❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞
❝ 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,
More Posts from Outleak and Others
“Can’t do shit with a good girl, need me a freak..” | multi
public sex, squirting, sex toys, freaky shit yktv
📜: know I said I despise these types of posts but I couldn’t get it out of my head and too many ppl fit the bill for it
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he loved so many things about you…honestly, he could go on for days bragging about the woman he was slated to spend the rest of his life with. From your smile, to the way you laughed at his jokes, even down to the way you scrunched up your nose when you were mad. He adored your skin and the way it glistened in the sunlight. The way those jeans and sundresses hugged your curves..especially the way that shimmery gloss complimented your plump lips. Hell, he’d tell anyone who’d listen about how you alternated hairstyles every week and kept him on his toes. A flustered mess each time he spoke about his lady..but truthfully, that was only a glimpse of you. It was a mere facade to who you truly were, at least behind closed doors. Because the same woman who made him blush like a school kid..also made him whimper like a little bitch when you were alone! Yes, his sweet little princess would turn into his dirty little slut at the drop of a dime. Dropping to your knees to please him without so much as a complaint..
“Fuck..just like that.”
teasing his glowing tip on the pad of your tongue whilst your eyes stay glued to his own. Your tits hanging from that tank top they’ve been close to spilling out all day. A palm wrangled around his shaft as you began to suck him off. This teasing is too much to bear but he knows he won’t have to wait long…soon, he’s met with the rampant sounds of loud slurping and gagging. Your head goes up and down as you swallow that cock. That forehead planted to his abs and in place whilst you hold it in the back of your throat…strings of saliva spilling all over the place from the corners of your mouth as they seep to your chest and you seem not to have a care in the world..other than pleasing him that is!
“You just took the whole thing, baby..goddamn..” his voice cracks as he’s forced against the wall of this bathroom in some club you two decided to visit. Knowing that the night would unfold this way. Honestly, he would’ve been fine staying home and skipping straight to it..but you insisted on showing off that new tight dress for him. Shaking your ass and grinding on him with a drink in hand. And of course, the controlled vibrator and butt plug he’d so casually placed inside of you at your request. Sure, you could’ve gone for a nice dinner and movie but what was the fun in that? Not when you took him all the way to the back of your throat and nearly threw up on it on his way out, all but forcing him to keep quiet. Your man knows you have no limits, all bets are off when it comes to making him happy. It’s why he’d walk to the end of the earth for you, even lay down his life but you’ll settle for him bending you over a sink and forcing you to glance at your reflection in the mirror as he drills your shit right there for someone to stroll in and catch an eyeful. Hell, they were probably all too intoxicated to notice but it’s that thrill that has him fucking you dumb.
“Harder, please! Fuck!—yes, keep fucking me just like that…make me come on this dick, right here..”
“This is your pussy, daddy..take it!..”
gliding in and out of that dripping cunt, his curved cock pressing at the inner corner of your sensitive spot. With that vibrator resting on your swollen clit and that plug buried in your ass, his fingers cradle your throat as he peels your head back, spitting into your mouth and he can’t stop smiling!..can’t stop smiling because he can’t believe he got so damned lucky! To find a girl who was equal parts nasty as she was classy. Screaming his name and begging for more even after squirting all over his shoe and the floor underneath. Immediately kneeling yet again to taste yourself on his soaked shaft and to get a face full of his nut to parade around in for the rest of the night. Why not? That pretty face full of makeup is ruined anyways but you’re proud of it. So as long as he’d yelp as he fed you every drop of his warm, creamy nut. Watching you gulp down every drop that fell into your mouth.
“You’re so fucking nasty, baby..God, I love you so much.”
he had to admit, he loved his good girl. But it was that inner freak that had him obsessed.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
EREN, ACE, ZORO, sanji, reiner, nanami, taiju, mikey, draken, rin + ran, ONY, CONNIE, SUKUNA, hawks, dabi, toji, bokuto,
Hi there! How are you? I love your works and I wanted to request a Dabi or Hawks x Reader NSFW oneshot please? Also could you have the font not too small? It’s just I can’t read anything in small fonts.
✩₊˚.⋆ BESTFRIEND'S BROTHER - dabi/touya todoroki
CW: unprotected sex, oral (dabi receives), soft/hard! dom dabi, female reader with female anatomy, fingering, a lot of sexual tension, makeout sesh, stimulation & penetration, uhh...thats it lol
Word Count: 6.2k (no regrets tbh lmao)
Author's Note: hi! i hope you enjoy. this ended up being WAY longer than expected. if you have a request, send it in and i'll be happy to write it!
the weekend at y/n's best friend's house always felt like an escape from her regular life. it wasn’t just the familiar sound of the tv in the background or the scent of home-cooked meals—it was being part of a family that felt like a second home. she dropped her bag by the couch and took a deep breath, already feeling more relaxed.
"glad you're here," fuyumi grinned, flopping onto the couch with her usual laid-back energy. "this weekend’s going to be awesome. we’ve got a full fridge and no one’s gonna bother us."
y/n laughed, sinking into the chair across from her. "just like old times," she said, already feeling the comfort of the place sink in.
"yeah," fuyumi replied, glancing toward the stairs. "oh, heads up—my brother’s back from college. so, if you run into him, don’t let him get on your nerves, okay?"
y/n shrugged casually, though the mention of touya made her stomach flip just a bit. there was something about him—he had this quiet, brooding presence that always made her feel a little uneasy. not in a bad way, just… aware of him. "touya? he’s cool. no big deal."
fuyumi snorted. "alright, just don’t let him pull any of his usual stunts."
the day passed easily enough—video games, snacks, and laughter filling the hours. but as night fell and the house grew quieter, fuyumi went upstairs to sleep, leaving y/n alone in the living room. she was flipping through channels, trying to wind down, when she heard footsteps approaching. looking up, she saw touya standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
"still up?" he asked, his voice low and casual.
y/n sat up a bit, startled by his sudden appearance. "yeah, couldn’t sleep," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
touya stepped into the room, moving with that easy, quiet confidence he always had. he sat down on the couch next to her, but not too close—just enough that his presence was noticeable. the air between them felt heavier, but not uncomfortable.
"how’s college going?" he asked, glancing at her briefly before looking at the tv. his tone was neutral, like he was making small talk out of habit.
"good," y/n replied, shifting to a more comfortable position. "busy, but good."
touya nodded, leaning back slightly. "yeah, i figured. you seem different, though. not as jumpy as you used to be."
y/n blinked, caught off guard by his observation. "i was never jumpy," she said, though her voice lacked confidence. she couldn’t deny there had been times when just being around him had made her feel awkward, but that had been years ago, right?
touya smirked, giving her a sideways glance. "sure you weren’t."
y/n rolled her eyes, leaning back into the couch and crossing her arms. "okay, maybe a little, but you’ve always had this weird, intimidating vibe, dude."
he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "weird and intimidating? great combo," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a teasing grin. "yeah, well, you’re not that scary once you get used to it," y/n shot back, feeling more comfortable as their banter eased the tension in the room.
"good to know i’ve lost my edge," he said, his tone light but laced with that usual dryness of his.
the room fell into a quiet lull after that, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that felt awkward. y/n found herself more at ease, the earlier tension slipping away the longer they sat there. she flicked through the channels aimlessly, her focus split between the tv and touya’s quiet presence beside her.
"you come here a lot," he said after a moment, not looking at her this time.
"well, fuyumi’s my best friend," y/n replied easily. "this place feels like a second home."
touya gave a soft hum of acknowledgment but didn’t say anything else. he seemed to be considering her words, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the tv screen. y/n let the silence hang, not sure what else to say, and for once, it seemed like touya didn’t either.
eventually, he stretched and stood up, breaking the quiet between them. "anyway, i should head to bed," he said, running a hand through his hair. "goodnight, y/n."
"night," she replied, watching as he moved toward the stairs.
he paused in the doorway, glancing back at her with a smirk that she couldn’t quite place. "oh, and y/n?" his voice was casual, but there was a glint of something mischievous in his eyes.
"yeah?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "i’m just curious. you sure fuyumi’s the only reason you come around here so much?" his tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it that made her heart skip a beat.
y/n blinked, caught off guard. "what’s that supposed to mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. she tried to play it cool, but she could feel her face heating up just a little.
touya shrugged, his smirk deepening. "nothing, just wondering. you’ve been coming here for years—figured maybe there’s more to it."
"dude, seriously?" she huffed, rolling her eyes. "it’s for fuyumi. don’t flatter yourself."
he chuckled softly, clearly enjoying her reaction. "alright, alright. just asking," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "goodnight, y/n."
"goodnight," she shot back, watching as he finally disappeared up the stairs, leaving her sitting there, heart racing a little faster than she’d like to admit.
even though she knew he was just messing with her, the question lingered in her mind longer than she expected. he was teasing, sure—but it felt like he wasn’t completely guessing either. the thought made her stomach flip, but she shook it off, trying to convince herself it was nothing.
turning off the tv, y/n headed to bed, telling herself she wouldn’t overthink it. but as she lay there in the quiet house, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something between them had shifted, even if just a little.
---
"we'll be back later tonight, y/n!" fuyumi said as she gave y/n a quick hug. she was currently going to some kind of convention with her younger brother shoto. y/n insisted that it be just the two of them go for some bonding time and fuyumi honestly appreciated her consideration.
"yeah, be safe." y/n smiled and fuyumi's closed the door after following behind shoto. y/n went to the kitchen to wash up the dishes. afterall, she'd just finished eating lunch with fuyumi. she was lost in her own thoughts until she felt a presence just behind her, making her jump slightly.
“you always zone out like that?” touya’s voice came from directly behind her, teasing and low, startling her out of her thoughts.
y/n spun around quickly, clutching the dish towel a little tighter than necessary. “geez, touya, you scared me!” she said, trying to calm her racing heart. he had this way of sneaking up on her when she least expected it.
touya leaned against the counter, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. “didn’t mean to. just seems like you’re always deep in thought when you’re alone.” his eyes flicked down to the dish towel in her hands, and he raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t have to do the dishes, you know. we’re not that formal.”
y/n shrugged, turning back to the sink to finish rinsing the last plate. “just trying to be helpful. figured fuyumi would appreciate it.”
he made a small noise of acknowledgment but didn’t move from his spot. she could feel his gaze on her as she dried her hands, the air between them once again filled with that same quiet tension from the night before. but there was something different about it this time—something that made her more aware of his presence, more aware of the way he stood just a little too close.
“so,” he started, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of curiosity, “what are you doing today? since you’ve got the place to yourself.”
y/n turned to face him, leaning against the counter opposite him. “not sure yet. maybe just relax, watch some movies. it’s kind of nice having some quiet time.”
touya tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “and you don’t mind being here alone? in my house?” the way he said it, so casual yet laced with something almost playful, sent a small shiver down her spine.
