, finding that, even in the throes of your sickness, you’ve still kept it relatively clean. That’s admirable, if a bit foolish. You head to your couch and throw a blanket over yourself. Joe watches as you drift off, checking his watch. It’s not very late yet—you usually go to bed later. You must be rather fatigued.
Joe eventually leaves, if only because the night air is getting uncomfortably chilly. He spends the rest of the night grading and preparing for his next lesson. He wonders when you’ll get better, when you’ll return to his classroom. You’re not the type to miss lectures, Joe can already tell. So the fact that you’re absent is… a bit worrying. Or, it would be worrying, if he were the type to get stressed about things like that.
Days pass, and Joe is forced to settle for your occasional emails—and the glimpses of you he catches from outside your apartment building. You’ve missed three classes at this point, interspersed across a week and a half. He isn’t sure whether to expect you today. You didn’t send an email like normal, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.
The universe almost seems to be poking fun at him, because as he settles at his desk and muses, you walk through the door. “Back in the land of the living, hm?” Joe asks in lieu of a greeting. You sigh and place your backpack down, getting to your seat. He takes in your appearance, finding that you look worn out but still marginally better than before. He hopes you took those antibiotics your doctor prescribed.
“For now,” you respond with a tired smile. You look exhausted. Joe doesn’t realize he utters that thought aloud until he hears you respond. “I know,” you say. Another student would be embarrassed at the thought, but you don’t seem to care.
“Well, don’t go falling asleep on me,” Joe says teasingly, if only because social etiquette demands it of him. Secretly, he wouldn’t mind if you fell asleep. The thought of your wariness and skepticism slipping away, leaving you entirely vulnerable…
“No promises,” you huff as you get your laptop out, entirely unaware of the dark turn his thoughts have taken.
“Let me know if you need any assistance with catching up,” he offers. You both know you won’t need it.
“I will, thanks,” you respond amicably. Your attention is focused on your screen for a moment, your eyes shifting ever so slightly as you read something. Then you blink and look back up at him. “I watched the lectures, so hopefully I’ll be okay.”
“Ah, very good,” he smiles. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine, then.”
Soon enough, the other students begin to file into the room. He allows them a few moments to get settled, before diving into today’s shorter lecture. Joe had allocated some time at the end of class for the partner projects, if only to make things easier on himself. Now, he won’t have to sneak around in the library to hear your conversation with your classmate. (Although, last time was certainly interesting in its own right.)
Joe fights with the urge to stare at you the entire time, instead letting his eyes wander across the room as he subtly eavesdrops on your conversation.
“Are you feeling better?” your classmate asks.
“Yeah, sort of," you answer her. “Just tired. I got the analysis done before I got sick, though.” Of course you did, Joe thinks. Of course you did.
“Well, let me know if you need anything," she says, in a voice dripping with concern and something more… intimate. Joe feels an ugly feeling settle at the pit of his stomach.
“Okay, thanks,” you say blankly. Jesus, you’re a brick fucking wall. She’s clearly flirting with you. Either you’re oblivious—which Joe somewhat doubts, given the perceptiveness you’ve exhibited in the past—or you’re just uninterested. It’s intriguing. Almost impressive, actually.
As the two of you continue to work on your project, Joe catches bits and pieces of your conversation—interspersed between his unfortunate lapses in attention as he’s forced to answer a few students’ questions. But then the class is ending and you’re leaving. He can’t quite stop himself from staring after you as you go, nor can he convince himself to stop going to that coffee shop every time you go.
He finds you there the next day, in the same booth you’re always in. Joe is almost ready to think you’re doing this on purpose. You’re not even making it difficult. The same time, the same place, the same day of the week… Come on. He thought you were a bit of a challenge. Joe slides into the booth across from you, settling into the seat that is starting to become his.
“Hey, Professor,” you say, not even looking up from your screen.
“You can call me Jonathan, you know,” Joe says with a bit of friendly inflection. He very nearly slips and introduces himself as Joe. Something about you makes him want to be honest with you, if only to provoke you into some sort of reaction.
