The-lonely-raven - 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?

🫀🫀🫀

✞ 666 ✞

rq: "Sooo i watched demon slayer s2 and I have to admit that uzui and his gorgeous wives literally stole my heart. is it possible to have a yan headcanon for them (together or separate) please🙏🏼?"

a/n: pls forgive me if these are a little wack, i haven't got this far in the anime so i did some....external research.

warnings: super long bc i got carried away lol, yandere uzui/uzui's wives, dubcon, object insertion, cuckoldry, kidnapping, gaslighting, forced marriage, forced polygamy.

☆ hc / ♡ spicy hc / ♀️♂️ gendered hc / ‼️ dark hc (🔒 virgin hc )

☆ So, somehow or another, you've got the attention of Tengen Uzui. Doesn't really matter how, does it? It just matters that he can't take his eyes off of you, no matter what.

☆ You wouldn't attract attention for the reason he might notice you first, because you're not all that flashy, or at least not like he is--but there's something within you that just makes something click inside him, and he wants to figure it out. But the only way to do that is to get closer to you, and the more he sees you and talks to you and just spends time with you in general, the more you won't get off his mind and the more he wants to pick you apart until he figures out why.

☆ The first of his wives to notice it is definitely going to be Hina, and she'll be the one to find some time to speak with Tengen about it privately. She's the one to reassure him that he has nothing to fear, that she, Suma, and Makio will always love him, and that's when he'll finally talk about his problem openly much to her amusement.

☆ "It sounds like you might be in love, my darling." The comment hits him like a brick to the face, and though he's quick to deny it in the face of one of the three people he loves most in the world, Hina knows it's true immediately and so does he, deep down. But the thought makes him so antsy. If he's fallen in love with someone new, then there's room for one or two or all of his wives to feel left behind, and that's the last thing he wants. He's just being greedy, he assures himself, and decides from that moment on to cut all ties with you for the sake of his wives.

☆ And that lasts for about a week, maybe two, until he's absolutely falling apart at the seams. The girls are the only things keeping him together at this point, but all three of them are so tied up with keeping him company in this rare period of weakness and depression that nothing else can get done. Despite not wanting to go behind the back of her husband, Hina will end up telling the other two about Uzui's problem with you--and somehow both her and Makio will find themselves being dragged along by Suma to go search for you, the youngest insisting that they get a look at the person that's causing their beloved so much heartbreak!

☆ When they find you and sneak up to spy on you, though, the picture is pretty similar to their poor darling. You look tired, sad, sitting by your little campfire all alone, and as if by some strange higher power....all three of them look between each other, coming upon the unanimous realization that they're not leaving without you.

☆ You, on the other hand, have been wondering why Uzui's shut you out so suddenly. You thought you'd made a good friend, and maybe you wouldn't feel so lonely traversing the wilderness all by yourself if you had a mentor to talk to. But after he stood you up when you agreed to spar together and avoided your presence following that, you haven't been able to shake this feeling of rejection that just makes you want to cry out all your frustrations into the night air.

☆ Luckily (or unluckily) for you, you won't have to dwell on those feelings for much longer. Because before you can breathe, a pair of hands are on you and your vision darkens, and the last thing you see is the ground and two pairs of sandal-clad feet approaching as you pitch into it and pass out into unconsciousness.

☆ When you finally awaken, you find yourself laid out on a futon bed, the air of the room warm and your clothes nowhere to be found beneath the thick blanket. But you're not alone, the oldest of Uzui's wives kneels at your side, and when she catches your eyes fluttering open, she lends you nothing but a smile as your explanation and gets to her feet to hurry out of the room. By the time you have the strength and fear-stricken curiosity to get up and dress yourself in the simple yukata that's been left next to you, you can already hear the chatter and clinking cups from the room across the hall, the door sliding open with ease when you finally find the courage to do so.

☆ Light spills out into the hallway, and inside you're met with the sight of Tengen and his three wives, sharing a meal around a small table with a seat left open by his side. He meets your eyes with the smallest amount of excitement, like his heart flutters just seeing you enter the room, and all four of them are eager to welcome you to the spot they left for you.

☆ There's really no room for you to question anything--the three women talk excitedly at you, bouncing from topic to topic so that you can barely keep up, and you're sat so close to Uzui with his arm just barely grazing your back that you honestly can't think straight anyways. It isn't until they get deeper into conversation about a wedding that you start to clue in, along with Uzui's possessive smile as he feeds you and then drops his hand to stroke your thigh. And when he tries to murmur something into your ear, you lean away and scramble to get to your feet without bothering to hear what it was.

☆ This is where the threat of danger spikes the terror in your heart, and when you try to backtrack and insist that though the meal was lovely and you're very grateful, you need to be getting along and return to your campsite. You don't even know why you're here or how you got here either, which you don't dare to mention--but when Makio reaches up to grab your wrist and prevent you from moving an inch, her grip too strong to even try, you know for a fact that something is going on and that you should have left the city while you still had the chance.

☆♀️ "Be a good girl and sit down. We can't plan your wedding without the bride, can we?"

☆♂️ "Are you trying to make me mad, little prince? Behave in front of the girls, and don't be a brat."

☆ However you feel about the situation, you really have no choice. You'll sit right back down where you were, except for being almost half a foot further away from Uzui than before--which he remedies quite easily by reaching his hand around your waist, and pulling you in so close that you practically fall into his lap.

☆ It's clear that you don't have a say. The four of them go on to talk at length about this so-called wedding, with Uzui rubbing and grabbing your thigh so possessively the entire night. Once it comes time to go to bed, the girls take separate rooms from the master suite so that he can have some alone time with you, and the night is spent in quiet horror as you ponder this new development, too frightened to sleep in case Uzui decides to take advantage of you while you're unaware.

♡♂️ And if you're a male, then he kind of will. He's just so curious, he hasn't ever felt this way about another man until you came along. His hand will creep down between your legs, those huge fingers pawing at your cock through the yukata and feeling it firm up as he keeps touching you. How can a man be this cute, how can you make such beautiful sounds as he strokes you that cause his heart to skip a beat? It's too much, if that's at all evident by the way his erection presses up against your back, and he slides it up along your cheeks as he growls into your ear that you're the reason he's this hard. He'll ask if he can fuck you and you'll probably say no, please don't, and he'll jerk himself into an orgasm in part with his hand and part with your ass, and finally leave you alone once he drifts off to sleep afterwards.

