Reader Sees Dabi In An Alley By Accident And Tries To Get Away Quietly But Dabi Sees Her And Brings Her

reader who is flat broke and left to raise your younger brother. you’re pretty and resourceful, so you go on hinge, get guys to take you out on a nice first date dinner to get a free meal for you, and as you’re packing up the to-go box to take home to your brother (what second grader gets filet mignon for breakfast on saturday morning?), you say goodnight and ghost the guy. it’s nothing personal. you choose guys who are kinda sleazy and seem obnoxious so it lessens the guilt of using them. and it’s always a one time thing.

except then you match with a guy named kuroo, and he’s the best date you’ve ever gone on. you don’t ever want the night to end, but as you’re packing up your leftovers for your brother, you know that you’re not out looking for love. you’re only going to continue this little “scheme” of getting free dinners until you get a real job. so when you tell kuroo good night, you promptly unmatch with him and block his number from your phone. it was a good night, honestly. he’s funny and not at all sleazy like you thought he was going to be. too bad you have to ghost him.

the era of you not having to use men for free food might be coming soon!! you have a job lined up and you’ve made it to the final round of interviews; three different rounds of interview panels back to back. when you ace the first two, you’re more than excited to open the door to see who’ll be greeting you last.

your smile almost fades.

sitting in an office with a nice view of the city is kuroo. who, if you get the job, will be your direct manager. and that’s a strong if, because he definitely remembers you ghosting him.

(after all, it’s only been two days since your date. yikes)

❝ 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,

About Sex and Sharing (Osamu Dazai, Doppo Kunikida)

Kinktober 2024 Day Four: Exhibitionism

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You’re no stranger to men taking you home. In fact, you’ve come to understand that you must have something about you that entices all men who see you drinking alone at a bar with a pretty dress on. Even the ones you haven’t been eyeing all night.

So it was no surprise when one of your favorites- a man named Dazai- slid into the stool right next to yours on a day when you would usually see each other and asked if he could bring you back to his place for the night. Though it was a surprise when he asked if it was alright if he brought a friend. Someone he thought would just love to meet you. But you’re all for a good time. And you’re all for a pleasant surprise. 

So you let Dazai buy you a drink before you took his hand and followed him back to his apartment. Because what you thought you were walking into was just a run-of-the-mill threesome with someone old and someone new. Because you thought you were going to spend the night with someone who has already shown you plenty of good times and someone who hasn’t yet gotten the chance. But what you got?

It was so much better than that.

“Just like that Kunikida. Just like that.” Dazai’s murmurs are right by your ear. His breath tickles your skin and you can’t help but gasp as you feel it rush over the shell of your ear. Immediately, the brunette is quick to let out a near-silent chuckle and press his lips against your neck in all the right spots while murmuring something else- something all too heated- into your skin. Despite all this, you know he isn’t talking to you. In fact, he hasn’t been talking to you much during this scene. His attention has been on the little friend he brought you to. “Look at her face. See how much she enjoys it?”

His attention has been on instructing the little friend he brought on how exactly the guy should fuck you while he watches.  

“Y-yeah…” The other man’s voice trembles under the weight of the pleasure you’re both experiencing, but there’s a husky, roughness about that would probably have you falling in love with him if you were more of a sentimental girl. There’s something just unbearably attractive about looking up and meeting the green eyes of some stranger who seems to want to do everything in his power to make you both feel good. “She feels amazing.”

When you first saw him- when you first saw his friend, Kunikida, after stepping behind Dazai and into his apartment, the man seemed intense based on the steeliness of his eyes and the way he never failed to find something to bicker about with his partner. But also timid and inexperienced due to the fact he had to listen to almost everything Dazai said when it came to getting you off. Though most of all, he was cute. He was beyond cute even. He’s tall and well-groomed. Has a great body that looks fantastic in professional wear (and even greater the second all that professional wear comes off). Though he’s not the type of guy you would usually approach. And judging by the way he kept apologizing for being too rough with you here and there when he really wasn’t, you have a feeling that he’s not the type of guy who would have approached you either.