“it’s fuyumi’s house too,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “besides, i’m used to it by now.”
he chuckled softly, the sound low and a little rough. “fair enough. but still... feels different when it’s just us, doesn’t it?”
y/n blinked, not sure how to respond to that. the way he looked at her, so direct, so unapologetically confident, made her feel like he was pulling at something she wasn’t ready to confront.
“you’re... really good at making things awkward, you know that?” she finally said, crossing her arms and trying to play it off with a laugh.
touya’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “oh, am i? didn’t realize i had that effect on you.” his voice dropped slightly on the last word, and y/n felt her cheeks heat up.
“that’s not—ugh, never mind,” she muttered, turning to put away the towel, hoping he didn’t notice her flustered reaction. but of course, he did.
he pushed off the counter and stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “relax, i’m just messing with you,” he said softly, his voice a little too close to her ear. “but you’re kind of fun to tease, you know.”
y/n shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” she said, her heart beating faster than she would’ve liked. there was something about the way he was acting today—something that felt more intentional, more focused, like he was testing the waters.
“we’ll see,” touya murmured, stepping back finally, giving her some space. “anyway, enjoy your quiet day,” he added, turning toward the stairs. but before he left the kitchen, he paused, glancing over his shoulder with that same unreadable look from last night. “and y/n... if you get bored, you know where to find me.”
she rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at her lips. “yeah, yeah. don’t hold your breath.”
touya chuckled and disappeared up the stairs, leaving her standing there, a mix of confusion and something else swirling in her chest. it was just touya being touya, right? always teasing, always pushing buttons. but for some reason, it felt like there was more to it now, like he was waiting for her to react in a way she wasn’t ready for.
shaking her head, y/n tried to brush it off and went back to cleaning up the kitchen. but even as she went through the motions, her mind kept drifting back to touya’s words, to the way he looked at her, and to the strange feeling that maybe—just maybe—he was right. something between them had shifted, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face what that meant.
---
after an hour of flipping through channels and trying to distract herself, y/n finally gave in to the boredom that had been creeping up on her. she glanced at the empty living room, then up toward the stairs where touya had disappeared. she really didn’t want to admit it, but the house felt too quiet without fuyumi around, and—whether she liked it or not—touya was the only other person here.
with a resigned sigh, she pushed herself off the couch and made her way upstairs, her footsteps feeling louder than usual on the wooden steps. as she reached the top, she hesitated for a moment before knocking lightly on touya’s door.
“what?” his voice came through the door, sounding both mildly irritated and amused at the same time.
y/n rolled her eyes and pushed the door open slightly. “i’m bored. you wanna watch a movie or something?”
touya, who was lying on his bed with his phone in hand, glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. “you’re that bored, huh?” he said, smirking as he sat up.
“yeah, well, you’re the only one here,” she shot back, leaning against the doorframe. “so, you in or not?”
he stretched lazily, then stood up, his smirk still firmly in place. “sure, but let’s watch it in here. i’ve got a better tv.” he motioned toward the flat screen mounted on his wall.
y/n hesitated. watching a movie in his room felt... different. more personal. but before she could think too much about it, touya had already grabbed the remote and flopped back onto his bed, patting the space beside him. “come on, i don’t bite. unless you ask nicely,” he added with a teasing grin.
she rolled her eyes again but walked in, sitting down on the edge of the bed, trying to keep some distance between them. “just pick something,” she said, crossing her arms in a show of nonchalance.
touya scrolled through the movie options, his gaze flicking toward her every now and then, clearly enjoying the way she was trying to act casual. “how about a horror movie?” he suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “you know, something to get your heart racing.”
y/n shot him a look. “if you think i’m gonna get scared and cling to you, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“who said anything about clinging?” he smirked, selecting a movie without waiting for her answer. the opening scene flickered onto the screen, the eerie music setting the tone.
they watched in silence for a while, but y/n couldn’t ignore the tension building in the room. she was hyper-aware of touya’s presence next to her—the heat from his body, the way he stretched out comfortably while she sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, trying to act unaffected. every now and then, she’d glance at him out of the corner of her eye, catching the faint smirk that never seemed to leave his lips.
about halfway through the movie, during a particularly quiet scene, touya shifted closer, his arm brushing lightly against hers. y/n tensed up, her heart picking up speed despite her best efforts to keep her cool.
“you okay there?” touya asked, his voice low, teasing. “you seem a little... jumpy.”
y/n scoffed, trying to play it off. “i’m fine.”
but then, his hand moved—slowly, deliberately—and rested on her knee. the touch was casual, almost innocent, but it sent a spark through her that she couldn’t quite ignore. she swallowed hard, focusing on the screen, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.
“you sure about that?” touya asked, his voice soft and almost mocking. his fingers brushed lightly against her knee, a barely-there touch that felt far more intimate than it should have.
y/n bit her lip, her heart racing now. she couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or if he was just messing with her, but either way, it was working. she could feel her composure slipping, her breath coming just a little faster.
“you’re... annoying,” she muttered, trying to sound unaffected.
touya chuckled softly, his hand still resting on her knee. “am i? or are you just bad at hiding how flustered you get around me?”
her eyes snapped to his, and she saw the challenge in his gaze, the way he was watching her closely, waiting for her reaction. he was pushing her buttons, testing her limits, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep pretending it wasn’t getting to her.
“i’m not flustered,” she shot back, her voice a little too defensive.
“sure you’re not,” he murmured, his thumb brushing ever so lightly over her skin now, the sensation sending a shiver up her spine.
y/n clenched her fists, determined not to let him see how much he was affecting her. “you’re ridiculous,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the screen, though she couldn’t focus on the movie anymore.
touya leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “maybe. but you’re not moving away, are you?”
her breath hitched slightly, and she cursed herself for not pulling away earlier. he was right—she hadn’t moved, hadn’t told him to stop. and now, with him this close, his touch lingering, it was harder to remember why she hadn’t.
“i—” she started, but the words caught in her throat as his hand slid up just a little higher, resting on her thigh now, his fingers curling slightly against her skin.
the tension between them was almost unbearable, the air thick with something unspoken, something that felt like it had been building for a while now. y/n’s mind raced, torn between the urge to push him away and the undeniable pull that kept her frozen in place, her pulse quickening with every second that passed.
“still think i’m annoying?” touya’s voice was barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to her ear, the teasing edge in his tone softened by something else—something darker, more serious.
y/n swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. “yes,” she whispered back, though the word came out shaky, betraying her.
touya chuckled, his hand squeezing her thigh gently before finally pulling away, leaving her skin tingling in the absence of his touch. he leaned back against the pillows, his smirk firmly in place, but there was a new intensity in his eyes, one that made her stomach twist in ways she wasn’t ready to admit.
“you’re fun, y/n,” he said, his voice casual again, though the tension in the room hadn’t fully dissipated. “but you’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are.”
y/n exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. “shut up,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words.
he laughed softly, turning his attention back to the movie, but y/n could still feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken challenge lingering in the air between them. whatever game they were playing, she wasn’t sure if she was winning—or if she even wanted to.
as the movie continued to play, the room felt heavier, thick with unspoken tension. y/n tried to focus on the screen, but her mind kept drifting back to the way touya's hand had felt on her thigh, the lingering warmth of his touch making it hard to think straight.
he didn't say anything for a while, content to watch the movie-or at least, that's what it seemed like. but y/n could feel him stealing glances at her, could sense the quiet anticipation in the air. it was as if they were both waiting for the other to make the next move, teetering on the edge of something neither of them could ignore any longer.
her heart raced as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching the way his smirk had softened into something less teasing, more serious. his eyes weren't on the tv anymore- they were on her, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
"you're really not into this movie, are you?" touya's voice cut through the quiet, low and knowing.
y/n huffed, shifting in place. "i'm watching," she insisted, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. she could feel the tension growing with each passing second, her pulse quickening as the weight of his stare made her hyper-aware of the space between them.
or rather, the lack of space.
"really?" touya's tone was teasing again, but there was something deeper in it now-something more focused, more deliberate. "cause it seems like you're a little... distracted."
y/n's breath hitched as he shifted closer, his knee brushing against hers now. she could feel the heat radiating off him, the pull between them growing stronger with every second.
"maybe it's you who's distracting," she shot back, her voice steadier than she expected, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. not yet. not when her heart was pounding this fast.
touya chuckled, the sound low and rough, and she could feel the way it vibrated through her. "you think so?"
finally, she turned to face him, and the moment their eyes met, it was like the air was sucked out of the room. the teasing smirk on his face had faded, replaced by something darker, something she wasn't sure she could resist any longer. his gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes, the silent question clear.
she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "what are you doing, touya?"
"what do you think i'm doing?" he murmured, his voice softer now, but laced with a kind of confidence that made her stomach twist in ways she couldn't ignore. his hand reached up, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek, the touch so soft it sent a shiver down her spine.
y/n's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. she knew where this was headed, knew that if she didn't stop it now, there'd be no going back. but the more she thought about it, the less she wanted to stop. the pull between them was too strong, the tension too thick, and it felt like they'd been building to this moment for longer than either of them wanted to admit.
"touya..." she whispered, but the protest in her voice was weak, barely there.
he didn't say anything, just leaned in a little closer, his thumb brushing against her lower lip, making her breath hitch again. his eyes were locked on hers, and in that moment, everything else faded away-the movie, the room, the fact that this was fuyumi's house. all that mattered was him, and the way he was looking at her, like he was daring her to close the distance.
and then, without thinking, she did.
it was like something snapped inside her, all the tension that had been building between them finally breaking free. her hand reached up, fingers curling into his shirt as she pulled him toward her, their lips crashing together in a kiss that was more desperate than she'd expected.
touya responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. his lips were warm, firm, moving against hers with a kind of urgency that matched the wild thrum of her pulse. she could feel the heat of him.
y/n gasped as his teeth grazed her lower lip, sending a jolt of electricity through her, and touya took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, the kiss growing hotter, more intense. her mind was spinning, her heart racing, and she could barely think straight-only feel the way his body pressed against hers, the way his hands roamed up her back, pulling her impossibly closer.
she wasn't sure how long they kissed- time seemed to blur, the movie forgotten in the background. all that mattered was the heat between them, the way his lips felt against hers, the way his hands gripped her waist like he didn't want to let go.
eventually, they pulled apart, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath. y/n's mind was racing, her lips tingling, and she couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
"you-" she started, her voice shaky, but touya cut her off with a soft, breathless laugh.