☆ The least you can do from then on is hope somebody enjoys all the food and belongings at your campsite, because it's obvious by the second day that you're not going back. Uzui and his wives make you comfortable in his home, giving you access to your own private room and cooking all your meals for you, and it's clear by the way they treat you that your relationship with them and Uzui is different from the ones they have with each other. Whereas Hina, Suma, and Makio are all self-sufficient and take care of themselves and Uzui, they all dote on you unlike they do each other and treat you more like a lover than they do a co-spouse. So there's no expectation for you to work very hard or to try and take on anything yourself, because all four of them have caring for you at the forefront of their minds.

☆ Besides, it's certain enough that the three of them have their own affection for you based on the frequency with which they visit you in your own room. Sometimes it's truly just for some bonding time, but others it's so that each of them can have their turns with you and tend to your needs as good wives would.

♡♀️ They've got their own appreciation for having another wife in the family. Hina visits you the most often, usually just to spend some time with you and chat or read something together, but on her conjugal visits she likes to focus on your pleasure and sit you on her lap, absentmindedly rolling circles into your clit to watch you come undone on her fingers. Makio often needs stress relief, and will gladly indulge in scissoring you to get out all that frustration that tends to build up inside her. And Suma's usually just bored, and will either eat you out or make you go down on her, happy to pull you away from whatever you were doing so she doesn't have to whine for your attention.

♡♂️ As a second husband, their efforts are focused more on "testing your abilities". Uzui thankfully has no problem with them doing what they like with you, and as a result, you'll often have the girls tugging at you to play with your cock or trying to seduce you into fucking them in various spots around the house, sometimes in front of Uzui himself. And he's happy to watch, a smirk splitting his face as you pound Hina's, Makio's, or Suma's pussy two feet from him, your breath lagging as you struggle not to cum too early and waste a good session. Little do you know that Uzui's always at the ready in that case, fully prepared to grab you and split your little ass in two with his cock as punishment if you dare to cum before his wife does.

♡ In Uzui's case, he feels pretty entitled to your body as a whole. He will wait if you insist you're saving yourself for marriage, but if you don't think of that ahead of time or if you're not a virgin, he'll show you just what he's going to do as your husband and as your lover. He'll leave bruises and sore spots just from how strong he is naturally, and no matter how big or tall you are, it's almost certain you're smaller than he is, thus he's going to revel in how adorable you look all snuggled up in his arms while he ruins you in a full nelson. He loves it when you scream, when you moan, when you insist he's too big to fit and when you cry at the overstimulation because he just can't stop making you cum. You make him feel so special and he's reassured that this gift his wives gave him was the best one he's ever gotten, and he couldn't be happier that you get to share his bed with him now. You're much better as his lover than he is as a mentor, anyways.

♡♀️ In the case of you being a woman, the only way to describe his lovemaking is that he's addicted to your pussy. He has to get into a position where he can watch you whenever you have sex, just so he can see his cock as your cunt swallows it up and drool over how it can manage to take every inch of him if he tries hard enough. He's also obsessed with making you squirt, because even if he can't quite manage it, he wants to get the creamiest, sloppiest orgasms out of you that leave his lap soaked and your pussy leaking with both your cum and his. And don't be fooled, he's not finished until he gets to end the night with you seated on his face, his tongue working overtime to lick up all those delicious fluids while you suck his cock clean to return the favour. Though, more often than not, it ends up with him hard as a rock again and growling into your skin, needing to warm his cock with your pussy again to finally calm down.

☆♂️ For a male, he's honestly much rougher. Call him old fashioned, but he figures you can take it, and he loves to see how far you can go before you try to tap out. Contrary to popular belief though, he can already assume that a lot of prep will be needed, so he'll spread those cheeks of yours and stuff his tongue inside to get you loosened up right away. He's pretty fascinated with your cock too, so he'll touch it and play around with it and eventually start sucking at it until he's satisfied with how sensitive you prove to be, before he starts trying to stick it in your ass. It'll definitely take a while with his size, but once he manages it, he's totally dead to the world for a minute or two. It's such an unfamilar but certainly not unwelcome feeling, and the girls will surely be able to tell when Uzui's finally started fucking you when he starts groaning loud enough to shake the walls. He's totally lost in it and won't even realize you're cumming untouched until you start trembling and crying out his name, and by then, he'll just want to watch you do it again as he licks the cum off your chest and teases you for liking anal this much. He'll have to do a little more to turn a whore like you into a good house-husband, won't he?

☆ Speaking of which, the wedding is a non-negotiable part of this whole arrangement. Whether you've accepted Uzui's obsession with you or not by then, you'll still be all dressed up and given vows to read at your private ceremony, Uzui's huge grin almost unsettling as he locks the two of you into your new marriage. And rest assured, it's legally binding--divorce is the only way you'll ever really get away from him if you want to, and he will never let that happen.

♡🔒 And as an inevitable part of the wedding, if your purity is still intact by then, it won't be any longer. Denying him really isn't an option, if you've even still got the mind to try it and you haven't been manipulated into accepting this relationship like it's something normal, because you're married now! You have no reason to wait anymore, and he really can't stand another minute without ripping your clothes off of you.

♡🔒 At the very least he tries to be gentle, despite being hung like a horse in every sense of the word. The only real way to shape you to fit his cock is to break you first, so even if there's tears or a bit of blood he's so reassuring, his hand coming down to stroke your hair as he keeps pushing in and swearing to you that the pain will go away soon. You're such a good little doll, you take your husband so well, and he promises to fill you with so much cum and to make you shake so hard when you finish that you won't even notice the aches and soreness.

☆ Honestly, with more than one person reaffirming that this is all normal, you'll be inclined to believe it more sincerely than you might if it was just Uzui. He's brilliant at making you feel as though your fear and anxiety is nothing to worry about, thus slowly negating those gut feelings you get whenever you spot one of the many red flags in your relationship. Even when he refuses to let you walk around outside by yourself or reach out to one of your friends or family, it doesn't really click that it's a problem as much when you have three other women telling you that it's okay and that they'll be the ones to support you instead of all those other people, they probably don't even care the more you think about it.

♡‼️ However, if ever he needs to really put into perspective how lucky you are to be a part of his family, like if you try to escape or you agress against him or one of his wives, he has a punishment well thought out for you specifically. He'll strip you naked, force you into his personal training room, and fuck you with the handle of his katana. If he's feeling nice he'll undo the chain and just use the hilt, but if not he'll push them in uncomfortably alongside it and watch you cry and shake as he does so. Pray that you don't end up cumming from the stimulation alone, because if you do so while he's reprimanding you, he'll threaten to fuck you with the blade instead since you liked the other side so much. He won't really, but you don't know that. And when he's done punishing you, he'll forbid you from wearing clothes for the next seven days, thereby reserving the right to not only humiliate you enough that you'll never disobey him again, but also so that there'll be nothing stopping him from fucking you whenever he damn pleases, and he can blame it on you seducing him by flaunting that cute body of yours around.

