mikhael

tboy / adult + i loove gerard way and offspring

what i write:

oc’s, danganronpa, enstars, dol, creepypasta + anything that catches my attention

only male reader, but i write fem characters too

request:

i do anything as long as i have inspiration, only thing i would not do is incst and hardcore kinks that i would consider immoral, i do love to write psychological horror, yanderes and light gore though

richard is an asshole, i will write mutliple parts of this / check my masterlist pretty please

Richard always desired one thing and one thing only: to be a knight. But usually there wasn’t much of a reason to be one.

The town was peaceful, the people kind, the lack of tragedies meant a loss of chances to show bravery.

It was around your teenage years that Richard started developing feelings for his childhood friend. And with that began this overwhelming urge for you to appreciate him—not like you didn’t. It’s just that he needed it to be more frequent, more felt, more known to him.

You started noticing how his gaze lingered longer, his touch grew stronger, and he was not very fond of women being around you—let alone when his or your parents talked about the possibility of you finding a bride.

He would roll his eyes, huff, curse under his breath, and leave the room with well-known annoyance. And then after, he’d come to you like a clingy lost puppy desiring your contact, your touch. He would purr as he put his head on your shoulder and breathe a bit heavily whenever he could feel your warm skin against his.

And you found all this rather cute. Just then, you noticed how you kept losing your things. And just when you would voice your sadness over not finding them, somehow Richard would, not even a day later, magically find the lost thing somewhere.

Carrying it to you with a soft smile on his lips as he bowed slightly.

You were, of course, extremely grateful and would hug him tight, thanking him. He would take your hand and place a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Anything for my prince.”

You giggle and feel your cheeks burn as he doesn’t pull away, his soft pink lips resting on your hand as he maintains eye contact with you.

Of course, this kept happening frequently, and you knew that Richard was purposely hiding the items from you. But it was harmless, and so you kept on roleplaying with him—his fantasy of being a knight and you his prince.

Until his hunger needed more. More emotions, more need, more praise.

He would steal items that were not as worthless as the little trinkets he stole before.

Your mother gave you her expensive wedding ring, and you promised to guard it well. So the moment you couldn’t find it, you quickly fell into despair.

It was just a stupid ring—but an expensive one, with a long history—and you didn’t want to anger your mother. Not her.

You looked everywhere, your heart racing, almost feeling like it was going to burst at any moment. Your head was a mess, and only after five hours did you think about the possibility of Richard having it.

You visit him, asking, pleading, and he has the same resting face. He tilts his head softly, his hand placed on your hair as he pats it. “I will see what I can do, Y/N.”

There is this tension—he knows you know, but you’re too stressed to call him out. Perhaps you wish not to get him angry with false accusations, as you hope he knows that stealing something like your mother’s ring is more than not right to do.

And when he doesn’t come to you with the ring two days later, you give up. You plan to tell your mother of the loss, a lump in your throat, hands softly shaking, anxiety in your stomach.

Just as you walk through the hall toward your mother, someone grabs you by the waist, spins you around, and you end up with your back against a cold wall, your chest against the chest of the other, their hand on your mouth.

You blink away your teary eyes as your breath shakes and look up.

Richard.

He’s smirking, and he brings his other hand to your face, holding the lost ring.

He lets you go just as you take it, thanking him with wet cheeks, and he bows softly. All the weight drops off your chest, and you feel like you can finally breathe as you go return the ring to your mother.

The dread quickly comes after.

He must have stolen it, then.

You avoid him for a while, and after a week plan on talking it out.

You speak and speak, feel angry, your voice cracks slightly as you voice your disappointment, your eyebrows furrowed.

So why—

does your childhood friend, instead of redeeming himself,

just sigh and take your chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb across your cheek, gazing at you so lovingly despite your frustrations?

Has he even listened at all?

Does he not care?

You avoid him.

You avoid him for so long, simply because of how mad you are.

Days go by, and it seems his hunger doubles. He tries being a knight for the others. He does good deeds for the old. He saves a few kittens.

But without you being the one he kisses the knuckles of, it all seems pointless. It doesn’t satisfy him.

So how to have him—well—be your knight without you avoiding him like this?

Making you unable to, perhaps?

a bit of sexual content during the end, Richard is a manipulative little shit

masterlist <-

Y/n L/n grew up in a rich aristocratic family. From the moment you were born, everything was already served on a silver platter.