“I’d rather not,” you respond seamlessly, a pinched expression on your face. Usually, that would be more than enough for a student to fall at his feet. He almost frowns, but manages to resist the urge. Perhaps he needs to try a different tactic.
“Is your schedule settled for next semester?” he asks instead.
“Yeah,” you confirm casually.
“What classes are you taking?” he asks. It’s like pulling teeth. Are you doing this on purpose?
“Just communication classes,” you answer. “And a history class, I think. Some gen-ed, I don’t remember the name of it.”
“Exciting.” He raises his brows, willing you to look at him. You spare him a momentary glance, before returning your attention to your schoolwork. Is whatever you’re doing really more intriguing than he is? He almost wants to be offended. Almost.
“Not really,” you dismiss the remark.
He sits with you silently for a while, just watching you write. Joe has to admit, he’s stewing a little bit. You’re not even giving him the time of day. But his patience starts to pay off, as he catches you sending him confused glances.
“Why are you doing this?” you ask, finally addressing him. You close your laptop screen and give him your full attention; and Joe gets a sudden rush of adrenaline.
“Pardon?” he manages to ask, his tongue feeling slightly thick in his mouth.
“Why are you doing this?” you repeat yourself, gesturing to the two of you and the coffee shop around you. “Sitting here, asking me these questions.”
“I want to get to know you," he answers immediately. That is the complete truth, for once. Unfortunately for you, that desire is far from harmless.
“Why?”
“Is it really so hard to believe?” Joe counters instead, tactfully avoiding the question. He lets a charming smile rise on his lips. The gesture only seems to disconcert you.
“Yes, it is,” you answer flatly. “What’s your endgame?”
Bold of you to assume he has an endgame. You’re absolutely right, of course. He absolutely has an endgame. He always does. “I’m just making conversation,” Joe says innocently.
“Okay.” You’re clearly unconvinced.
“It’s getting late,” Joe observes, casting a pointed glance through the dark windows at the front of the shop. “I’ll walk you home,” he offers.
“No, it’s okay,” you deny him. You’re too smart for your own good. “I’ll be fine,” you say. And oh, you really, really would be. You would be so much better off walking home alone. But that’s just not in the cards for you tonight.
“I insist,” Joe says firmly. You’re silent, clearly annoyed but sensing he isn’t going to relent. You know he’s got you trapped now. He shrugs his jacket on and watches you do the same, waiting for you to gather up your things before heading out of the coffee shop.
The two of you are quiet for a few minutes. Joe has his hands shoved in his pockets and he’s walking ahead of you, anticipating what’s to come. He can’t say he’s been this excited before. But you’re different from the others.
“You seem like you know where you’re going,” you say suspiciously.
Shit. That’s a harsh reality check. “I assume you live in one of the residence halls on campus." Joe thinks quickly. “Am I incorrect?”
“The dorms are back there,” you point out, glancing behind you momentarily before returning your attention to him. “And you’ve been walking ahead of me.”
“I take long strides; I’m tall," Joe justifies.
“You’re not that tall.” You roll your eyes. “And I can walk quickly, so it’s not that.” You seem completely convinced, confident. You’re difficult to throw off, almost unshakeable even as you unknowingly approach a line you can’t come back from.
“You don’t seem to trust me,” Joe eventually remarks, after sensing that your doubt is still very much present.
“I don’t,” you agree.
“Why not?”
“You don’t make sense to me," you admit. “You’re… I don’t know.” Joe waits patiently. He’s curious to hear how far you’ll go. “You’re elusive. You’re constantly acting, pretending. I’ve never seen you look authentic.”
“A professor has to act a certain way, you understand,” Joe says somewhat dryly, secretly a bit annoyed by your stubbornness. You’re treading on thin ice and you don’t even realize it. His hand is twitching at his side.
“Sure,” you acquiesce. “But you’re always acting. Even when you think you aren’t.” That’s… more accurate than you could ever know.
“I see,” Joe says.
“You act like… you want something from me,” you continue, studying him for a moment. “And I have no idea what it is.”