♀️‼️ "This is what you deserve, don't go around saying I'm unfair. Now smile for me....there's my pretty princess. That's what I like to see."

♂️‼️ "Shame you couldn't be a good boy, like I asked. At least you're cute when you're being punished....and I think your ass misses me stretching it out, so maybe I ought to punish you again?"

☆ In the end, it's easier just to accept it all and take it in stride. Uzui is determined to have you be part of his family, and his wives adored you from the moment they laid eyes on you, plus being their captive in some way allows you to remain safe from the demons and other dangers that lurk outside the door of the manor. You may be trapped in this commitment for a lifetime, but if your life is filled with being doted on and cared for and loved, well....it's not so bad. Is it?

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷  Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷  Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ Chapters are a bit rushed, sorry bout that 😭 hope u enjoy tho

Chapter 1: Behind the chain

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mention of death, horrible Spanish. Also, I don’t live in America so idrk how people talk there, so please bear with me.

FIC MASTERLIST

Next Chapter

“Hello? Yeah, I’m at practice.”

As your feet hit the ground, the chain link fence shutters from the release of your weight— a sigh escaping your lips as you pull your phone up closer to your ear. The sound of your aunt's nags echo from your phone, bellowing across the abandoned subway and overpowering even the sound of your boots hitting the damp ground. It was shrill, her voice. Like a fork being dragged down a piece of fine china. Activating the flashlight of your phone, you swiftly slip your head out of your hood, the new spot now staring back at you like an empty canvas— devoid of life and color. It’s tragic.

As you trudge down the narrow space, your senses begin to process the stench of the horror movie-like scenery. You could heard the pipes’ leaking going along with your aunt’s ongoing lecture about something you couldn’t recall— somehow distracting you from your search.

But what certainly made you uneasy was the chill.

You hated the cold. You hated the way it’d ice your feet, dry your skin, restrict your clothes, and clog your nose. Though ironically, autumn was the season you found most enjoyable. Most of the nostalgia you bore came from the sight of those scarlet leaves— the smell of pumpkin spice, your mother’s old scarves, and the earthly rich tones of orange and red. It’d been so long, though, since your last happy memory in the season.

Nowadays, the nights are just longer, and the days shorter.

Soon enough, you stop before a tall, white wall, making you gasp as though you’d just won the lottery. Only then you started bidding your farewells to your aunt, who was beyond exasperated with your hurried adieu. Shoving the gadget down your pocket, your backpack falls right off your shoulder with a small thump, eyes still glued onto the blank space.

You make your way towards one of the seats, settling down your stuff while slipping your vape out the crevices of your sleeve and taking a slow puff— the taste of peppermint flourishing through your lips and covering up the stench of whatever was rotting in the railways.

"You're early." A familiar, sarcastic growl emits from the shadows. You turn around as the light from your phone blinds him, making him wince.

“I missed you.” You playfully answered.

The familiar gleam of hazel blinks and stares right back at you, the same stoic stare narrowing from your comment.

“Sure you did.” He huffs.

In the back of your mind, the same phrase bellows.

Well, well, well. If it ain’t Miles Morales.

It was one night, two months ago, when the two of you first met. You were an utter mess, and so was he— and it just so happened that beneath all that rain, the two of you found each other at the right time, at the right place. Supposedly.

The two of you bonded in loneliness and art. It was almost poetic, especially knowing that the two of you were anything but good for each other.

But you believed that that’s what’s great about life— the reckless things, and betting whatever you have on the line, for a taste of something thrilling. Miles knew how to pull on your strings, and the idea of being understood was still new to you. Still, whenever you do find yourself in the comfort of Miles Morales, you can’t help but ask yourself:

Who will we be to each other?

How will we change each other’s lives after this?

You couldn’t quite tell if it was your gut warning you, or your anxiety just being a little shit, but you knew the time to hear the answers was drawing near. You had no idea whether the possibility mortified you or not.

One thing for certain though, was that you knew you wanted him, and you were willing to take the risk to see him over and over again.

Miles took a step closer, his height towering over you like a tree. With a single finger, he maneuvers your flashlight away from his face with a light push.

"Get that shit away from my face."

“Awe, but I wanna see that pretty face of yours.”

“Stop.”

Cat and mouse was your usual dynamic. Though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who the cat was.

He clicks his tongue, moving away from you to head over somewhere else. A few seconds later, the power suddenly lights up and brings the subway back to life. Miles stood by the power switch, staring right at you as if to examine your reaction.

You straightened your lips and raised your brows.

"Well, you should've done that sooner."

He lazily shrugged his shoulders, approaching you once more yet with more meticulous steps. "Wanted to scare ya." He cooly confessed, earning nothing but another chuckle.

"If you wanted to scare me, don’t look so pretty."

Said pretty boy furrowed his brows, making you grin wider.

"Ay, díos. You're..." For a short moment, he thinks of how to complete the sentence.

You hum. "I'm what?"

".. so fucking unbearable."

"Awe, I missed you too." You smiled in a sickly sweet way while placing a hand over your heart. That certain sort of thrill began thumping inside you again, an unfamiliar excitement that got you staring right at him mindlessly with that stupid look on your pretty face. As Miles replied with silence, you shrugged and pulled the mod up your tinted lips— blowing the smoke away from his face. Only then, you gestured it towards him.

"Want a hit?"

"Nah." He dryly replies. "That's your first step to a rehab, y'know."

A low laugh exits your lips, taking another hit while slowly walking around. "With how fucked up I am, I'm bound to end up in either jail, a rehab, or a mental institution— so," You snap your fingers. "I'm just gonna enter all three of them."

Miles looks at you, horrified.

"M’just kidding. Don't you think I look hot while doing it, though?"

He peels the horrified stare away from you, instead choosing to kneel before your backpack, unzipping the damn thing as though it were his.

"What'chu got?" He asks, a certain twang in his voice that lightened you up. You head over in less than a second, grinning stupidly like a little kid in search of favor. You pull the plastic bag out of your backpack, waving it over his face.

"Only the best for you." You wink. "I just kindly borrowed these from my school's art club."

Receiving the bag from your grasps, Miles pulls out the newly bought spray paints. He furrows his brows at the sight of the bold fifteens printed on the bottom of each bottle, a tag left as if to brag. "Kindly borrowed, huh?" He skims over the bottle, evidently impressed. "Fifteen dollars per bottle? That’s a whole heist right there.”

“I literally just snatched it off the cabinet.”