"you started it," he teased, though his voice was husky, his breath warm against her cheek.
y/n rolled her eyes."shut up," she muttered, though there was no heat behind it.
touya's grin widened, his fingers brushing against her cheek again, softer this time. "you don't want me to," he said, his voice low and teasing, but there was something softer in his gaze now-something that made her heart skip a beat. "and you know that."
she didn't respond, just leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way his lips felt against hers. because as much as she wanted to pretend this was just a fluke, something told her that whatever had just started between them wasn't going to end anytime soon.
as their slow kiss deepened, the tension between y/n and touya became almost unbearable. every touch, every brush of their lips seemed to pull them closer, the heat building between them in a way that felt impossible to ignore. y/n’s hands instinctively gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him toward her with more urgency as the kiss grew hungrier, more desperate. touya responded in kind, his grip tightening on her waist, his hands sliding down to her hips as he pulled her flush against him.
the soft, teasing touches from before had given way to something far more intense, more primal, and y/n could feel the shift between them. the air was thick with unspoken desire, and with every kiss, every touch, it became harder to think clearly, harder to hold back.
touya broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against her lips, his voice rough with barely contained need. "you’re driving me insane, sweetheart. if you’re having second thoughts, say it now—or else I’m gonna assume that you actually hate me." there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he was giving her one last chance to stop, but the way his hands gripped her hips told her that he wanted this just as much as she did.
y/n’s breath was shaky as she looked up at him, her pulse racing in her ears. the question hung in the air, and for a moment, she considered pulling back, considered the implications of where this was heading. but the moment she met his gaze, filled with desire and something deeper, she knew that there was no going back now—not with the way her body responded to him, not with the way her heart raced every time he touched her.
instead of answering with words, y/n kissed him again, harder this time, her hands slipping up to tangle in his hair as she pressed herself against him. it was all the confirmation he needed.
touya groaned softly into the kiss, his hands sliding from her hips to her waist, pulling her closer as he shifted, guiding her onto his lap. the feeling of being so close to him, straddling him as his hands roamed up her back, sent a thrill through her that made her shiver. she could feel the heat radiating from him, the growing intensity of his touch as he explored her body with a newfound sense of urgency.
his lips moved to her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin, and y/n couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped her. her body was reacting to him in ways she hadn’t expected, and the way his hands gripped her thighs, kneading the flesh through the fabric of her bottoms, only made her want more.
“touya…” she breathed, her voice shaky as his lips continued their assault on her neck, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. she felt his teeth graze her skin, not quite biting but enough to make her moan again, her body arching against him instinctively. "please..." she practically whined when he only continued to tease her.
she felt the strain of the tented area just beneath her sex. she took advantage of this, forcefully grinding down against him and touya let out a strained moan. "watch it, y/n." he warned, his teeth closing to pinch an area of the skin on her neck. she ignored his words, doing it once more, making him draw back with a deep moan.
touya removed his hand from y/n's waist, his digits firmly grasping her throat. "what did fuck did i just tell you, angel?" he mutters through a heavy breath. she allowed a smile to appear onto her lips. he needed her just as much, but he was dead-set on getting y/n to corrupt before him. he pulled away from her, holding her gaze for a long second.
lust.
the two we're the epitome of that very word. "let's see if that quick mouth of yours is only good for talking shit." touya released y/n from his grip and she slid her straddling position further down to his thighs. he used his hand to gently grasp her nape as she made quick movements to pull down his sweatpants and breifs. she was met with his teased and desperately hard length.
she looked up at him, holding his gaze as her tongue lapped up the leaking pre-cum. touya let out a breathless moan at the warm pleasure to the sensetive area. his grip on her nape tightened when her lips clasped around him, lowering her head as she gradually took in more of his length. she let her jaw relax and shut her eyes tightly as she tried to focus on taking in as much as she could.
"f-fuck." touya moaned, his bottom lip catching between his teeth as he fought to hold his composure. "more." he moaned, breath hitching in his throat when y/n lifted her head before the tip of her nose met with his lower abdomen once again. y/n continued this motion, only stopping to take a deep breath. touya held y/n's nape, not allowing her back up. she reached for his hand, interlocking his fingers with his own. she tried her best to hold out for a few more seconds and finally gave his hand three squeezes. touya imeedietly released her and she came up with a gasp, glaring at him.
"good job, angel." he smiled, eyes focused on her reddened lips. when touya's eyes flickered back up to her own, he saw the small frown on her lips. "don't be like that. I'll let you fuck me, but i tell you what to do." he leaned closer to her, placing his lips against hers. "remember that." he watched as y/n rolled her eyes, making him let out a small laugh.
"say's who?" y/n questioned, allowing touya's fingers to trail just beneath the hem of her shirt. his fingers were warm against her even warmer skin, causing her to shudder slightly. "who do you think?"
"what makes you so confident touya?" it was a genuine question on y/n's part. every action he made was never hesitated and neither were his words. "because you haven't stopped me," he says, fingers trailing just beneath the waistband of both layers of clothing. "not even when i do this." two pads of touya’s digits pressed against her bud, massaging the area as y/n leaned into his touch and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.
she let out a moan of his name and touya pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. "if you don't tell me exactly what you want, angel -- i cant give it to you." touya continue and y/n wrapped her fist around his wrist. she whined, head feeling foggy from the pure feeling of bliss and pleasure. she used a free hand to wrap around touya’s length but he held her hand, stopping her from doing anything.
"you can have me, sweetheart, but you gotta come first."
that only drove y/n to grind herself against his fingers. touya was amused by how desperate she was becoming. he was desperate himself, but he'd hold out for however long it took if it meant getting to see y/n fall apart just from his touch.
as she continued, her moans heightened and her breath quickened, making touya pull his fingers away. "touya, are you trying to kill me?" she groaned. "now why would i ever want that?" the smirk on his lips made y/n feel more vulnerable than before. she needed him and they both knew that. "let me make you feel good." y/n nodded to his words with pleading eyes and lifted herself up a bit to remove her restricting layers of clothing.
y/n let out a small cry at the new sensation of him being inside of her. she was hesitant to relax and let herself take in the rest of him. touya reached for her hands, interlocking his fingers in-between her own. "relax, you can take it. i know you can." while it seemed that he was trying to comfort her, his tone said otherwise.
it was taunting-- teasing even. like he was daring her to do so. like he wanted to prove that he would always be above her when it came to this unspoken competition thats been the blueprint of their relationship since the first time they met. she did just that.
touya let out a sigh of satisfaction at the engulfed warmth against him. his strokes were tedious and slow. with every one, the smile on his lips grew wider since y/n's was completely unraveling beneath his touch. he attempted to control his breaths, but if he was being honest with himself, he could topple over the edge given the right movement.
he swore to himself that he wouldn't let that happen. not until he got y/n to finish first. that task was incredibly easy since the minute he pulled her down to him to give her a long and lustful kiss, y/n bit down on his bottom lip due to the pleasure. the change in positioning allowed touya to reach that spot that never failed to make her entire being weak.
"touya.." she drew out a long whine. he hummed, adjusting for her to face him. she held his gaze as he spoke. "words, n/n." he said, waiting for her to reply. she only let out a small whimper at the lack of pleasure. "what? you goin' dumb on me?" he teased, making her gare. she shook her head, not even caring how weak she looked when it came to he and his words.
"tell me what you want. fuyumi might be coming back soon. i can't give you what you want if she's here and able to hear her bestfriend losing her mind over-"
"shut up, touya." y/n groaned. "make me come. that's what i want. is that good enough for you?" she finally spoke. he analyzed her features, her eyes welled with a coat of tears. "please." her voice barely louder than a whisper.
he didn't bother to reply and only gave her what she wanted. what he wanted as well. but she could never know that, could she? pleasure-filled noises filled the room, the heat of their bodies fueling them all the more. touya held y/n close to his chest as she took one of her hands from his own to ball his shirt into her fist. anything to ground herself to reality. he was pushing her over the edge physically and mentally. call it a sick game of his, it was being enjoyed by the both of them.
the sounds bouncing off of the walls being proof of that.
his toungue dragged over her neck as the warmth in her abdomen heated. the sensation riveting in her core caused the tightening coil to finally snap. y/n cried out and touya gripped her hips tightly as she clenched down on him. "y/n." he groaned at the action. he quickly lifted her from his length despite her reluctance and pleas. he replaced the void with his fingers, shutting her up and helping her riding out her high as she grinded her bud against his palm. she moaned, eyes shut tightly.
as she finally began to settle from her high, she was about to let herself relax, but touya spoke. "that's selfish of you, y/n. besides, don't you think you deserve what you worked so hard for?" his hand was wrapped around his length. y/n wanted to say no. damage his high ego even if it was just a small amount. yet, she couldn’t.
his expanded pupils met with her own as his eyelids were low, capturing every movement she made, including the one where she used up the last bit of her energy to lean down to his lap and once again taking in the current most sensetive part of his entire being. he mumbled small praises to y/n as she pleased him. she let out a hum around him when his hand firmly gripped her nape to pull her off of him.
"y/n, i'm gonna come." he warned. like mentioned before, the blueprint of their relationship was some sort of competition, so when touya couldn't physically stop his body from going over the edge, the warmth of his arousal spouting from the tip of his length and meeting y/n's tongue just before she swallowed, he knew that he no longer was above y/n. they were even once again and y/n knew that. infact, it was her goal.
she released him, chest heaving after holding her breath for such a long period of time. she used the back of her hand to wipe away the remains of his come that had made its way to the corner of her lips. "can't let me have anything can you?" touya rolled his eyes, pulling y/n towards him.
she couldn’t even have control over her weakened body as her head met with his warm chest.
"you can't tell fuyumi about this, touya." y/n said, now serious as they both began to settle down from the adrenaline endorsed moment.
"why would i spoil the fun, angel? I'd love to see how long you can keep your cool."
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The Boys Preference: Wearing Something Tight/Skimpy
Requested: heyy! can i request a The Boys preference where (during early relationship) they see reader in more tight fitting clothes for the very first time (reader usually wears baggy jeans and oversized shirts, but now for once wears shorts and a tight fitting tanktop or smth) tysm! - @yinorathedragontamer
A/N: Screaming I love this! As someone who loves baggy clothing, there's nothing better than showing off the ✨️goods✨️ when I feel like it lol. This was super fun to imagine! I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
Butcher is pretty shocked. Whereas you usually lean towards oversized shirts and big pants, you were dressed in something revealing, tight. You tried to look casual, secure, but underneath you were full of insecurities. You think I look stupid, you say, following his gaze up and down your body. Stupid is the last word he'd ever use. Butcher wears this wicked smile, telling you exactly what he thinks. You laugh, telling him to shut up before he's saying anything else. He loves what he sees. Because your relationship is still new, he's trying to be on his best behavior, but you know how his mind works. You throw your sweatshirt over your outfit, calling him ridiculous, laughing at him. Now that he knows what's underneath those oversized layers, he can't keep his thoughts or hands off you.
Hughie is all giggles and smiles. He hadn't realized you'd kept one of your suits from your time at The Seven. This suit, however, was different from the one you regularly wore. This was tighter, more exposing, showing off every curve and contour of your body. It was the only one you were allowed to take with you and there was a reason you rarely put it on. He wasn't used to seeing you like this. You wore big sweatshirts and wide pants. He never thought he'd be as surprised as he was when he finally saw you, but he was. Your body was. . . wow. He tries to hide his excitement, but he can't. Seeing this, you do a little spin for him, growing self-conscious. Do I look stupid? You ask. He's quick to tell you you look amazing. Because your relationship is still new, he doesn't want to sound too excited, but to him, you look amazing. He's glad he got to see you like this.