But Dazai said he managed to tempt the guy after a few long talks and a couple of sneaky photos of you Dazai once took at the bar you both tended to meet at. And though in hindsight, you have to acknowledge how weird that feels. Having pictures of you spread around between a regular hook-up and his hook-up. But you don’t think you can ever forget just how good he’s making you feel right now. 

Just so fucking good.

You recall kicking off your heels by the entrance somewhere once you got there. You remember leaving your bra on the floor by the bedroom door too. And think you saw your panties being tucked into Dazai’s back pocket, “for safe keeping,” as he called it. But Kunikida insisted that you keep your dress on. He said that with a quiet, almost apologetic voice and with hands to continue to shake and shake and shake until you took them into your own and guided them into cupping your chest through the fabric.

But that was earlier. That was back when Kunikida seemed nearly terrified to touch you out of the fear that he would come to find out that you just aren’t real. Right now? You’re curled up on your side while lying on the edge of Dazai’s bed, and it rocks and creaks and groans under the weight of your activities almost knowingly. Your dress is nearly halfway off your body, hanging off quite lewdly. The straps that were once holding it up and keeping your dress from exposing your chest to the street of Yokohama were pooling around your shoulders, dipping down and exposing the little love bites you just barely managed to convince Kunikida to give you. And the bottom half was bunched around your waist, showing up the size and shape of your backside while also giving the blonde man easy access to your pussy.

Though perhaps most importantly, you have your legs bent and your thighs pressed together in an attempt to ensure that you, Dazai, and his friend Kunikida could all indulge. For you, it’s one of your favorite positions. For Kunikida, this position allows you to tighten your muscles more easily and allows you to make sure you can feel as tight as possible around him. And for Dazai- well, you just know he likes the view. 

But it’s not like you need to set up the perfect view for Dazai. It’s not like he hasn’t seen or fucked you like this. And it’s not like you really had to squeeze around Kunikida to make it feel like it’s going to be a tight stretch. You realized that the second you kneeled in front of the guy to give him his first blowjob. You realized that the second you kneeled in front of the guy and came face to face with a cock you had absolutely no idea how he was ever able to hide that thing in pants. 

Now, Kunikida has you hanging off the edge of the bed while he fucks you side saddle under Dazai’s careful instructions. The blonde’s hands grip your hips and pumps his cock inside of you at a tempo Dazai sets. And your soft and breathy moans fall in time with every single thrust that hits deep inside of you. Which, for once, you feel almost embarrassed about how easily some strange man has gasping for air. Because when has a virgin ever made you feel this good before? When has a virgin been able to angle his hips so perfectly and thrust his cock so deeply that you’re left drooling and babbling to the both of them about how you never want this to end. 

Never.

“Fuck, she looks like she’s taking your cock so well,” Dazai speaks up again, and you could practically hear his own arousal soaking every word he speaks. “Keep it up, Kunikida. You’ll have her cumming in no time like this.”

At the thought of being given another orgasm- especially on some pretty, blonde stranger’s dick- is all too exciting. Though your mind can’t help but wander to Dazai and his role in all of this. At the moment, he’s hovering over you on the bed- making sure to keep a close eye on everything that’s happening. Every once in a while, he’ll tell Kunikida to change the pace or the intensity. To go harder and faster. Slower and more intentional. Just to keep you guessing. Just to keep you on your toes. Just to keep you crazy. And as you try to turn your head towards Dazai, you’re just able to make out the tent forming in his pants. His erection strains against the fabric. A dick you’ve sucked plenty of times before and would really like to suck again right now.

But earlier in the night he made a promise to both you and Kunikida. A promise that he was only going to watch tonight. A promise that anytime he was going to touch you tonight, it’d be for Kunikida’s sake and for your pleasure and for those reasons alone. And apparently, the normally tricky man wanted to hold true to his promise that he was only here to observe tonight. Because he was quick to grab at the hand you hand that was trying to reach for the zipper of his slacks with his own bandaged ones before moving to pin them to the bed.

