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hey, how are you doing? :)

may I request Leto joker smut headcanons?? thank you

Still in mood swings. Hope ya are feeling good tho :]

Also this is a short one, i was out of ideas

Leto joker x gn!reader

!! Warning: Smut !!

Okay, he'll be into almost anything. As long as you are enjoying yourself.

He would like to dom you. But somehow you can convince him to be a sub.

When hes a dom he'll let out low grunts. But when hes sub, he'll be shamelessly moaning out loud.

He'll be running his hands around ur body. Telling how beautiful you are, moaning for him.

I don't think he minds toys.

Aftercare is holding into you, not letting go.

orrrrder up! ft. touya todoroki (2)

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

warnings&a/n: more kys jokes because I'll never stop and bullying(?) thanks so much for the love on the last one!!!!! made me sososososo happy!!!! hope you guys like this one and HAPPY NEW YEARS

link to part 1 here

have your cake (and eat it too)

pairing: hawks + dabi/reader (quirkless!au)

(take TWO of posting this cause tumblr was bein’ dumb. PLEASE lemme know if this shows up in the search)

Summary: Special occasions call for special treats–that’s Keigo’s philosphy. So he decides that for your birthday, he’ll spoil you a bit. And what’s a better treat than a visit from his good friend Dabi?

alright so i don’t usually write for hawks, but i’ve made an exception in this case! happy birthday girl (you know who you are ;D) <333

cw: no descriptive terms really used but female!reader, fem-coded petnames (princess, bitch, bad/good girl, etc), reader has vagina + breasts, sub!reader, dom!hawks and dom!dabi, oral (fem recieving), penis in vagina sex, rough sex, possesiveness, overstimulation,   masturbation, marking/biting, choking, slapping, light dacryphilia, hair pulling, degradation, finger-sucking, dumbification if ya squint, cucking (kind of?), aftercare (it’s important!)

                                             18+     MDNI!

                                                     .⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Keep reading

you're laying back on your bed with your head hanging over the edge and your phone pressed to your ear, smiling over the fact that your call was picked up in just a few short seconds and you hear dabi's voice greet you. it's lonely in his condo while he's out for work, doing your best to keep busy but you can't help missing him. you parade around in his shirts and sweaters despite the vast wardrobe you own on your side of the closet. you lit one of his cigarettes not to partake but to just feel as if he was around, comforted by the smell of tobacco. he's murmuring into the phone and you swear that you can hear his smile as he speaks to you. he'll be home soon and he's going to show you how much he missed you while he was away ♡

dabi says that he's going to make you the prettiest mess when he’s back home with you. he's going to make you cry because he loves when you have teardrops clinging onto your eyelashes and when they run down your cheeks. he'll make you greet him with that sweet mouth of yours, first with a kiss and then by choking you on his cock. you're told to wear his favorite perfume, the one that smells of pink peppercorn and jasmine and vanilla, and to put on something flimsy and easy for him to rip apart—he wants to feel like he's opening a present that he's been waiting for when he’s got you in front of him. you have a hand dipped into your panties, rubbing at your clit as dabi makes promises to utterly ruin you. he'll fill you and that needy cunt of yours with his cum soon enough ♡

motoya getting absolutely plastered on a night out with you and suna, early on in their friendship but well into the two of you dating, and crying as he tugs on rin's sleeve because he's worried you guys are in a toxic relationship.

"she's so nice to everyone else but she's so mean to you!" he slurs with big, watery eyes, full of concern for his teammate and friend.

and suna just blinks at him in shock and is like. "yeah, toya. i get off on that."

❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞

❝ BEING PROF. GETO'S T.A. IS SO HARD BECAUSE HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part two of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you're now professor geto's t.a. for the semester, forced to spend time with the man that you so desperately want, either of you barely able to hold back when you're around the other, so what happens when you're forced to go to a conference with him...and there's only one bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, so much mutual pining, bed sharing, cuddling, masturbation (f + m), oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), semi public sex (sorta), office sex (kinda), amateur's take on moral philosophy and ethics, art by @/nino84391425

✧ wc: 16,821 (apparently i am writing a novel lol)

“On time for once?” Professor Suguru Geto remarks without looking up from his notes on the podium, even as your footsteps echo in the empty lecture hall, “color me surprised,” 

“Couldn’t be late on my first day as a teacher’s assistant, now could I?” and his lips curl in that damnable smile, as he finally glances up from his notes to see you looking far too gorgeous in his button up — one you had oh so generously relieved him of last night, pilfered away in your bag seemingly. 

“But you could be late on your first day as a student?” and you lick your lips, as you draw closer to him, “seems like you’re quite the hypocrite, not very ethical,” 

“Don’t think what we did last night was very ethical either,” you murmur, enjoying the way his dark eyes glaze over for a moment with the thoughts what you both did — the places touched, the moans heard, and the pleasure had — “plus, I definitely have an incentive to be on time now,” your fingers graze his, and why does his touch always feel like coming home. 

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand against your cheek. 

“Your gorgeous face,” you smile, leaning close as your lips brush, “and some stolen kisses before class,” 

“And what makes you think you’ve earned them, my favorite student?” He teases, as his fingers slide to the back of your neck, and his other hand snakes around your waist, tugging you close. 

“Oh, I have a few ways to earn them, Professor,” your fingers drag down his chest, “but I don’t know if we have the time before class to—“ 

And his lips find yours — needy and bruising, as your fingers clutch at his shirt, the pressed fabric now definitely creased under your touch, “we’ll make time,” he murmurs, as he leans back to drag his thumb down your plush lips, “I still have many things to teach you, and what time is there like the present?” 

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips— 

RING. RING. RING. 

Your eyes snap open, a groan crawls its way out of your throat, as you fumble for your phone to silence the dreaded ringing. You lie back on your bed, a distinct ache between your legs that makes you squirm, and only want to bury yourself back into your bed and possibly the reality that existed within only your dreams. 

But this was sadly reality, and you had about two hours before your first class as a teacher’s assistant for Professor Suguru Geto’s ethics and moral philosophy class. And two hours before you would see Professor Geto for the first time since you had made out. 

You turn over, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if you tried hard enough, if you could suffocate yourself before then. 