Your parents were happy and kind people, treating everyone the same way they would like to be treated. They donated large sums of their wealth to orphanages and the poverty-stricken. And you remember how, walking through the town hand in hand with them, everyone welcomed you with huge smiles and kind waves.

And despite them being forceful about having to be married to the daughter of the Sterlings, good friends of your parents, you still knew that some responsibilities wouldn’t change no matter what, and so you never blamed them for it, let alone be angry at the arranged marriage. Your parents were just too kind.

So why…

Why would this happen?

Your heart squeezes painfully; so do your lungs and intestines. You feel the world spinning, face pale as you grasp your throat. Heavy smoke fills the room, and you wish to run, to check on your parents lying on the wooden floor, but you’re frozen in place. In fact, the panic makes you shake and forget to breathe.

Why would this happen? Why?

Why you? Why your life? Why your parents?

You hear a muffled sound of someone calling your name. You can’t turn around. Your weak knees give out under you and you let out a painful squeak as you hit the ground roughly. Your head feels light, lacking any sort of strength to keep you up as the lack of oxygen hits you.

And then, suddenly, when your eyes close and you can almost feel the light of life leaving you, you feel cold hands—contrasting the warmth of the fire—pulling you into their hold.

They hold you tightly as they get themselves out of the fire with you in their arms, and with the little lucidity you have left, you can hear loud cheers outside, before you ultimately pass out.

The gloomy mourning days turned into weeks, and only after two months did you learn that the sadness you carried had to be kept to yourself. Sympathy from others stayed only for a little while, and after that, any sort of weakness was nothing but an annoyance.

The Sterlings took you in, and you were more than grateful. The arranged marriage was cancelled; your only wealth was the burned-down home, or at least what was left of it. You were no longer a good choice for the daughter of the Sterlings. You spent your days in a special room given to you—now officially yours—reading and studying, mainly your mother’s old books she had written, only a few of them rescued from the fire.

And despite your life being as privileged as before, you hadn’t felt peaceful at all. Maybe it was due to the older brother of the Sterlings—Richard.

From what Miss Sterling told you, he rescued you from the fire, being the only survivor. You admired his bravery; at first, it brought tears to your eyes. For your life to be so valuable to someone—to risk his own rich blood for it.

You remember how, two days later, you knocked on his door. He opened it with an uninterested face until his eyes fell on you, blinking a few times in shock before a smile slowly appeared.

“Thank you for—” You wish to bow, but he stops you midway. You look at him, confused, as his hand travels to play with a strand of your hair.

“No need to thank me. I just did what everyone would.”

“Not everyone!” you say loudly, embarrassed a second later for interrupting him as your cheeks become hot. “Such bravery is not found in everyone’s soul. Please let me cherish it for a second. I’m really deeply grateful to you.” You bow again.

You look at him from under your lashes, and there is something… in his gaze. The way he looks down at you with a smirk, the sudden imbalance between you—not only in size. There’s a glint of anticipation, and as the air between you thickens, you straighten your back, mutter an apology, and leave, no longer seeing how his eyes darken as he leans against the doorframe, watching you run off.

To say you were uncomfortable with Richard would be an understatement. He creeped you out—hollow, empty, menacing. You tell yourself you’re too sensitive, maybe because your heart still aches from the tragedy only months ago. Or maybe you’re just delusional.

But you can swear that during dinners he pierces you with his gaze more than once, observing you with great intensity—enough for you to abandon your meal and hurry to your room. And you can swear that whenever you talk to his sister, you hear footsteps disappearing as soon as you approach her bedroom door.

You feel like you’re going crazy, and to elevate your stress, the Sterlings start arguing for long weeks, with Richard somehow always present to witness it.

You start lingering around—staying at dinners longer, spending more time outside your room—just to see what Richard does during his free time.

Perhaps it was paranoia, or a gut feeling that something was going on behind the curtains.

And so one night, when you tiptoe down the hallway to get a glass of water, you stop when you see his sister’s door slightly open. You approach without thinking, hands grazing the doorframe as you see Richard by her bed—whispering, explaining, laughing as he plays with his hair and lowers himself closer to his sister, who sniffles in despair.

And then you hear it.

His melodic voice mentions the fire your parents died in—how easy it was, how your home was never properly guarded, how anyone could go in and out as they pleased. How your parents were naïve for never expecting someone unkind to appear at their doorstep.