“Maybe I just want your company,” Joe replies.
“That’s not enough,” you respond far too quickly.
“Why not?” He asks.
“Don’t pretend to be offended now,” you scoff, shoving your hands in your pockets. You look very restless and apprehensive, your eyes flitting around him as if waiting for him to make a move of some sort.
You both walk in silence for a few more minutes.
“I don’t know anything about you, you realize,” you continue. Joe’s so surprised to hear that remark that he just stares in disbelief. “You’re hard to track down. Practically nonexistent on university websites. It’s like you just… appeared.”
The irony of that statement isn’t lost on Joe, but it will certainly be lost on you. Because you’re just as difficult to track down. Getting to this point—spending time with you, alone and unguarded—took him practically the entire semester.
“What do you want to know?” Joe asks, because he’s nothing if not charitable. His heart is roaring in his ears. Things don’t typically go like this. He’s not supposed to be the one being interrogated.
You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. Something, I guess. Something to prove you’re an actual human being, not just an empty husk.”
Damn. Damn.
“Did I hit a nerve?” you ask. Joe blinks and there’s an entertained quirk to your lips. Another blink and it vanishes. “Whoops,” you say carelessly, clearly not very bothered by it.
“You don’t seem very apologetic,” Joe notes calmly.
“I get the feeling you’re not that great of a person,” you say.
Jesus fucking Christ. Joe genuinely freezes for a moment, forgetting to walk alongside you. This entire interaction is giving him whiplash. Joe is so used to dominating the conversation—steering it at his will, until he gets exactly what he wants. But here you are, casually demolishing his plans and laying him out to dry in the same breath. Is he really so predictable, for you to take a simple glance at him and break through all of his defenses? Surely not.
Joe shakes his head and catches up to you. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone,” he eventually says. That’s about what a normal person would say in this situation, right? Sure.
“Yeah, you’re probably not used to hearing that, are you?” you huff. You’re smiling now—honest to God, smiling. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you smile so genuinely before. What the fuck?
“You realize I have control over your grades,” Joe says, the statement leaving his lips before he can think it through. It’s… not the best response he’s crafted, but he supposes it’ll do.
You don’t seem the least bit affected by the implicit threat. “Are you really threatening me?” you ask, clearly amused. “Everyone else in your class is failing. Tanking my grades would only reflect poorly on you.”
You’re perceptive. Super perceptive. And yet you have no idea just how much danger you’re in right now. And yet you’ve never even noticed the persistent shadow following you across campus, lurking outside your apartment. “You’ve thought this through,” Joe remembers to say.
“Not really,” you dismiss the thought. “Just saying. Besides, it’s near the end of the semester.”
“It is,” he agrees. Somehow that remark is what ushers in the finality for him. You’re right: finals are next week. His class doesn’t have a final. With the end of the semester, Joe won’t have an excuse to see you regularly anymore. He’ll track you down at that one coffee shop, lurk near your apartment, sure. But that’s not enough for him.
“You almost sound disappointed,” you notice. Because of course you do.
“Competence is increasingly rare these days,” Joe says. The night air almost seems to warn him after that comment, rustling through his hair and sending a persistent chill through his bones.
“You do have something of a reputation for being a stickler, don’t you?” you murmur.
“No one here knows how to write,” he huffs.
At that, the air between you falls silent once more—complete with a tangible, stifling tension. Your eyes flit about restlessly, never seeming to settle on any one thing for long. You’re steadily avoiding his gaze, as if meeting his eyes will confirm your suspicions. (It certainly will.) Joe allows it, if only because the sight amuses him.
“This is me,” you then say, as the two of you stop in front of a nondescript building. It’s not you—you don’t live here. Your building is down a block or two. Joe just arches a brow.
“You don’t want me to know where you live?” he asks casually, before he can stop himself. Joe’s getting closer and closer to crossing that same line he knows he can’t come back from. But damn it, what else is there to do? Moving to London, adopting this new identity… none of it quelled that visceral, manipulative desire in his chest.
“What do you mean?” you ask slowly, breaking him out of his thoughts.