Probably not. That would be far too lucky. 

~~~

Professor Suguru Geto couldn’t sleep — instead he spent his time staring at his ceiling, the blades of his fans spinning above him, just like his mind was — in circles. It was as if he almost didn’t want to risk his dreams taunting him, it was the same reason he had buried himself in research over the semester break, the same reason he had put off emailing you the materials for the semester, and the same reason he hadn’t seen you since that day you had kissed. 

It was too much of a risk. 

You were risk personified, even for a risk averse theologian he liked to think himself as. But you were the thing of myths, the dangled food for Tantalus, the far too warm sun for Icarus, and the promise of gold for King Midas. But you were not a myth — you were real, his student made of flesh and bone, the same flesh he had pressed into his desk just a few short weeks ago, his legs parting your thighs, his fingers itching to rip your pantyhose off your legs— 

He sighed, this wasn’t helping — his bedside clock blinked back at him mockingly — he only had a few hours before his first class. He should try to sleep even a little. So he did, shutting his eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t dream of you. 

But he couldn’t possibly be that lucky. 

How many times have you stood in front of this office door? Your Professor, to which this office belongs, would joke that it was far too many to count — and you’d be better speculating how many times that Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the same hill. But the last time you had been in it was the thing that made you hesitate now. 

But that was your entire relationship wasn’t it? A game of chicken, wondering who would hesitate first — and neither of you were the type to hold back. Except when it came to this — except when it came to your feelings for the other. 

You shake your head, trying to shake your anxious thoughts free of their eternal bounce around your skull, and grit your teeth before finally knocking. 

“I’m actually right here,” a voice behind you says, making you jump, as you whip around, nearly pressed against his office door. And now you stood face to face with the man who owned it.

And how was it that every time you saw him, he was achingly more perfect than the time before? His ebony hair was half down, black locks brushing against his shoulders, the rest tied up in a neat bun. A crisp white button up underneath a neutral toned knit sweater vest, the shirt very much like the one you had stolen in your dream. 

Perfect. 

“Professor Geto,” you offer a small smile, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, instead of drifting over his form, “it’s good to see you,” 

“It’s good to see you as well, and so prompt,” he says, brushing past you to unlock his office, “made a habit of being on time these days?” 

“Well, when your professor reprimands you in front of the entire class, you try to make a habit of being on time,” why did it feel like your dream was repeating yet again? It’s not as if your relationship with him wasn’t cyclical enough — life imitating dreams was almost far too much. He opens the door for you, letting you enter first, before he follows you in, “and aren’t you the late one this time?” 

His lips quirk, as he rounds his desk, and takes a seat, “You really can’t make it a conversation with me without giving me shit, huh?” 

“Language,” you chide, as you sit across from him, “not very appropriate for an academic setting,” and you have to bite back the want to say that you’ve done plenty of inappropriate things in this office the last time you both were here. 

“Well, our track record isn’t known for being very appropriate, now is it?” Or maybe you didn’t need to say it, because the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. But that didn’t mean either of you would act on it. He licked his lips, mouth parted to say something, his gaze heavy. 

And the moment is broken when his email goes off — you squeeze your bag a little tighter, as you busy yourself with digging through your bag for the materials to go over. That sound was nearly traumatizing in this office, not only did it usually signal the start of some assignment you had to trudge your way through — it also was the sound that had ended your relationship before it even really began. 

“Class starts in an hour, so I thought we could have this meeting just to review the syllabus and see if you have any questions — as well as just overall any questions you had about being a T.A.,” he explains, pressing his pen to his lips, “I understand this is your first time being a T.A.?” 

“It is, I hadn’t really considered it until the department head approached me about that,” and he nods, a flash of emotion that surfaces for only a moment before dissipating, “what will my responsibilities be?” 

“Good question,” a smile pulls the corners of his lips, “obviously, as a T.A., you will have office hours that you can decide with your own discretion—” 

“So it’s okay if I have them once a month at 3:00 AM?” and he rolls his eyes as you bite your lip at the sight — why was everything he did so effortlessly attractive? 

Fucking unfair. 

“Witching hour, how apt,” he murmurs, as he tilts his head, “but they should be weekly, as I’m sure you know, and held not in the middle of the night, when nights should be used for other things,” and you have to bite back your reply, like what? 

And then he continues to explain, “You can also help with some grading — mostly entering grades online for me since you know I love to handgrade,” 

“Oh yes, truly enjoyed having my self-esteem cut to shreds after receiving a paper back,” you scribbled notes down in your notebook, “glad I won’t be on the receiving end this time,” 

“If you’re good, that is,” and you knew it slipped from his lips — from the way his lips parted, the way his body froze for half a second as if he had shocked himself — and he had, because the spark between you two remained, a weed stubbornly cracking through concrete, “sorry—’ 

“You don’t have apologize,” you shake your head, waving him off, “it’s really fine,” 

“It’s not,” he said softly, placing the syllabus down on the desk, “I know we agreed to keep our relationship professional,” 

“We did,” Yes, you both did — sort of. 

“And I want us to do that—” 

And you ask the question you weren’t brave enough to ask the last time you two had seen each other, “Why is that again?” 

When the email had come, it was as if a spell had broken — the rosy colored lenses had come off, only to leave the hard glare of reality behind. Your limbs still entangled while you both reread the email off of his screen — as if it would say something different the millionth time over. 

It didn’t. 

And then the awkward clamor of disengaging, slow limbs pulling apart, as the warmth of his embrace left as quickly as it had come. Silence as the two of you let the news settle in, like a noose tightening around your necks, and you slowly slid off his desk. 

“If I’m your T.A.,” you had said slowly, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “we can’t do this, can we?” and he had only nodded, his gaze unable meet yours, fixed to the rug on the floor of his office, and he could only muster two words as you brushed past him and gathered your things—

“I’m sorry.” 

But even so, you couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea? Why was it so wrong for the two of you to do this? What difference did it make that you were his T.A.? It was still against the rules either way — it was still unethical either way — so why, why did it matter? 

But he knew why, from the way his brow creased with lines and his lips pursed and the way his eyes yet again couldn’t quite reach yours — as if you’d spot something in them that he didn’t want to see. 

“Because we’re going to working together all semester long, with students in class who will see us each week,” he licked his lips, leaning back in his chair, “because it was already problematic if we saw each other without any classes or connection, but now — if you’re my T.A. and my girlfriend, how would I even properly supervise you?” and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he blows air through his teeth, before his voice grows softer, “how would I focus on guiding you and our students if I’m too busy gazing into your eyes or staring at your lips or wanting to—” he cuts himself off, “you know it’s not a good idea,  most of our students probably wouldn’t notice, but rumors spread and it takes one good rumor to ruin your career,” and he adds, “with how things work, you don’t need me to tell you why it would be worse for you than me, even if I tried to take responsibility,” 

And you did know, knew very well that rumors got out that the two of you were together that nothing would happen to his reputation — perhaps he would be scrutinized a bit more, some judgment and side-eye from other professors and higher ups, but he wouldn’t get vilified like you would. Called a slut or a whore — and those would be some of the kinder names you’d be called, and you can’t imagine what it would do for your career, especially if you stay in academia. And then the rumors would fester and grow, more wondering where your grades came from — whether you had obtained them through honeyed words whispered over pillows and rumpled sheets instead through late nights spent at your desk and weekends practically living at the library. 

“I do know,” you said quietly. But it didn’t mean you wanted to do it anymore than you had that day. A part of you wished he had stopped you when you had turned to leave his office, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his arms—but this was hardly a romance novel, “and you’re right,” 

He still has his gaze fixed anywhere but your face, settling his syllabus on his desk now, the silence familiarly filling the room yet again, muscles tense if your body didn’t know whether to flee or to draw closer. 

So you did neither, and instead broke the silence. 

“So would T.A.-ing provide an opportunity for me to teach the class?” and he blinks, eyes snapping up now, as a glimpse of sadness slips away behind his now thoughtful expression. 

“Would you want to do that? I don’t know if I could allow you to lead an entire class, only because some students may take some issue with another grad student teaching them—” 

“I don’t blame them with the tuition costs,” you mutter, and he nods, “don’t nod, it’s your salary I’m paying for,” 

He laughs, a noise you wished you could bottle because you knew it’d be the same as bottling happiness, “Well worth your money after how much your writing and understanding of moral philosophy and ethics has improved,” and you roll your eyes. 

“I see your ego is the same as ever,” and his lips curl, as he crosses his legs, and you fight the cruel temptation of your gaze flickering a little downward. 

“Well, Kant did say an ego is necessary to understand the world meaningfully and therefore act in a moral way,”  you tilt your head, being defensive with philosophy? That was a new one. 

But you weren’t one to let things go — as he very well knew. 

“And he also said that an ego can lead you astray from living a moral life if we become too self absorbed,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you calling me self absorbed?” 

You bite back a laugh, “Well, you are certainly self interested,” and you gesture around his office, “look at this office,” 

“What about my office?” he gapes at you, and you snort, you’ve seemingly struck a nerve by how wide his jaw dropped. 

“It’s a little…pretentious,” and dare you say it, your professor had a touch of pink painted across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, 

God he’s even pretty when he blushes. 

“I’m just teasing Professor,” and then you add, “it’s one of my more tedious qualities,” 

And he blinks, before his lips curl in the smile you never tired of seeing, “not tedious, more irritating,” 

You chuckle, before trying to get back on topic, “So you think you could work out me teaching a part of the class?” 

And he nods, “Let me discuss it with the department head — it should be fine,”

“Do I have any other responsibilities?” 

“If it doesn’t conflict with your schedule, you can also attend some classes, students can stay after and ask you questions as well,” and you nod, looking over his class times in the syllabus. 

“I can make the Tuesday one,” and he makes a note, as you rise, “we should go. Don’t want to be late for the first class now do we?” 

And he smiles the same damnable smile, “That would be a terrible first impression,” and his shoulder brushes yours as he opens his office door for you, “after you,” 

God, you thought as you stepped past him, the warmth from the brush of his body still there, this was going to be a long semester. 

If there was one thing you had learned from being a teacher’s assistant for Professor Geto’s class, it was that the students were even more desperate for your professor’s attention than you had thought. You thought your introduction had went relatively well — besides the pointed glares of several….enthusiastic students. 

After his detailed overview of the class, he reaches the resources section of the course syllabus, “Now, I am available at my listed office hours, in which you can make an appointment online. There’s also tutoring services through the university listed as well. And lastly, we have a T.A. for this class, for the very first time,” and he smiles, “Class, please meet your T.A. for this semester,” Professor Geto says your name and gestures to you, sat up in the corner of the lecture hall, and you stand, waving, “your T.A. took this very class last semester and showed great grit and dedication in the class assignments,” you have to stop yourself from shooting him a look, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips, “She is also a philosophy student, so please, feel free to reach out to her,” 

“Thank you Professor Geto for that…generous introduction,” your pause was slight enough that he caught it, a smile tucked behind an all too fake cough, “I really look forward to working with you all — this class truly had a great impact on my perspective about the world,” and you catch a flicker of an emotion ripple across his face out of the corner of your eye, “my office hours will be posted soon, and I hope we can get to know each other well over the course of this semester.” 

You sit as the students cast their gaze forward again, and the class continues on as usual. You make use of your time by reading for some of your other classes, until class was over. 

And that’s when you really learned something. As requested, you joined Professor Geto at the bottom of the lecture hall to help field questions from the students. 

Except, the students were far more interested in Professor Geto than they were in the course material. 

But maybe it was simply because it was the beginning of the semester right? It couldn’t happen again right? 

It was a good thing you weren’t getting graded because you would earned yourself a zero. As again, the next week, students were only interested in Professor Geto — whether it was because it was for his intellect or — you glanced at the students mooning over him — something else. 

Something you knew very well. 

You were forced to watch a female student flutter her eyelashes, then another brush against him, as she showed him what passage was confusing her, and then another student couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And then you wonder, if it had been another student who kept pestering him week after week, would it have been them instead of you? Would they have shared those moments together? Maybe even they would actually gotten to be in a relationship, instead of watching other people flirt with him—

“Excuse me,” your eyes snap up from your reverie and you see two students, seemingly waiting to speak to you. 

Those students had seemingly taken pity on you and spoke to you about the class, tips, and asked about your office hours. But soon enough, the students filed out one by one until it was just you and Professor Geto. And he’s collecting his things, as he glances at you, lingering still as you check your email on your phone, “Don’t you have class after this?” 

You blink, “how’d you know that?” 

And he’s straightening his notes to place back in his bag, before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, “well you’d always rush off after class so it was either you had class or you didn’t want to be alone with me,” he looks back to his bag and you hear the click of the zipper, “I was hoping it would be the former,” he adds. 

“Well, I never lingered after class when I was taking it either,” you adjust your bag, toying with the strap — why was it anytime you were with him it felt like stepping into quicksand, the more you struggled, the more you sunk — and even if you didn’t move at all, you were still stuck all the same, “didn’t want to get in the way your students stroking your ego,” 

And he raises an eyebrow, “Are we back to my ego again?” 

“I don’t see you shying away from smiles and praise from your students,” and his brow knits together, as he places his bag down on the podium, “no wonder your ego is so large,” 

“What students?” 

“Oh please, the ones swarming your desk after clsss. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many students from different disciplines take your class?” he opens his mouth and then you add, “and don’t say philosophy and ethics apply to every aspect of life,” 

And then he seems to consider the thought, as before his lips curl, as he leans against the podium. 

“Am I detecting some jealousy?” he smirks, and you pause before you scoff — far too quickly. 

“No,” and he only smiles wider. 

He chuckles, “That was convincing. I’m glad your ability to teach is much better than your ability to lie,” 

“I’m not—“ 

“Jealous or not,” and you have to bite back your retort, his gaze freezing you in place, a softness you hated to see — because you didnt know whether it made you want to push him away or pull him close, “there’s only ever been one student who caught my eyes,” 

Ah, there is was — you were sinking again. 

“Really?” you mumble, crossing your arms, “not even one other? You have a habit of unethical behavior for an ethics professor,” 

He’s grabbing his bag, before he’s taking a step forward to whisper, “Only when it comes to you,” and you have to force yourself not shiver at his words warming your skin, “I’ll see you next week,” 

And he’s gone — as you stand in the empty lecture hall next to the podium, the very one from your first dream— and you’re right back where you started. 

Professor Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to make mistakes. He was always meticulous and methodical — he used the very principles to help guide his life — because it gave him a moral framework, a way to interpret the world and his own actions. That’s what had drawn him to ethics in the first place. But then he met you. 

And it seems like he’s made nothing but mistakes since. 

He sat in his office after he practically fled the classroom, forcing his pace to be normal, hoping you didn’t see the flush on his face. Fuck, he tossed the pen he had picked up to start grading away, what was he doing? 

He had told himself it was for the best — again and again when he watches you leave at the end of the last semester. He held his muscles taut as he watched you gather your things, stepping over the crushed pieces of both of your hearts. The two words he had barely choked were the only ones he could manage before he watched his office door shut behind you. 

It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best. 

That sentence was on repeat in his mind as he tried to work on his paper over the break — “try” being the operative word. It felt as if even his work hadn't been untouched by you — your impact widespread and all consuming — just as your actual touch was. 

Fuck, he rakes his fingers through his hair, how was he going to survive this week much less this semester? 

He couldn’t afford to be selfish — for your sake and his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. He runs a hand over his face — he all but blatantly admitted that he had feelings for you after class. After promising to keep things professional — he was the worst. 

He only wished he was worse enough to do what you both wanted when you asked him in his office why you both couldn’t be together. He wanted to tell you the reasons why you should be — because he couldn’t stop thinking about you despite never seeing you over the break, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you standing in front of his office, and because he couldn’t help but smile when he could see you hesitating in front of the door — but he couldn’t help but smile when it came to you. But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t. 

But he also couldn’t help but toe that damn line in the sand, the one that he had drawn, but the one so desperately wanted to cross. 

And then there was a knock at his door, he sighs, “Come in,” 

The department head enters his office, as Suguru blinks before he gets to his feet to offer his hand, as they exchange greetings, before gesturing for him to sit, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I saw your email about having your T.A. teach part of your class, and I wanted to get a little more detail about it,” Suguru nods, his face composed, but his body tense — paranoia scratching at the back of his mind, no one happened to see them kiss had they? No one was on campus really at that point. And the door was closed — he probably just wanted more information.  

“What questions did you have?” and the department head runs down his list — what topic would you cover? How much class time would it take? Would he be asking the class first? Would he review your materials beforehand? 

“Well, you both seemed to have thought a lot about this,” he leans back, crossing his leg over the other, “I think having her teach a part of a class is fine, but I would like you both to do it sooner rather than later,” and Suguru opens his mouth, but then he adds, “and I’d like to attend that class,” 

Suguru tilts his head, “You would like to attend my class?” He considers his words carefully, “I was under the impression, based on the rules, the only thing needed to allow a T.A. to teach was the approval of the department head,” his anxiety begins to pick away at his nerves, “it’s not unusual for a T.A. to teach here correct?” 

It was his first time having a teacher’s assistant at this university so perhaps this was a quality check? To ensure both you and him were meeting the standards of the university — and his anxiety added, and to make sure no rules were being broken by either of you. 

“Yes, it’s not unusual, and I have my reasons which I’ll discuss with you after the class,” he checks the time and rises from his seat now, “I have another meeting soon — do you think she can present in two weeks?” 

Suguru hesitates, “I’ll have to ask her but most likely that should be fine,” 

“Okay please send an email cc’ing her and confirm the details,” he says his goodbyes, and he’s gone, as Suguru sits and considers this — what could he be planning? 

Or, his nerves add, what could he be looking for? 