Annie wants to show you off to everyone. She knows now is not the time nor place: you've put on your old Supe suit to make a point against those in favor of Homelander. It's serious and important and dangerous given his fans would do anything to get a piece of you, anything to tear you down. But she can't help it, she can't take her eyes off you. She's never seen you in your suit before. You quit The Seven before your promo pictures could come out, after you'd been introduced. You took the suit with you. By then, you'd had a sort of a cult following, people interested in your story before you had the spotlight shown on you. It helped that you and Annie were newly together. She hadn't realized you'd kept your suit so when you showed up at Starlight House wearing it, she was speechless. She'd never seen your body like that before. She couldn't take her eyes off you.
M.M. is speechless. You got all dressed up for a date. Before this, your dates had always been casual, spur of the moment, low key. Tonight Marvin went all out for reservations at a fancy place you'd never even heard of. You figured you'd pull out your best clothes which just so happened to be a little tighter and more revealing that your typical wardrobe. He picks you up at your place, not recognizing you at first. You're self-conscious, making a joke about your appearance before anyone else has the chance. He wouldn't though. He thinks you look amazing. He was always more than a little curious as to what exactly you were hiding under big t-shirts and baggy pants, but your relationship was new and so he felt a little shy wondering. Now he was glad he had waited: you were breath taking.
Frenchie is obsessed. Mon Couer, where have you been hiding all this?! It definitely makes you laugh and a little embarrassed. He's never minded your usual clothes. He's all for oversized sweatshirts and comfort and the overall aesthetic. He thinks you look adorable in your usual clothes, but this? Wow. Just wow. You jokingly tell him to pick is jaw off the floor. You and Kimiko are going undercover as a wealthy couple. She's all dressed up and waiting for you. Not only are your clothes expensive looking, but they fit like a glove. He's never seen so much of your body. It drives him wild. You get compliments from everyone, but Frenchie, your new boyfriend, can't get enough of you. If this mission weren't so important and time sensitive, he would have spent the whole night telling you just how sexy you looked.
Kimiko has never seen this much of you all at once. Together you're going undercover. She's wearing a dress with her hair and makeup done. It makes her feel like a clown. Still, she does it because she has to. And you do, too. You lose the baggy pants and big shirts for something a lot more tight and way more revealing. The rest of The Boys have a lot to say, all of it you laugh at and tell them to shut up. Kimiko hopes it's too dark to see that she's blushing, watching you step out of the car. If she spoke she would have been speechless. Instead she plays it off cool, telling you you look great, before going in. In any chance she can get though she stares you up and down, taking you in, smiling to herself. She doesn't get distracted about anything, but you? Oh you're all she can think about.
Bonus! Homelander doesn't really think about your body, or anyone's body. It's more of a want more than anything else and it typically involves milk. Still, when you come out and show everyone your suit, he's pretty speechless. Your civilian clothes and fashion are oversized, baggy, and comfortable. He's never really seen your body before, no one has. Your PR team wanted to fix that though. You're not so sure about your suit: it leaves little to the imagination. When you step out you're embarrassed, wishing for your sweatshirt. Homelander never compliments anyone unless it's backhanded, but he really does like what he sees. It's kind of a throw away line, one that seems innocent and nonchalant, but for him it's a huge deal. He can't stop thinking about you. Even when you put on the other variations, he has final say. Everyone is too scared to say no to him. He liked the first one so you wear the first one.
Bonus! Soldier Boy is practically drooling. The moment he sees you his jaw is on the floor. He's never minded your usual fashion: baggy clothes were comfortable and cute. He would have minded had he known you were hiding *all that* beneath oversized sweatshirts/sweaters/t-shirts and baggy pants. He can't help himself (not that he ever held anything back usually) when he makes remarks and jokes and innuendos. It comes out so fast it's almost compulsive, he's barely breathing between words. The Boys think it's hilarious how much attention you're getting from him considering they've grown used to these switch ups between clothes. He practically begs you for an ounce of attention, affection, and you use it as leverage. As long as you're wearing as little as possible, Soldier Boy will do anything you want.
✧ STORMBRINGER CHUUYA AS YOUR GUY BSF IS ....
✧ w/c: 588 ✧ content: drabbles & headcanons of cute things with stormbringer! chuuya
☆ a shocked yet distasteful groan pulling from his throat when you show him a picture of a celebrity you find cute, grumbling about how your taste in men sucks ass. you didn't think he was jealous, just shocked at the creature he was looking at. though sometimes, you barely graze the envy on his face when you actually interact with another boy; especially if he's your type, because chuuya knows. still, he brushes your friendly smile with stupidity—because the dude you're talking with 'isn't even all that.'
☆ like having an annoyed caretaker, always keeping an eye out for you, rebuking your recklessness. just appalled that you have this much carelessness for your life on a day to day basis. but even though he'd scold you gently for anything stupid or clumsy you pull, you'd always find a gloved hand reaching out to you, providing support. either when you've stumbled, or you're about to jump off a ledge from even the smallest of heights.
☆ falling face first into the ground whilst trying to fight off one of the port mafia's powerful enemies because your shoelaces were untied. humilated, you found yourself sitting on a bench as chuuya unashamedly scolds you for your rookie mistake. knelt down as he still ties your shoes. "do you double knot your laces?" he'll ask, if you already said yes, the boy would finish one shoe with a tight squeeze, before gently patting your ankle to lace the other one, "well you better start triple knottin' em!"
☆ late night calls about the silliest things. chuuya would have his camera on in his pajamas, either mindlessly fiddling with his guitar, doing some chores, or cooking simply out of boredom. he'd rant about his day, the jewel marketing circulation, this crazy fuck named 'dazai', how much he admires his superior—kouyou, and his friends which call themselves 'the flags'. in return, you can tell him all the school gossip you've picked up on, new music you caught onto, your rants in your notes app.
☆ exchanging knowing side glances at each other when someone's being annoying or a dumb fuck. it's the kind of look two sassy girls would stare at each other with a secret disdain for the person in front of them.
☆ chuuya keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you and him only. at first, it was extra incase he lost his own hair tie, but soon, if you ever needed one, he always keeps extra on his wrist so you wouldn't have messy hair flying everywhere.
☆ taking unwanted photos of chuuya while he chases after you to delete them. sometimes, it'd be mid sneeze or the boy yawning carelessly. he definitely cares once you've did a close up shot where he looks like the epitome of a ginger leprechaun. he'd (try to) snatch your phone and now gives you the stinkiest side eye when you even try to point your phone at him.
☆ unconsciously resting an arm behind your shoulders when you're both sitting side by side. for chuuya, it provides a comforting stretch for his arms, and it feels safer knowing that he can just manuver you if there was ever an unexpected attack. for you, the fact that he just does it so casually makes you a nervous wreck.
☆ believing wholeheartedly that he's human. afterall, you wouldn't feel this much adoration for a code of strings, no? you always internally chide him if he thinks otherwise, but as friends, you thought it's better to give him a comforting pat on the back.
✧ chocsra™
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ match my freak !!
ᝰ.ᐟ the two of you are private not secret, but when the media starts to speculate that the two of you are no longer together, neither of you are too happy. the best way to get everyone to stop with the breakup rumors? posting something a little bit nasty to the feed to satiate everyone's curiosity. (fem!reader)
featuring tobio kageyama, atsumu miya, tetsurou kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima, tooru oikawa, rintarou suna content contains breeding kink (atsumu, wakatoshi), pregnant reader (wakatoshi), famous!reader (changes depending on scenario), creampie (tetsurou), hatefucking (not really, you + kuroo just like to antagonize each other but the attraction is there), scratches on his back (tobio), hickeys (tooru), wet n messy (rintarou), possessive!character x possessive!reader (the two of you are obsessed with each other ok), social media references lol author's notes i'm definitely doing a blue lock version, i'm just seeing if this is a popular premise lol <3 based off this original concept !! these are just silly little drabbles for me to warm up to the idea of writing again haha
౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA
your fans are speculating: that you and kageyama have broken up. fans are recording footage from you on your latest tour and claim that you're "clearly disassociating" and "somewhere else mentally" when it comes to singing your iconic love songs. you and kageyama have always kept your relationship private because he's not a very open person to begin with, and you don't want to give the media more material to misconstrue. you know that kageyama hates when some random person will annotate your verses on genius lyrics and try to make the claim that your innocent metaphor is you wanting to jump ship and leave kageyama. and you hate how it's your own fans who are making wild accusations of you no longer being with the man all your love songs are about.
you posted: kageyama, with his back turned to the camera so all that fills your camera is the surprisingly broad expanse of his muscular back and shoulders. he's not even flexing, and it's obvious that he's a world-class athlete. he's facing the closet, trying to find a shirt to put on, and it would be a semi-innocent photo, the pinterest-perfect photo inspo for every private not secret relationship out there, except for the fact that there are clearly faint, red lines — scratches — running down his back. you caption the photo with a "monday morning 🤍" (your insane fans spam the comment section to exclaim how they knew you two were still a thing... and to speculate that this photo is somehow an easter egg for an upcoming song/album. well, they're right: you two will always be a thing, and tobio dicked you down so good last night that you could write him a whole album.)
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"fuck," the word slips through his gritted teeth, and you can tell that your tobio is still upset about how your fans seem divided. half of them claim no one could ever make them hate tobio (you find those fans to be absolutely adorable), and the other half...
well, the other half are making slideshow posts to audios that go "some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world" and the ones that seem to go viral are always the ones that feature you and tobio.
"not hidin' you away." he mutters, never slowing down his thrusts. he admires the expression on your face as he fucks into you, his ego pleased with how receptive you are to his every movement. he has you speared on his cock, your tight little cunt full of him, your eyes getting so adorably teared-up because he's just a little bit too much for you to handle. tobio isn't good with words; he thinks you're the most beautiful girl to exist, but he can't verbalize it. so he just takes in your sweet, fucked-out face, the reaction only he's capable of drawing from you, and it all gets so overwhelming for him.
he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash as he continues to bully his cock into your soaked pussy. "why's it bad if i want to keep you all to myself?" he's practically whining, and you think this would be so cute if only you weren't currently chasing after your release. or rather, tobio's forcing you to cum, whether you want to or not. it's not like you can stop him; tobio devotes himself to always ensuring that you finish before him. he likes the satisfaction of knowing only he can take care of you, and he especially likes the way his cock looks with you creaming all over it.
when he gets like this, all you can do is cling to him, your arms wrapped around his muscular build. when he gets rough with his thrusts, when his body gets just the slightest bit sweaty from the exertion (evidence of just how much work he puts into fucking you), you have to dig your manicured nails (the set he paid for) into the skin of his toned back. otherwise, you'd lose your grip, and your hands would slip off.
tobio relishes the slight stinging pain of your nails scratching down his skin. but the scratches aren't enough. he needs to make you cum. when you get so caught up in your climax, you start clawing at him as you lose control. he loves the scratches you leave on him; it's proof that he's yours just as much as you are his.