Joe has a choice to make. He can play dumb, let the conversation fall to silence and allow you to walk into that building you certainly don’t live in. He can turn his back, pretending not to see you sneak out of the building minutes later and head to where you actually live. He can give you that small mercy.
…or…
“You don’t live here,” Joe asserts. You’re frozen in front of him. He finds himself satisfied to know he provoked a reaction in you, no matter how small. He can’t quite give up the game now—he’s just getting started. “Come on, then,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder and steering you away from the building.
“Where are we going?” you question.
“To your apartment,” Joe answers.
You look unsettled, genuinely nervous. Joe feels a smirk rising on his lips before he can hide it. He grabs your forearm and leads you out of this building, heading down the sidewalk and towards your apartment building. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” you say at some point.
You’re going to wish you did. “Not exactly,” Joe settles for saying, when he senses you’re still waiting for an answer.
You stare at him for a moment, before stiffening. You almost seem to find something in his eyes. “I can walk without your assistance,” you snap, trying to break out of his grip. Joe just tightens his hold on your arm. He’s never been this close to you before: close enough to see the streetlights reflecting in your eyes, the unnerved pull to your lips, the tension stretching across your shoulders.
“Don’t be difficult,” Joe says patronizingly, if only to irritate you a bit more. You look furious at the remark and he smiles, continuing to lead you towards your building.
“Should’ve trusted my gut,” you mutter quietly, talking to yourself.
“You should’ve,” Joe agrees, ushering you into the lobby and guiding you to the elevators. With the elevator’s arrival, he leads you into the elevator before finally, regretfully, removing his grip. Upon pressing the button for your floor, he’s satisfied to find fear flickering across your face—as you evidently realize he knows exactly where your apartment is. Joe wants to burn that memory into his mind forever, watching your reaction over and over again to pick it apart.
The elevator ride is quick and painless. At least, it is for him. Joe notices that you’re getting fidgety, though. And when the doors slide open to reveal your floor, you hover in the doorway. Joe just sighs, putting a hand on your back and leading you to your apartment. You only seem to be more disturbed as he does so.
“Well?” he demands somewhat impatiently, after a few moments pass and you don’t say anything. You haven’t made a move to unlock your door yet.
“I don’t have my keys,” you answer. He huffs at the attempted lie.
“Left pocket of your jacket,” Joe hums, looking at you expectantly. He watches as your hand explores your left pocket, emerging with your keys in your palm. “There you go,” he says with a nod. And if you looked afraid before, you look completely terrified now.
“Go on, then,” he urges you. After a few seconds pass and you don’t move, he takes the keys from your hand and swiftly unlocks the door. “After you,” Joe says, gently pushing you into the room and following after you.
He takes in the space greedily, connecting the objects to how they looked from outside. “Nice place,” Joe eventually says. You’re silent.
Truthfully, things don’t usually go this quickly. Usually he gets into a relationship first, then manipulates the other person until he’s satisfied. But Joe can’t discredit you—he knows you’re not foolish enough to fall for that. You were suspicious from the outset, so he had to abandon his typical methods. It’s a nice change of pace, though: you know exactly how dangerous he is.
And he doesn’t realize he’s uttered that first sentence aloud until he sees the look on your face. “You do this frequently, then?” you ask. “What, did you do this in America before you got here?”
Joe keeps silent, knowing you’ll decipher the truth. Indeed, your face falls and you bury your head in your hands for a moment—clearly sensing the gravity of the situation. He gives you a moment to yourself, instead directing his attention to the space around him. It does remind him of you, somehow. And isn’t that a frightening thought?
“What happens now, then?” you ask quietly. You don’t appear nearly as confident, now that you’re pinned under his gaze. “Will you kill me?”
“No,” Joe responds far too easily. He doesn’t ever want this game to end. No one has challenged him quite like you do. And he’s certain that, even when he seems to have you under his thumb now, you’ll find a way to make things interesting.
“Why not?” you whisper.