Either way, he pulled up your email — it was going to be an interesting two weeks. 

“Deontology determines whether an action is right or wrong based on a set of rules and principles instead of the consequences of the actions,” you speak to an empty lecture hall, your voice echoing in the silence, “therefore an act that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” 

You had come into the lecture hall to practice yet again this week. You were cursing your past self for inflicting this optional task on yourself — it had taken far more time than you had expected (what’s new?), taken far more preparation than you thought (again, of course), and now had the fun added pressure of the department head attending. And why was he attending? A wonderful and complete mystery. 

The last two weeks have been amazing for your mental health, truly. 

You were lucky the lecture hall and the building at large was deserted at 8:00 PM — all of the staff and students had all but fled, and you were left with the perfect place to practice. It had been many nights of honing your presentation to the allotted time, leaving time to pose a thought exercise, time to discuss, and for questions. 

You don’t see the door behind you open, nor do you hear it close, as you use the clicker to go through your PowerPoint, switching to the next slide. 

“For example, killing an intruder, based on the consequence would be wrong, as I hope we all know killing is wrong — otherwise, I worry about what will happen when you get your grades back,” you give a brief chuckle — and hope some of the students would pity you with some laughs, and that’s when you hear a small laugh behind you. 

Your head snaps around, flushing when you see Professor Geto standing by the door. He’s wearing a deep royal purple button up and gray slacks, the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms. 

God, this wasn’t a dream was it? 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, his footsteps against the floor grew closer, and your body tenses, until they stop, “go on,” and he leans against the wall behind you. 

“But when you do kill an intruder to protect your family, that’s viewed as right under deontology,” and you can’t focus with his gaze running over you, an all familiar feeling settled over you. Would life imitate dreams again? Would he come over and ask you to continue your presentation as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder? Would he— 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you can’t meet his gaze, but you hear his footsteps, “should I go?” 

“No, no, it’s just,” you shake your head, “a little deja vu,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “deja vu?” 

Your blood runs cold. Fuck. 

“I don’t recall you ever presenting like this in my clsss before,” you can't decide if his voice is more thick with confusion or curiosity. 

“Yeah, no, sorry it’s nothing,” you brush him off, your eyes fixed on your notes on the podium, and you know he’s still staring, “what?” 

“I see you’re still not a very good liar,” and you scoff, “what is it that’s gotten you so bothered?” 

“Nothing,” you insist. 

“The more you say that, the less I’m convinced,” and now he’s walking closer, closer still — but you’re fixed in place, “what is it?”

“You never let anything go, do you?” And you turn, your breath catching when you saw how close he was — inches from you, his pretty eyes wide at the sudden movement, his breath warming your lips. Black strands fall in his face, and you have to stop yourself from tucking them behind his ear. Stop yourself from wanting to touch him, stop yourself from wanting him to lean forward, stop yourself from wanting him. 

Nothing good ever came from your want. 

“Only when it’s you,” but this man makes it impossible not to want him. Not when his voice is soft, not when the back of his finger, a knuckle brushes against your cheek. And no words are needed — you can hear it in the silence between you both, you feel it in the gentleness of his touch, and in the softness of his gaze. 

And you know you’re in love with him. You are.

But you can’t be. 

“I’m not telling you,” you murmur, looking away — and it seems to break the spell, as he steps back, nodding, a flicker of sadness that slips away under his facade,  “but maybe I will sometime, over a drink,” you add. 

A smile tugs at his lips, “Well we know how well that went, or didn’t go rather, and you know, we can’t anytime soon,” 

“Well sometimes an action that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Using deontology to convince me?” He tilts his head, “not a bad strategy — maybe I’ll have you write a paper,” 

“And willingly subject myself to your red pen? No thanks,” and he snorts, before the smile fades into a frown, brow wrinkled in thought, “what is it?” 

“Nothing, I’m just…” he crossss his arms, “I’m wondering why the department head wants to observe your presentation,” 

“He didn’t give any indication why?” and he shakes his head, “maybe he just wants to evaluate how good a job you’re doing,” you add, “you are relatively green,” 

“Not that green,” and you see his lips pressed together — and is he? — he was — he was pouting. You bite your lip how fucking adorable — but you know you’d be met with a scowl if you said that out loud, “don’t you worry that the dean may suspect something between us?” 

The thought had crossed your mind, but class had been nothing but professional so far, and you’d be too busy sweating bullets (and perhaps dodging them from the students if the presentation went poorly) to even consider your feelings for him. 

You sigh, “Look, nothing to do but get through it, right? It should be fine, we’ll deal with whatever comes after. As long as I don’t choke, and you don’t stare at me too adoringly, we should be fine,” 

And you expect a retort, a cheeky reply, or even a quite sarcastic one, but he only gives a small smile, “Right,”

You feel your cheeks burn and you can’t meet his gaze again without feeling your heart flutter. 

Fuck — maybe there was something to worry about. 

Despite the concerns, the presentation goes off without a hitch. You spot the dean sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand, which did nothing to soothe your poor heart (nor did the far too many cups of coffee and the total lack of sleep). 

It happened quick — a blur of speaking, forcing yourself to slow your words down, a necessity when presenting — as you knew you always spoke faster than you believed you did when presenting. You think you even made the students laugh a few times, led an interesting thought experiment with a rousing debate that ended with no clear answer (as always), and then you answered questions. 

All the while, Professor Geto stood in the back, and you’d catch a glimpse of him by the corner of your eye, his lips curled in that smile that haunted all your nights and days. 

By the time it was done, you had barely realized time had gone so quickly, as you passed the metaphorical baton back to Geto. And you took a seat off to the side, opting to watch him lecture, rather than busy yourself with other work. 

It felt like old times, you thought, as you watched him speak. You couldn’t blame the people that took his class just to watch him speak — he was unfairly beautiful when he spoke, gesticulating as he read a Kant quote. And you kept your face as neutral as possible, but he catches your eye for a moment, corner of his lip twitching upwards. And a flush settles over your cheeks, as you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to look suddenly engrossed with your notebook. 

Your heart ached as much as your body did. You wanted to walk over and just kiss him, swallow his smart words along with his gasp, and feel those hands run along your body. You wanted to know every thought in his head, every part of his day, and fall asleep beside him. 

You glance up to see him still speaking — a black strand falling in his face. You bite your lip, before looking back down. 

This man would be the death of you — and it was even worse being alone with him. You’re thankful that your T.A. check-ins with him were every other week, because you couldn’t imagine having to spend more than an hour with him every other week. 

“You want us to do what?” You blink at the Dean, his lips curled in a smile, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Apologies for all the secrecy, I did not receive confirmation about this until earlier today,” he explains, “but I want you two to attend this conference on ethics and philosophy  — it’s over the weekend, two weekends from now. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the both of you to make connections and attend presentations, as well as mingle with prospective students. It would also afford us an opportunity for both of you to help put our university on the map,” 

You glance at Professor Geto, his lips parted in surprise, “Sir, is it appropriate for a male professor and a—“ 

“Don’t worry, the accommodations will be separate and it’s a public event, as long as everything remains professional, there’s no problem, right? As long as you two are okay with it and there’s no problem,” he glances between the two of you, “is there a problem?” 

And Professor Geto’s eyebrows knit together. It was a lose-lose situation — saying no meant raising some suspicions that there was an issue between the two of you, but saying yes meant going on a trip with the same professor you had kissed at the end of the last semester. And if anything happened on this trip...it could be very bad — ethically and otherwise. 

So you make the decision for both of you. 

“That’s fine. I’m happy to attend if Professor Geto is,” and you know you have no choice — you had to spend the weekend with him, alone. At a conference. In a hotel.

“Do you have everything?” Professor Geto asks, as you hand him your suitcase, your fingers brushing as you do.  He lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car, his black t-shirt riding up as he does, a quick flash of the expanse of his muscles—

Fuck, you bite your lip, stop, stop. Professor. He’s a professor. 

It didn’t matter that you had felt him part your thighs, as his lips slid against yours, nor that every time you saw each other, you felt this undeniable ache to touch him, comfort him, hug him, nor that you knew he felt the same and wanted to give in as badly as you did—

No, it didn’t matter. 

You consider his question, scrunching up your face in thought, “I think so, wait,” you snap your fingers as he glances at you, “forgot the rest of my apartment upstairs — you think that’ll fit in there too?” 

He smirks, rolling his eyes as shuts the trunk, “Ha, ha, ever consider becoming a comedian instead of a philosophy major?”

“Every day, but then I think what would my favorite professor do without me?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m your favorite?” 

“Who said it was you?” you grin at him, as he shakes his head and you open the passenger door seat and slide in, as he slips into the driver’s seat. He adjusts his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, as a sudden wave of guilt bombards you. You had dragged him down this rabbit hole with you — and now the two of you had to spend the entire weekend together, alone. 

You lick your far too dry lips, “Sorry if I roped you into this,” you fidget with your phone, tapping on the screen absentmindedly. 

He starts the car, engine roaring underneath your feet, before he glances at you, brow furrowed in seeming confusion, “What? It’s not you that roped us into this,” 

You purse your lips, “But if I didn’t agree to it—“ 

He sighs, “We were in a position where we didn’t have much of a choice,” his fingers drum against the steering wheel, as his eyes flicker to make sure your seatbelt was on, “it’s not your fault — and it’s not a bad thing — we’ll spend time at the conference, we’ll mingle, and then return to our hotel rooms,” he adds, “don’t worry. Nothing will happen.” 

And his reassurance is almost a punch to the gut instead — and your brain chides you for being so childish — you knew it was for the best, you knew it was the right thing to do, and you knew he was trying what was best for you, and for him. 

But why did it hurt so goddamn much? 

You steal a glance at him as he pulls into the street and begins to drive, dark gaze forward, his hair tied into its usual neat bun, and a chain poked out from underneath the rounded opening around his neck. And then your eyes flicker back out the window.  

Was it really not a big deal to him? 

Because the last two weeks were consumed with nothing, but thoughts of being alone with him. Days spent in conferences, sitting beside each other, whispering thoughts and inside jokes; evenings spent socializing together, waiting for the other to give the signal to leave; and nights walking back to your rooms, fingers brushing as you walked beside each other. You were sure it would take a slight bend of the rules, a gaze that lingers a little too long, to break the paper thin resistance either of you had to the other. The two of you could barely be alone for more than a few minutes without temptation rearing its ugly head — even now your eyes can’t help but trace the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight catches his eyes, the way your fingers want nothing more than intertwine with his hand that rests on the console between you two. 

But you don’t. You give a weak smile, glancing out the window as the streets of Tokyo pass you by — “Yeah it should be fine.” 

Just fine. 

“There was a problem with your reservation,” 

And after half an hour of waiting off to the side, with your luggage stacked up and irritation creeping its way to a new high as you watched others easily being checked in to the hotel, you assumed there was a problem. If there wasn’t a problem, you would wonder if this was a new take on Waiting for Godot that would end with the both of youu sleeping in the lobby. You rubbed at your temples, as Geto dealt with the hotel staff, his arms crossed, lips a tight line, “the hotel double booked one of your rooms, so we only have one room available for you.”  

You barely heard the rest of the argument your professor had with the hotel staff, the same phrase ringing in your ears — one room, one room, one room. With nothing more to argue about, they finally escorted you both to your room in awkward silence. And as they opened the door, you spotted it — there was only one single queen sized bed. 

One. Bed. 

You felt your cheeks flush, as you couldn’t even meet Geto’s eyes, as he began to speak heatedly with the manager again. And the excuses began, as the manager wrung his hands, about how no other rooms being available due to the conference and another event happening in town. 

“There is a couch though,” he offers,  pointing to a far too small couch, and the sharp glare that Geto gave him would put even his red pen to shame, “we will see about comping half—“ Geto crosses his arms, “all of your stay here,” and with that, he’s gone. 

“So,” you sigh, glancing at Geto, with a strained smile, “I have dibs on the bed?” 

Was this a cosmic joke? You wondered as you turned off the water of the shower, squeezing your eyes shut. Was this a version of ethical karma for what you had done last semester? An ultimate ethical test that you would surely fail? A fucking prank show? 

You didn’t know. You dried off and got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, your hair still damp, as you took a breath and stepped out, towel slung over your shoulders. 

Geto was still on the phone, pacing back and forth — he was trying to call other hotels to see if there was anywhere else with two rooms or at least a room with two beds.

“Yes I understand it’s very last minute—“ he sighs for what must have been the billionth time today, “yes, there was a mistake at the hotel I’m staying at—yes, ok, well, thank you,” he hangs up, setting his phone down. 

“No luck?” You sit on the edge of the bed, wiping your hair, and he shakes his head. 

“The one thing they were right about is that every hotel room is booked solid — not only is our conference in town, but there’s a physical science consortium happening as well,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “I’ll have to give the Dean a call to update him on the situation,” 

You nod, “So what should we do about sleeping?” And he can’t quite meet your gaze, “are there no trundle or rollaway beds?” 

“No, apparently those have all been spoken for,” he grumbles, and he prepares to call the dean, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed—“ 

“Professor, we can—“ and his gaze snaps to you, “we can share—“ 

“No, we can’t,” he says softly, “you know we can’t do that,” 

“We’re both adults—“ 

“And we’re still a professor and a student,” he draws the line between you two again, the gash even deeper than before, the gap that’s meant to keep you safe — the chase meant to protect you — so why did it feel more like a punishment? “I’ll take the couch,” and he calls the Dean to update him on the situation. 

You busy yourself with drying your hair in the bathroom, before coming back out to see him hanging up the phone. 

“Well, are we in an ethical bind or should I go sleep in the lobby just to show there’s no funny business?” And he shoots you a look, “there have been stranger bedfellows,” and he opens his mouth, “and a single word comes out of your mouth, and I’ll join you on that couch,” 

And a very pretty flush adorns the tips of his ears and cheeks, “He said it was fine, it was out of our control, but to just document everything, including the hotel’s incompetence for legality reasons,” 

“You’re also a lawyer as well as a professor?” 

“You have to hedge your bets,” he shrugs with a smile pulling at his lips, before he checks the time, “I’m going to take a shower,” he sighs, pulling his hair from the messy bun, letting his black locks down. And you watch him run his fingers through his hair again, sighing, as he heads into the shower. 

You lay on the bed, biting your lip — as you turn over to use your phone, as the shower turns on. And you glance at the closed door — the thought of him in there, pulling his shirt over his head, shedding his pants and boxers. Your cheeks burn, burying your face in your pillow as if that would help (it did not). 

You curl up on the bed, turning away from the bathroom door, using your phone. And a few minutes pass, as you kind of drift off into sleep, and you hear a creak of the bathroom door open that rouses you from sleep. You don’t move at first but you hear shuffling, the sounds of a zipper. You finally turn on your other side, eyes fluttering open, and you’re met with the sight of bare skin. 

You blink, eyes flickering up to see your Professor’s flushed face, before your eyes slowly following a bead of water slip down his bare chest, black hair dotting along the middle of his chest and abs, down to a happy trail that was hidden by a towel wrapped around his waist. His clothes in his hand, and your eyes find his own, your lips parted and mouth impossibly dry. 

Oh. My. God. 

“Uh—“ and his cheeks flare red, as you try your best not to let your eyes flicker downward, “I forgot my clothes—“ and you turn away, as he darts back into the bathroom, “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled through the door. 

“It’s okay!” You reply, your heart thumping against your ribcage, squeezing your eyes shut to only be met the memory of his bare torso, “fuck,” you mumble under your breath, as you turn onto your back, and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you. A distinct ache below at the thought of him. 

Your eyes flickered to the shut bathroom door. You hear the sound of water running again — maybe he needed to wash up again. Either way, you slid under the comforter, hand slipping into your shorts, you had some time. You wish you could have grabbed his hand before he fled into the bathroom, sat up on your knees, fingers sliding to his cheek. 

“Kiss me,” you’d murmur, and he would, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips sweetly, as your fingers glide up his bare chest. You’d swallow his gasp with delight, as your other hand finds his wet locks, fingers tangling in his black locks, “please,” you would guide his fingers to the hem of your shirt and he would oblige, lifting up and over your head. And your fingers would tug his towel away, letting it fall to the ground. 

Your fingers press against the wet patch on your underwear, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you gasp, imagining it was instead his eager fingers that tugged your shorts down. You sunk one finger in and then another, pumping slowly, and you knew he would get you ready for him. He would fuck you with his thick fingers, as his mouth latched to your clit, sucking gently as he fucked you open. You moaned his name softly, as you imagine his fingers stretching you open. 

“Do you want me, my pretty girl?” He would murmur between your thighs, lips glossy with your release, “s’good for me, taste as good as you look,” and he would press your back gently into the mattress as he would meet your lips again before, rubbing the tip of his cock against your puffy lips, “tell me what you want, Princess,” 

“Please,” you whispered, as you moved your fingers faster, adding a third finger, but you know his cock would feel so much thicker, and reach so much deeper, “fuck me,” 

And he would, sinking into you, his pretty cock parting your folds, his quiet grunts and moans whispering in your ear, as he works himself inside to the hilt. His lips would find yours as he would rock his hips into you — your cunt would flutter around his length. He would press your thighs apart further, long fingers digging into your soft flesh, the wet squelch of your cunt and the sounds of his skin slapping against yours would ring in your ears.

“S’close, Sugu—fuck,” you would keen against him, instead of your fingers, “please,” and his thumb would find your clit, just as yours did, and you would cum all over his cock, squeezing around his length, as he sinks even deeper, until his tip is brushing against your cunt. The moan of his name slips out, as you press your forearm against your mouth to barely stifle it. 

Fuck, you come down from your high, panting. And you glance at the bathroom door, thinking you’ll clean up once he gets out. You roll over in bed, as you pulled the pillow over your face. 

This was going to be a long weekend. 

Suguru lingers in the bathroom for far too long after that, the embarrassment of the moment still far too fresh in his mind, his cheeks still a dusty pink at the thought. Not only was it bad enough that he was trapped in this hotel room with you for an entire weekend, but now he had paraded out practically half naked for you to see. 

Fuck his life. 

He had hurried into the shower if only to get a break from being in the same room as you. It had been hard enough to endure the last few weeks as a T.A., but now he had to spend an entire weekend sharing a hotel room — and deal with situations like that one all weekend. Seeing you emerge from the bathroom, only in a t-shirt and shorts, still damp from your shower — wet hair in messy tangles that he wanted to run his fingers through— and that’s why he excused himself to the bathroom. A reprieve if only for a moment. If he had only remembered to bring his clothes into the shower — he wouldn’t have had to finish his shower, with only his discarded clothes to wear that had slipped off the clothes rack and onto the damp floor. 