The position he had you in was awkward, but the heated and devious look he gave you as he peered into your half-lidded eyes with a lustful stare of his own was enough to make you feel proud. If he was a weaker man, his resolve would have crumbled. Almost instantly. Who doesn’t want a pretty girl to wrap their lips around a man’s neglected and lonely cock. Especially when that very same man is selflessly directing the scene where his very own co-worker goes and fucks the brains out of his favorite hook-up in front of him. You’re sure if you’d asked nicely enough and smiled sweetly enough, you’d be getting your way with him in no time. 

Only except, he didn’t exactly let you get your way. Not even close.

“Naughty, naughty~” He lightly teased above you, a charmed smirk on his face. You tried to give him one back as a giggle passed through your lips. And judging by the way his smile only widened, he seemed to be enjoying you almost as much as his partner was. But all too suddenly, he turned his attention away from you and barked an order at Kunikida. A second later, you were no longer smiling. You were too busy gasping and squealing and crying out now that Kunikida was slamming himself inside of you, pressing up against your g-spot nearly every single time while Dazai cooed at you tauntingly. “You like it, sweetheart? You like Kunikida’s dick inside your pussy?”

“Mhm…” You find yourself responding almost instantly between your whiny moans, Kunikida’s low groans, and the sound of skin slapping against skin as Kunikida fucks you nice and fast and hard and deep. Right now, Dazai looks more than pleased at the fact that you were so quickly reduced down to nothing but a drooling little mess. But he’s at least kind enough to press tiny little kisses against your neck and cheeks and more in an attempt to encourage you to use your words for him when telling him how you feel. Just how he likes it. “I- I like it…I really like it, Dazai.”

“Yeah, I can tell. I wish you could see what we see.” Dazai remarks almost absently. He’s leaning over you a bit more now- moving around so he can view your body at different angles. It’s so- it’s just so hot how comfortable he feels running his hands over your body while his co-worker fucks you stupid. It’s amazing how the two of them end up so in tune with each other’s thoughts and actions. It’s crazy how Kunikida just lets another man take fistfuls of your chest and ass and squeezes tight while his dick is inside of you. And it’s perhaps even more insane that Dazai is fine with just feeling you up and groping at your curves instead of letting you please him back. Almost as if this is enough for him to enjoy. Almost as if he’s truly happy taking the backseat because he enjoys watching you get fucked by someone else. Almost as if he just enjoys watching you. “Kunikida, aren’t those creamy little rings she’s leaving on your cock just so cute? Isn’t she just so wet?”

You whine at the image Dazai is painting in your head, but you know he’s not lying. You know he’s telling the truth. You’ve been able to hear yourself all night. All your moans and gasps for air, sure. But also the almost embarrassingly wet sounds your pussy has been making Kunikida stuffs himself inside of you and slides right back out just so easily. And even though you know both men (as well as others in the past) have always loved it, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed when it came to Kunikida. Because you were supposed to be a veteran in this field. You were supposed to be the fun and commanding first fuck of this man. The one who steals his virginity away from him.

Although, it seems like all you can do at the moment is let your breath be stolen away from you instead.

Though for a second, Kunikida doesn’t say anything. Not to you. Not to Dazai. Not even proclamations under his breath about just how good you feel when you’re squeezing around him and letting him stuff you nice and full. Something you’ve not only come to enjoy- you’ve found that you’ve come to miss it in the moments where it’s not there. His prolonged silence makes you curious as the only thing he fills the room with at the moment is nothing but the sound of his harsh breathing and the tell-tale sounds of skin against skin. So you turn to him. But the face you find yourself looking at isn’t the most familiar one. It’s not one that you commonly see when you’re hooking up with strangers you meet at the bar. Hell, it’s not one that you see at all really. In fact, you only saw it once before today. And even then, you swear you know exactly what it is. You know exactly what you’re looking at. And it nearly scares you- especially when you hear the next two words that come out of his mouth.

“She’s perfect.”

Because it’s the face of a man who thinks he’s in love. 

“She is, isn’t she.”

And it’s the exact same face you remember Dazai had on the first time he fucked you too.

Take a seat || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: Never in your wildest dream did you imagine having your husband ask you to sit on his face.