“You must go to some rich kid’s school or sum. You even look the part.”

He gestures over your well-kept appearance. Your clean boots, pressed jeans, freshly done nails, and fragrant hoodie.

And yet you continued to look at him like he was the crazy one.

"... Miles, it’s called neatness. A basic trait." You stand up, stretching your arms above your head, the ache in your bones subtly easing. "If I did have the money, my art would be in an exhibition, not in an abandoned subway."

He pursed his lips, somewhat convinced. "Touché."

As he unpacks the paints, you stay beside him, watching as he goes through the colors and lines them up in order. You shove your hands down the pockets of your hoodie, humming.

"So what'll you be drawing tonight?"

"I ain’t really sure yet… The Subway logo, maybe." He shrugs, an exhausted groan rolling off his tongue as he stands up. "… I ain't got shit. I'm drained."

"Then why'd you come here?"

"Felt bad for ya."

You smirk. "So you did miss me."

He takes a step back, turning his head the other way. "I sure do find your delusional ass amusing." He mumbled, trying to hide the anxiety gnawing at his throat. You hardly notice it, as you were too busy staring at the empty wall, but Miles was uneasy. Uneasy in a way that he was desperate to hide it.

"At least I’ve got an ass." You airily snap back, silence following like an awkward stench. "Did you bring your sketchbook with you, by the way?"

He then proceeds to go through his jacket, eyes widening from the realization. "Ah, shit. I did... Not."

"Awe." You blandly answered, pulling out your own from the pocket of your bag. It was small, convenient, almost like a notepad. "Well, I've got mine here." You toss it over, which he successfully catches. "They're not exactly as good as yours, but you can skim through the pages to find some inspiration."

The pages spin from the flip of his fingers. Tens of concept art, a few unfinished sketches, and some dabbling in watercolor appeared before him in a flash. As he goes through the pages, you take the moment to have a momentary smoke, straying not so far away just so he wouldn't inhale any of it. The nicotine eased you as it normally did, though now that you were looking at this pretty boy before you, you couldn't help but ponder about quitting. Just for him. Just for the sake of him.

Though the feeling the nicotine often brought you was addicting, his presence hit you harder than any other drug, affecting your system in a way that made your stomach whirl. He was like your favorite cup of coffee— the strongest coffee to ever linger in your presence. Strong enough to appear on a drug test.

It was damning.

Dangerous even.

As the page flips again, Miles freezes at the sight. You take the gadget away from your lips, approaching him immediately as he huffs.

"... Huh."

Bursting in neons of magenta and violet was the sketch you made of a certain vigilante.

"Oh, don’t mind that." You mumble. "That's just some random sketch."

He brings the paper closer to his sights, marveling at your talent. The markers and the ink, mirroring the image of a cat on the run. His pretty lips part, mouth hanging agape as he asks. "You know this guy?"

A hero of the streets, some sort of final pillar carrying the weight of New York's safety on his broad shoulders.

"Well, I've seen him— Prowler, from the news. I thought he looked pretty cool."

Prowler, a name all too familiar to you. How could you not know he was? A man hiding behind an iron mask, a digital purple hologram over the metals, making his silhouette mirror a panther’s. The man was all your father recently growled about, the memory of the heavy morning still engraved into your mind. You can almost sketch it out— The stench of his tobacco, the shrill of his angered voice, and the image of your poor housekeeper silently brushing some broken shards into the dustpan. You remember sitting by the dining table, solemnly choking on your breakfast as you forcibly shoved it down your throat.

Eyes downcast and hands shaking.

"You think he's cool?" Miles' voice tears you apart from the memory. He sounded almost elated, like a child in search of praise.

"Yeah, I'd always wanted to be a vigilante, fuck—" The vape rolls off your tongue unconsciously. "Like, my life is so damn boring, but at the same time, I've got too many responsibilities to handle so I can't do the things I like. But hey, that's life, I guess."

"If you've got too many responsibilities, then what the hell are you doing here? It's like midnight r'now, damn."

"I kinda told my aunt I had practice for band."

"You're in a band?"

"…. No." You deadpan. "That's the reason why I'm here, man."

He snapped the sketchbook shut, sighing as he plucked out the red and purple spray paints from the line. "God, you'd be one hell of a headache if I ever had a kid like you."

"Woah, slow down, sweetie, you're already talking about kids and you haven't even taken me out to dinner yet." You tease, teeth nibbling onto your lower lip as you watch him crumble. He straightens his lips, forcefully holding back a smile.

"… Shut that mouth for me, would ya?" He shot back. "Just shut up."

"Oo, make me."

He pops the lid off the red paint, the sound of a nickel ball being shaken up in a metal can soon following. Without even an ounce of hesitation, he curtly sprays the paint over your sleeve, earning a gasp from you. You quickly snatch the neon pink can and start spraying back, the chemical smell wafting over your nostrils as the sound of your giggles echoed down the halls. A minute later and the both of you began drawing your new piece while being drenched in paint.

"Hey, pretty boy.”

Miles instinctively turns to look at you, as though he prided himself in the nickname.

"I need to do the top part, can you boost me?" You ask, voice muffled from the towel pulled over your nose.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but he agreed without making a sound.

He kneels, tapping on his thigh, gesturing you to take your step. Taking off your shoes, you cautiously climb over, feeling his hands brush against your calves, almost as if he was readying his stance to catch you just in case you fall. Initially, the pose seemed to be serving you well, but when your ankles started shivering, your hand latched onto his head, gripping gently in panic. Miles, who was, of course, caught off guard, began shaking. You finally took a step down.

"Fuck." You whispered. "Can you do it?"

"Hol' on."

"I think you just need to like, tiptoe a bit and—"

"Be patient."

And you did just that.

He stretches out his toes in an attempt to reach for the top, but he fails miserably. Miles then turned to you, bearing the pout of a frustrated child.

"... Ya already know what to do, right?"

"Mm, yeah."

An irrational thought crosses his mind, and it battles against his rationality like a civil war within the confines of his head. A second later, his lone finger signals you to come closer. You do so, and he looks up at the unfinished crown.

"I'm gonna carry you, a'ight?"

"What?" You blurt out. "Y-You don't have to—"

"Just balance yourself." He skips past your rant. "And you better do it well."

Before you could even intervene, he's down and offering you his shoulder. Hesitantly, you position yourself. Looking over at you, Miles skims over your face in search of approval. When your hand shakily makes its way over his other arm, Miles cautiously wraps his palm over the side of your knee, hoisting you up like a trophy he’d just won.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Y-yeah. Just— yeah." You stumble over your words, raising your hand over to start painting.