You’re too interesting. Joe keeps the thought to himself, his hand exploring the adjacent wall and running over the various posters and photographs you have hung up. He’s seen your apartment from the outside, but this is the first time he’s actually been inside it.
“This apartment isn’t big enough for two people,” you state, as if that’s your most pressing concern. Joe chuckles.
“Mine is,” he remarks, watching in delight as you process the implications of that statement. Several emotions pass across your face: dread, fear, anger. Then something like resolve gleams in your eyes and you move to get up. But Joe’s standing in front of you before you can even begin to head for the door. “Don’t bother. You won’t escape me.”
And you wouldn’t know, but you lost your chance at escape from the very moment you turned in that first essay. You surrendered yourself to his surveillance as soon as you walked into the classroom the next day. And your efforts at subverting his attention have only drawn him closer.
Joe stands in front of you for a while, before guiding you to sit on your couch. He bustles about the room, grabbing an empty backpack and beginning to explore the room. He goes to your closet first, taking a few outfits and folding them up before placing them in your bag.
“What are you doing?” you eventually ask, clearly unnerved by his silence.
“Gathering your things,” he answers easily, grabbing a few things from your bathroom and stuffing them into the bag. “You won’t be back here for a while.”
Joe knows he’s only unnerving you more, with the way he’s mechanically making his way through your apartment as if he knows it like the back of his hand. He hears a startled inhale of breath as he grabs your medications and fights off a smile. Yes, you have no idea just how much he knows about you. You’re only beginning to grasp it, because he wants to unsettle you.
“Shall we?” Joe hums a few minutes later, slinging the bag he prepared for you over his shoulder. He doesn’t bother to wait for your response before latching his hand on your wrist and tugging you along after him.
The elevator ride is silent. Joe realizes you’re finally looking at him. To think… all this time, all it took was a few drastic measures to thoroughly ensnare you. It doesn’t quite matter that you look disturbed—the fact of the matter is that you’re staring at him, trying to pick him apart the same way he’s been dissecting you.
When the elevator reaches the first floor and the doors slide open, Joe’s hand finds your wrist again and he leads you after him. The cool night air meets you once more. There are only a few people out this late at night, but he’s brutally aware of how uncomfortable you must look. Coming to an idea, Joe’s hand slips down to your hand and he interlaces your fingers. He can nearly feel your hand trembling in his. Your discomfort can now be interpreted as uneasiness being spotted on the street, holding hands with him. No one will understand just how much danger you’re in as you walk alongside him, pliant in his grip as he leads you towards your new cage.
Joe looks up to the polluted night sky, entirely void of stars, and smiles.
As per request by @somenerd2001, a Lucifer x FlightlessAngel!Reader one shot, where Lucifer falls for his best friend after they're both kicked out of heaven. After Lilith leaves the two of them to raise Charlie in hell, Reader begins to realize that they might just return Lucifer's feelings after all.
*Gn!Reader, slow-burn & friends-to-lovers trope*
CW: None
After you caught him with Lilith, Lucifer begged you not to reveal his secret relationship to the other angels. And what could you do? He was your closest friend - Of course you lied for him.
But that lie would cost you your life in paradise, for the angels found out anyway.
And now you, your best friend and his girlfriend stood in the center of Heaven's courtroom, each of your wrists bound by golden shackles. Sera shifted her icy, unforgiving stare among the three of you, until finally it focused on Lilith.
"Lilith will never again enter Heaven because of her choice to disobey the word of God."
A clamor of stifled gasps and loud whispers rung around the room. "Not enter? God's own creation will not enter?"
"YES!" One voice in the gallery rang out above the rest. The first man raised both hands and vigorously flipped off his ex. "FUCK YOU, BITCH!"
"Adam."
With one sharp look from Sera, the first man shut up.
"Sera please, don't do this to her!" Lucifer shouted, trying to make himself heard above the commotion.
Sera merely cut him off. "The same crime brings the same punishment for you, Morningstar."
The gasps grew twice as loud. Beside you, Lucifer stumbled backwards. "What?"