Tags: Face sitting, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, smut, NOT BETA READ.

Words: 1.2k

saw someone plead for this one lmao. They asked so nicely so I delivered, idk if this is how it usually goes tbh. This shit's so rushed but I guess I have to squeeze everything out before school starts again tomorrow aaaaaaaaaa

other than that, enjoy! Thank you all for your love on my fics aaaaaaaaaa im running out of header pics da;flkhwah

mi vida - my life || dios mio - my god || mi bella esposa - my beautiful wife || cariño - honey

“You want me to do what now?”

Miguel sighed exasperatedly as he facepalmed, embarrassed. “Don’t make me repeat mys—”

“No no no, I heard you loud and clear.” Which doesn’t mean you understand why all of a sudden. “But why?”

“Should I have any reason why I want you to sit on my face?”

In a gazillion universe, you’d never thought you’d hear those words come out of his lips. Sitting on his lap, you stared at the man incredulously to which he scowled at.

Usually, oral between you both are usually done with you underneath him as he pinned your thighs open and wide for him since he likes the control. To hear him ask you to sit on his face mid-foreplay shocked you.

You pinched your thigh, unconvinced by his sudden change of mind and Miguel sighed once more.

“Is it that hard to believe, mi vida? Dios mio, if you don’t want to do it, just say it—”

“No no no, lay back down, I’m just processing.”

Excitement thrummed madly in your veins as you pushed the man back into the mattress. Excitement got you removing your underwear in a second before sitting back on his chest. It’s not fast enough apparently, when his strong arms hook under your legs and pull you directly on top of his lips.

Your breath got stuck into your throat. The mere feeling of his hot breath on your skin caused ripples of heat from your abdomen to your fingertips. You’ve always had orals before, it was something he’d never forget, yet there was something about sitting on top of his face that got you aroused more than ever.

“Go any slower and I would’ve thought you’d want to back out.”

“Not my fault. You’re so impatient.”

“A pretty girl sat on top of me, naked and wet, begging to be devoured. Do you think I’d ignore you, mi bella esposa?”

His dark voice, along with his fogged red eyes staring at you through his eyelash sent shivers down your spine, cheeks flushing beet red. You almost slapped the growing smirk off of his face at your flustered state.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you smell absolutely delicious.”

His arms locked around your thighs and you immediately knew you were done.

His tongue felt like silk gliding through your folds before rolling your clit in figures of eight. You sighed, throwing your head back as pleasure slithered down your spine at his every exhale fanning your skin. 

There was something about the stings his stubbles brings as it scratches your skin along with the stimulation of his tongue that drive you crazy. 

You swear you’re not a masochist by any means, yet when it comes to Miguel, every joy, sadness, pain and pleasure felt like a reward from the high heavens that you couldn’t help but accept with gratitude.

Your hand found stability in his dark locks, pulling and tugging his head closer to your heat, causing him to groan, the vibration seeping into your bones.

His hands roamed your body as if desperate to find a treasure in the unknown, nails dragging the skin from your back and down to the globes of your ass. The sting they left in their wake stirs your nerves awake, the pain mixing in with pleasure. You sighed, falling to lean on the piles of pillows as you dragged your clit with the point of his tongue.

Miguel wandered lower, tongue rolling around the rim of your entrance, sending electric jolts down your legs. You shivered as the sensation of his fangs rubbing against your folds, always so close yet so far away.

You gasped when the appendage plunged into your entrance, his large nose pushing into your clit as he pulled you closer to his face.

“Fuck…!”

“You taste divine, cariño.” He groaned. “Give me more.”

Bringing his hand down hard onto your ass, you whined. The stinging pain it left had your body singing for more and you knew Miguel was aware of the effect it has on you with how hard you clench on his silky appendage.

“Move.”

“Huh?”

Another sharp slap echoed in the living room, harder than the one earlier and you cried, hips stuttering forward on his flattened tongue.

“Ride me, cariño. Like you’ve always wanted.”

And you swear you’ve never heard anything more romantic than that.