Your heart starts racing, your throat dry, cheeks wet as your hand trembles. Just as you step back, a wooden board squeaks beneath you.

Shit.

Richard turns around. You hide behind the doorframe and tiptoe back to your room just in time as he steps into the hallway.

The next morning, you lock yourself in your room, saying you feel sick—and perhaps you truly are. From the confession. From not knowing what to do.

Everyone saw Richard as a hero. Nobody would believe you, would they?

It’s the night you’ve been successfully locked in your room when you hear the door creak, your pulse quickens, and yet you hope whoever is visiting you will leave as soon as they’re aware of your slumber.

But they don’t, in fact; you can feel the mattress dip under the weight of someone. Your eyebrows furrow, you know the person can hear your heart race.

And you know the one who is on top of you is Richard. When he leans down you panickly open your arms and push him away opening your mouth to scream—but he acts quickly. One hand comes to your mouth silencing you as he pushes your head back to the pillow, the other grabs your writsts holding them above your head.

Each knee is by your hip and he smirks at you as you shake in fear.

What exactly is he doing? If he wishes to kill you just like his parents now it’s his time so why prolong it?

He leans down towards one of your ears and his hot breath against your neck is ticklish,” You will be a good boy for me and not scream right.”

You shiver and nod slowly to which he hums and lets your mouth free, his hand travels to play with the strand of your hair by your ear and you lie vulnerably under him limp and unmoving frozen just like back then in the fire.

“I saw you sneaking around, you must have heard the conversation I had with my sister hmm?” His soft hands move to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against the soft flesh. You feel hot and if it were not for the darkness in the room your entire red face would be visible.

You nod again, your apple bopping in your throat as you gulp down. He licks his lips and locks to the side,” sigh what will I do, you really ruined the plans I’ve prepared you know.”

You close your eyes your eyebrows furrowing but when he clicks his tongue you open them again.

He leans back down his hand travels to your neck, tracing your Adam’s apple as you squirm uncomfortably he giggles. “Ticklish?” His hand envelopes your neck in a choking manner snd he lightly presses making your head dizzy as you gasp for air.

His hand travel’s under your shirt and you try to move away from his cold hands but his hold on your wrists just tightens.

“Y/n, you can’t tell anyone, anything you heard,” his hand traces your hardening pecks and he sighs bitting his lip for a moment as his hand travels lower,” has to be a secret just between us, understand?”

His hand goes past your briefs and you squirm, you want to stutter something out but you can’t, nobody ever touched you there, things like this are meant to be kept for marriage.

You try to object but he puts a tight grip on your manhood making a soft sound leave your throat forcefully. You look away with tears in your eyes and look back when he clicks his tongue again.

You make eye-contact.

His eyes are so intense, and he smiles when he sees tears rolling down your cheek silently. The tip of his tongue goes down to lick it and you shuffle under him uncomfortably.

“If you won’t listen to me,” he starts moving his hand up and down and your breathing quickens, your head is dizzy and there’s sudden heat in the depths of your stomach,” I will make my mother marry you to some extremely cold lonely widow, you wouldn’t want that right?”

All you can focus on is his hands, and you start drooling a little, your eyes closing as more tears run down your cheek. Richard kisses the juncture between your neck and your shoulder as he bites it making you draw in a sharp breath.

It starts being hard to be quiet, the fear of waking someone up is the only thing preventing you from being loud.

“Answer me.” he starts licking the bite and you nod. “Good.”

Just as when you feel the heat being unbearable, just about to release Richard stops, he pulls his hand away and puts a kiss on your cheekbone.

He stands up and you stay in the bed unmotionless, confused, left hanging, unfinished.

Before he leaves and closes the door he opens it slightly just for his head.

“Y/n,” he calls and you slowly turn your head his way.

“I was serious about marrying you to some old widow.”

Your pulse accelerates.

“Don’t fuck with me and be obedient.”

cw: yandere themes?

Back when Emil was still a patient, he was often very reserved, almost antisocial, avoiding both physical and eye contact.

But you got his attention pretty easily; even the slightest breadcrumbs of attention and kindness got him enamored.

Since the day you softly brushed over his hair and asked him if he was okay, he was glued to your hip.

Following you around the asylum, freaking out whenever you were dragged to electroshock therapy or to any other room he was not in. Soon the doctors noticed that one of the easiest ways to regulate his emotions and aggressive reactions was to put you by his side.