You could feel it tingling in your bones. Skin deep, rotting within the confines of your flesh, insecurity at its highest peak. And it shut you up. Miraculously, as Miles would say it. Your weight, your body, your own figure frightened you. It would be a lie for Miles to claim that he hasn’t noticed. But he stood tall, hardly showing an ounce of any struggle— which comforted somehow.

He was pretty strong, stronger than you first thought.

As you painted, Miles stood there in silence. Trying his best to focus on his breathing.

But the softness of your palm atop his shoulder, and the growing warmth of his own over your waist. Miles desperately tried to ignore growing warmth burning his cheeks. He resisted the urge to dig into the softness of your waist, and yet it remained like a taunt— allowing only his nails to grip over your shirt, the thin barrier over your skin. It seemed almost vulgar, how his hand was beneath your hoodie, gripping as though you were his favorite plush. How his wrist was pressed against the curve of your hip. Then and there, within the span of five minutes, the silhouette of your body was forever engraved into his senses, his mind, and his touch.

But no one spoke of it.

"... You done?" He groaned.

"In a bit, hol' on."

You thought he'd start complaining about your weight, but he didn't.

You were somewhat relieved, but at the same time, it flustered you.

And when the little scene ended, you and Miles stood there, backs pressed against the wall as you stared at your new masterpiece. You looked over the chemical stains on your sleeves, glancing at him. "This jacket's pretty expensive, y'know. It cost me like fifteen grand."

His face twisted in disgust. "You'd buy a jacket like that? In this economy?”

"It's a capitalist world we live in."

"No shit."

The two of you share a small laugh, evidently exhausted from the whole art process. It wasn't all that much, but it was based on one of your many doodles during class. The cursive that spelled out Stay Out was painted in an intimidating shade of red, its borders tainted in white and black— a crown of thorns resting above the text. It seemed like a warning, an open threat. Crafted by frustration, but upon its finish, you were eased.

"Next time, we should do something that says 'Eat the rich' or 'Vive la revolución.'" Miles suddenly suggested, jazzing his fingers comedically. You click your tongue. "We might get shot, man.”

“With all that smoking you do, you’ll wither away before the bullet even manages to get you.”

You raised your brows. “Okay, and?”

Miles scoffs at your ridiculous reply, but for a moment he thinks about it— some sort of plan in his mind. Sooner or later, he soon gently raises his palm without a word. You stare at his hand confusingly, “What?” you then asked of him. The boy then gestured over his lips with his fingers shaped like a v, imitating the act of smoking. “Lemme try, at least once.”

“… You’re kidding.”

“I’m being for real, ma, just let me try it once.”

You think about rejecting his request, but the curiosity had you fishing out your e-cigarette in less than a second.

“Okay, but if you die, I’m not paying for your damn ambulance bill.”

“Just uber me to the damn hospital.”

Miles then looks at it, glaring holes into the pen-shaped gadget as though he were waiting for it to speak. After considerably taking his time, he plucks it out your palm and starts a slow sip, the collision of the nicotine and the flavor flooding his tongue as the smoke enters his system. When the heat creeps in, however, he bursts out into a coughing fit.

You snatch the gadget away from his grasp as he groans.

“Careful.”

"What the fUCK—, ain't that s'pposed to calm you down?—" He slams his hand against the center of chest in an attempt to ease his lungs.

"… Did you fucking swallow the smoke or what?" You sigh while taking a sip, the smoke smoothly exiting your lips.

"... You know what? You are definitely gonna die early."

"Oh, darling, don't threaten me with a good time."

“Pu—” He coughs a few more times. “Puta, I almost died there.”

You take your palm and began rubbing small circles behind his back. “You shouldn’t do the shit I do, even if I look hot doing it.”

“Ain’t nobody told you that.”

“… Why’d you wanna smoke anyway?”

“I just wanted to know why you keep doing that.” He groans, staring at the pen in your fingers. “I mean— it’s unhealthy as fuck, hardly tastes good, and it’ll kill you the ugliest way possible. So why do it?”

You lower the pen as though your long-lost conscience re-entered your body.. “… I don’t know really.” You mumbled half-heartedly. “I think it’s what calms me down the most…? I don’t know.”

“… You don’t have, like, normal hobbies?”

“The fuck— of course, I do.” You swiftly shot back. “I just don’t have the time to do them.”

“Then what do you do at home?”

You blink.

“What— What do I do at home?” You repeat, thinking of it to yourself. “That’s a good question, what do I do at home?… I do chores, I study a lot. I-I take care the house.” Take care of the house? Yeah, shit I ain’t Mirabel Madrigal. As your mind short circuits, from a mile away, you could already guess his reply.

“I do that too, dumbass.”

You click your tongue. “.. It’s complicated. The time I usually have for myself is when I’m outside, that’s why I lied that I took up band for extra credit.”

You smoothed out the details of your life, picking out a few small details that were definitely not all that important.

"Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah.”

The boy curved his lips into a slight frown.

“I mean,” You shift closer, sighing as you palm the back your neck. “Sometimes, places like these are better than my own home."

"Places like an abandoned subway?"

“You make it sound like I’m homeless.”

“That’s what it sounds to me.”

"... It’s just.." You run your fingers through your hair, eyes glued onto the ceiling above. "I feel more at home in an abandoned subway more than my own house.”

Miles hummed. "… I'd always thought home would be more of a person," He tilts his head. "Rather than a place."

The silence was deafening, but this time, nothing was urging you to fix it— because there was nothing in need of fixing. You were comfortable, weirdly enough, as you never really found comfort in utter silence.

“It’d be nice to be.. Someone’s home.” You couldn’t help but utter those cheesy words. “I think I’d make a great home.”

Miles fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, holding back the words that echoed in his mind.

Yeah, you’re doing great.

Instead, what slips out of his mouth was: “How the fuck are you gon’ be a home? You’re a whole haunted house.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You roll your eyes. “If I’m a haunted house, you’re a rental where all the drive-by shootings happen.”

“Okay, what the fuck.”

“When you go low, I go LOWER.”

In the end, the two of you simply bursted into laughter, sinking down to the floor to take a seat. Another hour passed and so did a hundred topics. They flew by like the autumn leaves, leaving the both of you unconsciously huddling close for warmth beneath the large scarf you brought. Two birds of one feather, one nest. Easy conversations, light laughs, and genuine interest.

Even when the conversation grew darker, the two of you infinitely felt cosy enough to confide in one another. Especially when Miles spoke about his father.

You listened well, yet there was this ball stuck in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow. A heaviness in your heart, a stiff feeling in your throat. However, your ears were welcoming. His tone was grieving, but his words resonated with acceptance.