౨ৎ ATSUMU MIYA
haters are saying: that you're just using atsumu for content. you're a gold digger. you're not genuine. you're not "wifey material." spectators are claiming that atsumu is playing worse than before because he's too "pussywhipped" for you. well, he likes to cheekily admit to you that he is addicted to your pussy, but they're wrong about everything else. obviously. however, the haters are feeling very vindicated whenever they see atsumu hasn't been posting you as much. (you're traveling for a new vlog series on your page, but no one knows.)
he posted: a mirror selfie. which isn't breaking news. atsumu miya always breaks the internet when he posts a mirror selfie because the only thing worse than a hot guy is a hot guy who knows he's hot. no one is a stranger to the sight of a post-workout, sweaty, shirtless atsumu, who flaunts his tight abs and muscular thighs with a steamy mirror selfie. but this photo? this one is going triple platinum. it's going down in history. this selfie is taken in dim lighting; the curtains in the background are drawn shut, he's got one hand gripping his phone (making the phone look tiny in his big hand), and he's got one arm wrapped around you. it's not an innocent hug, though. he's cupping your ass, and the phone in front of his face does nothing to shield his satisfied smirk. you're clad in nothing but lacy lingerie from a designer who loves to sponsor you, and you're clinging to his side, almost like you can't even stand without his support. it's clear that the two of you definitely were... appreciating the work your favorite designer put in when they created that lacy set.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"what do you think?" you're smiling at him, knowing damn well what he's thinking.
atsumu looks up at you, reflexively licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you wearing a new set of lingerie that you just got delivered. it leaves little room for imagination, and the material looks so delicate, atsumu is already thinking about how he'll have to apologize to the designer for ripping it off of you.
"i think I'm the luckiest man alive right now." atsumu is shameless in the way he's admiring you, the way the setting sun still peeks through the curtains, enveloping your body in a delicious golden glow as you inch closer and closer to him.
in a matter of seconds, he's pulling you on top of him, placing wet, sloppy kisses over any centimeter of your skin he can reach. when you make a move to slip off the panties, he protests.
"leave 'em on f'me, baby. please?"
he fucks you with you still wearing the lingerie set. your breasts are spilling out of the bra, and all he did was move your panties to the side so he could stretch you out with his cock.
"fuckin' idiots, tellin' me you're not good enough to marry. i'll show 'em what a good girl you are, right? gonna put a ring on your finger, and make you my wife." he's fucking his cock into you, making sure that your cute cunt knows who it belongs to. "gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. no one's gonna say shit about our family, huh? 'cause i won't let 'em."
your cunt clenches up so nicely with every comment he makes that atsumu knows he has to make all those pussydrunk promises come true.
౨ৎ TETSUROU KUROO
the tabloids are posting: paparazzi photos of you — the socialite daughter of the man who owns the msby black jackals, and jva's promotion division's golden boy, tetsurou kuroo. it's late at night, and the two of you are clearly leaving a party celebrating the success of another eventful volleyball season. you're wearing the iconic ysl heels with a black mini-dress that honestly should be called a micro-dress. your hair is a mess, you're walking like your knees are struggling not to wobble, and walking three steps behind you despite his longer stride is kuroo; his tie is crooked, his cheeks are flushed, and he has a grin that says something like i just fucked one of the richest bratty heiresses in japan, and i left her wanting more. the amount of blind items that are allegedly alluding to you and kuroo are being spread all over tiktok. one reads, "this sports club heiress was seen exiting a party with this semi-known marketing mastermind who works in the sports industry. apparently, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and no one can recall seeing them together during the party; everyone only caught glimpses of them running away from the festivities together."
you posted: a photo slideshow on instagram of your absolutely iconic outfit from the party, only these photos were clearly taken before the party. your hair is done, your makeup is perfect, and your caption states don't believe everything you read. the last slide is a screenshot of an online headline speculating about your "new man" with a photo of a grinning kuroo from that night. the reason why this makes everyone go insane is because you're no stranger to a scandal — this is, however, the first time you've ever addressed a headline.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"hurry up," you hiss, your eyes darting from left to right as you make sure no one is nowhere near the secluded corridor kuroo somehow managed to find.
"y'know, i thought girls were supposed to like guys who don't blow their loads prematurely." even when he's bullying his cock into your slicked up cunt, savoring the way your sensitive walls are clenching around his dick, tetsurou has a very annoying habit of still sounding entirely in control. for someone who can't keep his hands to himself when it comes to you, he's irritatingly great at playing nonchalant.
but he's just a man, after all. he might tower over you, his large body shielding you from any prying eyes, and he might know your body so well that he can bring you to completion twice (once with his fingers curling against that special spot of yours, and another one so rudely wrung out from you when he slid his cock in your orgasm-recovering, overly sensitive pussy) in just the fifteen minutes he's been toying with you tonight, but you know that he must be feeling something. you saw him shift his pants the moment his eyes met yours from across the room, when his eyes travelled down your body and followed the way your dress emphasized the curvatures of your body.
"if you don't finish right now, i'm not going to let you cum inside." you threaten him, trying to steady your voice as you bite back a moan. it'd be a major issue if the two of you got caught, with the volleyball association's golden boy being buried balls-deep inside a sports team owner's bratty daughter.
with every sharp snap of his hips, kuroo is only forcing more slick to come gushing out of your pussy. he can't even take the time to admire the white ring you left around his cock; he's too focused on chasing after his release because he didn't get to where he's at by not being opportunistic.
"if i cum inside, you have to keep it in your panties the whole night. you wouldn't want that, would you?" he sounds a little breathless now, his pace quickening as his thrusts get sloppier. he's smiling at you, that damn annoying smile that makes you want to roll your eyes or insult him. but your body betrays you. his grin only widens when your pussy tightens up at the idea of having his cum soaking in your panties while you interact with people at this party. a dirty little secret shared only between you two.
he lets out a breathy chuckle at your body's betrayal. "okay, princess. since you want it so badly, i guess i better give it to you."
you could practically cum again the minute you feel the warmth of him finishing inside of you. you're a spoiled brat who gets what she wants, and while you refuse to admit it, you want him. all of him.
and he's going to give it to you.
౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA
the media is going crazy over: the fact that ushijima is the type of person who doesn't clarify anything because he just assumes that everyone can read his mind. he's blunt, sure, but he's not really the type who does much explaining. after the first game of the season, an interviewer asks him if he enjoyed spending the off-season with you, his girlfriend and one of the most beloved, fan-favorite WAGs of all time. ushijima stares straight into the camera as he states in his usual deep, flat rumble of a voice, "the off-season was successful, but she isn't my girlfriend anymore. thank you." and then he just walks off, like he didn't just drop the most insane piece of information ever?
he posted: a photo of an ultrasound that was clearly taken out of his wallet since it's thrown on the table in the background. he's holding it in his left hand, and the overhead lighting is reflected from the silver wedding band he's wearing. now that he's off the court, he's able to wear it. in typical ushijima fashion, there is no caption, but a picture is worth a thousand words. you're not his girlfriend. you're his wife, and soon to be mother of his child.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"mmph — 'toshi!" you squeal out, your calves burning from the stretch as your beloved wakatoshi has your legs bent and spread for him. he's just so big that you'd never be able to handle all of him, and yet, here you are, bent into a mating press every night since the two of you have gotten married. you try to beg him to slow down, but words escape you as he buries himself into your pussy, letting out a deep, guttural groan as the warmth of your cunt coats his cock. there's no better feeling than this.
even if you could request for him to slow down, it wouldn't have mattered or made much of a difference. your husband has a one-track mind. when wakatoshi is set on a goal, it's hard to break his focus until he sees it to the end. and right now, wakatoshi's goal is to fuck a baby into you, to see you round with life because of the seeds he planted.
he's hunched over you, abs tightening and flexing with every sharp inhale of breath he takes. he's gonna fuck himself empty, going to keep filling your cunt with his seed 'til he's shooting blanks. his eyes glance at the ring he put on your finger before returning to admire your blissful expression and the way your body seems to have gone boneless from all the fucking he's had you endure.
"just a little bit longer." he manages to say, before forcing his cock in even deeper. "just have to make sure it takes."
౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA
everyone is claiming: long distance relationships never last. when oikawa makes the shocking announcement that he is no longer a japanese citizen, everyone immediately wondered what that meant for the future of your relationship. does that mean it's over? officially? if oikawa is leaving behind his hometown, then by default, is he leaving you behind too?
he posted: a photo slideshow, only most of the images were clearly taken by you. the first one is of him driving; the two of you are in his convertible, and he's wearing a white button down with most of the buttons undone. on the stark white of the shirt are kiss marks; the imprint of your lips lined with cherry-red lipstick are all over the material of his shirt and on his freshly-tanned skin. the other photos are of what you two ate for dinner, the sunset from the beach, and a selfie of you two looking more in love than ever. fans are quick to point out the massive hickey on your neck, and tooru tags you in a reply to the top comment that points it out, and he's saying "you missed a spot babe." you reply back, "i ran out of concealer because you gave me too many to cover"
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"i missed you," your boyfriend mumbles into your soft skin. tooru can get so clingy when he goes long periods without seeing you, and you indulge him because he's tooru. he's got his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck, and his breath is warm against your skin as he speaks.
"everyone is saying i'm abandoning you, but that's not true." he whines.
"i know, baby. i don't care." you laugh softly, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands of his hair. he settles into you, and it's almost sweet, until he starts nipping at your skin.
"tooru, what are you doing?" you can't find it in yourself to chastise him too harshly, but you do have to restrain yourself from pulling back.
"jus' want to show everyone that you're still my girl." he peers up at you, licking his lips. "you'll let me do that, won't you?"
tooru bites and sucks at your skin, sharp canines grazing your soft flesh. he sucks at your most sensitive areas while he works his fingers in and out of your gushing cunt. when he pulls his fingers out and holds them up, so the sunlight can shine and really highlight how much of your juices is coating his digits, he smiles. his girl gets this wet just from him marking you up?
as he sucks on his fingers, relishing in the way you taste, he can't help but be happy to know that no matter how far away the two of you are from each other (for now), you're still his girl.