He had stepped out, towel around his waist, as he peeled out, only to see your back to him, the sounds of soft breathing told him you were asleep. And he crept out, silently cursing as the door creaked and rifled through his suitcase for clothes. He had found them, and gone to retreat back when you roused and turned all at once. 

God, he sighed, it was such a mess. 

But the way you looked at him…lips parted, gaze flicking across his body, the way your eyes lingered a little too long on his torso — and now he had an entirely different problem. 

His cock tented against the towel, as his eyes slid to the bathroom door. What if he just hopped into the shower for a second again? The towel dropped to the floor, as he steps back into the shower, turning on the water. 

He groans, his fingers slide over his mortifyingly hard erection, teasing his slit as he would imagine you would, as you would open the bathroom door, murmuring his name, “Professor? Are you okay?” And you wouldn’t wait for his answer as you stepped into the shower with him, eyes raking down his body, a teasing grin on your lips, “not very ethical is that?” And your fingers would curl their way around the base of his cock, making him shudder with pleasure, “I can take care of that,” and you would kiss down his chest and stomach, even despite his protests, until you reached where he wanted your touch most. 

And god, you would look so pretty on your knees for him, as your fingers pumped him far too slowly, teasing him with a chaste kiss to his tip, tongue dragging against his slit, better than how his thumb did, “s’good for me, Professor,” you’d say, when you heard the hiss he just let out, “I wonder what other sounds you could make for me,” and your lips would close around his tip, sucking lightly, as he gasped, his other hand clasped over his mouth, muffling his sounds. 

He would look down with half lidded eyes, and see your head bobbing as you took him so well, your fingers toying with his balls, spotting your eyes flicking up to meet his — glazed over and desperate, just he imagined his were. Your mouth would feel so much better than his hand, the wet squelch of his pumping would not compare to you swallowing around him, sucking and licking around his length, his pre-cum and your drool slipping down the corner of your mouth. 

You’d swallow around him, as his fingers would slide into your hair. And maybe you would let him fuck your mouth, hips rolling slowly as you adjust, before he slowly would thrust faster. He would repay the favor tenfold once you were done, burying himself in your sweet cunt, until you were begging him to stop. His fingers moved faster around his cock, his low groans and wet squelch bouncing off the bathroom walls, hopefully drowned out by the running water.  Fuck, he wished he would feel how it would to have his tip brush against the back of your throat. 

He was close, the twitch of his dick in his hand told him so, and he imagined what it would be like to cum in your mouth, watching you swallow his release, if you’d want to, or cumming all over your face or chest, letting his cock drag over your tongue as he pulled out. 

Fuck, he shudders, moaning your name against his fingers, he cums all over his hand and the wall of the shower, his release running down mixing with the water. He rinsed his hand off, leaning his head under the water again, hoping it would wash away any traces of you. 

It didn’t. 

And as he emerged from the shower, making sure any trace of his act had slipped down the drain, but the towel around his neck, wondering if you’d see what he did on his face. But you wouldn’t — because you were fast asleep. 

His lips curled as he watched you sleep for a moment, your lips parted, curled up facing away from the bathroom — your feet sticking out of your blanket. He adjusts the blanket for you, and you shift a little in your sleep, mumbling something under your breath, before settling back in. 

And he bites his lip before turning away — he would never be clean, would he? 

Not when it was you. 

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” you murmur, the smile plastered on your lips nearly starting to chip and crack. 

Professor Geto sipped at his drink hiding his frown, long fingers cradling the wine glass far too perfectly, “at least another hour,” he sighs, “when in academia, one must get used to mindless conversing if only it will lead to another needless connection,”

And this day had been nothing but an exercise of that — lectures, panels, presentations — any other word that meant someone or several someones sitting in front of you, talking at you — with only maybe 30% of the people actually listening (if you were lucky or interesting). And now you were one hour deep into a mixer that had you engaging in dry chit-chat that had your mind going numb by the first ten minutes. Your only reprieve being by Geto’s side. 

You hated how he could make the dullest of things enjoyable for you, or rather—

You hated how much you loved it 

“How pithy — Plato?” And he snorts, as you finish off your own drink, “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, and you head off to the bar. 

You were so restless after sitting for so long. Not to mention the slight rash you got from not washing up soon enough. You woke an hour and half later and cleaned yourself up — luckily Geto had passed out by then. You saw him sleeping half scrunched up, half sprawled out on the couch — one of his legs were hanging off the couch — and even his blanket had slipped off. You stifled a small laugh, taking a quick picture of him — so stubborn that he wouldn’t sleep on the bed with you. Your gaze had softened, as you picked up the discarded blanket and placed it over him softly, your fingers gently tucking some of his hair from his face. You fell asleep again after heading back to bed, and woke up refreshed — while Geto had woken up with a very sore back and neck. 

“Can I get…” you look at the menu, ordering your favorite drink, standing by the bar as you adjust your dress, you had opted for a black dress with sheer tights — one you had worn a suit jacket over it. You tap against the bar top, checking your phone as you do. 

“Can I get what she’s getting?” A dark haired man sidles up beside you, his mouth curled in a smirk drawing attention to a scar in the corner of his mouth, and his voice drops to a whisper, “though I think I’d enjoy you more than the drink,” 

You raise your eyebrows, “and I think you’ve certainly had enough tonight,” you say under your breath, giving an awkward chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to notice as the bartender comes back with your drink. Your eyes flicker over the crowd as you search for Geto but you can’t find him. 

“What’s your name, pretty?” And your skin crawls as his dark gaze slides over your body, “mine’s Toji,” and you bite back a sigh, introducing yourself, “it’s very nice to meet you — I’ve met a lot of people tonight but you definitely have been the most interesting,” and the bartender comes back with his drink. 

“Then you must have not met a lot of interesting people so far,” you say, eager to look for any out to escape this conversation, “my friend is waiting—“ 

“No, I’d say that you’re just that interesting,” he sips his drink, “can I get you another drink?” 

And right when you’re about to respond, “No, I don’t think she’s interested,” And you tense a moment before you register the familiar voice, Geto smiles at Toji, if you could call that a smile — it reminded you of one a predator gave its new prey, “especially because she’s a student, and you’re most assuredly not,” 

Toji raises an eyebrow, “But she is an adult, she can speak for herself, so why don’t you let her, Professor?” 

“Because—“ his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach for you but he can’t. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. And you know why he can’t. 

Geto’s smile wavers, and you intercede, “I can, and I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” you pay your tab, “let’s go back to the hotel, Professor,” 

And Toji pulls his card out, handing it to you, “If you change your mind,” he raises his glass, leaning against the bar, before he leans closer to you, whispering, “if you ever get sick of him, call me,” 

You give a polite smile, tugging Geto away until you reached the outside of the building, silence filled the space between you two, until you found your way outside. 

“What did he say?” He asks as he calls a car back to take you both to the hotel, and you don’t know how to answer that — not without making it worse, “actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,” 

“Professor—“ 

“You’re an adult, he’s right — you should be allowed to make your own choices,” he licks his lips, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, “I’m sorry if I—“ 

“Can you let me speak?” you sigh, as you wave your hand in front of his phone so he would look at you, and his eyes meet yours, “you’re fine — I was trying to get out of there — I just felt very trapped.” 

He huffs out a chuckle. “When you took that long, I wondered if the group of solipsists had taken you hostage,” 

You grimace, “I guess when you believe everyone else is an illusion, you also think manners are an illusion too,” he laughs in earnest now, “now there’s a real smile,” He tilts his head, “the smile you had inside, real scary kind of smile,” you tease, as his eyes can’t quite meet yours.

“Oh yeah?” he suddenly seems very interested in his phone, “our rideshare is almost here,” 

“Almost like you were jealous,” and he scoffs. 

“Of him?” 

“Uh huh, he is pretty attractive, maybe I will give him a call—“ and you notice him grip his phone tighter, and your lips curl, “but I probably won’t, not really my type,” 

“Not your type?” he asks. 

“More into the intellectuals, that man was far from it — I like an academic, sweater vests, glasses, a pretentious little office—“ and the glare is back, as you laugh, the rideshare sparing him from you continuing this conversation, but you also didn’t get to see the slight smile on his lips as you slipped into the back of the car. 

“Just sleep on the bed,” you say for probably the thousandth time, but he only shakes his head, as he sits on the couch, combing out his black locks. Even freshly showered, he looks unfairly hot — a loose gray t-shirt with sweatpants, contacts switched to glasses, and now his hair brushed against his shoulders. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch — it was fine last night—“ 

“Your spinal cord would beg to differ,” and he looks unamused, as he struggles with his comb, “what are you doing?” 

“I can’t get this knot out of my hair, and I can’t get you out of my hair either,” he adds, as you roll your eyes, slipping off the bed and walking over. You ease the comb from his fingers, biting your lip at the brush of his fingers, “what are you—“ 

“It’s easier if someone else does it,” and he sighs, giving in, as your fingers undo the knot in his hair gently, “your hair is really smooth and fine, probably why it tangled so fast,” and he only hums in response, his body relaxing under your touch, as you comb through the rest of his hair. You bite back a smile, he’s almost like a cat, keening under your touch, “feels good?” You murmur. 

“Yeah, it does,” and you don’t want the moment to end, you want this excuse to touch him to remain, the first time you’ve been able to breach this wall between you two — and it’d be over in an instant, “I think that’s good,” he mutters. 

He lays his head back on the top of the couch to look up at you — pretty obsidian orbs stared back at you — and your heart squeezes. He was so close, within reach, and all you had to do was lean down, press your lips against his, and maybe you wouldn’t have to tiptoe anymore, maybe you wouldn’t have to hide from him, maybe you could be— 

“We should go to bed,” he sighs, the moment breaks, as he sits upright, adjusting his pillow on the couch beside him, “we have an early start,” 

“Don’t remind me,” you turn back to him, “but you’re right - we should go to bed—“ you grab his pillow, “on the bed,” 

“No—“ 

“Like you said, we’re both adults,” you tilt your head, as he purses his lips, “I think I can handle sleeping in bed beside you, just sleeping, we can even put a pillow between us,” and you add, “if I try anything in my sleep, you challenge me to a pillow fight, and push me off the bed,” 

He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really can sleep on—“ and then you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking to the hand on his neck. He sighs, “fine, but I really will push you off the bed, I’m a restless sleeper,” 

“Then it’s equal opportunity,” you grin, as you slip into your side of the bed, stretching. Suguru is slower to get in, taking his time and adjusting his pillow and blanket before he finally gets into bed, “good night,” 

“Good night,” he turns to face away from you as he sleeps and you do the same. 

But it wasn’t a good night. Not when you couldn’t fucking sleep. 

For someone so smart, you really were very stupid. The bed that seemed expansive and open yesterday now felt Tom Thumb tiny, every shift of your body felt like a ripple effect, as you’d feel the slight shift of Geto right beside you. He was so close — you swore you could nearly feel the heat radiate off of him, the weight of his body beside you felt far too close and way too far — a chasm you could never cross.

And it was close to driving you insane enough to follow your wants all the way down it. 

But you couldn’t — but you could look, stare into the void, without becoming part of it. 

You shift again to face him this time — how could the back of someone’s head be so beautiful? Jet black locks that you had combed yourself fanned out on his pillow. But you could spot the nape of his neck through the tresses, a lovely spot that you only wished you could lean over and bury your face in. Your eyes began to droop. 

Hypnos finally took pity. You could only sleep this way. Your eyes finally flutter shut — you should have known — you were always the most comfortable with him in your sight. 

Suguru knew that you had fallen asleep — because your soft breaths fell into a rhythm, the crinkle of your sheets had grown silent, and the loud thoughts that filled up your head had gone quiet. He was glad one of you could sleep. 

He surely wouldn’t get a wink tonight. 

This was certainly more comfortable than the couch, but at least he had slept on the couch. He would be lucky to get thirty minutes at this rate. This weekend had already been too much — and he felt his will to stay away from you slowly snapping, a few strands away from breaking away completely. 

When he had seen you with Toji — he didn’t think, he just acted. He could see you were uncomfortable, the way your body leaned away from him, the way your eyes flickered around the room, and the way you toyed with your glass. It was a simple choice, but what happens when the next person that flirts with you is someone you’re interested in? Would he have to stand by and simply let it happen? Watch as you’re able to date this person but not him simply because of his title? 

He was jealous. Not of Toji — but of the idea of you being with someone else — of your attention drifting from him, of you drifting from him. He turned to lay on his back, he really was fucked wasn’t he? 

He turns his head to look at you. It never helped that you were effortlessly adorable, even now as you slept. Lips parted, body curled up, your hair falling in your face yet again. His fingers tuck a strand behind your ear gently, and you shift, a quiet hum leaving your lips as you settle back into the arms of the sandman. 

How were you so close but so far? You were mere inches away but you might as well be across the country. Because he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t hold you, he couldn’t kiss you. The kiss he shared with you haunted his dreams — a daydream wrapped up in the nightmare of reality. He couldn’t ask you to wait — wait for your degree to be completed so the two of you could date. It wouldn’t be fair to you, but what about this was fair? 

And he turns on his side to face you, his fingers brushing your cheek gently — maybe if he couldn’t be with you in reality, he could allow himself to dream, his eyes flutter shut. 

Just for a moment. 

And his unconscious allows it — allows him to dream of you. 

Dream of your face buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths warming his skin, his nose buried in your hair. Your fingers grasped at his shirt, your other hand thrown over his middle. Why was your scent so intoxicating? He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you shift, your leg sliding around his waist, as you pressed closer, pulling a groan from his lips as your core grazes right against his morning…visitor. 

And you move again, nose brushing against his collarbone, his name on your lips, quietly whispered like a secret against his skin. It was perfect — you were perfect. 

But what if this wasn’t a dream? The back of his mind prods — but that’s not possible, he was home in bed, right? This wasn’t real. It was the same dream he always had, of waking up in your arms, a lazy morning spent together in bed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the sheets becoming dappled in sunshine. 

No, there was no way this was real, he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, but even if it was, he thought as he drifted, he didn’t want to wake — not yet. 

A distinct buzz stirs you from your sleep. But you don't want to wake — you were far too comfortable. But the buzzing persists, so you reach blindly for your phone and to turn off the alarm. And settle back into bed, eyes still shut, as you find your way back onto your pillow — or what you thought was your pillow. 

Except pillows didn’t move, or have an arm they could wrap around you. 

Your eyes open, to find yourself entangled with someone else — your brow furrowing in confusion that melts away to silent horror. Professor Geto. 

So much for sticking to your sides. 

Fuck.  

You tried to extricate yourself to no avail, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his body, your legs entangled, aside from your leg thrown over his waist, you realize, a small squeak escaping your lips, as you try and fail to move away. Instead you brush up against something very…hard. 

You flush, cheeks burning so hot that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t wake from the heat of your skin against his alone. His morning wood was pressed right against you, nearly between your thighs — just like the last time it was  against you — why the fuck would you think about that now? You resisted the urge to press your legs together — lest you have another new problem, and a mess to deal with. 

You manage to only pull your head away, urging yourself up so that your faces are an inch or two apart now. His soft breaths warmed your lips, his brow relaxed, locks of black hair fell in front of his eyes. Your fingers reach and tuck the locks behind his ear, tips skimming his skin. And the arm around you almost seems to tighten, and you bite your lip, the comforting presence of his arms far too tempting to drag you into wanting — as if you ever left. Wanting was dangerous, because wanting can only ever lead to need, needing him was as foolish as it was to share a bed with the man you were in love with. 

But how foolish was it that you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away? It was okay right? Okay as long your lips didn’t touch, as long you didn’t follow this slope all the way down — it was treacherous to press forward, but why did you want to anyway?

Your eyes flutter shut again for a moment — and your eyes glanced at the morning sky — the sun had just breached the horizon. You could allow yourself a few minutes — even if you had to give up a lifetime with him. 

The blaring of your phone only seems to grow increasingly loud, as you give a small groan, rolling over to your phone again, slapping the screen to snooze it again. And your eyes flutter open a moment, lazily flickering over the screen — 8:45 AM. 

Your eyes close — before your mind fully wakes — 8:45 AM? 

“Fuck,” you shoot up to get up, a tangle of limbs,  jolting Geto awake, his eyes popping open, his arm instinctively grabbing you by the waist, and you land with an oomfph back onto the bed—wait, not the bed. 

Your hand pressed against his chest, your body against his, noses brushing, your eyes unable to tear away from the other — his eyes were even prettier this close — a dark brown, nearly black, with flecks of another color — purple? You can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat or his that’s racing with how close you are, chest to chest. And even as you try to shift, you make it worse by slipping, your hips rubbing against each other’s. 

Fuck. 

You both freeze for a moment, his eyes flickering to your lips and back, as yours does the same, before you both scramble apart. 

“We’re late. We’re really late,” you spring out of bed, grabbing random clothes from your suitcase, “I’m going to get ready, really fast,” you don’t even bother to look at his expression, and you almost wished your heart had shattered your ribcage, with how fucking hard it’s beating, if only that you wouldn’t have to spend another day in the conference with him. 

You sighed, as you brushed your teeth hurriedly while doing your hair — well maybe a lecture or presentation would take your mind off this morning. 

So that wasn’t a dream, Suguru was only glad you didn’t even glance at his face when you ran off, or you would have seen the lovely tomato red that graced his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth from your body, slowly receding, and he swore he could still feel you against him, your soft skin, your pretty lips against his neck, and your leg around his waist. 

Fuck. 

God, he had another fucking problem to deal with — as he shifted awkwardly, his morning wood up and erect with a tent that could put most large circus tents to shame. Fuck, he didn’t have time to take care of this — especially with you in the bathroom right now. 

But still, he pressed his inner palm to his lips, how was he going to make it through the rest of the conference with the feeling of your body still lingering in his mind. If the situation was different, the two of you would have woken up with smiles on your lips, spent the morning cuddling without a care, and probably a little more than that—

But the situation was the same, and his eyes slid to the bathroom door, so why was it that he still thinking about you? He wasn’t the type to dwell, he accepted things for what they were — he had his principles and his beliefs, and he stuck to them, unless proven otherwise. He was a man of guidelines, of rules—

So why were you the only person that ever made him want to throw every rule away? 

“We are going to be discussing ethical dilemmas faced in universities and how to approach them,” the lecturer begins, “can anyone tell us an example of one such dilemma?” 