He would quiet down, cling to you, hug your arm, put his head on your shoulder, or just squeeze your hand.

Even if you wouldn’t agree or were slightly creeped out by this sudden attachment, you were pushed into it; it wasn’t like you had much choice in the matter.

That’s when somehow Emil’s behavior began being… more… more possessive, more unbearable, more unpleasant. He had a habit of growling at nurses, had a habit of sneaking out of his room into your bed, holding your arm tighter.

When Ada got into the picture, he begged her to take you with her. She was against it at first, but due to Emil being more stable with you, she ended up agreeing.

As she was taking you both out of the asylum, Emil was cuddled to your dozed-off form, gently tracing the rope gently tied around you.

Ada frequently uses hypnotism on you to prevent you from leaving; after all, you’re an important resource for treating Emil.

Soon enough, with the help of hypnosis and sedation, you’re more calm about being brought out of the asylum like that; when Emil hugs you tightly, you even return it.

Emil is a possessive yandere, but not a violent one. He growls and gets slightly aggressive, but never too much to hurt his boyfriend or others.

He is, however, deeply attached, and his mental health depends on his s/o and him alone. If his boyfriend were to try to leave, he would most likely off himself.

NORMAL AU

In a normal life AU, I imagine Emil and his s/o meeting in a psych ward, with him instantly growing interested and following you around.

You would most likely spend a lot of time together due to the days in the ward being long, and promise each other to keep in contact after one of you gets out.

When you start dating Emil, you notice that he has pretty bad jealousy issues and is rather possessive and extremely clingy.

He would often guilt-trip you, ensuring that you stay by his side. At the start of the relationship, he would start innocently, saying he has headaches or nightmares of you leaving him, somehow twisting the fault onto you. If you wouldn’t spend time with this person or that co-worker, he wouldn’t feel this bad and wouldn’t get nightmares after.

Normal AU Emil would also refuse to take his medication whenever you would refuse to stay at home with him, going to such lengths as faking or even having panic attacks, doing scenes, and even throwing childish tantrums or breaking stuff whenever you would argue about his jealousy issues.

He would blame it on his lack of experience in dating, or on having trust issues from his childhood or his trauma.

Every argument would end up with him being the victim.

He would force you not to go out, to stay at home, to cut contact with your friends, cousins, and siblings. You need only him, and he only needs his boyfriend.

He starts faking his mental health getting worse if you won’t listen, and you will, because deep inside you cherish him.

cw: homophobia, slightly toxic, reader and emil don’t have much of a chemistry, mention of ada

---

It was October, you still remember it, the sheer panic when your mother found out about the relationship you had with one of the young boys in your town, the panic as the rumors increased, how your hands shook with the silverware as your mother didn’t look at you, your father not uttering a word. You knew it was over.

You packed your bags, hoping that your mother would send you to your aunt away just as she promised with her cold, stern voice, so when instead you were dragged to the Sand Street Asylum it was more than a shock. Tears spilling, your throat sore from screaming, begging, promising. All to be left with chronic fatigue as one of the doctors struck a calming injection into you.

The gossips about this place were more than true, dirty with dust making it hard to breathe, with rats in the lower parts of the asylum running along the feet of the doctors. The uncomfortable restraints, the electroshock therapy, the yelling. For patients treated for sodomy, treatment was even worse, for most looked at you with utter contempt.

The asylum put a heavy burden on your heart, but because of your lately lack of interest in same-sex interactions, the doctors let you free a little bit.

During evenings you were able to go to the asylum’s garden, for example, unlike most patients.

It was then when you were stumbling back and came across a patient room with one of the patients unguarded; they were restrained to the bed.

It was so sudden, the interest, the heart jump, the curiosity.

You made two steps forward, cold floor against your feet, the patient lay still. He seemed so peaceful, so quiet.

You do frequent pauses while walking to him, just to know if he suddenly won’t try to shake the restraints off him or violently react. To your surprise, even a meter away he was still.

He was pale, his hair ruffled black and his eyes half-lidded. Without thinking, your hand touches his cheek, almost checking if he’s real. You lower yourself so that you’re at the same eye height.

He doesn’t react.

You wonder if he was too drugged to even know that you’re touching him.

You experimentally put a hand into his hair, you pet it softly. You swear you saw his eyes get a bit brighter, your heart swells.