౨ৎ RINTAROU SUNA
your fans are telling you: suna doesn't care about you. suna doesn't put forth any effort into your relationship. suna literally streams on twitch during the off-season yet he can't seem to ever post you?? suna doesn't deserve you. suna—
suna is a lot of things, but nothing like the deadbeat, ashamed boyfriend allegations. in fact, all your well-meaning fans are so far off on how he treats you that you and him get a good laugh from the outrageous conclusions they've jumped to.
you posted: a photo of rintarou with his head on your lap, and you've got your fingers playing with his hair. it's a sweet photo, really. except for the fact that you decided to pair it with an audio that's a snippet of a song that goes "he's so pretty when he goes down on me" and a caption that reads this song is so relatable 🤍
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
anyone who thinks rintarou is a selfish lover, a lazy lover, someone who merely tolerates you or is ashamed to be with you... they clearly don't know either of you very well.
because even when he's exhausted from practice, rintarou comes home craving you. craving your sweetness, your warmth, your love — and your pussy. he's obsessed. rintarou suna loves to eat you out, and he does it with such passion, such enthusiasm, that it's hard to refuse him, even if he's been going at it for the past hour.
your juices are leaving a stain on the bedsheets, and your slick is coating your inner thighs. it doesn't help that rintarou is messy with his technique. he needs your legs spread for him, granting him easy access for him to just dig in. he's still in his practice jersey, and when he feels your grip loosening from the strands of hair you're tugging at, he'll slow down his pace, calming down to just tiny kitten licks while he peers up at you.
your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your hips have a mind of their own as they still jut forward, as if trying to bring your cunt impossibly closer to him. no need for that, really, seeing as how he craves to bury himself in your warmth, to suck on your cute little clit and have you humming all over his tongue.
"rinnie." you whine out, still subconsciously bucking up your hips. he smiles before resuming his original ministrations, gluttonous and greedy with how sloppy and hungry he is with you. if you're still capable of talking, then you're not too fucked out to not allow him to get his fill.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUGURU!!
♡ | customer satisfaction
PAIRING tooru oikawa x f!reader WORD COUNT 4.5k CONTENT CONTAINS implied age gap, golf course au, golfer!oikawa, dubcon, light yandere au, breeding kink, beverage cart girl!reader, possessive behavior, slight misogyny, power imbalance, vaginal fingering
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After a long date at one of your favourite restaurants, you two now rest all snuggled up with each other, his arms tightly secured around your figure while trailing soft kisses all over your neck. A sigh of content leaves your mouth, humming as a deep peace flourishes inside of your chest.
"That food was really good, baby," you say, fingers threading through his hair, a groan of satisfaction muffling against your skin. "You feelin' me? It was so..."
Looking down, you notice how he's stop pressing kisses to you and see how his chin is now propped above your breasts, a seductive glint in his eye. Before you could even question his behaviour, his lips part to speak, "Oh yeah? Well, baby I'm going to be feeling you up all night," he grins, moving to press a hot, wet kiss below your jaw.
"Sorry!?" you exclaimed, shock evident on your features, jaw to the floor at the sudden turn of conversation.
A hum rumbles from his mouth. "What?" he asks, completely oblivious to what he had just stated moments before.
You love your out of pocket man.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 :: Rindou Haitani, Ran Haitani, Manjiro (Mikey) Sano, Izana Kurokawa, Hanma Shuji, Kakashi Hatake, Shidou Ryusei, Oliver Aiku, Chuuya Nakahara, Potentially Dabi??, Keigo Tamaki (hawks), Bakugou Katsuki + more and all you favs !!
Inspired by this insta post ::here::
❥ shameless | kei tsukishima
warnings: fem! reader, timeskip! tsukishima, enemies to enemies but they fuck, blowjob, making out, semi-exhibitionism if u squint, degradation, doggystyle, rough sex, spanking, mentions of blood, little bit ooc tsukki, yamaguchi mentioned, mentions of alcohol, hair pulling, protected sex, crying but not really, tsukki and his love of dinosaurs
MDNI | 18+ content
word count -> 6.1k
❥ song: shameless - camila cabello
a/n: 1000+ special fic!!! i hope u guys like it :))
Kei Tsukishima was the bane of your fucking existence. It was bad enough that you had to endure three years of being in the same class as him at Karasuno, but in university? You chose Sendai because there was no way that Tsukishima would willingly go to a university that specialized in physical education. He wouldn’t be caught dead there. Oh, how wrong you were. Turns out, volleyball became more than just an extracurricular for him ever since Karasuno won nationals when you were first years. And so, just to your chagrin, that sarcastic bastard wound up living in the same dorm as you, on the same floor, three doors down.
Life has a funny way of fucking you raw.
You tried to ignore him at first, you really did try. If you saw him coming down the hall for some water, you ran back into your room (which caused your roommate to sigh in annoyance, but what the hell does she know?). If he was using the study room that you wanted, you found another place to study. Was he talking to one of your friends for whatever reason? You didn’t associate with them anymore. You hated him so fucking much that avoiding him was probably the only thing that kept you from actively trying to strangle his smart-ass neck. You figured that as long as you avoided him like the plague, he couldn’t open his mouth, and you wouldn’t go to prison for attempted murder. Maybe, just maybe, he was dense enough not to realize that you were never around despite living in the same dorm building.
Wrong again.
Tsukishima saw you on move-in day, struggling to carry your various boxes of manga into your room and cursing like a sailor. How childish, he thought. Someone so smart choosing a physical-education-based college was a fucking riot. He knew you only chose Sendai because you didn’t think he would go here, which was adorable in a weird sense. Tsukishima was good at volleyball, dumbass. He was the best middle-blocker Karasuno had in a while. Why not exploit that talent? Even though the Sendai Frogs was only a D-2 team, it was still a team. Seeing the color drain from his opponent's faces whenever he blocked their spikes was a reward in itself. The respect that game from being on the team was good as well, he supposed. Sure, his teammates were idiots who only got into university because of a sports scholarship, but they were decent on the court. Besides, they were more than happy to be doted on by their many female fans while Tsukishima focused on his history degree. Plus, it would give him more time to mess with you, his favorite little toy.
He hated you as well. Not because you were different; that wasn’t the case at all. No, it was because you were too similar to him for his liking. You were intelligent, cunning, and incredibly judgemental. And you hid it all under a mask of kindness and laughter. He hated you because he knew that behind closed doors, you were laughing at someone for getting an answer wrong in a lecture when the correct answer was so painfully obvious. You reminded him of himself, and he hated that. He hated you in high school, and he despised you now.
He wanted to make your life a living fucking hell. Not in a bully-sort-of-way, no. He wasn’t going to beat you up in the middle of the day. That was for barbarians. The little insults would eventually cause you to break, and when that moment came, he would relish it.
As fate would have it, your class schedules were very similar. You both shared a morning and a writing-intensive evening class, so there wasn’t much room in the curriculum for group assignments. All you had to do was show up and write a couple essays every month, which was incredibly easy for the two of you. Tsukishima could make you squirm in your seat from afar just by looking in your direction, just how he liked it. You could physically avoid him in the lecture halls, but not his piercing yellow gaze. It was perfect.
“I’m sorry. You want us to do what?” you slammed your hands on your professor's desk, your eyes twitching in frustration. “Forgive me, sir, but this cannot be part of the curriculum. I read the syllabus and the student handbook, and there is nothing about having unofficial student teachers.”
Tsukishima covered his mouth as he chuckled, finding amusement in your frustration. You were shorter than him, so you looked like an angry baby bird not getting enough breakfast.
Your professor sighed and rubbed his temple. “Look, I know it’s not ideal circumstances, but I need the help. You and Mr. Tsukishima are my best students. This class is easy for you. I know it is because you two always give each other…strange looks from across the hall.”
You nearly choke on your air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” you cross your arms over your chest.
Your professor sighed. “Well, whatever you two have with each other, make sure it doesn’t interfere with being my assignment graders. Besides,” he paused. “If you do this, it’ll boost your GPAs. For you,” he pointed in your direction. “That could mean a better chance at graduation school.”
“What about Tsukishima?” you raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Tsukishima is constantly bored in my class. He needs something to keep his hands busy, which isn’t volleyball.” Your professor had the ghost of a smirk on his chapped lips.
You snorted, quickly smacking your hand over your mouth. “Oh, is something funny about this?” your professor asked.
“No sir,” you couldn’t shake the smile off your face. “It’s just that I’ve known Tsukishima since high school, and you’re completely right. He’s so bored.”
Tsukishima shot you a dirty look. “I didn’t notice that you were paying so much attention to me, shrimp.”
“Shut up,” you retorted.
“How childish,” Tsukishima had his signature shit-eating smirk.
“Enough!” your professor slammed his hands onto his desk. “I will give you both ten papers to grade by the end of the week for fifty extra credit points. If you don’t have them by then…well I can’t do anything about that, so please have them in by Sunday, alright?”
You rolled your eyes, begrudgingly taking your half of the papers. “Well, as long as I get to work alone, I should be fine.” Tsukishima nodded in turn.
“Oh, this is a partner project. Have fun!” your professor ushered you two out of the lecture hall, slamming the door.
You and Tsukishima exchanged looks for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Your mouth hung open, and your plush lips parted.
“Close your mouth. You’ll attract flies,” Tsukishima pushed up his glasses with his middle finger. “God, I can’t believe that old man is making us work together. I would rather attend a party with Tadashi.”
“Tadashi doesn’t get invited to parties. He’s afraid of what being drunk is like,” you began to walk towards the exit.
Tsukishima quickly caught up to you in a couple of strides. “How do you know that about Tadashi? He only told me that.”
You turned towards him and smirked. “Maybe he tells me stuff too, Tsukki.” you purred, enjoying how his eye twitched when you called him that. “You’re just too self-absorbed to notice anything else around you.”
“Oh, and you’re not?” he leaned against the only exit. “God, you’re so annoying. You think you’re all that, but in reality, you’re miserable. I can’t believe I’m being forced to work with someone like you.”
“Oh, fuck off, Tsukishima. Get out of my way, I need to get dinner.” you pushed past him, flipping him off. “By the way, your new haircut is fucking horrendous. Did you do it yourself? Poor baby.” you pouted your bottom lip in mock pity, shoving your way outside. Tsukishima remained dumbfounded, running a hair through his curly blond strands.
“Poor baby,” those words echoed inside his mind, bouncing around as he returned to his dorm. It was the only thing he could think about, even when he tried to shake it from his thoughts. The way your plump lips pouted, mocking him, it was driving him fucking crazy. He couldn’t get your annoyingly sultry voice out of his head.
Yamaguchi wasn’t in the dorm. He was out with friends for the evening. Something about a new hotpot place, Tsukishima didn’t remember the details. All he knew was that he was alone, probably until two in the morning. That gave him enough time to deal with the problem in his boxers.
It was your fault anyway; your stupid voice made him feel as hard as a rock. He fucking hated you. He hated everything about you, especially that slutty voice. As he desperately fisted his cock, the collar of his t-shirt in between his teeth, he thought about how much he hated you. He wanted to make you pay for constantly being on his mind, causing him to think the most lewd and depraved thoughts that someone as smart as him should never think. He fucked his hand, imagining it was your mouth that he was fucking instead. How you would struggle to take his massive length inside, your hands pumping what your mouth couldn’t take. It was fucking pathetic, you were pathetic. Pathetic and needy for him, just like he wanted you to be.
“Shit,” Tsukishima made a mess all over his hand, the sticky white substance splashing onto his exposed midriff. He wiped it off with a tissue, tossed it in the waste basket beside his bed, and placed his foggy glasses on the dresser. Tsukishima fell asleep not long after, praying that he wouldn’t have another fucking wet dream. That would be embarrassing.