You both had barely made it into a lecture — barely even speaking as you ran-walked into the conference — choosing a lecture at random, as the two of you ran a good fifteen minutes late. You both arrived, hiding your pants, as you both grabbed water bottles from the back, and sat down. 

And of course to make matters worse, your phone goes off, making the entire room turn to look at the two of you. You silence your phone, murmuring a quick sorry as the two of you take your seats. 

Could this possibly get worse? 

Your eyes glanced at him — it was already bad enough to begin with. Geto had barely spoken a word this morning, even as the two of arrived at the conference, the only words he spoke were to the attendant that parked his car. 

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, adjusting your clothes. And if that wasn’t enough, you were going to spend the day sweaty and disheveled. Meanwhile, you stole another glance at your professor — his skin flushed from running, button up not buttoned up all the way, glasses instead of contacts, and his hair in its usual bun, but a few strands were nearly coming loose — he still looked fucking delectable. But he wouldn’t meet your gaze, his body positioned to lean away from yours, his eyes fixed ahead. 

You held back your sigh as you focused on the presentation — you just needed to get through today — as the lecturer picked someone who raised their hand. 

“A student-teacher relationship is one such ethical problem faced in universities today,” and Geto nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly, as you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of this morning, “it presents several ethical problems — including the role the professor plays in the student’s education and future, their ability to provide praise or reprimand, and even grant recommendations gives them great power over their student. It leaves the student without much freedom in the relationship.”

Oh, what the fuck. 

The rest of the conference is spent in relative silence with a thick film of awkwardness perfectly overlayed. When you both finally return to the hotel room, your only consolation is that you’ll be leaving tomorrow. You toss your things onto the couch, “I’m going to wash up,” you tell him, and he only nods in reply, as you enter the bathroom and shut the door, back pressed against it and sliding down. 

Oh this is such a mess. You sigh, maybe a shower will help. 

It didn’t. You were still just as much of a mess as you were before. You sighed, as you stood in front of the sink, wiping your hair with a towel. This could be so simple if you both could be together — so easy. There would be no tension, no hurt feelings, no awkwardness — you could just be. But that’s not an option. So the only other option is to let him go. 

But you didn’t know how to begin to. 

Either way, hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t solve a thing — and you finally opened the door, “I’m done if you want to wash up,” he nods, sitting on the couch, reading a book. His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, lips pursed, and legs crossed. 

You walk over, grabbing your things from the couch and put some of your things away in your suitcase. But after all of that is done, you realize one thing is missing — your cellphone. 

“Shit,” you murmur under your breath, searching through your suit coat pockets, your pants pocket, anywhere that your phone might be. 

“What’s wrong?” Geto says, book in his lap, as he tilts his head. 

“Can’t find my phone,” you mumble, cheeks burning — god, it was already awkward enough, and now this? 

“Is it on ring?” You nod — your phone was usually on ring, sometimes to your detriment — you cringe at the memory in the lecture this morning, “I’ll call it,” 

He calls you — and you glance at his phone screen, your contact is just your name, no picture, nothing. You bite your lip, what were you expecting? A heart next to your name? And the sound of your phone ringing catches both of your attention. 

“It’s over here, somewhere,” he says, lifting up some of cushions of the couch, and reaching underneath into the creases, as you walk over — “I found—“ 

And you were so concerned about your contact information in his phone that you forgot about his contact information in your phone. 

The screen flashed with the image of him sleeping all lopsided on the couch from that first night, as you covered your mouth in both horror, but also to stifle your laugh. 

His eyes flicker to you, “When did you—“ and you reach for your phone, but he moves it away, “not until you answer my questions,” 

“This isn’t class, Professor, I want my phone—“ you reach for it again, and he’s holding it above your head, “oh real mature—“ 

“Like the picture you have of me as my contact picture?” He raises an eyebrow, a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “thought I should resort to my student’s level,”  

“Your T.A.,” you correct, as you reach for your phone again, but he’s using his height to his advantage, and he’s beginning to walk backwards, “come on, give it back—“ 

“Not until I change and delete that photo,” and he’s trying to hold your phone up to your face to unlock it, and you gasp. 

“Oh my god, give it back!” And you grab his hand, and he’s grabbing at the other, giggles leaving your lips, as he laughs too, as the two of you struggle for the phone, your fingers closing over it, and over his own fingers as well. 

And you realize how close you are to him. 

The two of you freeze a moment, laughter on your lips fading away to soft smiles, and his fingers squeeze yours lightly, as he passes you your phone back. But he doesn’t move away — and you don’t either. 

“Why did you let go?” and it seems like it’s a force out of your control that draws you together, no matter how much either of you try to let go. 

“Because I can’t help giving you what you want,” he murmurs, and the heat of his gaze melts your heart, as you drop your phone onto the couch, and reach for his hand again. 

And you lean closer, your other hand gently brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, “So if I ask for a kiss, will you give it to me?” You won’t close the gap anymore than you have — he needs to reach for you too, let himself give into gravity. 

He does, as his hand brushes against your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone, “will we stop at just a kiss?” He murmurs, leaning so close that your eyes want to flutter shut. 

“Only one way to find out,” and his lips brush yours. And it’s not chaste like your first kiss was, no, his lips slide against yours, as his other hand slides to the back of your neck. He swallows your gasp eagerly, if the smirk you feel against your lips is anything to go off of. Your teeth graze against this bottom lip teasingly, drawing a small groan from the back of his throat. 

Neither of you couldn’t stop at one kiss, and you both knew that, even as your lips parted for a small breath of air, they found each other again — just as you both always did. Because you could never let him go — no matter how hard you tried. 

RING. RING. RING. 

And this time it isn’t an alarm. But rather his phone, flashing with a name that brings you crashing back to reality. 

The department head. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as he parts from you, his warmth leaving all at once, as he grabs his phone, and turns away, “Hello? Yes, the conference is over. Everything went well. No, no, nothing out of the ordinary.” 

You stared at his back, this would always be the case wouldn’t it? Even as you crashed together, something would pull you apart, and neither of you could break the cycle. You take your phone from the couch, and crawl into bed, but you could start. 

You close your eyes, your fingers brushing against your lips for a moment. You needed to start — otherwise, you would just end up broken. 

And you don’t hear him hang up — or see him stare at your figure under the covers — and he would break along with you. 

Suguru didn’t know what to say the next morning — especially when it seemed couldn’t even bear to look at him, much less speak to him. You had busied yourself with packing, even before he had awoken. His back ached from the night he spent on the couch, he couldn’t fall asleep for far too long, and by the time he did, he kept sleeping — through his many alarms it seemed. 

And it wasn’t the couch that kept him awake. 

You both had the most lovely timing, didn’t you? He thought, as he combed his hair in the bathroom, the memory of your fingers running through his hair as you gently undid the knots in his locks still ever present — it seemed like any time you two wanted to act on your feelings, the universe was doing what it could to keep you apart. 

Was this fate versus free will? 

You both kept choosing each other — but fate kept pulling you apart. Did he have any control over his actions or did he have no control over his actions at all? Was it all predetermined by some force he couldn’t perceive? Some force intent on pulling you apart. 

He sighed, as his phone lights up with an email from the department head — department head position opened up in Jujutsu University: Kyoto — 

And so maybe he should let it. 

The next few weeks pass by far too quick. As your semester picks up, you stop attending Professor Geto’s classes, opting to send an email to let him know, and he replies back with a simple response — Ok. Please let me know when and if you are available to input the grades for the midterm paper. 

The rest of your T.A. work is done online and over email — and you do your best to keep busy, keep yourself occupied, and keep your thoughts from straying to him.

And you maybe succeed 10% of the time. It doesn’t help that your unconscious does not wish to cooperate since it seems that once you stopped seeing your professor during waking hours, he’s infiltrated your sleep — sneaking in and out by the time your eyes open. 

And then you’re left with the fragments of his touch, his voice, his kisses, and soft, loving words. 

Just as you always were it seemed. 

And before you know it, the end of the semester comes, and you find yourself in front of that same office door yet again. It felt like an eternal reoccurrence — stuck to repeat the same events again and again in an infinite loop. Was there any exit from this loop? 

You didn’t know — you knocked on his office door — but you could try. 

“Come in,” you do, entering his office to find him sitting at his desk, hair half up for once. And his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his head tilting at your stare, “see something interesting?” 

“Your hair—“ and your cheeks burn — so much for trying — “it’s different,” 

“Thought I’d try something different — my hair is growing out,” and you have to repress the want to curl a lock or his hair around your finger, “do you not like it?” 

You shake your head, “It looks nice, just different,”

And he hands you the papers he’s graded, “you can input those, I’m just finishing up a couple more, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit?” 

“Not at all,” a silence falls over between the two of you, the quiet scratch of his pen as he grades, the occasional ding of his e-mail breaking up the silence. You sneak a glance at him — ebony tresses brushing against his broad shoulders, his brow furrowed that you wished to run your fingers along to smooth his worries from his mind, pretty lips parted as he reads a sentence silently to himself. 

Fuck — no, no, you can’t do this. 

You busy yourself thumbing your way through the papers, spotting the familiar red scrawls littering these pages, as they once did yours. You were so pissed when you got your first paper back — indignant even — a whole Karen ready to speak to his supervisor. But when his honest criticism and blunt words rang true, you found yourself not only wanting to prove him wrong, but a want to be better. To earn his respect. And of course, later, you wanted to earn a little more than that. 

You bite back a chuckle, and here you still were — by his side. Except next semester you wouldn’t be his T.A. 

But you would still be a student. And he would still be a professor. 

But one other thing that hasn’t changed is how brutal the feedback is — you couldn’t help but feel bad for “Itadori Yuuji” — whoever that was. 

“What are you smiling about?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his head leaning against his palm, elbow resting on the desk. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but he looks unconvinced, “just thinking about our first time in this office,” and then your cheeks burn at the double meaning, “I mean our first office hours appointment—“ 

He waves you off, “I know what you meant,” a small chuckle in his cadence, as he continues to grade, “you certainly weren’t happy with me,” 

“No I wasn’t,” a small smile on your lips, “but it worked out in the end,” you add, “you got an amazing T.A. after all,” 

His eyes meet yours, “More than just that,” 

Why can’t you help but get pulled in time and time again? And why can’t you help but ask questions that will only hurt you in the end? 

He continues to grade when you finally speak, “What do you think would have happened if I didn’t end up being your T.A.?” 

And his pen stops, lips pursed, “We shouldn’t—“ 

“Why shouldn’t we?” you felt like a child demanding an answer from their parent. 

“We agreed—”

“I don’t remember an agreement-” 

“It was unspoken—” 

You scoff, crossing your arms, “You really are only a professor because an attorney would know that binding agreements can’t be unspoken,” he falls silent, his voice soft. 

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” his words are wrought with conflict, pain seeping into every syllable, “I don’t want to keep going down this road only to for you to get hurt in the end — I don’t want to jeopardize your future for something that might not last—” 

“But what if it does?” and he swallows thickly, “what if we can make it work? We’re both adults, we can be discreet—” 

“So discreet that we end up making out in my office?” he takes off his glasses only to run a hand down his face, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks, and you huff out a chuckle. 

“A little more discreet than that, we’ll lock the door next time,” it’s his turn to scoff, and you rise from your seat, lips curled, “close the lights, or maybe even kiss in a place that’s not on campus,” but he does the same, meeting you on the side of his desk, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently as if you’d shatter under his touch. 

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your career,” he says, his fingers finding your hand regardless, fingers interlacing, “I don’t want you to—” 

“It’s my choice, Suguru,” you murmur, as you lean against his warm palm, your fingers sliding against his palm and into his inky tresses, “don’t you owe me a choice, and a drink?” you add, and his lips curl in a knowing smile. 

“I do, if you’ll still have me,” and he’s leaning close, sucking the air from the room, and the logic from your minds, as his lips barely graze yours, “shouldn’t we lock the door?” 

“Fuck it,” and you pull him into a deep kiss that pulls a groan from his lips that makes your cunt ache, as he’s already pushing you into the lip of his desk, his hand sliding down to your waist. 

“Now who’s being unethical?” he murmurs, pressing eager kisses along your jaw, that makes you melt against him, your legs nearly jelly at this point, “what kind of example are you setting as a T.A.?” 

You bite back your moan as his lips find the soft spot of your neck, teeth grazing it far too fucking teasingly, “Well students learn by example,” and his hands are slipping under thighs to lift you so you’re sitting on his desk — you spread your legs for him in the dress that you’re in, pantyhose underneath, his heavy lidded gaze raking over your body, “and look at my professor staring at his T.A. so lustfully, even with a clear power dynamic—” 

And his fingers find your thighs again, squeezing, before his fingers dig into the sheer hose, tearing holes in it, drawing a gasp from your lips, “How’s that for a power dynamic, princess?” far too pleased, “don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs, “now just be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” he says, as he pulls away the ruined pantyhose, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand — one, two, three — before your fingers take over, leaning to press kisses at each inch of exposed skin, until the shirt falls open. 

Then his lips find yours again, his silver tongue asking for you to part your lips and you do — as he extracts every want you have with his burning touch — his lips against yours, his large hands parting your thighs, his knee pressed against your twitching cunt — and only leaves your want for him behind, until it becomes a need. 

“Wonder what our students would think of you,” his fingers tease your inner thighs, drawing a whine from your lips, “wanting your professor to fuck you in his office instead of inputting their grades,” he whispers in your ear, as his fingers finally skim the wet patch of your underwear, “so wet f’me, already? Look I think you even soaked my slacks,” he tsks, as his thumb and forefinger find your chin and tilt it up, “what are you going to do about that?” 

“Suguru—please,” and he smiles as his finger starts to tease your puffy clit through your drenched panties, “don’t tease—” 

“How can I not when you’ve nothing but tease me with your existence?” he pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, “I’ll oblige my favorite student this time—but I won’t be so nice next time,” he adds, biting your bottom lip. 

RING. RING. RING. 

It was his fucking office phone. You groan, but his finger continues to sink into you, “Suguru—” 

“Let it ring,” his lips find yours in a bruising kiss as his finger deliciously sinks into you, “I have all I need right here,” he whispers, and you pull him back into a kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, your hand sliding up and down his chest, while he worked a finger into your cunt, “so fucking wet f’me, so perfect,” 

And your hand flies back to support yourself as a second finger begins to sink into you — but your hand grazes his office phone, and the messages begin to play back.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble, as you reach blindly for the phone, only to knock it back, as he chuckles and reaches behind you, trying but failing to help — your noses brushing, and he smiles before kissing you again. 

Mr. Geto, sorry we missed each other, I was calling, hoping that you would still be in office for the day, but I must have just missed you. I wanted to call to offer you the job as department head at Jujutsu Tech University: Kyoto—

You freeze, your lips parting from his as you look up at him, his eyes wide as he stops the message from playing back any further — and the words settle over the mood like a sheet pulled over a dead body. 

And you’re the first to speak, always asking the questions that will hurt you in the end, “You’re moving to Kyoto?” 

✧ a/n: so i'm sorry for that ending hahah, i promise there will be a happy ending later on for these two. thank you to @gaylatteart and @laneysmusings for betaing and just being the best. also if i tagged you please comment / reblog because tagging on tumblr sucks, it takes very long.

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala, @ashhlsstuff, @blue041803, @mwtsxri, @bblgumfairy, @sukunasleftkneecap, @xo-evangeline, @fiannee, @teatreeoilll, @chalametet, @ryukaver, @d1gitalbathh, @saga3ious, @seventhcinema, @satosugucide, @your-l0nely-star, @sokkasmoon, @deegausserr, @hyookka, @oggsyy, @littlebitb, @higuchislut, @ti-mame, @itoshisins, @cerene-dipity, @onionsoop, @sinlillith, @izzythenaive, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon,

You walked up to the tall middle blocker, bracing yourself for whatever line you might come up with. Flirting was never your strong suit, but you were blessed with shameless confidence.

“Hey there, handsome. You can middle-block me any time you want if you know what I mean.”

Suna squinted, looking both confused and offended. “I actually have no idea what you mean.”

With an understanding hum, you looked around for some inspiration and found nothing. Instead, you turned back to him with that same playful glint in your eyes. “That’s what he said.”

He gaped slightly, now looking quite concerned, which in total was more emotion than you’d seen from him through the whole volleyball game he just played. “I’m curious if this is going how you wanted it to," he admitted.

“Depends. Will I get your number?”

“…I’m down.”

Best Friend’s Brother

Sanemi x Fem! Reader + Genya

Warnings: Mentions of eating & Food

NSFW Warnings: manipulation, rough sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, unprotected sex, picture and video taking, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, slapping, tit fucking, shower sex, no preparation, cream pies, ‘face painting’, sending nudes without consent

A/N: I enjoyed writing this one a lot lol. I’m also happy that it’s one of my longer works! Also the way the paragraphs get progressively longer is killing me LMAOO

Word count: 12.3k

“I’m talking to you!” Genya was beginning to lose his patience with you. Your nose was practically pressed to the glass of his window as you watched his big brother work out in the backyard. “Go ahead, ‘m listening.” He rolled his eyes, watching the way your breath fogged the glass.

“No the fuck you aren’t!” He tossed a pillow at you, trying not to laugh as you let out a yelp of surprise. Your face nearly knocked into the glass, “C’mon Genya!” You wailed in frustration as you turned to face him. “Don’t c’mon me! I invited you over to hang out and you’re fucking drooling over my big brother! That’s! Gross!”

“Okay okay! Fine I’m sorry. Tell me what you were saying, I’ll listen this time.” You threw yourself down on Genya’s bed, head tilting back to look at him. He looked away for a second, slightly embarrassed that he had made such a big ordeal over your attention. “What movie do you want to watch, that’s what I was asking you.”

“A movie? It’s such a nice day Genya! Why don’t we go swimming or something? Maybe even invite over Tanjiro and the others.” Genya sighed, eyes trailing over to the sunny summer day that was sitting beyond his bedroom walls. “You know ‘Nemi can’t stand them, hell he barely tolerates you.” You made a noise of shock, as if it was news that Shinazugawa Sanemi couldn’t stand people.

“Oh give it a break. You just want to go swimming so you can drool over him at a close distance.” Genya was by no means oblivious to your crush, he even tried to crack jokes about it despite it making him wildly uncomfortable. “So not true Genya! I’m already wearing a swimsuit, I figured you invited me over to use the pool!”

“You know what, fine. Let’s go swimming.” You leapt off the bed, cheering as he stood. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen!” With that you disappeared from his room, leaving the younger Shinazugawa brother to try and calm his racing heart. Maybe moving in with his big brother wasn’t the brightest idea when he had a friend like you.