“Y/n!?”

You jump away from him, your ass lands on the cold floor a meter away and your heart rate becomes rapid, you try to even your breathing as the cold, stern voice cuts through the air.

Your hands shake in panic, you know you did something bad, and despite calming down your mind, your body remembers the physical punishments for misbehaving better than anyone.

“Sneaking into a male patient’s room while he’s defenseless, restrained, how utterly disgusting.” You can’t look at them, you feel you’re about to throw up.

Geez, be strong, you need to do something.

But your body betrays you.

“I didn’t, I swear I didn’t do anything—”

The hand collides with your cheek and you feel a burning sensation, half of it welcomed, your body stops shaking, and the cold sweat that drips from your forehead becomes warm.

It’s only then, when you’re dragged by your hair as more nurses gather by the door, you know how much you fucked up.

—

….

…

Your body is cold, the asylum clothes barely provide any sort of comfort, let alone warmth to your body. Your eyelids keep closing, fatigue draped over your own body despite you fighting to keep them awake.

You were doing so good, the doctors thought you were healed! And then a subtle misunderstanding happens and it all comes crashing down.

Your muscles tense when you hear some footsteps near your form, the voices get clear even if still slightly muffled.

“And this?”

“Y/n L/n, he’s treated for sodomy, it seems that electroshock therapy and hypnosis isn’t enough, he’s been scheduled for—” you try to listen real hard through your half-drugged state, “next week, yes.”

“Is it okay? I’ve heard the practice doesn’t always end well.”

“Our doctor is a specialist, we have many patients who get cured by this method alone.”

“His mother is fine with it?”

“Of course, she wants the treatment to be as quick as possible, she supports the asylum financially the most out of all patients’ families.”

If you had the strength, you would have scoffed at the moment, but you don’t.

When they finally leave, you can finally breathe out. You try to stretch your arms, but you’re barely able to lift them a centimeter from how tired they are.

You can only hear as the nurses bring two more patients into the shared room, restraining them in place as you doze off.

Somewhere in your sleep, you can almost feel cold hands touching your face, moving to your hair. You wish to open your eyes, but you can’t, they’re too heavy to lift.

The hands play with the strands of your hair, they touch your ticklish neck, one of the rough fingers touches your ear experimentally, it bops your nose and then glazes over your lips in slow motion, as it abruptly stops and pulls away.

You mourn the loss for a second.

——

Two days before your operation, you’re stripped to bed, you’re staring at the ceiling.

Someone comes, it sits next to you, and you sit in silence.

It’s not unwelcomed, it’s been a while since you had someone sit next to you in such a quiet, careful manner.

“You have a surgery in two days.”

“I’m aware.”

You mutter it, refusing to look at the nurse as you try to piece together which of the nurses it would be. The voice is different? Surprisingly gentle, since most nurses treat you like vermin.

“You’re here because of-”

You silently pray she doesn’t say the word. It leaves a bitter taste on your tongue and makes your heart squeeze in a painful manner.

It seems the treatment worked after all.

You give up and your head turns to the side, it’s a face you haven’t seen before. She looks young, has long brown hair and carries a clipboard and a few papers with her.

It explains why she talks so.. humanely to you.

“It leaves me disappointed,” you mutter, and she perks up, “how can a pure love be treated so cruelly just because it’s a bit different.”

Your voice betrays you and it cracks, so emotional, and you thought you built a tough skin from your time in here.

She mutters something too and for a second you can see something melancholic in her face.

The day before your operation you realize that despite dreading the time to come, you don’t feel any sort of anxiety.

The night of your operation your dread becomes heavier; luckily, a new aggressive patient came and the doctors and nurses were busy with an emergency, leaving the halls rather empty.

To calm your beating heart you look around.

Once again, accidentally stumbling onto the boy from before.

Seeing him makes you tick, you feel sick and the anxiety creeps into your veins.

And yet, against your better judgment, your feet move towards him. He reacts panickily at first, unable to see you from his viewpoint.

You stop, rethinking it, but as footsteps from the hall become louder you quickly make a move to hide somewhere in the room.

As it passes, you step closer to the boy, you share eye contact, and it seems all tension in his muscles drops.

Your hands instinctively move towards the restraints and you unlock them. For a moment you question yourself.

Why the hell did I do that?

But when he makes a subtle move to touch your hands you calm down.

He’s mysterious.