He woke up to the sound of quiet swearing coming from the hall. His clock read 3:21. Who the hell would be up this late anyway? It wasn’t Friday, so it probably wasn’t drunk sorority girls who weren’t old enough to live at the house yet. Whatever, whoever was swearing was being a real pain in the ass. Tsukishima groaned in annoyance as he swung his legs off the twin XL bed, careful not to wake the passed-out Yamaguchi on the opposite side of the room. He creaked the door open, squinting as the light from the hallway burned his sensitive eyes.
“Shut the hell up. Some of us have class in five hours!” he whisper-shouted, rubbing his eyes to see who he was lecturing. To his utter shock, your frame finally came into view. You were hunched over, clutching your palm and hissing slightly. “Oh, it’s you.”
You turned around, rolling your eyes. “Yes, asshole, it’s me. Sorry for waking you up or whatever,” you stared at your palm. “Listen, I hate to ask you for anything since you’re literally the worst person on the planet, but do you have a bandage?”
“And why would I give you that?” he leaned against the doorframe, smirking.
“Because I cut my fucking hand on the water fountain, and I’m kind of bleeding out here.” you showed him your palm that brandished an ugly cut across the base.
“Oh,” Tsukishima almost felt bad for a second. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so clumsy, you wouldn’t be bleeding.”
God, he was the fucking worst. You took a step towards him, leaning up to match his eyeline. “Listen here, dick, I know you fucking hate me, but this is kind of a medical emergency. So please, put your feelings towards me aside and help me wrap this up,” you swallowed, averting your gaze. “...please.”
He put a hand to his ear. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch what you just said.” Liar, he heard you perfectly well.
“You are fucking impossible,” exasperated, you did what he wanted. “Please, get me a bandage so I can return to bed. It’s starting to hurt.”
Tsukishima smirked in satisfaction, allowing you to enter his room. “Stop with the painful whimpering. Tadashi is trying to sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. And he sleeps like a rock. I’m not worried.” you sat in his desk chair, massaging your palm.
Tsukishima pulled out the first aid kit from one of the storage bins under his bed, rummaging through its contents. There were bandages of varying sizes, but he chose the brand he used for volleyball injuries; they were more absorbent.
“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” he whispered, holding the back of your hand as he rubbed an ointment on the cut. “This is going to sting, but you can handle it. You’re a big girl, right?”
“Call me that again, and I’ll kick your dick in.”
“There’s the attitude,” he smiled to himself. Even when you were bleeding in his dorm at three in the morning, you had that fire in your eyes that made his blood rush. His calloused fingertips guided the wrappings over your palm, making sure to be gentle. He despised you, but not so much that he would worsen your injury. That would be cruel, too cruel for him.
While wrapping your wound, his yellow eyes trailed up and down your form, taking in what you wore to bed. A band t-shirt that was a few years old accompanied by Sanrio pajama shorts that rode up your thighs too much for Tsukishima’s liking. You were tempting him, waving something he couldn’t have in front of his face, like Tantalus and the hanging fruit. So close, yet so far out of reach. Tantalizing.
“Tell me if it’s too snug,” he stood up, cracking his back.
“It’s fine, thanks,” you mumbled, brushing off your knees. Your eyes lingered momentarily, observing the shirt he wore to sleep. It had a dinosaur decal on it. You weren’t sure which one. “What’s on your shirt?”
“Stegosaurus,” he instantly answered.
“That’s…nice,” you chuckled, your voice still barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know you were so childish, Tsukishima.”
“You’re wearing Sanrio pajama shorts and calling me childish?” he rolled his eyes, towering above you. “Pot calling the kettle black.”
“Sanrio is cute, dinosaurs are dorky. You’re such a fucking dork,” you retorted, placing a hand on your hips. The smirk you wore was delicious. He wanted to bite it off of you.
“Once again,” Tsukishima leaned down, grasping your jaw. He would never ordinarily do this, but the lack of sleep let his inhibitions run wild. “Pot calling the kettle.”
“Let go of me,” your small hand encompassed his wrist. “What’s up with you? You’re acting less like a smug asshole and more like a perverted one. Are you high?”
“Why in the hell would you think I’m high?”
“Because you’re grasping my jaw like the main character in an R-rated movie.”
“And you’re dressed like a slut in my dorm,” he smirked, pulling your face closer to his. He noticed how your cheeks were the faintest shade of pink. You were enjoying this. “Oh, and now you’re blushing. How pathetic.”
“I am not blushing, fucking pervert.” his lips were almost against yours, his hot breath making you shiver.
Tsukishima breathed deeply. “You have no idea what you fucking do to me, what you make me want to do to you.”
For the first time in a long time, you were utterly speechless. It didn’t help that his lips were so close to being pressed against yours. “You’ll wake up, Tadashi,” you gestured to the sleeping Yamaguchi, drool and everything.
“Tadashi sleeps like a rock. You said it yourself,” and his lips were upon you, relentless and unforgiving. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his torso. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling on the blond curls as his mouth assaulted yours in a frenzy of unspoken passion. His teeth pulled on your bottom lip, eliciting the tiniest moan.
Tsukishima pulled away as quickly as he kissed you. “Get out, now.” he pointed to the door. “Before I do something I’ll regret.”
You pretended not to be offended. “Whatever,” your hand turned the doorknob. “We have to see each other tomorrow when we grade those papers. And by the way,” your eyes landed on the carpet. “You’re a crap kisser.” Liar.
And with that, you left, the taste of your strawberry chapstick lingering on Tsukishima’s lips. He sighed and crawled into his neat bed, staring at the ceiling, the tent in his boxers incredibly annoying.
“Dammit, not again.” he couldn’t take care of it now, not with Yamaguchi sleeping across the room. It was now 3:49 in the morning. Classes would begin in a few hours. Whatever, no big deal. It’ll be gone by the morning. Hopefully, you would dress in the most modest clothing you had so he wouldn’t be tempted to fuck you against the wall of the study room.
Tsukishima hated you, and yet he had to have you.
You really didn’t want to leave your bed. It was so warm and comfortable…but your roommate kicked you out so she could have sex with her loser boyfriend. At least she was somewhat polite about it.
There was only one study room available for you to use. For some reason, the D&D club occupied the one with the massive projector screen, and a student council meeting was happening in the one with all the nice windows. Why didn’t they just use the library? That’s where all the nerd stuff is. Whatever, you didn’t care. You got the cramped study room that was initially a large janitor's closet. There was no window, one door, and a whiteboard that came with dried-out markers. Perfect. At least it would be for a couple of hours before your roommate would kick her boyfriend out.
The clacking of keyboard keys filled the cramped room as you worked on a paper for your ancient civilizations class, specifically about the rise and fall of ancient Rome. Your eyes were glued to the glaring blue light of your laptop, fingers typing like they had a mind of your own. Time seemed to come to a halt as you worked, words filling the blank digital pages to be compiled into a brilliant essay that would surely get you a 90% or above; you wouldn’t settle for anything less than that. You were so incredibly focused that the door opening landed on deaf ears. It was like you were in some sort of academic trance.
Fingers snapped in front of your face.
“What the-” Tsukishima stood in front of you, holding half of the papers given to him by your professor. “Fucking knock next time! You scared me to death.”
“If only that really happened,” he smirked, taking the chair across the table. “I was actually looking for you so we can help grade these papers. I knocked on your door and heard loud moans, so I knew you weren’t in there.”
You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. “Did you just say that I can’t get laid?”
“More or less,” he took out a red pen. “You wouldn’t happen to have your papers, would you? I don’t want to spend any more time with you than I have to.”
Reaching into your backpack, you retrieved your papers. “I took them with me before my roommate told me to beat it. I didn’t wanna risk getting anything gross on them.”
“Your roommate sounds like a real bitch. Maybe an even bigger bitch than yourself.”
You rolled your eyes again. “Thanks for the compliment, jackass.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he sported his signature smug smile that made your legs weak.
“Whatever. Can we just grade the papers together, please? I have other homework to finish.” you tied your hair in a messy bun, loose strands framing your face.
Tsukishima’s golden eyes observed your movements and how your hands glided over the paper as you wrote corrections with your blue pen. He noticed how you scrunched your brows together when you saw something you didn’t understand or how you licked your plump bottom lip when you saw something you liked. Did you even realize how stupidly sexy you looked right now? The weather was warm outside, so you wore a spaghetti strap tank top that shamelessly exposed your cleavage. You were a fucking minx.
“How much have you done?” you looked up from your papers.
Tsukishima faked a cough. “I graded two.”
“Ha, I graded three,” it was now your turn to look smug, crossing your arms behind your head. “You’re slow today, Tsukishima. I’m surprised. You’re usually on top of your game. Did my late-night emergency interrupt your sleep? Poor baby.”
There it was again, that fucking nickname. His grip on his pen tightened. “Don’t call me that.”
You chuckled. “Did I strike a nerve? Somebody’s sensitive today.”
His calloused hands pushed away from the table. In an instant, he had forcefully stood you up and pinned you against the wall, his slender body caging yours. “Shut the hell up.”
Your face was bright red, similar to the events of last night. “Did I strike a nerve, Tsukki?”
“Don’t call me that, you brat.” his words were like venom. “You piss me off so fucking much. You’re so fucking annoying with your smartass behavior.”
You titled your head to the side. “But you act the same way, don’t you? Are you mad because I remind you of yourself?”
He shook his head, pinning your wrists to your sides. “No, dumbass. I’m mad because you’re so fucking sexy when you act like a smartass.”
“Oh.” you were speechless once more.
“So,” his nose was pressed against yours. “Shut the hell up and let me kiss you. Stop being a fucking brat for five minutes.”
You giggled. “I can’t believe you’re asking. How polite of you.”
“I said to stop acting like a brat.” he slammed his lips against yours, his strong hands still pinning your wrists to your sides. He was unforgiving in his kiss, molding his chapped lips with yours. You were wearing the same chapstick, strawberry flavored. Fucking delicious. Tsukishima groaned into the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth so it could dance with your own. His hands let go of your wrists, choosing instead to wrap them around the underside of your thighs. He quickly lifted you, his lips never leaving yours as your legs wrapped around his waist, almost upon instinct. Your hands flew to his blond curls once again, eagerly tugging on the locks as he ravaged your lips.
Tsukishima pulled away, breaking the strand of saliva that connected you. “You’re such a fucking slut.” he dropped you, sitting down in his chair. “You talk too fucking much,” he undid his belt, tossing it aside. “I think it’s about time you put that mouth of yours to work, don’t you agree?” he slid his jeans down to his ankles, the print in his boxers almost painful. He leaned back, patting on his thigh. “Be a good fucking girl and suck.”
Your body moved independently, your knees instantly falling onto the carpeted floor. Your hands were in a frenzy, sliding his boxers down to free his cock. His member slapped against his clothed torso, boasting a pretty pink tip that was leaking precum.
“So needy,” you whispered, wrapping your fingers around the base of his shaft. “So fucking big.”