You on the other hand couldn’t be more pleased with his choice. You were slightly heartbroken when you learned the eldest of the Shinazugawa children had bought his own home — albeit very impressed. A few months later he offered Genya to move in with him so he could be closer to campus. That opened up the world of opportunity for you to admire the man from a distance.

Though, the man never really paid you any mind. You were luckier than the others though, he actually somewhat tolerated your nearly constant presence in his home. You peaked through the glass doors that lead to the backyard. Even at your distance you could see the sweat making his skin glisten. “Fuck…” you were shamelessly swooning.

“You ready?” You jumped, turning to see Genya in swim trunks and white shirt. Two towels slung over his shoulder and sunscreen on the other hand. “Yeah!” You pulled at the door handle, sliding the door open and stepping into the hot day. “Yuck.” Your skin was already beginning to feel sticky from the heat. “You wanted to go outside instead of staying in the air conditioning.”

“Oh shush it will be fine when we get in the water.” You began the walk across the large yard towards the in ground pool, you still couldn’t get over the sheer luxury this house held. You glanced over at Sanemi, he was only about twenty feet from the pool’s edge. Headphones sat on his head, the music so loud you could hear it from here.

“Stop it.” Once again you stiffened as Genya called you out. “Genya!” You hissed, head whipping to look at him. “Don’t prove me right by coming out here.” A smile was tugging at his lips anyways. “Fine, fine!” You couldn’t help but begin to laugh as well, eyes lingering only a second longer as the man continued his push-ups.

Genya got himself comfortable on one of the lounge chairs, dropping both towels onto the other. “Aren’t you going to get in?” You’re reaching for the sunscreen, applying some to your face. “I will when I get hot enough, I’m sure that water is still freezing despite the temperature out here.” You shrugged, handing him the bottle once more so you could begin undressing.

You went for your shirt first, tugging it upwards. As your arms raise, Genya finds himself turning red. He didn’t think the bathing suit you were talking about would be that revealing. A simple bikini, two triangles covering your breasts. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look away as you got the shirt off. Unknown to him, that caught Sanemi’s attention.

Eyes flicking upwards towards the pool at the sight of your arms raising. He observed for only a moment, looking away before you or Genya caught his smirk. “You sure look hot enough now Gen, you’re all red.” You were absolutely oblivious, undoing the button on your jean shorts. “Yeah maybe you’re right…” he nearly lost his mind as you pulled your shorts off.

Genya wasn’t one to show off skin, unlike his brother. So it actually surprised you a bit when the shirt was being pulled over his head as he made a running leap into the pool. That fully caught Sanemi’s attention now, laughter bubbling out of him at the sight. “What the hell!” You were shocked, shorts pooled at your feet as Genya resurfaced.

“I-I was hot.” He was pushing his hair back, relieved the water wasn’t as cold as he feared. “The fuck was that Genya?” You nearly jumped out of your skin as Sanemi’s voice reached you. Your head turned, swallowing thickly as you took him in. He was standing,headphones around his neck, music blaring loud and clear. You wondered how he wasn’t deaf.

You blinked, beads of sweat were slowly dripping down his torso, nothing but a pair of basketball shorts clung to his hips. His chest was heaving slightly, scars littering his skin. That was the most unique thing about both Shinazugawa brothers. A childhood accident left them covered in scars, especially along their faces.

Genya’s scar stretched from his ear all the way to a little after his nose. Sanemi on the other hand had four distinct scars on his face. Three reside on his forehead, the other stretched from his ear to past his nose similar to Genya’s. Sanemi continued to do reckless things with his life, leaving even more scars along his body. You overheard him once saying he was proud of them.

“Like I said, I was hot!” He called back, face turning red again as he caught sight of your fully exposed legs and barely covered ass. “What the fuck is that bathing suit, y/n?” He didn’t intend to ask the question out loud, but it was really just a couple of strings. “Oh! Do you not like it?” You twirled around, head looking downwards as you tried to get an idea of how you looked.

“It-it looks fine! J-just get in the pool!” What he really wanted to say was that you looked fucking sinful, not an ounce of your body left for the Imagination. But that’s not really a best friend thing to say. “I think I’ll run and jump like you did.” You took a few steps back, laughing at the horror passing over his features. “Ready?” Clearly he wasn’t but he couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

Two seconds later you were cannonballing into the pool, spraying him with water. You surfaced again a second later, regretting getting your hair wet just a bit. “It’s not even cold!” You turned to him, laughing as he pushed his hair out of his face for a second time. “Yeah, it’s not.” You began splashing the water around, legs kicking for a moment before you settled on your back.

You felt fully relaxed, body floating easily against the water’s surface. Genya on the other hand was beginning to feel suffocated, water clung and glistened all of your dips and curves. “Fucking help me someone…” he muttered under his breath, thankful your ears were below the water. Your eyes opened a second later when a shadow hovered over you.

You nearly sank as you made direct eye contact with Sanemi. As you straightened, you realized Genya was talking to him. “Are you going to stand there or join us?” Sanemi seemed to be disgusted by the idea for a moment. “I’d have to walk all the way inside to change, at that point I may as well just shower and be done with it.” You blinked, eyes zeroing in on his shorts.

“You’re wearing mesh shorts, that’s nearly the same as swim trunks.” You kicked your way back to the shallow end, somehow floating until you were way over your head. “I’m not wearing underwear though.” You swear in that moment you nearly drowned. “That’s not the sort of thing you should say out loud.” Genya’s nose scrunched at his brother.

“Oh fuck off.” He stretched, muscles flexing and you swear you could explode. He had no right being able to walk around dripping sex appeal like that — in his own home of all places. “Are you going to stand there all day?” Genya tried again, shifting eyes between you and Sanemi. You were doing your best to act unaffected, starting to float again in the shallow end.

Instead of answering, Sanemi took a few steps forward before diving straight in. The waves rocking you made you straighten again, eyes flying wide as the basketball shorts he was wearing floating to the top. “No fucking way.” Genya’s eyes were as wide as yours, laughter bubbled in your chest as you realized what had just happened. Sanemi was completely naked in the pool.

“Are you…serious…” Sanemi emerged a moment later, slicking his hair back. “Would ya look at that…” he moved to grab the shorts, dragging them under the water to step back into them. “Too bad you’re both in here, skinny dipping feels pretty good after working out.” You felt your cheeks get hot, praying it would pass as the sun getting to you.

“Like I said, keep those thoughts to yourself, Aniki.” Genya was trying to keep his composure, all the while he was mentally cursing you for wanting to leave his room. “Oh give me a break, you two are the ones that convinced me to get in.” You didn’t know what came over you, but you decided to send a huge splash of water in his direction. He looked shocked for a moment, Genya was slightly prettified.

After a second of silence, he drew his arm back and pushed it forward. Water hit you just as hard, which caused you to do it back. “A splash fight?! Really?!” Genya tried to shield himself as you and Sanemi engaged in a full on battle. Ten minutes later you were out of breath, yelling that you surrender. “Lame!” Sanemi scoffed, a rare smile on his face as he decided to float on his back.

“You two are like little kids.” Genya was sitting on the pool's edge now, it was a futile attempt to keep himself from getting drowned above the water. But your splashes had soaked him over and over nonetheless. “And you are a party pooper.” You stuck your tongue out at him, swimming over to softly splash at his legs. “Do you mind if I stay over for the weekend? I don’t have classes till Monday and I’m sure Kanao wouldn't mind some alone time with Tanjiro.”

“Yeah that’s fine, knowing you, you already packed clothes.” You smiled, pushing yourself back out towards the middle of the shallow end. “I did, even though I have a whole drawer dedicated to my clothes in your room.” You and Genya were close, so close people were shocked you weren’t dating. That caught Sanemi’s interest, his eyebrow quirked a little but he said nothing.

“I think I’m going to dry off, I’m hungry.” You waited until Sanemi’s attention was on the two of you before pulling yourself up and out of the pool. You were fully bent over as you used your leg to hoist yourself onto the pavement. That position alone gave the white haired man a full view of your bikini hiked up your ass. This time, he really couldn’t react. Genya was staring him dead in the eye, as if daring him to say something.

He kept his mouth shut, lips pursed into a thin line. That was the thing Genya never once told you about. Sanemi knew you liked him, knew you wanted him. Unlike Genya, Sanemi wasn’t afraid to do something about it. A conversation the two had only a week prior was still haunting his thoughts.

“So that girl, you sleeping with her?” Genya nearly choked on his soda, losing control of his car on the video game they were playing. “Y/n? No, she's my best friend.” Sanemi scoffed, side eyeing his brother. “Are you just fucking with me?” Genya quickly regained control, eyes narrowing as he focused. “No, I’m not fucking with you.”

“You’re telling me you are best friends with a girl that looks like that? And you haven’t made a single move? What, does she have a partner? Is she gay?” Sanemi couldn’t seem to believe they weren’t anything more. “No, she doesn’t have a partner. And to be honest I never felt the need to ask her about her sexuality.” He jumped as he nearly crashed.

“So I can make a move on her then?” That time Genya did crashed. “Excuse me?!” Sanemi was laughing now, easily winning the race due to Genya’s fatal mistake. “You heard me, Genya. I want her, does that bother you?” Genya set the controller down, turning to glare at Sanemi. “Yeah actually, it does.”

“Oh? So you do like her.” Sanemi set his controller down as well, facing Genya completely. “I never said that… she’s my best friend, Nemi. That would make shit awkward if you went and broke her heart.” Sanemi’s face morphed into one of interest. “You think I just want to fuck her and be done with it?”

“That’s what you do to every fucking girl you sleep with! You have no regard for their feelings! You’re not doing that to her.” Genya turned more to face his brother, this had to be some kind of joke. “So if I told you I wanted to pursue a relationship with her.” Genya groaned, hands coming up to rub his face. “No!”

“Then do something about your feelings for her. If you don’t, I will.” Genya froze, eyes widening as his hands dropped to his thighs. “You’re serious?” Sanemi smiled, one that held no warmth in it. Genya couldn’t believe he was actually being serious. There was no way, what was even worse is Genya knew of your little crush on his brother.

“I wouldn’t dare?” A harsh laugh followed. “I see the way she looks at me Genya. If I asked her to strip naked and spread her legs for me, she’d do it without hesitating and you know it.” His heart sunk, Sanemi knew? Genya knew you weren’t exactly subtle with your interest, but he at least thought Sanemi was clueless to it.

“Shut up.” He was getting fed up with this conversation. “Do something about her, Genya. Or I promise you I’m making a move the first chance I get.” He clicked start on a new game, leaving Genya to scramble for his controller and think over what he said.

“Gen, your phone is ringing.” You were laid out against one of the loungers, the sun was beginning to descend at this point. Sanemi on the other hand was starting to push himself out of the pool. Those same basketball shorts slipped dangerously low and you had to suppress a groan. Genya scolded you as he got closer, a sheepish smile appearing on your lips.

“It’s Zenitsu.” Genya picked up the call with a ‘what’s up?’ You decided to lean back, try and soak up the last of the sun before it disappeared for the day. Sanemi on the other hand was sprawled out on his stomach, eyes closed as he tried to take in the last of the sun as well. As if it was taunting you, you could see his tan lines peeking above the waistband of his shorts.

“What the fuck?!” Your head turned to look at a very distraught Genya, only one of Sanemi’s eyes peaked open. “What’s wrong?” You sat up slightly, “that fucking sucks. I’ll be there in like twenty minutes.” You sighed, clearly something went wrong. Genya clicked the phone off and groaned, hands coming up to rub his face. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“You know the model Zenitsu, Tanjiro and I had to make for our engineering class?” You nodded, it took them weeks to finish. “Well apparently the classroom we were told to put them in got vandalized. Our project was among the casualties.” You gasped, feeling his pain all of a sudden. Genya often ended up crashing in Tanjiro and Zenitsu’s dorm room, too tired to drive home.

“So now we have to fix it. It's due Monday and the professor isn’t extending the deadline.” He was standing now, grabbing his towel. “We can leave in a few minutes.” He started walking and you blinked, “we?”. He froze, turning to look at you. “Aren't you going to come with me?” You gave him a slightly embarrassed grin. “I have to shower and all that. I’d rather not see campus again till Monday.”

Genya wanted to scream, instead he forced a smile on his face. “I guess you’re right. You can just use my bathroom to shower. Hopefully this won't take all night.” You smiled, oblivious to the fake calmness he was giving you. “Sounds good, if you aren’t too tired when you get back, we can watch a movie.” You grabbed your towel, walking past Genya who was staring at Sanemi.

Once you disappeared into the house, he spoke. “Don’t you fucking lay a finger on her, Aniki.” Sanemi barely acknowledged him, eyes shut still. “If she tries to make a move on me, Genya, I’m not stopping her.” Genya wanted to explode, part of him was tempted to call Zenitsu back and say he didn’t feel good. Naturally that wouldn’t work.

“Is there a reason you even want her? Is it because I want her?” He nearly slapped his hand over his mouth in horror. Sanemi on the other hand began to laugh, eyes opened as he turned himself over. “So you finally admit it! Proud of you little bro!” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Shut up! Don't do anything to her.” He knew this was hopeless. “Why can’t I do anything to a girl I want?”

Genya blinked at him, teeth clenching before he spoke. “Because I want her!” A shit eating grin appeared on Sanemi’s face, Genya continued. “Why the fuck do you even want her so bad!? Is it really because I want her?” Genya was turning a deeper shade of pink with each word, he couldn’t believe he was admitting this out loud.

“There is nothing more thrilling than wanting someone you hypothetically can’t have, Genya. If anything, it makes you want them even more.”

He has a sinking feeling, the moment he left this house, it would never be the same. And there was quite frankly nothing he could do about it. You and Sanemi were your own people after all, what say did he really have in the matter? He took a deep breath, you had said you were hungry. With any luck you were probably sitting in the kitchen this whole time watching him.

He stared at Sanemi for only a moment longer before turning to actually walk away this time. Sanemi knew there was more that he wanted to say, but chose not too. He waited until Genya had disappeared inside the house before laughing. “Sorry Gen, but this opportunity is just to fucking good to pass up.” He settled back on the lounge chair, he’d wait till Genya left and make his move.

“You look upset.” Just as Genya suspected, you were sitting in the kitchen, helping yourself to their fridge. “I’m just annoyed, that’s all.” He smiled as shut the fridge, pizza from your lunch earlier in your hand. “It sucks, but you guys work well together. Hopefully the damage isn’t too time consuming to repair. If you need extra hands just call me.” You took a bite, wondering why Genya was looking at you funny.

You swallowed, “Gen, you look like you just got the news that you’re being shipped out to war. Are you sure nothing is wrong?” You took another bite, staring at him while you chewed. Under your gaze he nearly crumbled. “I’m just annoyed about this, that’s all.” He hoped you’d fall for the lie, he watched your throat bob as you swallowed again.

“It’s fucking annoying, I get that. But the quicker you leave the quicker you’ll be done. Go change!” He held back a groan, that wasn’t exactly the answer he wanted. You on the other hand had goosebumps trailing over your body, it seems the air conditioning was finally getting to you. All you wanted now was a warm shower, get the chlorine off your skin and hair. “Are the towels still in that cabinet?”

He nodded, before walking down the hall towards the staircase. “Yeah, everything is still in that cabinet. I only have men’s body wash though. You can check the guest room though, one of Sanemi’s flings may have left stuff there.” You rolled your eyes, Genya’s feet could be heard walking up the steps. “Okay.” You called back, taking a deep breath to try and cool your nerves.

You’d be in Sanemi’s home without Genya present only once before now, and you two didn’t even see each other for that brief thirty minutes. Now thought? You could be sharing his home for three hours or more. The possibilities were endless…but also unrealistic. It was a Thursday night after all, Sanemi probably had work in the morning. You shook your head, finishing your pizza slice as the back door slid open.

“Genya leave?” You jumped slightly, this was actually your first time alone in his presence. “N-no. He’s upstairs changing.” You mentally cursed yourself for the stutter, fidgeting slightly. “Oh, alright.” You deflated a little as he walked away, disappearing down the hall and up the stairs towards his own bedroom. “This is going to be so boring…” you mumbled as you leaned against the counter, resting your chin in your palm.

After what felt like an eternity, Genya made his way back down the stairs. “It’s all yours, be good.” He grabbed his keys off the counter, sliding them in his hoodie pocket. “Be good?” You raised an eyebrow, straightening to cross your arms in defense. “Yes, I’m leaving you alone with my brother. Be fucking good.” He was trying to seem intimidating like Sanemi, but he was falling a little flat.

“Oh yeah, cause tonight is going to be like one of those pornos. He’ll wait till you're gone, wait till I’m in the shower and catch me by surprise.” You rolled your eyes, giving him an ‘are you serious?’ kind of look. “Knowing Sanemi, you never fucking know. If he’s bored or horny enough, anyone will do.” Ouch. Your eyebrows raised, mouth parting slightly. “Shit I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Oh? Cause it sure sounded like you did. Whatever Genya.” You stormed past him, feelings clearly hurt. “That’s not what I—fuck.” You were already flying up the stairs, leaving him alone with his own guilt. The phone buzzing in his back pocket was a reminder that he couldn’t stay. So, even though he didn’t want to, he made his way to the front door and out of the house. Dread filling him as he unlocked his car.

You on the other hand we’re standing in Genya’s bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just stressed.” You couldn’t get your lower lip to stop wobbling. Rolling your eyes at your own sensitivity. “Maybe I’ll just take a nap.” The sun had worn you out, but you couldn’t do anything until you showered. Just as you turned to reach for the curtain you flinched.

“That’s right, he only has men’s stuff…” you would have to go check the guest room shower for some women’s products. You held your breath as you made your way out of his room and down the hall towards Sanemi’s. The guest room was just across from his. You were sneaking now, not even sure why but just afraid of being caught. As you reached for the door handle, movement caught your attention.

Sanemi’s door was opened just a bit, enough that you could see inside. You nearly squealed as you realized he had nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. It seems he was about to shower as well. You snapped yourself out of it, head flying back around to push the door open. You began to feel a throb between your legs, suddenly too excited for your own good.

You shook your head, walking into the bathroom of the guest room. “Jack pot!” You laughed softly as women’s shampoo and body wash sat half full on the counter. “I wonder what happened that they’d just leave their shit behind.” You grabbed the two bottles, turning to leave the room and nearly dropping them as a surprised scream left your lips. “What the fuck?!” Sanemi was standing in the doorway with his arms folded, shamelessly taking in your bikini clad body.

“That was cute.” He seemed unaffected by your clear shock, a smirk growing on his lips as his eyes moved up to your chest. “Really skimpy bathing suit you chose…did you wear it just for me?” No way, you were only joking when you said those things to Genya. Were they really about to happen? “Excuse me?” Your voice was steadier than it was in the kitchen ten minutes prior. “You heard me. I want to know if you wore this just for me…”

His hand reached out slightly but he stopped himself, eyes finally meeting yours. “No, I didn’t.” A lie, of course, but you weren’t going to give in that easily. Even though the butterflies in your stomach were telling you to. “I find that hard to believe.” He moved a little closer, only a foot of space separated the two of you now. You took a small step back, bumping into the bathroom countertop.

“Trying to run? That’s surprising…” he closed the little distance you had made. “What are you saying…” you clung to the bottles of soap, as if they’d somehow protect you. “Cut the shit, sweetheart. I know you want me. And you may or may not believe it, but I want you too. All these little stunts you pulled worked wonders.” He inches closer and your heart rate picks up.

“W-what are you…” the stutter again, your cheeks got hot. “I’m giving you what you want. Since my little brother is too dense to make a move, I’ll do something about it.” You blinked, clutching the bottles tighter…what did Genya have to do with this? “You’ll do something about it?” He was less than six inches away from you now.