Your stomach dropped as Sera's deadly gaze finally latched onto you. "And you - You will suffer the same punishment-"
"But I didn't do anything!" you cried out. "Please, Sera, ple-"
"You lied under oath," she hissed. "Which is arguably worse."
You shook your head, tears brimming. "I- Call the Speaker! Please, just give me one chance to explain!"
"This is the will of the Speaker."
"No, no- I don't deserve to fall!" you shouted. But Sera was done hearing your protests. She opened the palm of her hand, and immediately the floor in the center of the courtroom began to crumble. You looked over your shoulder to see Lucifer and Lilith holding onto each other as they sank through the floor.
Beneath your feet, the ground splintered, and the corners of the floor turned to fiery lava. You made one desperate attempt to leap to the gallery, where all the other angels were safely in their seats and watching this spectacle-
But your foot caught in a crack of the rocks before you could take flight, and you tumbled forward, just enough so that the tips of your wings scorched against the molten rocks.
That was when you fell.
But that was thousands of years ago.
And 70 years ago, Lilith had brought Lucifer's precious little bundle of joy into this world - This world being Hell, a place where you were to be eternally lumped in with the others that the angels had deemed as scum.
That "bundle" was named Charlie, and she wasn't supposed to exist, due to sinners supposedly being infertile. You assumed Lilith hadn't taken that little surprise all that well, and was why she left just five years later.
Since then, you'd taken it upon yourself to raise Charlie alongside Lucifer. The two of you even shared a house together, and Charlie very much saw you as her other parent.
🪽 🪽
Now, you held the young girl in your arms, her baby-pink nightgown contrasting with the pure-white of your suit. Even after falling, you'd refused to change your color scheme.
You stroked Charlie's soft, blonde head of hair as she made tiny snores. You chuckled, "She's all tuckered out."
Lucifer looked preoccupied. He'd been standing in front of the fireplace for almost a half hour, distractedly twiddling his fingers together. "Already?"
"Yeah," you answered. "Want me to take her up to bed?"
He finally turned to you both, the shiny insides of his new apple-red coat glistening in the firelight as he moved. His mouth curved up into a soft smile as his gaze settled on his daughter.
His smile was cute; you often caught yourself thinking about how cute your friend was... Was that a bad thing?
"No, it's okay," he replied. He stretched his arms above his head and arched his spine as six huge, feathery wings spilled out of his back. He groaned lightly as he fluttered them for the first time in hours.
You grimaced at the sight of them. Since the fall, Lucifer incessantly expressed irritation over the fact that his white wings with baby-blue outlines (a feature he'd been so proud of in Heaven) had morphed into a frightening blood-red hue. You only ever stared at him wordlessly, enviously, like you were doing now.
Your wings had undergone a similar transformation into red, except that the edges of yours - your flight feathers - had become a scorched black from the fires.
All this torture, for a couple that isn't even together anymore, you thought to yourself. I never even liked Lilith.
"I've got her, Y/n." The devil flapped his wings effortlessly as he came to your side. His apathy towards your flightless nature almost made you feel as if he were mocking you.
He reached his hands out to take Charlie. "I'd hate to make you walk up the stairs."
His high-and-mighty line burned you, and you pulled away. You tried not to wake your adopted daughter as you snapped at him. "I burned my wings, Lu, not my legs. Walking up the stairs is not a problem."
Lucifer's oblivious smile evaporated. "Well, I- I know that. I was just- Just trying to help you out."
You scoffed as you headed up the stairs. "That's a new one."
"Y/n, wait!" he said, as his hand shot out and gripped your shoulder. "That was insensitive, I'm sorry, but I-I just haven't been... All there today."
"You haven't been for a while."
"Well, I- There's a reason." His circular, pink cheeks deepened to red on his white, dolly-like face. "Can I... Can I tell you after you've put Charlie to bed?"
You raised an eyebrow at him, somewhat alarmed now.
"It's nothing bad," Lucifer squeaked, once again twiddling his fingers together. "I hope it's not, anyway."