“Stop talking,” Tsukishima groaned, closing his eyes as you gave his tip kitten licks. His hand found your hair, tugging on the messy bun as you took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his throbbing shaft. He eagerly fisted your hair and bucked his hips forward, shoving himself in its entirety deeper inside your mouth. You gagged, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as your head bobbed up and down his length.
“You have a filthy fucking mouth,” Tsukishima deeply moaned, bucking his hips against your mouth once more. “You like it when I fuck this slutty face? Fucking whore.”
You looked up at him, the warmth feeling inside your belly growing even hotter as he began to fuck your mouth. He didn’t care if it was uncomfortable for you. That didn’t matter to him now. You were his to use however he pleased.
“That’s it, fucking take it like a good little slut. Getting her face fucked by her classmate’s cock, what a naughty little thing you are.” he was ruthless, the throbbing head of his cock making you gag over and over again as he chased his release.
Your jaw began to ache from being open for so long. Your mascara was ruined as fat tears ran down your gorgeous face. Tsukishima drank in the sight, biting his lip at how beautiful you looked, choking on his length.
“Fuck, I’m close,” his grip on your hair loosened, shoving you off of his cock. “Stay fucking still.”
You frantically nodded, knowing what was about to happen next. Your mouth remained open, tongue rolling out as he pumped his cock, cum spurting out and landing on your face and lips. You winced as some of it got in your hair. It was going to be a pain to get out.
“Shit,” he sighed, running his fingers through his now messy curls. “Stay there, I think I have some tissues in my bag.”
“O-okay…” you cringed at yourself for stammering.
Tsukishima dressed himself before finding an on-the-go tissue packet in his bag, sitting on the floor beside you. His hand cupped your jaw as he wiped off his release, being oddly gentle with you.
The silence was awkward. Painfully awkward. There wasn’t much to talk about anyway. You hated the silence.
“Is this why you kissed me last night?” you blurted out, smacking your hand over your mouth. Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“That’s part of the reason.” he shoved the tissue in his pocket.
“What’s the other reason?”
His eyes bore into yours. “Because even though you are the most annoying, smart-ass, sarcastic person I know,” he bit his lip for a second. “You’re also the sexiest person I know. So painfully sexy.”
You scoffed. “You’re messing with me.”
“Take the damn compliment,” he sighed in frustration. “I just made out with you against a wall and fucked your face, and you think I’m messing with you?”
You shrugged your shoulders. “It just seems like something you would do.”
“I can’t fault you for that,” he stood up, handing you the mess of papers. “I’ll finish these on my own.”
You brushed off your knees as you stood up. “But the professor said-”
He cut you off. “I know what the professor said. I’m afraid that if I stay around any longer, I won’t be able to help myself.”
And with that, he left, leaving you confused and furiously blushing on the study room floor. You groaned, muttering curses as you climbed back into the chair, continuing to do your share of the work. Tsukishima was the worst person on Earth, and he thought you were sexy. He wanted you. He was the worst, and he wanted you. He said so himself. You tapped your pen against your bruised lips, formulating a plan—a plan to drive him absolutely feral and ravish you the way you both so obviously want.
It was one in the morning on Friday, and the dorm hall was chaotic. Various drunken sorority girls and frat boys ran through the halls, screaming whatever they pleased. Your roommate was amongst them, hosting three of her sisters in your dorm without consulting you. They talked about their recent hookups and what professors they thought were sexy. It was driving you positively mad. You had to get out of there, and there was only one place that was guaranteed not to be full of drunk idiots.
Yamaguchi and Tsukishima’s dorm. Surely Tadashi wouldn’t have a problem with you staying for a couple of hours until the noise died down…right?
The wooden door rattled as you knocked, your foot bouncing on the floor. Tsukishima answered, looking confused. “Tadashi isn’t here. He’s doing something with my teammates. I’ll tell him you stopped by.” he tried to shut the door.
“Tsukki,” you forced your foot between the door and the doorway. “Let me in. My roommate is at it again, and it’s so annoying.”
He smirked. “Only if you beg for it.”
You rolled your eyes. “Fine…please? It’ll just be for a couple of hours until they pass out on my floor. I’m…I’m begging you.”
Fuck, you looked so cute when you begged. “Alright, come on in. You’re lucky I was awake.”
“I sure am,” you muttered, kicking off your slippers. You made yourself comfortable on his bed.
“I didn’t say you could sit there.”
“Well, your dick was in my mouth twelve hours ago, so I think I deserve to lay on your bed for a bit. Don’t you agree?” you wore that smirk that secretly drove Tsukishima wild.
“Fine,” he sat beside you, avoiding your pajamas on purpose. The silence was awkward once again, so fucking uncomfortable.
“Tsukki,” you looked at him. “Listen to me, no bullshit?” he nodded, still not looking towards you. “I know we don’t like each other. In fact, there were days in high school that I prayed you would get run over by a bus so that I wouldn’t have to see your face.”
“That seems harsh.”
“Don’t interrupt me.” you ran your fingers through your hair. “Look, we don’t have to like each other…but we don’t have to pretend we aren’t attracted to each other, either.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you get this profound?”
“Maybe since you fucking kissed me yesterday and came all over my face this afternoon. Does that ring any bells?”
Tsukishima chuckled. Before you knew it, you were pushed onto the bed, wrists pinned above your head. His lips hovered above yours.
“I’m going to fuck that attitude out of you, brat.”
You leaned up and kissed him, electricity crackling through the kiss as he let go of your wrists to run his calloused hands all over your body in a blistering heat. They slipped under your band t-shirt, rolling the flesh of your breasts between his fingers, which caused you to moan into his mouth. He chuckled, squeezing your pert nipples between his thumb and index finger.
“So fucking sexy,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss to discard his shirt. You quickly followed, gasping as his tongue traced your breasts. “You’ve been hiding these from me for too long, naughty fucking girl.”
“Tsukki,” you breathed out, wrapping your legs around his waist as he suckled on your mounds. A yelp left your lips as he harshly bit down, sucking a blooming purple hickey on the delicate skin. “Fuck! Be fucking gentle.”
“And why would I do that? We both know you’re nothing but a little slut, so I’m going to fuck you like one.” he thumbed the hem of your sleep shorts, pulling them down to reveal your distinct lack of panties. “No panties tonight? You must have wanted this.”
“Shut the fuck up, Tsukki,” you whined as his fingers prodded against your entrance, slipping inside you with ease.
“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned as your cunt fluttered around his fingers. He curled them deeper, bullying his digits further into your heat. “Squeezing around my finger so shamelessly.”
Your head was thrown back against his fluffy pillow, grasping onto the sheets as his lithe fingers continued to mercilessly fuck you as if he was scissoring you open. The rough pad of his thumb found your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud. “Fuck, Tsukki!”
“That’s it, let the entire hall know whose fingers are fucking you so good,” his lips met yours once more, one hand lifting your thigh so he could curl his fingers impossibly deeper. The coil in your stomach felt like it was going to snap at any moment, his fingers and thumb merciless against your wanting pussy.
Just as you were about to reach the apex of pleasure, he pulled his fingers out, wiping them on his sheets.
“What the hell? I was so fucking close!” you whined, pouting in frustration.
“You’ll cum when I fucking decide you can,” he shoved his sweatpants off, his boxers quickly following. The familiar sight of his fat cock makes you drool slightly. “Turn around, get on all fours like a good girl.”
You quickly turned over, arching your back for him with your face buried in his pillow in shame. Tsukishima rummaged around in his dresser drawer for a condom, tearing the foil packet with his teeth. He hissed as the latex covered his cock, aligning it with your entrance.
“Now be a good little slut and take it,” his hips snapped against your ass, his massive cock filling you up so quickly. “So fucking tight.”
You cried out, hissing as his cock bullied itself inside of your sobbing cunt. His hands gripped your hips, squeezing the fat between his fingers. Tsukishima choked back a moan at the sight of your greedy pussy swallowing him entirely, his eyes hooded and dark with lust.
“You look so fucking filthy right now, bent over for me like a slut,” his hand cracked against your ass, leaving a nasty red handprint. You clenched around his cock, moaning into the pillow as his hips snapped ruthlessly against your ass. “Oh? Do you like it when I call you a slut? That filthy fucking pussy of yours seems to agree.”
He slapped your ass again, his pace brutal and unforgiving. “I’m gonna ruin this pussy so no one else can ever make you feel this fucking good. They can, fuck, they can fucking try to fuck you as good as I do, but you’ll never be fucking satisfied,” he punctuated his sentence with a deep thrust, his cock pistoning in and out of your heat expertly. “Every time you get fucked you’ll think of me and my cock ruining you for anybody else,” he grasped onto your hair, pulling your weeping face out of his pillow. “Do you fucking understand, slut? Answer me.”
“I-I understand, Tsukki! Fuck, so fucking good!” his name fell from your lips like a broken prayer, your mind slowly going fuzzy as his cock slammed into you over and over again with reckless abandon. You sobbed, the rest of your meaningless rambles dying on your bruised lips as he fucked you even harder, his release the only thing on his mind.
The coil in your stomach was about to snap. “I’m so fucking close!” his thrusts stopped.
“Beg for it.” he tugged on your hair again, pulling your back flush against his chest. “Beg for me to make you cum on my cock.”
You swallowed your pride. “Please, Tsukki! Fucking make me cum, I’ve been good, haven’t I?”
He let go of your hair. “I suppose that’s good enough.” he slapped your ass again, resuming his brutal pace. His thrusts grew savage and uncalculated, sloppily chasing his release. With Tsukishima’s permission, you came with a wanton sob, your release coating the latex of the condom. Tsukishima hissed at the sensation, slapping your ass once more in approval. “That’s it, make a fucking mess on my cock. So fucking shameless, so fucking slutty.”
He choked back a moan as his climax finally hit, fucking you through his release. He tossed his head back, his hips coming to a slow stop. His hands fell to his hips, pulling himself out of your sobbing cunt.
“Fuck,” the condom was tied off and thrown into the waste basket next to his bed. He forcefully turned you over, taking you in his arms. Tsukishima was uncharacteristically gentle with you.
“Uh, Tsukki?” he only hummed in response. “Why aren’t you kicking me out?”
“Why would I do that?” his lithe fingers played with your hair.
“Well, because we just finished fucking.”
He raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “Are you seriously asking why I’m providing you with aftercare? God, all the men on this campus are hopeless.” he pulled you into his chest. “I’m your enemy. I’m not a monster.”
“Aw, that’s actually kind of cute,” you pouted.
“Just shut up and go to sleep,” he mumbled in your hair, giving you the ghost of a forehead kiss.
You two were rudely awoken by the sound of the doorknob rattling. Panicking, you threw the comforter over your naked body while Tsukishima fumbled around looking for his glasses.
“Tsukki, I’m home. Sorry, I’m only now just-” Yamaguchi stopped in his tracks once he saw you and Tsukishima, both equally embarrassed.
“Oh. My. God.” Yamaguchi chuckled. “I didn’t think Tsukki had it in him.”
“Tadashi, shut the hell up.”
“Sorry, Tsukki.”
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
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