You curse yourself for being so impulsive.

He is so cold, his skin is so cold.

He makes a subtle move and leans closer, you take his hands in yours, rubbing them for warmth. He doesn’t talk.

There’s a sudden adrenaline rush in your veins.

“Do you… wish to escape?” you question, and he tilts his head.

Your finger points at his chest.

“Emil,” he mumbles with weakness.”

You sigh and bite your lip, it’s stupid, isn’t it.

Hell you don’t even know the reason he’s here.

He could as well be some sort of serial killer slashing your throat the moment the calming meds stop working on him.

And yet you don’t wish to escape alone.

Having someone by your side who understands.

Even if it’s just a stranger.

You instinctively pull him up and he stumbles as he gets on his feet. There are screams coming from the end of the hallway and it’s loud enough to cover the noise of your unsynchronized footsteps.

And as if by pure miracle, because of today’s chaos, you manage to step foot outside. You hope, and you beg to someone upstairs to tell you that the future will be brighter for you both.

- all m! reader unless specified otherwise

Original Characters

M! reader x Himbo x Emo / 01 /

Identity V

Emil x reader

Yandere Emil - thoughts

Richard x reader

Thoughts on Yandere Richard / 01 /

Danganronpa

nagito

Degree of Lewdity

Kylar the loner / seven minutes in heaven

MCR

empty

Genshin Impact

dottore

Creepypasta

smut, reader is popular, handjob (giving + receiving) mention of non-con? forced kiss, basically non-con in the second paragraph cus reader is drunk? i wrote this when i was going from part-time job idk??

1 - the reader is kind of tsunderish, bitchy and avoidant, yeah this is me writting after 4 years of hiatus and on new acc 2 - All of them are Oc’s I will def write smut in the future, I hope this won’t suck as much it’s kind of lazy writting afterall

You’re sitting on the upper floor of the campus library, hand supporting your chin as your eyes glance upon the mountains of texts of all the heavy books you have laid across the wooden table. Your back is slouched, your fingertips glaze the paper, taking a second off to move the black glasses that sit upon your nose.

“Hey Y/n, what’cha doin’?”

It’s a loud, clear voice, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at it; it interrupts the peaceful tapping of rain against the window you’re sitting next to. The person stands right behind you, waiting for any sort of response or reaction, but when they don’t get any, they just grin and take a nearby chair to put it by your table.

“Hey there,” he smiles from ear to ear with his pearly teeth. His hair is teased yellow with brown roots, he has lots of ear piercings and wears tight clothing. He bends down a bit so that you’re at the same eye height and lays his arms on the table to take as much space as he can.

“What are you doing in the library, Devon?” You don’t take your eyes off the text; your hand goes from supporting your chin to playing with your hair.

“Uhm… reading, what else can you do in a library?”

“Surprised you can read. So what have you been reading?” You grin as you move your head to see him eye to eye.

“Ehh.” He looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of any book title he could say. Instead, his eyes land back on you, and he panickily points at the thick book you’ve been holding. “This one, we had to read it for semester essay.”

“Pathophysiology of Disease.” You lift your eyebrow.

“Yeah, super boring… mainly the middle.” He tries to nonchalantly look away with his hand over one of his cheeks, showing off his rings.

“Aren’t you an economics major? Why would you write an essay about that?”

Your question is seemingly ignored as he blinks a few times and stands up. “Anyway, I have to go help at the pet shelter, y’know, since I’m volunteering. All those kittens and puppies deserve a warm home, I gotta help them find one.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“Cya, Y/n!” He flashes his teeth and leaves in a hurry.

“Yeah, cya too, Devon…” you mumble, returning back to your book, but your peace is not kept for too long as another person appears right behind you.

“You’re too cold to him,” a soft feminine voice says. You turn your head around to see Aria sipping on iced coffee, her brown hair tied into two braids. To fight off the cold weather, she’s wearing a white turtleneck and a greyish-green oversized hoodie.

“Did the whole economics major decide to suddenly make an appearance in the campus library?” You point your fingers at the trajectory of Devon and Aria. “Y’all never use it.”

“Not true anymore. Our professor made everyone so paranoid, the entirety of the economics bookshelf is empty. Don’t change the conversation, though.”

She looks at the space Devon sat at, brushes it a bit before sitting down. “He’s like a puppy. You need to fully reject him and stop leading him on.”