You squinted at him suspiciously before heading up the stairs. You tucked Charlie into her bed, kissed her head, then traveled back down to the living room. Your oldest friend was pacing in front of the fireplace, back and forth, like a caged bird, though his wings were now tucked out of sight.
"Should I be worried?" you asked.
He stopped in his tracks, as if he hadn't noticed you'd arrived. "Oh, Y/n! No, no, not at all."
"So what is it?"
Lucifer had regret written on his face, as if he shouldn't have said anything at all.
"Nothing..." His eyes flicked nervously from side to side. "I-I'm just, uh, a little lonely. Yeah. That's all." He nodded, almost to himself. "Yeah, the loneliness has been getting to me, and that's why I've been acting strange. Yeah."
You came to his side, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. He was still the one you held closest to your heart. Even if Lucifer could be insensitive at times, you didn't have to be. "Lililth is still hurting your heart bad, huh, Lu?"
The nerves in Lucifer's expression dissipated. His eyelids drooped sadly. He looks kinda cute, you thought again, Like a sad little duck.
"I thought it was true love, Y/n," he said. "I mean- That's why I risked everything." He looked at the floor with a sad shrug. "But I guess I don't really know what that is."
You tried to be the voice of optimism. "Oh, sure you do. I risked it all for your happiness. And I'm still right here."
Slowly, he looked up at you. His huge, gold-and-red eyes were sparkling with longing. You felt your heart skip a beat.
Were you about to kiss?!
Before either of you knew what you were doing, he pulled your waist to his. Smoothly, like you'd somehow done this a thousand times before, you dipped your head low, and pushed your lips to his. Lucifer made a soft chuckle - But it wasn't prideful. It was relieved - Like he'd been waiting for this for forever.
Slowly, the kiss came to an end. Lucifer made a soft sigh as you pulled away from him. He looked down, almost looking embarrassed.
"I'm in love with you-" he whispered, "-Is what I wanted to say." His sharp teeth bit into his lower lip, his face tinged in golden blush by his confession. "And I have been for a while, but... I didn't want to screw this all up. Not again."
You smiled as you straightened. "It's alright," you said. You ran a hand through his yellow, feather-soft hair. You pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
Author note: this took way too long. But this is respond to the request I got for more of these two and the reader. Ngl- I’m with them- I’m a sucker for those boys (Patroclus save me-)
TW (Trigger warning): Not much. It starts off as fluff then slowly branches into angst sort. Has a few Yandere themes. Achilles being possessive along with Patroclus. Slightly out of character (but hey, it’s a fan fic). Achilles and Patroclus are lonely lads and want a third-
CW (Content warning)⚠️: Slight coercion, manipulation (?), drugging with magical fruit. Forced imprisonment (?), Achilles and Patroclus are being selfish. This takes place in the modern world.
Basic summary: What happens when you decide to visit the underworld and meet two long dead heroes? Do you make new friends and form a bond or do you awaken something darker..?
🌿- You were granted permission to visit the underworld. A privilege that wasn’t given to many. It wasn’t as simple as finding a secret passage and letting yourself in.
🏺- No, Hades had gotten more stricter with all that. Not like the days of old where many heroes and mortals were able to just waltz on inside the land of the dead. You, however, were blessed enough to have the opportunity to explore and experience this world. Hades was kind enough to pardon you. As long as you followed a few simple rules of course.
🌿- One such rule was ‘Do not eat of any fruit or food in the land of the dead.’ Of course you took in his words and tried to honour them as best you could..however the moment you were granted access, that important rule slipped your mind. Now only full with excitement and wonder.
🏺- You would traverse through the foreign terrain and territory of the underworld. Occasionally seeing Hermes and giving him a greeting or so. You saw unique plants and creatures..not to mention the Shades.
🌿- For the most part the Shades were like people, living their lives in the Asphodel fields. Most of them paid you know mind while others would give you a simple wave.
🏺- Eventually though m you find yourself in the Elysian. You weren’t aware that you had traveled so far until a certain fiery blonde approached you.
🌿- He was a bit taller than you, piercing green eyes and olive skin. He looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen him before. “A mortal in the land of the dead? Haven’t seen one in years…” He would mutter. A slight confused smirk on his face as he took you in.