“Sure am, I’m sure you don’t mind.” Five inches away at least, your chest was heaving out of pure shock. “I…I don’t…” he knew he got you, only four inches left, your hands were beginning to shake. “See? You don’t mind at all…I’ll take good care of you.” You 're leaning slightly, the countertop biting into your lower back. “Genya isn’t home, he won’t be home for hours. That means I have you all to myself.”

You held your breath as he closed the distance, two hands planting firmly on the cool countertop. He was leaning down slightly so he was level with you, eyes boring into your own. “So, what will it be?” You blinked at him, throat feeling impossibly dry. “H-huh…?” He smiled, forehead nearly touching yours. “What will it be? What do you want me to do… if you don’t want to do anything, I won’t force you.”

You blinked, weighing your options for only a moment before deciding. Instead of answering verbally, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. You were shocked to hear a noise of surprise leave his lips, but as quickly as he made the noise, he recovered. He pulled away, forehead pressing to yours. After a second he smiled, one that seemed genuine.

His lips pressed to yours again, this time they were more needy. His hands pressed to the counter shifted to your waist. Both coming to you with the strings of your bikini bottom. When his chest bumped the cool plastic of the soap bottles he began to laugh. “Put these down…” his words were muffled against your lips. His hands pulled away from your bottoms reluctantly to try and pry the bottles away from you.

You let them go slowly, unsure of what to do with your hands once they were empty. For all the fantasizing you had done about this moment, you suddenly felt helpless. As the bottles were placed on the counter, his lips returned to yours. This time he didn’t hold back, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Your lips parted, Sanemi’s tongue slipping right in. Shakily, your hands came to rest on his shoulders, all the while he began tugging at your bottoms again.

You flinched slightly as he pushed you further into the countertop. Long fingers coming to squeeze the flesh of your hips before easily lifting you. You gasped as your nearly bare bottom hit the cool stone of the counter. “Better?” His words were muffled against your lips, his whole body straightening now that you were technically the same height.

You mumbled some sort of response, nerves making you too tense to actually relax into the kiss. Sanemi could sense your anxiety, hands running up your thighs to your hips and back again. His lips pulled away from yours reluctantly, instead trailing them along your cheek to just below your ear. He sucked on the skin softly, tongue lapping at the skin once he was satisfied with the bruise that was forming.

“We won’t get anywhere…” he sucked harshly, your pulse going a mile a minute under his lips “if you don’t relax a bit…” though he guessed a cold bathroom while you were already shivering probably wasn’t the best place to start this. Due to his words, you forced yourself to relax a little, arms wrapping around his neck and keeping him close. Luckily for you, he was warm, radiating it at that.

He snaked his arms up your body, both circling to your back and tugging at the string holding your top together. Nimble fingers undid the knot you had tightened, pulling the damp material off your body. You couldn’t help but shake slightly, not only was your chest exposed to Sanemi, but to the air conditioning as well. It was no surprise when your nipples were already hard. Arousal mixed with the cold making them feel almost painful.

“Cute…” he barely pulled away from your skin, white hair brushing your face as he looked down at your chest. His hands came back around, one taking the flimsy top with it to toss to the floor. The other cupped your breast, massaging the flesh. A shaky moan left your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you relaxed into his touch. Your whole body leaned into him without you realizing. “Such a good girl, you’re getting the hang of it.”

You felt your arousal start to pool in your gut at his praise. Sanemi noticed the way you were squirming, a smug smile creeping up his face. “You like that? You like being praised.” You could have combusted on the spot, arms tightening ever so slightly as if he’d just stop and walk away from you. “Use your words.” His hands trailed up your sides before taking a breast in each hand. “If you don’t start speaking up, I’ll never know what to do.” You rolled your eyes, “oh please of course you—oh…”

He cut you off completely as his lips suctioned to the column of your neck. Sucking so harshly you actually jumped a bit. “Y-you…you know what I want…” you felt breathless, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. “Do I?” He pulled away with a smile, a bruise was already forming on your skin. He moved a little lower, repeating the same steps. “Oh don’t play dumb. You’re a heartbreaker…” you decided to keep the other part to yourself, now certainly wasn’t the time for cheesy jokes.

“I’m a heartbreaker? You’ve been listening to Genya too much.” He tugged on your nipple, a yelp leaving you as his lips traveled lower. “I’m h-hear often enough to know when you have girls over…” your head fell back, his lips were nearing your chest. “Oh? So you know what you’re in for?” He looked up at you, disappointment filling you as his lips never made it to your chest. “I…I wouldn’t go that far.” You tried to maintain the level of composure you had when his eyes weren’t locked on your face.

“Oh? So you haven’t heard them screaming for me?” You noticed him begin to shift his towel, swallowing thickly as you waited for it to drop. “Oh c’mon now, Genya would turn the TV on full blast to drown anything out.” You're a bit surprised that Sanemi thought you and his younger brother just sat around listening to him blow some random girl’s back out. “Is that so?” He seemed genuinely amused by that revelation. “It is.”

“How cute, Genya is such a pussy.” You blinked, certainly not expecting the conversation to take a turn. Better yet, you didn’t think you’d be having an actual conversation right now. “Instead of playing twenty questions, why don’t we get a move on. I’d like to see what you do to make girls scream so loudly.” You tried to get off the counter but Sanemi’s hands were right back on your waist, keeping you down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You’re doing a lot of talking and not enough touching. I think I can give myself a better time by taking a shower.” You didn’t know how you made it through that without cracking, you just wanted to make the man before you absolutely feral. “Oh? You think you're cheeky don’t you? Am I not moving fast enough for you, princess?” Instead of returning to your chest, his hands pulled at the waistband of your bottoms. “I’m trying to be nice, not treat you like a whore.”

He used his free hand to shove them down your bottoms, earning a harsh gasp in response. “But if you want to be treated like one, I’ll fucking treat you like one.” He used his free hand to push you back, head nearly hitting the mirror behind you. This new position gave him better access, two fingers slipping between your folds and circling your clit. “How’s that? Hmm? Better for you?” His words were cold, fingers moving at a dizzying speed.

“Y—yeah…” your head hit the wall, eyes shutting as Sanemi’s finger sent waves of pleasure through you. “Oh? So you wanted to be treated like a stupid slut since the beginning. Probably should have known, especially with the way you were trying to seduce me. Even with Genya watching, how shameful.” He dipped lower, ghosting across your entrance and collecting the arousal on his fingertips. You hands tightened on the counter, one gripping its edge while the other tried to find stability on the smooth sink.

His fingers moved back up, circling your clit with even more fervor than before, a slick squelching noise now accompanying it. “Listen to that, nothing more than a needy bitch in heat.” You groaned, hating his choice of words. Nonetheless you didn’t stop him, allowing him to pull one of the strings keeping the bottoms together. At the sight of your partially exposed flesh he only moved quicker. Fingers abandoning your clit to pull apart the other strings on the opposite side. “You know what? Stand up.” He was dragging you off the countertop before you could even respond.

“What are you…” your bottoms were fully pulled off, discarded off to the side with your top. You were fully bare now, Sanemi’s eyes trailed over your frame, a smirk creeping up his lips. “Turn around.” Once again Sanemi gave you no time to actually respond, hands gripping your waist firmly and turning you to face the counter. You didn’t expect his hand to come up and grip your cheeks as hard as he did, but he forced your face to remain trained on the mirror. A smile creeping up his face before saying “this would be such a cute picture to send to Genya.”

The other hand that was on your waist moved up to squeeze your breast, the smile never faltering as you whined for him. “It’s a damn waste that neither of us have our phones right now. Really this would be cute.” His cheek pressed to the top of your head, after a second of looking over your reflection you realized his towel was slowly but surely slipping off his hips. “We’ll save that for another time.” You yelped as he pressed forward, you could clearly feel his cock through the towel.

“Let’s get a move on before you start running your mouth again.” He smiled at you one last time in the mirror before pressing you forward, not stopping until your breasts were squished against the countertop. You heard rustling behind you, face turning hot as you realised he had dropped to his knees. Sanemi’s breath was ghosting over your fully exposed cunt, two hands coming up to massage the flesh of your ass. “I mean really, I’ve been doing nothing but wasting both our time for the sake of working you up. As if you needed to be…”

You held your breath, waiting to feel his tongue against you. Instead you got a soft kiss pressed to the back of your thigh, then another and another…you could have burst into tears. This wasn’t exactly how you expected this to go. “Sanemi! Fucking come on!” You slammed your hand flat against the counter, forehead pressing into the mirror. “Taking it too far I see…” there was laughter in his voice, laughter that was so infuriating you could scream. Yet before you could open your mouth a second time, his tongue delved between your folds.

“Oh…” you relaxed, only encouraging Sanemi to continue. You whimpered as his hands tightened their grip on your ass, effectively keeping you in place. It seems he was finally calming down a bit with the teasing. Sanemi’s tongue remained focused on your clit, lapping hungrily at the sensitive bud. His nose - surprisingly - was adding to the stimulation due to the angle you were at. “S-Sanemi…” you whined, eyes shutting as you focused on the feeling of his tongue against your pulsing cunt.

For a second it hit you — Sanemi, your best friend’s big brother, had you bent over a bathroom counter while he ate you out. Your best friend’s big brother was fucking eating you out. For some reason that had you gasping, pleasure only intensifying as that realization echoed in your mind. This was really happening. His tongue only moved faster, lips suctioning around your cunt as he began to suck. The feeling made your jolt a little, moans tumbling from your lips as you finally began to feel your orgasm building up. “C-close” your voice was strained, knuckles turning white as you grasped the edge of the counter.

Sanemi’s tongue only worked harder, your legs started to feel like jelly despite most of your weight resting on the counter. He continued to suck, tongue flicking your clit in a rhythm that had tears threatening to well in your eyes. You clenched around nothing, breath hitching in your throat as you finally fell over the edge. As you came, Sanemi pulled away. Leaving you to twitch and clench around nothing as your orgasm fizzled into nothing. It wasn’t even satisfying. “W-what the fuck!” You straighten a little, turning to look at Sanemi on his knees behind you.

“You really think mouthing off to me was going to get you what you wanted?” His lips and chin were glistening with your arousal, he stood, towel falling off as he stood. Your annoyance faded as his cock came into full view, he was massive, at least by your standards. Maybe eight or nine inches in length, but he was girthy, so much so you questioned if it would actually fit. He certainly had something to be proud of, the smug smirk on his face only fueled your certainty. “Oh? You want it don’t you?” You nodded without an ounce of shame, you wanted to do absolutely everything to it and you wanted him to do absolutely everything with it.

Something about that nod gave Sanemi new motivation, you just looked so innocent all of a sudden. You yelped as his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you off the counter and straight to his chest. “I’m certainly not done yet, but I’d rather not continue this in the guest bathroom.” You nodded, you assumed he was implying to move this to his bedroom. Instead he reached forward and grabbed the two soap bottles you had originally come for. “Hold these.” You did as you were told, not expecting him to turn you around to face him once you did.

He said nothing, instead crouching down slightly to hook his arms under your ass and lift you. “S-Sanemi?!” You were suddenly over his shoulder, face staring at his back with both soap bottles still clutched in your arms. “Don’t worry, there for later.” He backed out of the doorway before turning. Luckily for you he thought ahead as to not smack your skull into something. You figured it would be a short walk, the pulsing between your legs becoming more persistent with each step he took. However, he made his way past his bedroom, going further down the hall.

You couldn’t imagine where he was taking you until he passed through the doorway. You landed on a plush bed a second later, blinking up at him only to gasp. “G-Genya‘d room?!” You used your hands to push yourself up, of all places…he wanted to fuck you in Genya’s bed. “What sort of sadistic shit are you into?!” He was still silent, smiling down at you with that same cocky grin. One that sent a chill down your spine as your needs only grew stronger. After a moment, Sanemi’s eyes left yours, noticing your phone on the nightstand. “Perfect.” His words had a drawl to them, one that made you swallow and squeeze your thighs shut.

“What are you…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, your phone was in his hand and after a second you heard the familiar click of your camera. Your hands shot up to cover your breasts, a shocked expression settling on your features. “Oh don’t be so shy, it’s your phone after all.” He had a point, but you didn’t budge. “They’re just gifts for Genya.” He clicked again as you gasped, “you wouldn’t!” You leaned forward completely, looking up at him through your lashes as he groaned. “Just like that, I think Genya would love this angle.” He chuckled as you reached for your phone, not even realising how close you had come to his erection.

As your eyes lowered, another picture snapped. A second later your phone was tossed by the pillows, Sanemi’s hands cupped your cheeks to pull your face closer to his as he bent down. His kiss was far more hungry than the previous ones were, slowly pushing you back against the mattress as he crawled on top of you. The warmth of his body made you forget all about the goosebumps that were running across your skin, arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him flush against you. You let out a shaky moan when his cock pressed against your abdomen. As badly as you wanted him, you still were hesitant to know if he’d even fit.

“I’m sure Genya has lube somewhere.” He spoke against your lips, making you wonder how he had read your mind. “He’d know…” you whined as he pulled away just enough for you to catch your breath. “He’d know? What do you not want him to know?” He was being sarcastic, “do you want him to know?” You blinked up at him, watching him shift his weight so he was on his knees. Your waist was caged between his muscular thighs. “You think I’m going to hide? It’s my home, my choice. Genya was too much of a coward to do shit about it.” Your eyes trailed lower once more, his cock looked irritated now, the tip oozing with precum.

“Open your mouth.” A million thoughts ran through your mind as you did as he said. What didn’t cross your mind, however, was him spitting in your mouth. Yet again you drew another laugh from Sanemi as you jumped, swallowing before he even asked you too. “Good girl, especially when your mouth is occupied.” He seemed conflicted for a moment, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do first. “Squeeze your tits together.” Obedient as ever, you did it with no hesitation. “Shit, yeah I think I’ll go with this option first.” You blinked, Sanemi’s hand pushed on your forehead so your head was laying flat, hands still squeezing your breasts together.

“Spread them.” You kept your grip tight and spread them like he asked. It still caught you by surprise when he spit, coating your sternum in the slick substance. “Squeeze them together again.” A lazy grin appeared on his face as you looked at him, eyes wide with anticipation for what he’d do next. Truly he didn’t understand how Genya lasted so long. He finally stopped neglecting his cock, spitting for a third time in his hand before wrapping it around his tip.

“I think you’ll look cute in white.” You whined, watching him toy with himself until his cheeks turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. After what felt like an eternity, he positioned himself between your breasts, pushing forward slowly. “Oh…” a gasp left him, one that made your clit pulse with arousal. He was absolutely shameless, eyes focusing on his cock thrusting in and out between your breasts. The tip coming dangerously close to your mouth as you had lifted your head to watch him. “I’ve been…ha….waiting to try this… with the right person…” his head fell forward, thighs twitching as a majority of his weight rested on them.

“But honestly… none of them excited me…” his thrusts were steady now, moaning as you stuck your tongue out to ghost his head each time he thrusted forward. “You though? Fuck. You have endless possibilities.” The compliment drew a whiny moan from your lips, only fueling Sanemi to move quicker. “You really are something else…shit… I couldn’t believe my fucking eyes when he brought you home.” His cheeks were flushed, eyes lidded and lips shiny with his own saliva. He looked ready to burst, eyes trained on yours to gauge your every reaction.

“I was amazed that someone like you found any sort of interest in my little brother…ha…” he stopped talking, falling forward so both hands rested on either side of your head. His thrusts were sloppier, he was close. That realization caused praises to leave your lips, he must be more sensitive because of the pent up lust. “Come on…cum for me Sanemi…” you squeezed your breasts together just a little tighter, earning a groan in response. “You’re close…I can tell…cum for me please. I want it so bad.” You drew out your words, voice deepening slightly to a more sultry tone. “Shit.” His hips stuttered and your eyes closed instinctively, white ropes painting your face as he came.

Only a little landed on your tongue and lips, as if he purposely meant to cover your cheeks in white. “D-don’t touch anything…” your hands froze halfway to your face, aiming to wipe your eyes. After a second you heard the familiar clicks of your phone’s camera. “Really…” you began to laugh, after a moment Sanemi said you could move. You wiped your eyes as Sanemi shifted his weight off of you. Unknown to you he was searching for his contact, sending himself every picture he had taken so far. “Good to know…” he said it more so to himself, pleased that his little trick to unlock phones without the need for a passcode still worked.

“What?” You were sitting up now, Sanemi was standing at the side of Genya’s bed, tossing your phone to the side. “Nothing.” A yelp left your lips as he grabbed both ankles, pulling you towards the edge of the bed. “We aren’t done yet, sweetheart.” You were flat on your back again, a bit disappointed that he didn’t seem interested in switching positions at all. “I would hope not…” you suppress a smirk, watching his eyes widen as you mouthed off back to him. “What did I say about talking like that? You don’t want to have another unsatisfying orgasm now, do you?” He lowered, bending over you so your lips were centimeters apart.

“N-no I don’t want that…” you swallowed, debating on moving your head forward to meet his lips. “Good.” Sanemi closed the distance instead, one hand cupping your face while the other guided your legs around his waist. You followed quickly, ankles crossing to keep yourself secure. Sanemi’s hand moved to his already hardening cock again, pumping himself a few times and grimacing slightly at the stickiness. You tensed a bit when you felt his head press to yojt entrance, his lips parting from yours. “You’re not a virgin, right?” He didn’t care either way, but he wanted to at least be prepared to walk you through this if it was your first time.

You shook your head, you had a fair share of hookups and relationships, nothing like Sanemi though. Experience wise you felt you may as well be a virgin when comparing yourself to him. “Okay, good…” he smiled, kissing you again but this time it was a little sweeter. That eased your nerves a bit, but still, his size was nothing like you have had before. That’s what was worrying you. Especially the lack of preparation, nothing more than his tongue had toyed with your entrance so far. “I want to see how much you can handle…don’t worry… I’ll go slow.” There it was, that more sadistic side shining through.

When Sanemi felt you shake slightly, he toned it down, lips pressing to your ear. “I promise, just say the word and I’ll stop if it’s too much.” You nodded, arms coming to wrap around his neck as you waited for him to move. Sanemi’s lips pressed to yours again, hand still wrapped around his shaft as he guided himself into you. You whimpered against his lips, the stretch burned but it was bearable. At least you thought it was until he began telling you to breathe. You forced air back into your lungs, as you exhaled he pushed further. “Oh my fucking…” your head pressed further into Genya’s mattress, nails raking up Sanemi’s back.

He was only half way in, your walks stretching to accommodate his size. “You’re doing so well.” His voice was hoarse, you were gripping him like a vice, so warm and wet, he was beginning to see stars. “A-am I?” You wailed, not meaning to cry out as loud as you did. “You are…” he pushed further, just a bit more and he’d bottom out. You didn’t even realize tears were sliding down your cheeks, not until Sanemi began kissing them away. After a moment you realized his hips were pressed to the back of your thighs, he had bottomed out. “Not so bad…right?” He was laughing softly, hands moving to push your legs further to your chest. “I’m going to move.” As much as he wanted to wait until you were ready, he just couldn’t help himself.