“I’m not leading him on, tho.”

“Well, if you’re just dry, he’ll never get the message. I mean, come on, he’s kinda…”

“Stupid?”

“I wanted to say slow or a himbo, but whatever.”

Aria zones out for a second, which makes the perfect opportunity to reach out for her drink and sip it. This makes her furrow her eyebrows in an instant as she slaps your hand a few times. “Bad Y/n, bad Y/n!” she yells while you try to sip as much of the coffee as you can. Your brain freezes for a minute as Aria manages to steal her drink back. “You don’t deserve it after treating Devon like that.”

You gulp the rest of the liquid down. “Why don’t you date him, Aria? You seem to have a soft spot for him.”

“Do I look like I date guys like him? Besides, he’s totally gay.”

“He’s not; he’s bi at most.”

“Yeah, with his only girlfriend being a two-week relationship in kindergarten. Be for real, Y/n.”

You manage to roll your eyes this time as you try to go back to reading, but Aria covers the text with her hands. “Stop with this avoidant habit of yours. He has, like, a list of exes, and all of them fit the description of you. Reject him or finally invite him out.”

“He has zero exes, actually… he told me.” You try to open one of the books on the right, but Aria takes one of her hands off the text to forcefully close the book you’re opening.

“And so what? That means he’s totally innocent, the better, no?”

“Innocent, my ass. He reads those women’s porn magazines and glues cut-outs from them into his school locker.”

“And so what?”

You sigh. Can’t just avoid it, can you? Let it go, let it go past you — you actually have to end it.

The next day in the afternoon you pass by the stairs leading downstairs. You overthink it — your plan. To go downstairs to the door of the sports dressing room, wait until Devon gets out, stop him, and say you appreciate his little puppy crush but it wouldn’t work.

On the other hand, you hate to deal with things, and just hoping he will get bored would be easier. But he hasn’t really for the past three months. He still waves at you like an idiot when he sees you in the hallway, sits next to you grinning ear to ear in the cafeteria as he offers you his chocolate milk, invites you to see his basketball match during the weekend, and yaps about something random. With the same energy, despite your maybe’s, “not sure if I have time” nods, and silent short answers.

But perhaps it makes you a bit sad to end it. Have you been starting to like the attention? Maybe you were a bit less dry than at the start too. But dating is scary, and if you don’t reject him, Aria will tear your head off, so you might as well just go.

And as you’re about to run down the stairs, something stops you. “Y/n!” It’s the same happy voice. Isn’t he supposed to be going from his practice right now? You slowly turn around and your eyes land on Devon’s happy face — then on his leg in a cast, already decorated with lots of colorful signatures, and then two sticks that support him in walking.

“Geez, Devon, what happened?” You walk two steps towards him, suddenly noticing that might have sounded too nonchalant, which makes you slightly cringe.

“I guess saying I was rescuing a kitten from a tree would be cooler, but I forgot to tie my shoelaces and tripped,” he grins, embarrassed.

Oooh.

Your eyes suddenly move to a second person who was quietly observing the conversation, probably walking around with Devon.

Devon notices the awkward silence, and so his eyes go from you to the guy, and he suddenly pulls him closer. “Y/n, this is Lexi!”

“Alex.”

“Y/n.” You offer to shake hands, but in awkward non-responsiveness, you take the offer down. Teased black hair, spider bites, eyebrow and anti-eyebrow piercing. And skinny black jeans with lots of belts. The contrast between the tanned, sunny Devon and the fair, dark-clothed Alex was high.

Alex clears his throat and puts his hand around Devon’s shoulders. “We will be going now, so if you excuse us,” Alex says and pushes Devon to walk towards the stairs.

“O-of course.” You try to break off the staring as you move from their way. “Nice to meet y—…” The voice dies in your throat as the duo is already halfway down the stairs.

The next couple of days are strange. Your morning hallways don’t feature an overgrown puppy yelling your name across the entirety of the hallway. Your library study times are accompanied only by the scribbling and turning of pages, and the only guy you talk to besides Aria is Jean from drama club.

Maybe this makes your days much gloomier, and as much as you hate admitting it, perhaps it also makes you kind of gloomy yourself.

Instead, what you’ve been seeing more and more was the emo guy from a few days ago, constantly followed after by Devon. To some point, they even shared headphones and started even walking together to watch Devon’s team practice without him.

