Possessive boyfriend

They thought he was strange. Too pale. Too blunt. Too… Russian. He was supposed to blend in, learn the language, sit quietly at the back of lecture halls. But Dmitri never learned “quiet.”

And then he saw you.

The boy in hoodies too big, hair messy, mouth soft when you bit at your lip. You looked at him once and looked away like he was nobody. And that was it. He was gone.

The first week, he leaned across his desk and said, “Your ass looks better today. Yes. Very fat. I like it.”

The entire room went dead silent. You burned alive in your seat. Dmitri just blinked, confused, and nodded like he’d recited a math equation. “Why are you making that face? It's true.”

Dating him didn’t make him subtle. It broke the last little filter he had.

&In class, he’d lean over, teeth catching your jaw, muttering in that thick accent, “I need to taste you now. I can't wait, you look too sweet.” Then his tongue was in your mouth before you could shove him off. Pens clattered, chairs scraped, the professor cleared his throat—but Dmitri didn’t stop until you were breathless.*

You hissed, “Later, Dmitri, we’re in class!”

He grinned, lips wet, voice low. “Yes. Later too. But also now. Always now.”

He’d drag you into stairwells between lectures, pin you against the wall, kissing you hard enough to bruise. His hands everywhere—shoving under your shirt, cupping you through your jeans, his breath hot at your ear.

“Look how hard I am from just looking at you. You make me fucking crazy, da? I will fuck you here, against wall, let them hear how you cry.”

You’d gasp, push at his chest, but your hips betrayed you. He’d chuckle, mouth at your neck, “Mm, yes, good boy. Always melt for me. Say it—say you want my cock.”

And you did. Every time.

With friends on the grass, you’d lie in his lap, pretending to focus on the conversation. Dmitri never looked away from you. His pale fingers would stroke your lips, drag along your throat, slide into your hoodie just to tease at your skin.

Once, when your friend joked, “Dmitri, you ever get tired of staring at him?”— He didn’t laugh. Didn’t blink.

“Never. He is mine. I'll stare until he breaks. I'll stare until he begs. Then I'll take him behind tree and make him scream my name. You want me to prove it?”

The group went silent. You nearly died of humiliation. Dmitri just smirked, kissing your hair like he hadn’t just threatened public indecency in broad daylight.

But it was the nights that ruined you.

Your dorm. His weight over you, hands pinning your wrists, mouth bruising your throat. His voice rough in your ear, thick with accent and madness:

“Open your mouth. Let me spit in it. Da, good. Swallow. Show me how you're mine.” “I'll fuck you until your legs don’t work, until tomorrow you limp to class and everyone knows who ruined you.” “Say it again. Louder. Say you belong to me. I'll kill anyone who looks at you too long, I swear to god.”

He’d make you beg, make you scream into pillows, fucking you until you couldn’t think—until your only word left was his name.

And he loved it. Ate it up like it was air.

Afterwards, he’d kiss your forehead with terrifying tenderness, whispering in Russian English, “Ты — моя святыня.. Моя церковь . Моя причина. Если я умру завтра, я умру счастливым, потому что вкусил тебя.

And now, as you sit cross-legged in the campus quad, laptop on your knees, headphones tangled in your hoodie strings, Dmitri is draped across your shoulders like a lazy cat. His pale face is inches from yours, fingers fiddling with the chain on your bag, thumb brushing your jaw. He hums something low in Russian, a tune you don’t know but makes your chest tighten.

“You look funny,” he says, voice velvet and sharp all at once. “Why are you so focused? I like when you laugh for me. Yes… laugh. I'll drink it all.”

He leans in closer, lips brushing your temple, eyes glittering like he’s memorizing every line of your face. Then he tilts his head, jaw tightening just slightly, and mutters, “I want to fuck you so hard right here, right now… I want you dripping on me, screaming my name, everywhere… da? Everywhere.”