With a smidge of hesitance, fearing you’d suffocate him, you rolled yourself on his tongue, eyes locked onto his darkened ones that dripped with desire. Still unsatisfied, his hand lands another hit on your skin and you move more desperately against him.

You cry as he starts to pick up the pace of his tongue, putting pressure onto your bead and shaking his head aggressively underneath you. He swats you once more when your hips stutter from the stimulation before clawing your flesh and grounding you further into his mouth.

“Harder.”

“I’m trying—Ah!”

Sneaking a hand below, he immediately inserts two digits inside of you. He spared no time hastening the speed of his thrusts while licking enthusiastically onto your clit making your eyes roll back.

Chasing the pleasure his fingers and mouth offered you, your hips rolled uncontrollably against his face. The obscene squelch echoing in the room would have embarrassed you, yet you couldn’t find it in you to flush.

The tight knot in your abdomen tightens as heat explodes from your chest and reaches down the tips of your limbs. You couldn’t do anything but cry as you tether closer to nirvana.

“I-I’m close.”

“Come for me, mi vida. Give it to me. I want it all.”

With his grounding arm reaching up to rake through your back along with his fingers and tongue, the knot unfurls and you come with a cry. 

Suddenly, he had both arms wrapped around your waist, preventing you from fluttering away from his ministrations. You gasped and pushed at his head but he paid no heed to them, rolling and shaking his tongue onto your clit as if trying to coax another climax from you.

“Miguel…!”

His nails digging into your flesh was the only answer you received and maybe the tug on his lips at your trembling thighs as well. It didn’t take long before pain started to blur with pleasure and your hips rocked against his tongue despite the protest of your heat with one hand tugging on his hair and the other holding on for dear life onto the headboard.

You didn’t have the mind to worry about his nose being blocked by your mon pubis, focused solely on your orgasm. With how he ground your hips onto his lips, you knew he didn’t mind.

And with a weak shout, you unravel, flesh and bones, on top of him. There’s a sound of something breaking in the haze, but paid no heed to it as you fall bonelessly onto the mattress. Miguel pulls away, gasping for air just as you turn to face the ceiling.

Your arousal drenching his face evoked something feral within you, the simmering desire in your stomach stirring awake once more. His eyes turned to the headboard and chuckled, reaching over to run his fingers over the dent with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I guess a Spider-Man will always be a Spider-Man.”

“Oh shut up.” You groaned, chucking a pillow on his face.

situations / tecchou suehiro

Prompts... "I had a dream about you." & "You've done enough teasing, now it's my turn."

Contains..! smut, mutual touching, fingering, dry humping, pussy slapping, slight!manhandling, dirty talk, teasing, jealousy, almost getting caught, public sex, rough sex, use of "good boy", creampie, switch!tecchou, he cries from the pleasure perhaps... also says "i love you" while cumming...

AFAB Reader.

2,784 words.

If Tecchou had to use one word to describe you, it would be... confusing.

You had been colleagues for a long while now, nothing more.

At least that's what Tecchou had assumed, but you played tricks on him; sitting atop his lap when you finished your report before him, always giving him the same reasoning as to why. Which was, "Your lap is much more comfortable than my chair. More padding." Perpetually followed by a cheeky squeeze to his upper thigh, which never failed to pull a gasp from Tecchou's lips.

Not to mention, you always requested to be paired up with him on missions. Giving him lingering kisses on his reddened cheeks when you both came out on the other side of your battles virtually unscathed.

Oh, but the best of them all? The 'thing' that plagued Tecchou's every thought?

Well...

He would stay up countless nights. Thinking of the 'things' you would utter to him with a straight face. You were nothing more than colleagues. And yet, he couldn't help but fist his cock while thinking of you. And the lewd scenarios you'd describe, cursing his body for betraying him this way. Every single night.

Six simple words would start the end of it all for him.

"I had a dream about you!"

Tecchou perked up in this chair at your words. If he had a tail, it would be wagging behind him. Chestnut eyes tracked your every move, intently staring as you made strides toward Jouno's desk. Sitting atop the sadistic man's lap without a second thought.