“Well, you’re happy now, aren’t you, Y/n?” Aria puts a hand on your head, ruffling your hair before sitting down.

“What the hell, Aria,” you whine as you try to fix your hair.

“You look more like a depressed dog left in the rain than Devon ever looked like.” Aria sips on her coffee, and as you try to snitch it, she moves the chair back, successfully escaping your hand. “Nuh uh, you had it coming.”

Jean, across the table, raises both of his eyebrows. “Another drama I was left out of?” In interest, he turns off his phone, putting it on the table.

“You wouldn’t have if you focused on the people around you rather than your phone,” Aria chirps.

“Well, what happened?” Jean completely ignores Aria and softly speaks to you. You roll the sleeves of your hoodie up and bite the sides of your mouth. How to approach this situation?

“I don’t know, geez,” you draw symbols with the tip of your finger onto the table of the cafeteria. “I don’t know if I miss Devon’s attention or if it pisses me off his attention switched to someone else from day to day.”

“Had it comm—” Before Aria can finish, Jean talks over her. “I would be bitter too. Does he not even say hi to you anymore?”

“He avoids me completely,” you sigh. And then suddenly, it sort of clicks — does Devon avoid you, or does Alex? Because it’s either Devon following Alex around or Alex dragging him; either way, they’re constantly together like two peas in a pod. And you’re pretty sure Alex doesn’t feel the most positive about you.

“Hmm, and the other guy — you know him?”

Deep in your thoughts, you nod.

“Well, certainly you two are alike. You know, brats, moody, gloomy, don’t speak much.”

“I speak a lot, but whatever,” you bark back at Aria.

“He looks similar to one of your exes, Y/n.”

Can’t fight the fact that he’s hella hot, and he does look like your type, but this isn’t about him.

You slap both of your hands on the table. “He stole Devon from me,” you whisper-yell in despair.

Aria fights herself not to giggle as she bites her straw. “Stole? If I left a puppy outdoors neglected, it’s rather expected someone like Jean would take him in.”

Jean raises his shoulders and, in his inner embarrassment, turns to the right, crossing one leg over the other and picking up his phone. “Just so you know, the roles would be reversed — Aria went after my ex once.”

“I didn’t know it was your ex!” she whisper-yells, turning to the other side.

“And you didn’t know the grass is green either,” Jean mumbles as they both go back to scrolling their phones.

And so you suddenly think what to do. Or more of what you want. Not wanting a relationship but desiring attention is pretty self-centered, isn’t it? Maybe being in a relationship is still too much commitment for you… Isn’t it too fast?

You pull your hoodie over your head, laying your face against the cold surface of the table. Who said that taking Devon back means dating, geez, y’all can be just friends.

After the lectures ended you finally managed to gloomily make your way to the dorms. Setting the bag by the entrance. You grit your teeth as you make it to the door of your roommate, already prepared to see him in the act of giving a bj or a few naked butts, but when you knock and don’t hear any weird sounds, you manage to shake some of that fear away.

Opening the door softly, you see your roommate on the floor in pajamas with a suspicious look.

“What.”

“Just surprised there isn’t an orgy ongoing… that’s all.” You look around suspiciously to find any clothes that aren’t his, but his room is surprisingly clean.

“What, interested in joining?” He flashes a smirk, licking his lips, to which you grimace.

“No… but I will need your services.”

“Ooh,” he says as he starts rubbing his mouth.

“NOT ORAL ONES,” you panic. “Need help with this guy, you know, so he gives me back some attention instead of focusing on another that seems to hate me…”

“Attention? Y/n wants a boyfriend, no way?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

“With benefits.”

“No…”

“Hun, if you’re here for friendship advice, go to Aria or one of your friends. I can only advise you on how to stretch your ass or give a good blowjob.”

“You don’t have to be a perverted freak all the time, Aiden. I just need to, I dunno, catch his attention again and… friendzone him after and… whatever.”

“You’re evil, Y/n. Sabotaging a possible relationship for a friendzone, that’s nasty.”

“You’ve cheated on your bf before, that was nasty. You’re the last person to judge me.”

Aiden rolls his eyes but still sits up to straighten his back. “Hehe, on the other side, Y/n finally using his boytoy charms well — isn’t this a nice change of character? If you said you want seducing tips, should’ve said from the start. Well, come on, let me help you.” He pats the space on the floor next to him.

And so, a plan was born — to seduce Devon.