🏺- He had that thick Greek accent that Hades would have and that’s when it hit you..this must be Achilles. He was a bit surprised to see a human all the way down here unscathed but he actually didn’t mind all that much, especially after you introduced yourself.
🌿- The two of you got to talking as you both walked through the valley together. He would ask you about how you ended up down here and you would explain your story. Of course he was a bit confused but he seemed to understand for the most part. It’s been awhile since he had a conversation with the living..and he was enjoying this little blessing in disguise.
🏺- Soon enough you both stumbled upon another man. He was a bit taller than Achilles (even if he was sitting by a tree you could tell) and his hair was a dark brown with lovely curls..his eyes were as grey as a brewing storm. His skin darker than the blonde next to you and he had visibly more scars than Achilles.
🌿- It took you a moment to realise that this was Patroclus; only when Achilles went up to greet the other did it finally click in your head.
🏺- Achilles obviously introduced you to his companion. And from there you all talked and got to know each other better. By the end of your visit you all made arrangements for you to come back and meet them.
🌿- So over the course of the next few days you’d come down to the under world just to check up on the pair of ancient warriors. You’d talk to them about life in the 21st century and they would teach about the ancient world.
🏺- Obviously you took this to your advantage. Who needs google when you have the (not so) living proof right in front of you?
🌿- But unbeknownst to you, a new feeling started to emerge inside both men. They liked you…they both did…every time you would come down to meet them, they dreaded sending you away when it was time to leave.
🏺- They hated it. They couldn’t help but worry. They didn’t think it was right. How could they protect you if you weren’t with them? Anything could happen once you left the safety of the Elysian.
🌿- They both ended up talking and discussing a plan..a way to keep you down here with them. There’s no harm in that..right?
🏺- “We’re just trying to protect the poor dear…right?” Patroclus would say, as if he was trying to justify what they were about to do to you on your next visit.
🌿- Achilles would scoff as an impish smile graced his lips. “Of course..the mortal should be grateful. It’s the only right decision..”
🏺- They both nodded to each other. Their plan was set.
🌿- The next time you came to visit, it went as usual. You all talked, joked, and conversed about each other’s day. You really enjoyed being around them and they LOVED being around you..
🏺- Eventually though, your stomach grumbled. You were hungry, you would let out a soft groan. Whining about how you wish you packed snacks. Both boys grinned..perfect.
🌿- They could now put their plan into action. Patroclus got up and went over to a fig tree, beckoning you over along with Achilles. “Well if you’re hungry, dear- why not take a fig from this tree..?” Patroclus asked softly. His voice was cool and calm, hiding any form of deceit or manipulation.
🏺- You would stare up at the fruit before going on your tip toes and picking one. It was a pretty looking fruit and you figured it would be the same as the ones on the surface..however just as you were about to take a bit you paused. Didn’t Hades warn you about having any form of food from the underworld?
🌿- Your thoughts were interrupted when Achilles spoke up. He could see the doubt and hesitation growing in your mind and he was desperate to make you forget your uncertainty. “What’s wrong? Do you not like figs? We could get you something else…” He would say.
🏺- You blinked and shook your head, telling him it was fine before you pushed your doubts aside and took a bite of the fruit. Besides, what could possibly go wrong? More than you think.. unfortunately for you..you had just made a grave mistake..
🌿- You felt a little weird but you brushed it off as being tired, meanwhile the two men looked much too happy that you had eaten the fig from this land. Their plan had worked, you were as good as theirs.
🏺- When you expressed you were feeling a bit drowsy they took it upon theirselves to get you a nice place to rest. Patroclus allowing you to rest your head on his lap as you drifted off. Achilles’ hand playing with your hair as you started to sleep.
🌿- “It’s alright, dear..just rest..we’ll be here when you wake up..” Achilles uttered, a slight smirk on his lips as he ran his calloused fingers through your hair. With his words you finally submitted to sleep.
🏺- It was done…you were now theirs. You had sealed your fate, for better or worse..