You gasped as he pulled out half way, moving his lips right back in a second later. The more he moved, the more you realized how full you felt. “Oh…oh…” your nails dragged along his shoulders, body being pressed further into the mattress as all his weight resided on you. Sanemi was nothing compared to anyone you had before, he wasn’t even comparable to any of them. “Feels fucking good…doesn’t it?” He was panting softly, hips finding a steady rhythm as your walls pulsed around him. “You’re everything I could have hoped for and more.” He loved watching your face morph with the praise he gave you. You yelped as his cock brushed your cervix, he was focusing more so on speed rather than depth.

“Tell me how good you feel, y/n. I want to know how well I’m fucking you.” He was focused on your face, your heaving chest and the way your tits bounced each time he bottomed out. “I-I feel…” you gasped, eyes going blurry for a moment as he brushed the spot that had you seeing stars. “So..good.” Your words were slightly slurred, nails only digging further into his skin as if it would keep you grounded in reality. “Sanemi~” you were starting to lose yourself, not holding back on any noises you made. There was no one else around to hear them after all. “Yeah? Keep going, I want to hear more.” He switched positions, your arms falling from his shoulders as he straightened.

Your legs remained around his waist, but now you were fully exposed as he towered over you. He let go of one leg, so you replaced his arm with your own to keep it up. All the while he bottomed out completely, not moving as he reached for something you couldn’t see. “You look so hot.” He smiled as you waited to hear the clicks from your camera, instead you heard the small ding of a video starting to record. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you looked like, you hadn’t even bothered to wipe his cum off the rest of your face. Tears and cum were streaking your face just like you imagined, but the video he was taking was more so focused on where he disappeared inside of you.

He began thrusting again, now instead of speed he was focusing on how deep he hit with each thrust. Sanemi smirked as the video caught your hand tightening in Genya’s comforter, scrunching the material harshly as you cried out. Each thrust shook the bed now, tears rushing down your cheeks as you felt as if you were about to burst, “tell me y/n, I’m waiting to hear how good I fuck your tight cunt.” You wailed, walls clenching sporadically as you tried to fulfil his request. You thought of all the things you could say that you knew got men going in the past, but half the time you barely meant any of those words. Sanemi however was a different story, so it only made sense when the words you spoke next tumbled from your lips.

“So good, you’re doing so good…better than any guy I’ve ever fucked. They don’t even come close…” you moaned as his other hand left your leg, letting it fall limply to the side as he pinched your clit. “Is that so? I better fucking be.” He groaned as you sputtered around him, you were so close that you didn’t even realize it. “Gonna cum for me? Come on now, cum on my cock.” His thrusts began picking up in speed, still hitting just a deep with each thrust. “Gonna cum…” your words were slurred, barely eligible, and Sanemi loved ever fucking second of it. You felt like you were going to burst, your orgasm building in a way you had never felt before. With each pinch on your clit perfectly timed with each thrust, you were gasping for breath as it finally hit you.

Much to Sanemi’s delight, he caught you squirting all over him and Genya’s bed on camera. The sight alone was enough to make him feel weak in the knees, there was something so special about you. Something that made it feel like it was his very first time doing any of this to a woman. “Fuck…look at you making a mess.” His hips never slowed, even when you clenched so tightly he couldn’t barely move for a moment. If it wasn’t for the mess you made causing him to slip in and out with ease, he probably would have faltered. At this point you weren’t even sure what you were saying, incoherent noises and words tumbling from your lips. Ironically they only made Sanemi move quicker.

“Look at you, all sorts of cock drunk because of me.” He stopped recording a second later, tossing your phone to the side to focus on chasing his own orgasm. You rode out your orgasm, quickly becoming overstimulated but too lost to even try and vocalize it. “I’m going…I’m going to get you fucking pregnant.” That woke you up a bit, eyes widening considerably. “Fill you up nice and full…ha…yeah I bet Genya would fucking love that.” He kept thrusting, nearly pushing you further up the bed as he moved. “How fucking shameful. You fuck your best friend’s older brother…and he knocks you up.”

You wailed some sort of response, the idea of Sanemi getting you pregnant was getting you in the mood for another round even though the current one wasn’t finished yet. “You fucking freak, you like the idea don’t you.” He could feel his cock twitching between your walls, he was close. “I-I do…” you weren’t even embarrassed, the overstimulation was quickly changing from pain to pleasure, shockwaves of your orgasm still making your walls convulse. “Cum inside of me, please Sanemi…” for a moment he wished he had kept recording, those words were what threw him over the edge. You flinched as he buried himself, pressing against your cervix almost painfully as he spilled inside of you.

His hips rocked slowly now, breathless gasps slipping past his lips. Silence fell over the two of you as Sanemi caught his breath, flushed face looking at your own. “Everything you hoped it would be?” He began to chuckle as you sleepily nodded. “I need a shower.” Sanemi nearly collapsed on top of you at that, “yeah, I think we do.” He pulled out of you slowly, frowning slightly as his release began to leak out of you. “I’ll go…get the shower started.” You flinched slightly, not realizing how sore you were until you stood. “I’ll be right there.” He winked at you, making your cheeks feel hot as you grabbed both soap bottles and scurried off to Genya’s bathroom.

Sanemi waited until the shower turned on, reaching for your phone once more to send himself the video he had taken. Shortly after he saw it was delivered, he deleted all the messages. He smiled to himself, tossing your phone onto Genya’s bed once more before heading towards the bathroom. You were already in the shower at that point, relieved to finally be rinsing the chlorine out of your hair. “Mind if I join.” An attempt to be cheeky, you only rolled your eyes, pushing the curtain aside to allow him in. You shifted forward in an attempt to allow him room under the water, instead he pulled you back to him. “I don’t think I’m done with you just yet.” You shivered despite the hot water cascading down your frame.

“Is that so?” You smiled as you repeated a line from earlier. “I’m not done with you yet either, Sanemi.” You turned in his arms, pressing yourself to his chest and getting on your tiptoes to try and kiss him. Just as he leaned forward to meet you, you returned to your normal height. Waiting for his eyes to reopen before falling to your knees. “I think you deserve this… but I’d also like a redo. Since you so kindly left me hanging earlier.” He wasn’t even hard yet, so you began placing soft kissing along his shaft. Your tongue slowly circled around his tip, you realized after a moment that you were tasting the bitter mix of your cum mixed with his. After a few seconds he began to twitch to life, within a minute he was fully hard. “What did I tell you… you do wonderful things to me, pretty girl.”

You smiled at the praise, hand wrapping around his base to properly start sucking him off. Sanemi realized after a moment he was itching to have your phone again, he wanted to capture every single one of your firsts as if they wouldn’t happen again. He was by no means afraid of Genya’s reaction, he wasn’t even going to keep it a secret. “Oh my fucking…” he gasped as you took him half way, jaw slack and cheeks warm as you swallowed around him. He seemed awestruck that you even managed to fit that much in. The sore jaw would be worth it every time if you could see that shocked look in his eyes. Your tongue struggled to swirl around him, instead you relied on bobbing your head back and forth. Your tongue glides along the underside of his cock with each movement of your head.

“You’re so good at this…there is no way you let another guy experience this…” a pang of jealousy hit Sanemi, the idea of you on your knees for any other man made him furious. What made it worse, was the idea of Genya experiencing this. “Ain’t no fucking way…” Sanemi’s back hit cool tiles, leaving you to move forward as result. You moaned around him as two hands came to bury in your wet hair, massaging your scalp as a way to encourage you to keep going. This time you could actually feel him twitching, still sensitive from his orgasm only a few minutes prior. You used your fist to pump the rest of him, keeping it in rhythm with your mouth. You wanted to properly taste him this time, having already rinsed your face off before he joined you.

“Fuck…” was the only warning you received from him, cum shooting down your throat as he came in record time. He wasn’t even slightly embarrassed, no one had gotten him to come that quickly before and he wasn’t found to try and extend it. You pulled off of him with a pop as he began softening in your mouth, licking your lips as you did. “Was that okay?” Sanemi helped you up, pulling you to his chest and running his hands up your back. “Fucking perfect.” He missed the top of your head, slowly straightening off the tiles to guide you both under the hot water. “I still have to repay you for the shitty job I did the first time.” He mumbled against the top of your head. “That can wait for another time.” You didn’t want to wait, but you were certain he was feeling as tired as you were.

“No, it can’t. How about this…you wash your hair, I’ll get to work.” This time he was the one falling to his knees, your face feeling warm despite the steam filling the bathroom. “O-okay.” You reached for the bottles you had set on the small ledge, dumping some of the contents into your palm as Sanemi massaged your thighs. After a moment of staring you yelped, a harsh smack to your ass making you jolt forward against his face. “Get to scrubbing.” He licked along your outer lips, sucking on the tender flesh until you listened to what he told you to do. The moment you began working the soap into your scalp, his tongue slipped between slick folds. Just as you had tasted before, Sanemi was now tasting the mix of your cum with his own.

You tried to hold your breath, hoping they would keep the noises from spilling out. You were struggling to keep your focus on your hair, massaging your scalp with less and less effort as pleasure racked your already sensitive clit. “Easy there…” Sanemi’s hands squeezed the plush of your thighs, trying to keep you stable as you began to sway under his touch. “Eh…’m trying…” your adrenaline was wearing off on you at the worst moment. Suds began slipping down your back, forcing you off balance even more as you leaned back to rinse the soap out. Each flick of Sanemi’s tongue had you jolting, you were already feeling the build up of your third orgasm. “S…s…Nemi…” you whined, the hot water paired with his tongue was surprisingly soothing.

“I got you…” he returned as quickly as he left, lips sucking eagerly on your abused clit. It was hitting the point that Sanemi was the one nearly supporting all of your weight, tired muscles starting to whine in protest but he paid them no mind. You clenched around nothing, silently praying he’d add a finger or two. That was the only part of him you had yet to feel, and even though you were certain they’d be nothing compared to his cock…you still wanted it. “…more…” you whined softly, eyes shutting as you hoped he’d keep you stable. “So needy…” he knew what you wanted of course, but if he let go of one of your thighs you may fall. So instead he started sucking, between each motion he’d tell you there was always time for more later.

As you came for a third time, you doubled over, hands burying in Sanemi’s hair as your legs threatened to fully give out. “So tired…” you mumbled as he stood, hands running up your body in order to support you until he was fully standing with you pressed to his chest. “I can see that…let’s clean up and get you to bed.” You nodded feebly, eyes opening slowly to at least try and help Sanemi clean. It made sense to you why he made you wash your hair first, he must have known you were going to crash. Each orgasm took more and more out of you, leaving you a mumbling puddle in Sanemi’s arms. You barely remembered the rest of the shower, the next thing you knew you were being wrapped in a warm towel.

The cool tile of the countertop underneath you was the only thing that jarred you enough to make you open your eyes fully. You watched as Sanemi dried himself off, wrapping a towel around his waist before looking at you. “Let’s dry your hair a bit, I don’t want you getting cold because of wet hair in an air conditioned room.” There was something so soft and intimate about Sanemi towel drying your hair, doing his best to wrap the towel around it and keep it secure. “Good for now.” He kissed your forehead, guiding your arms over his shoulders as he picked you up. “You sure it’s okay…” your voice was muffled as your face squished to his shoulder.

“Of course it is.” You didn’t need to open your eyes to know you were being carried back towards Sanemi’s room. Part of you wanted to laugh at the fact that he chose his little brother’s room to fuck you. How fucked up is that? You were far too tired to be concerned about all of that now, that was an issue for when you woke up. The last things you remember were Sanemi’s hands pulling your towel off, tucking you under his soft sheets and kissing your temple. “I’ll be back in a second.” You mumbled some sort of okay before giving in to your body’s needs.

Sanemi on the other hand was making his way down the hall back to Genya’s room, grabbing your phone before turning to head back. He fully intended on leaving Genya’s room in a slightly dishevelled state, smug satisfaction filling him as he entered his room and locked the door. Before Sanemi gave in to sleep, there was something he absolutely needed to do. He set your phone on his nightstand, reaching for his own after the fact. Tapping the screen revealed all the messages “you” had sent him. His eyes eagerly took in everything he had taken, he decided it would be best to send the video first.

Genya set his tool down as his phone buzzed, Sanemi’s contact lighting up the screen. He’d only been gone for about two hours at this point, his stomach dropped as he slid open the message

Nemi: Here's some jerk off material for ya.

Attached to the text was a video file, one that made Genya’s stomach drop. “I’ll be right back, Zenitsu, Tanjiro.” He was standing up and walking out the door before they could even respond. His hands were shaking, eyes locked on the blurry thumbnail to the video attached. Without even clicking play, he could already tell it was someone’s body. “No fucking way, no… I knew I should have never left you alone with him.”

Genya pushed the men’s room door open, storming down to the furthest stall. He was absolutely livid and he hadn’t even seen the video's context. For all he fucking knew, it could be some random girl he invited over. Then again that was just wishful thinking. He took a deep breath, making sure his volume was low before he clicked play. It was exactly as he feared, you were flat on your back, legs pressed to your chest. He was frozen, watching the video play out, your face was only visible for a moment but it was clearly covered in something. The majority of the video was focused on where his brother kept disappearing and reappearing inside of you.

He was horrified, the low volume only granted him some of the noises you were making, but it was unmistakably your voice. Your voice screaming his brother’s name. The video itself was only about a minute long, “please for fuck sake at least be wearing protection.” He watched Sanemi’s dick pull out nearly half way, sure enough there was no sign of a condom. His older brother had fucked his best friend…raw. He could have thrown up at the thought. Yet he still watched the video in full, dick shamelessly twitching to life.

“Fuck…” he couldn’t get over how cute your whines sounded. The video ended abruptly, leaving Genya to stare at himself through the black screen. Genya stayed still, once Sanemi saw he had read the texts, there were a series of pictures waiting for him when he closed the video. He couldn’t breathe, not when he was staring at such lewd photos of you. He swallowed, not knowing what to do with himself, especially when he was being suffocated in such a small bathroom stall. He had to simply ignore the persistent twitch between his legs.

Genya: didn’t I fucking tell you to stay away?

Nemi: You did, I didn’t listen.

Genya: fucking clearly.

Nemi: notice anything about those pictures? The video maybe?

Genya: the fact that you fucked my best friend raw??

Nemi: look closer.

After a moment of studying, Genya realized.

Genya: you fucked her on my bed?????

Nemi: on your bed…in the guest bathroom…in your shower. Probably in my own bed too once she wakes up.

Genya clicked off his phone, contemplating if it would be worth throwing it against the wall. He decided against it, shoving his phone in his hoodie pocket and storming out of the bathroom stall. He was livid for a few reasons, ironically the picture and video weren’t even the main reason. The main reason was the fact that he was incredibly turned on. How was he supposed to focus on the stupid fucking project when he was painfully hard.

“I’m going to fucking kill both of them.” He swallowed, making his way to the row of sinks. He braced himself on the counter, one image in particular was haunting him, your face covered in his big brother’s cum. He turned on the skin a moment after, cold water pouring from the faucet. Genya would spend another ten minutes in the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water in hopes of calming down. His pride was already hurt, there was no way he was getting off alone in a bathroom stall.

Sanemi on the other hand was comfortable under his blankets, pulling you to his chest. Sure it was a dirty move doing such a thing to his little brother, but he knew Genya well enough that the younger boy would just take it. It was cruel really, but at the moment Sanemi couldn’t care less. Not when he finally had you in his bed, wrapped in his arms.

men who eat pussy.

CHARACTERS: draken/ken ryuguji, hanma shuji, takashi mitsuya.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, praise kink, daddy kink, rim jobs.

NOTE: yes. this is a call out post on how i want draken to eat me from the back.

DRAKEN.

Eating you out is foreplay to him, making you cum at least once before his cock is inside you is always the plan.

But you're always so fucked up after, but that's just the way he likes you before, having you all for himself to enjoy.

He doesn't even jerk himself off when he's doing it— attention completely on you and your body.

He's loud, slurping and suckling on your clit, lapping on your folds and kissing all over and around your cunt.

Hates when you try to run away from him, large hands forcefully cracking open your thighs and holding you down so he can service you correctly

"Cmon, won't you be a good girl for daddy?"

Praises you when he does it, loves it when you're vocal for him.

And he knows every move to give him the perfect squeals, moans, and mewls that he wants outta you.

"Gonna cum? Do it, cum for me."

Even after you finish all over him, his mouth is still latched onto you, overstimulating you.

Oh and don't get be started when Draken is desperate, he gets filthy.

Eating you out from the back and not leaving anything unlicked.

And I mean everything. He isn't mean, he'll give your ass attention too.

He loves it, absolutely adores eating you out. Not even for you, but for him.

Making a girl go crazy for him just from his mouth makes him feel so powerful.

He'll even eat you out in his shop, just ask and flash him with your panties.

HANMA.

Oh he's such a tease, lives off of teasing you to death.

He knows what you want. He's an expert at making you squirt all over him, but is he so willing to give it to you? Nah.

You want to cum? Give him a reason to make you.

It's all games to him, tongue circling and flicking between your clit and folds while giggling to your pathetic moans.

He even slides a finger or two inside of you, curling inside of you while he slurps up your juices.

He'll give you the best head ever, he knows when you're about to cum. That's when all of his movements stop and his finger leaves your cunt begging.

You're whining and sobbing, pleading to him to let you cum at least once.

"Fuck- Please, please, please Shu?" "Ah, uh-uh. Not til' I'm done."

He'll do it once maybe twice (if he's feeling extra mean) before giving the release you desperately wanted.

It's so amazing, worth all of the teasing and edging he puts you through.

Leaves your legs quivering and shivering after, juices trickling down all over your thighs and ass with a clear drenched puddle beneath you.

"See? I'm not that mean, am I?"

"Ass up. Time for me to have my fun."

MITSUYA.

Mitsuya is a service dom, no question about it.

Loves to give his woman pleasure, you're just so pretty for him— he wants nothing else but to give you love and everything you deserve.

He shows his appreciation from eating you out.

Sees you stressed out from a day at work? Your pussy is getting eaten. Looking pretty in this new dress he made just for you? Your pussy is getting eaten. Have you been a good lil' wife/girlfriend for him? YOUR PUSSY IS GETTING EATEN.

He's messy and doesn't care, pull those panties to the side and let him in.

He finishes his meal as if he's been fasting for days, finally being able to eat again. But you and your cunt is his food.

Physically eats you out on top of the table, in the dining room/kitchen.

"You look so pretty, Don't you care that anyone could see me feasting on you?"

Even if people actually do stare, he doesn't care. You're the only thing he's focusing on.

Sit on his face, please. Just suffocate him with your pussy and thighs, he'll moan while eating you out— gripping your ass and moving you all over his tongue.

And if you squirt, that man is drinking all of it up.

+ honorable mentions: takemichi, taiju & kakucho.

happy endings

pairing: massage therapist! hinata shoyo x fem! reader

words: 6.6k

cw/tw: sex on the job, oral + fingering (f → receiving), creampie, hints of hand kink and praise kink

a/n: this is for @killsaki’s but- i’m at work! collab <3

The outside of the spa is unassuming. A basic facade you’ve seen a hundred times at various places that advertise themselves as luxury, but when you open the door you find that it actually is as upscale as advertised. 

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