"He used to drive me every morning to school... We'd fight over the pettiest things, and god, I hated it, but looking back, it was better then." He buried half his head into his arms. "I'd rather have him annoying me than have him not annoying me at all."

The words hit you like a truck, leaving you defenseless. In a moment, your walls crumble as these words crawl out your mouth. "... Sometimes, when we're with someone, you can't help but wish they'd leave you alone, but when they're gone, only then you'll realize how much you can't live without them."

Though your words were meant for Miles, you knew damn well that they were also for you.

"... There's some truth to that, I guess."

"Does that mean that you'd miss me when I'm gone?" You tease.

Your gentle gazes collide, and eventually, you see that Miles had softened entirely.

"... Maybe."

“.. Maybe?” You repeat his reply. “.. Should I annoy you more then?”

“You’re annoying enough as you are.” He huffs, pulling his knees to his chest. “I hate you so much.”

“Sure you do.”

You lean against his shoulder. “Hate me all you want. I’ll pretend to believe you.”

A light chuckle emits from his lips, but as it fades, he turns his head, burying his nose in the scent of your hair. You were fragrant, and it was addicting. Slowly, he shuts his eyes and basks in your scent.

Then he called out your name softly.

You hum, looking up at him— the inches between you closing in, cold breaths like white smoke intertwining. His cold fingers dance atop your own.

“What?” You whisper.

His lids were heavy, gaze switching between the pool of your eyes and the plush of your lips.

Then and there, you knew.

But something screamed at you in the back of your mind.

We can’t.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And you pulled away before your lips could even meet.

"Shit." You cuss, clumsily pulling the phone out of your pockets. Your hands frantically scramble to answer the call, the look of Miles' defeated stare stinging the corner of your eye. "Hello?" You began, hearing the chauffeur's voice ask back. "Ma'am, where are you?"

Your fingers press the side of your phone, lowering the volume.

“We're currently clearing up the room right now. Can you please wait about thirty more minutes? Thanks."

As the call ends, you frantically head off to start cleaning up. Trying to evade whatever had just happened— at least, you try to. It invaded your mind and heart, left you breathless and unsteady.

You and Miles began picking up the bottles, shoving it inside the plastic. You then flung the strap of your backpack onto your shoulder, holding the plastic out to him. "You can have it."

Confusion was scribbled all over his face.

"Didn't you steal that from your school's art club?”

You look up, thinking about it for a moment before shrugging. "It’s their problem, not ours." You grin.

Miles shakes his head in feigned disapproval. "Tsk tsk tsk, eres una chica tan mala."

"Don't start, the only Spanish I know's from Dora."

"Que?"

"Queso."

You shove the plastic into his arms. "No hablo Español, lo siento." Was all you managed to form out of the past few weeks you started learning Spanish. You threw a hand in the air, waving him a fast farewell while pivoting your heel to leave.

“Can’t I walk you home?” A suggestion, and not a demand for the first time, Miles insists “It’s dark as fuck outside, and you might get.. Y’know.”

For a moment, you pause to laugh.

“Are you worried about me?”

He nods. “I am.”

“I— wait, what?”

He took a step further. “I am worried about you. It’s ten o’clock. I think I should take you home.”

Miles looked at you in a way you’ve never seen before. It was unfamiliar, or maybe you just weren’t good at paying attention, yet now that it was materializing before you— It overwhelmed you.

It was breaking you open.

You bite your lower lip, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“… I-I don’t know, I don’t think my dad would like that very much.”

“And I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like the idea of his lil’ girl getting hurt.”

There he goes again, towering over you, his cocky eyes never once leaving your face. Lil’ girl my ass, you can’t help but think. I’m tall, asshole. You just so happened to be taller.

“I’ll walk you home.” He reiterates. Now it’s an announcement, not a proposal. “You can tell me to leave when we’re near. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“… Miles,” The way his name rolls off your tongue had him weak, and you couldn’t even tell. “.. Okay, fine— But, only up until the Gristedes down the block. Until then, you go home, alright?”

Your voice was too soft, too mellow. It made his breath hitch, made his neck tense in this already cold weather.

“Aight.”

✞ 666 ✞

— Concept: Student Yandere and Professor Darling

Warning: GN! Reader, blackmail, n/on-con, d/ub-con, age gap, student-teacher relationship, push-over reader, unfair ending, n/oncon recording, uhh ask to tag!

A/N: just a concept that plagued me for a while... hhhhhhh;; i'm so normal ab this

Any dynamics that involve an authority figure and a subordinate, no matter how innocent they may initially seem, are doomed from the start for either or both of the parties involved. 

There’s an underlying power imbalance, someone holds the authority over the other, there is no nice way to put it, unfortunately. 

Most of the time, in fics, I see a lot of Yan professors creeping on their students, but the thought of a student Yan harassing their beloved professor has been plaguing my mind. 

I see the relationship as one that starts sweetly, you’ve noticed a certain student in your course that’s been falling behind, making mistakes that should have long been addressed, their work is always late or partially done and you’re growing slightly annoyed at them for wasting your time and misusing theirs as well, you’d offered them private tutoring when you found out it seemed to be only your course where they were turning in these less than acceptable projects. 

They reject, seemingly embarrassed that you’d even offered such a proposal. You try to calm their nerves down, you’re pretty young yourself, you only graduated a few years ago and you won’t charge them, it won't be a daily thing but they can pop in every once in a while at your office so you can review and work on assignments and such. The hesitant look on their face seems to slowly be melting off.

You continue insisting, you lay out the facts as they are; they’re a brilliant student who has been passing all other courses and extracurricular activities with flying colors, so why is that your course has become such a challenge to them? You’be seen them work and the way they behave during class, you’ve even noticed how some students go to them to try and clear up any questions and study together with them, rumors about them being easily one of the college’s star students were always going around, so it’s either that they’re making shit up and lying to their peers, which you doubt since you’ve seen their works before and after reaching out to them, or they were purposefully trying to fail your class, maybe they thought it’d be easier and decided to try it and decided from the get go not do their best – after all, it wasn’t as if all of the work they’ve handed is bad, there’s some clear understanding of what they’re doing, it’s just that they seem insistent on missing something, even if it means inconsistencies in their resume of work, the assignments that made up less percentage of the overall grade were done well enough but anything that was important was clearly half-assed. You explain your concern; you’re genuinely worried your class might hold them back from graduating with their peers, if things kept going on like this, they’d fail your class and if they did, they’d have to repeat the semester and risk graduating a year or so later.

It’s then that they pull out a card they’d been holding on to dearly for a situation such as this, a perfectly curated story meant to pull at your heartstrings and lead you into their honey sweet trap;

They start going on about a sob story about their parents’ jobs, how they were struggling financially for a while since their parents cut them partially off for choosing a college out of their town, and how they’re supposed to provide for themselves for things such as food and bills, about how their schedule is always so busy trying to balance college, their friendships, mending their relationship with their parents, and their job on top of all studying they’ve been doing, how your class had unfortunately been the least of their concerns and that they’re immensely sorry to have worried you and that they are willing to do anything to make up for their past grades. 

You can empathize with such a dilemma, being fresh out of college yourself, the memories of balancing relationships, work, and academics are still freshly etched into your mind. 

They clearly seem burned out and your heart aches seeing a student as promising as themselves dim down so drastically. You’d hate to be one class that impedes them from graduating on time, you don't want to be the lone profesor responsible for slowing down such a valuable asset to society.

You sit them down and try to offer them some advice, you were in a similar situation when you were in college yourself, you try to explain the ways you managed to survive and bypass college, going into detail about your own problems and how you were able to live through it all. They seem visibly more relaxed during the conversation, nodding along and explaining their own feelings and hardships, you both manage to sympathize with each other and come to an arrangement.

It’s completely under the table since you are worried what it might look like, but from now on until the end of this semester you’d use a more relaxed, less strict grading system for them, after all, they did have a legitimate reason for their behavior and they were willing to make up for it. That is, under the condition that they start taking tutoring classes from either yourself or a fellow classmate, they weren’t able to balance the studying schedule necessary so you’d try and manage at least one aspect of it for them to try and make their life a little bit easier.

They agree gladly, but not before asking if you could be the tutor, when you’d questioned their request they explain themselves, seemingly embarrassed for their own reasoning;

“I don’t want it to get out that I’m failing your class, professor…” The smile they wear seems genuine and shy and you nod in understanding, college students are only older teenagers, after all, most of them are still stuck in their high school mentality and you wouldn’t put it past a bunch of immature little shits to try and mess with someone who was struggling.

What you don’t know is that they’ve been planning for something like this to happen from the get go, always going out of their way to purposefully present themselves as a stupid, pathetic and incompetent student that would need their hot professor’s (your) help to pass the course.

During your first couple of sessions they work extra hard to make themselves seem as ditzy and clueless as possible, making as many mistakes and errors as humanly reasonable without getting you too annoyed at them. They even begin to dress in slightly more provocative ways, their speech seems more flirtatious, their touches linger on your shoulders for longer than necessary, but you brush it off, trying to ignore the signs, and think of it as a silly crush, opting to try to focus on helping them get through this semester with either a decent or average grade.

Their grades are getting better but with the current pace, you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

So, you ignore the uncomfortable, sinking feeling in your gut and suggest making your tutoring sessions more frequent - instead of once a week maybe twice or thrice if it was really necessary.

You didn’t expect them to suggest going to your place. Originally, you’d suggested either the library or a cafe, but they said they felt too embarrassed and self-conscious at the idea of their peers watching him, they claimed they’d probably make fun of them for needing help for a course they’d been taking for almost a whole semester at that point.

They insist on your place, but you reject the idea, they say it’s either there or at their place because elsewhere you both risk either staff or some of the student body seeing you both together and getting the wrong idea. The conversation goes on for hours until you’re exhausted and give in. 

They are a good person, right? Even if the thought of a student knowing where you lived made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t like they’d do anything about it… right?

You try to limit the study space to your living room, the bathroom, and the kitchen every once in a while if you notice the snacks you had brought weren’t enough, but never further than that. Your bedroom and office were completely off limits, you’d made it explicitly clear that if you caught them wandering far you’d have no choice but to kick them out and stop the tutoring, possibly even having to call the campus’ authorities if you felt they were getting too out of line – your reputation be damned. 

They also were only allowed to come over during the weekends and on specific weekdays where no one would be able to catch him entering your apartment.

They agree and promise to follow every single one of the rules you’d put in place.

But it doesn’t take long for them to start going back on their word and start “exploring” your living space, it started small – simply walking around your living room, examining framed pictures, looking over books, memorizing the placement of your trinkets and decor, making a mental note of the colors you used in the space, they make sure to remember to try and look up where you got your cushions and everything as well, they start looking into you fridge and pantry to make see what you eat, if there’s any indication of a possible food allergy; it’s all investigative work for your future together. It’s not too long before they’ve memorized your living room and are drawn to the rest of your house. They've gone to your bedroom and studied the space, taking note of the way you made your bed and how many pillows you have, they also have made a list of products you use and like, such as scents and soaps, to make sure your transition to their place is as smooth as possible. Soon, they could very well draw a floor plan of your place and recreate your home in the most basic of softwares. 

The only reason you haven’t caught up to them is because they’ve taken to spiking your drinks with sleep medication, strong enough dosages that you’ll be knocked out for a while, but not enough that you’ll realize you were drugged.

It’s during your sleeping state that the next part of their plan starts to take action. They’ll purposefully plant evidence in your home of their presence and snap pictures, suddenly their underwear is in your laundry basket, and why are you wearing their hoodies to sleep, huh? They’re meticulously planned and staged pictures that make it look like you were engaging in a romantic relationship, but it’s not enough — they need more, something more extreme. More incriminating, something that would absolutely destroy your career and reputation if it came out.

What about a picture of them going down on you? Or one with their cum all over your face? Your naked figure cuddling up to their bare chest? Some makeup to look like hickies could look realistic in pictures too, you know. Maybe them on top of you… or you on top of them? Or one where your lips are sucking their fingers like a —! Ah, the thought has them blushing! All of these photos are like their dreams come true! You look like such a perfect spouse, taking their love~ They make sure to clean up the space, but they’re growing bolder and more confident in their work.

They even have videos of themselves jacking off on top of you, but they’re always so good at making it seem like you’re awake and participating in these activities! It really does look like you’re helping them get off with your own mouth.

You’re such a naughty professor seducing your innocent, sweet student like that!

It’s sick, they’re sick and they know it fully well but they don’t care, as long as they don’t get caught – there’s no way in hell they’ll stop.

Their grades begin improving and there’s no longer any fear of them failing your class, in fact you’d go as far to say they’ve easily become one of your best students in terms of grades. Things seem to be looking up and you’re pretty proud of yourself for having had a positive impact on them, which is why you come to the conclusion they won’t be needing your tutoring anymore. 

You call them over to your office after classes, making sure to be as nice as possible. At first you were annoyed and put off by them, their initial behavior was unsettling and persistent, but after a couple of months of getting to know them you’ve grown to care for them and genuinely wish them the best, you’d pointed out how teaching them had been a joy and you’d always end the sessions feeling better than before, which is why you’d chosen to end the tutoring. You lay out the facts as they are, their grades have improved and there’s no longer any threat of them failing your class, you’d also be risking people misunderstanding the situation if it went any longer, if word came out you’d been using a different rubric to grade them until recently and that they’d been going over to your place, it would simply look bad for both of you. You’d risk getting sanctioned, possibly even losing your job if things were taken in the wrong way, and they could repeat the semester or even have their work in your class be null and having to take a new course entirely, if not even being kicked out.

There’s a minute of silence between the two of you, the air is thick and you wonder if you should have been softer in your delivery as you watch them process your words.

It takes them a while, you decide to give them the time because you have indeed noticed how they’d seem to grow ever so attached to you and they might take this a bit too personally, but you’re soon starting to grow increasingly uncomfortable as the silence continues.

You’re about to say something again, try to soften the blow with some generic encouragement about how they’ll do well regardless of you being their tutor or not, when you hear them chuckle softly under their breath.

You’re taken aback, your eyes widen in surprise and you unconsciously lean back into your chair, but that seems to have further encouraged their laughter as soon they’re covering their face with the back of their hand as they double over in laughter.

It’s strange but you decide to give them a few seconds to regain their composure, maybe this was a nervous habit? You’d heard of people who’d laugh when anxious, but you’d never seen something so theatrical.

They slowly sit back up, wiping tears from their eyes as a few chuckles escape their smiling lips. They haven’t fully calmed down but seem to be making an effort to continue the conversation nonetheless.

“Ah, professor,” your last name tumbles from their lips in a joyous manner but their eyes look icy as they stare at you, their voice feels more aggressive even if the words came out from a smile, “don’t be so ridiculous, I think things are working pretty well as they are, I have no desire to change our… relationship.” 

You’re taken by surprise, their word choice feels odd and purposeful, but you insist regardless.

“There is no relationship between us,” you state, “I am your professor, do you understand? That means that if I say your tutoring is over, it’s over; I have been going easy on you and helping you out but do not misinterpret my intentions, you are my student and that’s where our acquaintanceship ends. If you think you’ll continue needing help, I’m certain our TA will be more than glad to step up and help you out.”  

They smile as they take their phone out of their pocket and your stomach drops for a second, wondering what on earth they could have there. They slide it towards you after unlocking it, they’re carefree in their handling of the device and your nerves start to rise, a gut wrenching feeling settles in your stomach, you don’t really understand what you’re seeing at first but once you do you feel your blood run cold.

You don’t even realize they’ve walked behind your chair, too focused on the picture of your naked body cuddling up to their equally nude form. They’re smiling, tenderly caressing your bare shoulders, embracing your body in such a loving manner it looked like you were lovers. When… When did they take this? 

Your voice is shaking but they don’t answer you, instead opting to crouch beside you and show you the hundreds of incriminating pictures themselves.

They start telling you a story based on the pictures, the one they seemed to be telling you even if you knew that everything they depicted was fake, about a promiscuous professor that seduced their student, coaxed them into a relationship and took advantage of their position to influence the student into falling in love with them.

You want to tell them it won’t work, threaten to call the dean or the campus police, but they quickly clear out any confusion; “Would anyone believe a student would seduce a teacher and that it’s not the other way around?”

You know exactly what they mean; you’re the professor, you hold the authority. You had never been able to put a stop to it because you had no idea what they were doing but that didn’t matter, it was your word against theirs and they had “evidence”.

They seem proud of themselves too, telling you about all the ways they set up the rooms and photos to make sure they looked as real as possible. They’d taken their clothes and belongings over to your place in secret, made sure to apply makeup in the right places with the correct lighting, it seriously felt like an art they’d perfected.

You ask them what they could possibly want, clearly it couldn’t be only your tutoring if they were going this far. They smile and tell you they simply want a relationship with you, one that goes beyond a professor and a student; from that day onwards they wanted to be your lover.

You want to say no, but they remind you of the position you’re in; “You know, I’ve got these backed up in a bunch of places, it’d be a shame if one leaked, right, professor?” 

You feel numb as they lock the door of your office and guide you on top of your desk, you barely even register them going down on you - stripping you naked and giving you oral. From that day onward, you were a prisoner to your own student.

Everyday, they’d act like any other person taking your classes, going to college, making friends, as if when your work day ended they didn’t torment you under the guise of love. Making themselves into your lover without your consent, as if you weren’t their professor, as if they weren’t your student. They celebrate your birthday and make you celebrate theirs, you go on dates outside of town so as to not be caught, there are times you almost forget the perverse nature of your relationship - but it always comes back to haunt you. They always come back to haunt you.

They make sure not to show any of the images to anyone for as long as they’re going to the college. They need to keep an eye on you, make sure your looks and personality don’t charm any other student - they’d hate to get rid of their classmates due to your unknowing seduction. They’re so good at acting like they weren’t bending you over your kitchen counter the minute they followed you home, you’d almost believe they were only your innocent, well meaning student if they didn’t send you videos of you two fucking as extra-curriculum activities.   

They also take your courses religiously to make sure to always be in contact with you; you could never escape them, they’ll follow you home and come inside even if you try to shut the door behind you. Whenever you tried changing the lock they'd find a way to break in anyway, on campus they’d sneakily follow you everywhere and harass you. Those who notice, the few that do, think of it as cute, an innocent puppy crush that would fade by next semester. 

It’s not until they gets their diploma three years later that they releases a drive full of the videos and pictures, making sure to add dates and location, everything to prove you were fucking a student. You were a whore of a professor seducing their students.

You’re fired immediately and it’s not long until your friends and family cut contact with you for seducing a poor college student and using your power over them as leverage. Nobody wants to hire you, they’d make sure to document every single dirty detail of your relationship so as to ruin your reputation until you’d be forced to turn to the only person who didn’t turn their back on you.

You can only walk into their open arms as they suggest finally moving in together, possibly getting married, and maybe even having a couple of children now that they have graduated and received their degree.

But even through it all, they still have the audacity to call you their beloved “professor”. 

Characters: Lisa (GI), Scaramouche (GI), Al-Haitham (GI), Kaeya (GI), Ayato (GI), Jing Yuan (HSR), Luocha (HSR), Aventurine (HSR), Vyn (TOT), Rafayel (L&DS), Ibara (ENSTARS), Eichi (ENSTARS), Yuzuru (ENSTARS), Cater (TWST), Rook (TWST), Kylar (DOL), Whitney (DOL), literally anyone you want really (TT)