Tecchou tilted his head in confusion, eyebrows furrowing in the process. Why were you sitting on Jouno's lap right now and not his? Especially after you just uttered-

"Jouno! Did you hear me...? I said I had a dream about you!"

Jouno let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head slightly. Bringing his free arm up to wrap around the small of your back before he muttered, "Oh, I heard you, princess. Loud and clear."

You let out a small giggle before wrapping your arms around Jouno's neck. "Aren't you going to ask what happened in the dream?" You swung your legs playfully from where they dangled off the side of Jouno's lean thighs, causing the blind king to tighten his grip on you ever so slightly.

Tecchou's jaw clenched at the scene unfolding before him, practically oozing jealousy. Jouno could sense the envy radiating off his idiotic colleague. The Hunting Dogs knew about Tecchou's little crush on you, yet all of the teasing they put him through for it went right over his head. Tecchou was seemingly unphased by the teasing until now. So there was no way in hell Jouno was about to pass up this opportunity to get on his least favorite colleagues' nerves.

"Alright, enlighten me. Did we perhaps fuck?" Jouno asked candidly. The brazen smirk etched into the sadistic man's features only proved to piss Tecchou off even further.

"Mhm! We did, and it was while we were on a mission too! Can you believe that? The perp had an aphrodisiac ability, and I ended up getting hit with it. And, well, you can use your imagination for the rest." x

Tecchou watched with raged filled orbs as Jouno's hand snaked further down your frame, cupping the side of your upper thigh tightly and pulling you impossibly closer to him. "Oh? How vulgar, princess. What did I do to help you out exactly? Shall I make your dream a reality?"

Tecchou was standing in front of you both in an instant. And before you could respond, you were being tugged away. Tecchou wrapped his arms around your frame, Hoisting you over his shoulder, paying no mind to Jouno as he made long strides toward the elevator down the hall.

"Hiro?! Put me down- I have rights, you know!" You shouted playfully, kicking your legs in an attempt to free yourself. Your fists pounded against his broad back, but he could care less. All Tecchou could think about was how he wanted you to be all his.

Tecchou ran his free hand along all the elevator buttons for each floor, causing them all to light up. "There, that should give us time," Tecchou mumbled before carefully placing you on your feet. You had a moment to take in your surroundings before he was on you, caging you between his sturdy chest and the elevator wall behind you.

"Hiro, what are you--"

"You've done enough teasing, now it's my turn."

Tecchou deadpanned. Both of his hands came up to entangle around your waist in an instant as his lips captured yours roughly. You whined into the kiss as his hands kneaded your sides, bringing your digits up to tug on the ends of his dark hair.

He let out a low groan against you, taking advantage to slip your tongue past his parted lips. But Tecchou wasn't about to let you take control with ease, not after your little display with Jouno only moments prior. Before you knew it, Tecchou pulled away from your lips. His strong hands kept your hips still against the back of the elevator as he glared down at you.

His gaze was intense, one you only ever saw when something seriously got on his nerves. "Don't get bold with me, angel," Tecchou whispered, nimble digits coming up to caress your frame. Eliciting a whine from you, your eyes still locked on his.

He traced patterns into your upper thigh with his lithe finger, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most. Heat swirled within your core at the sudden change in demeanor from the usually stoic man. Who knew all you needed to light a fire under him was to get him a little jealous?

"Do you think you deserve this?" Tecchou cupped your panty-clad pussy from under your skirt. His eyebrows twitched in amusement at the feeling of your slick seeping through your panties. "Who got you this excited, angel? Me or Jouno?"

Tecchou's free hand grasped your chin between his thumb and index finger. He invaded your personal space, not that you minded, but still. It felt as though you still hadn't awoken from one of your wet dreams.

You gasped as his hand pulled away briefly from your needy cunt, only to make quick contact with a curt slap. "Well, angel? We don't have all day." His continual naughty slaps to your sensitive pussy, and filthy words pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Y-You! I made up that dream with Jouno to make you j-jealous…" You confessed, biting your lip and averting your gaze. Shifting on your feet in an attempt to distract yourself from the embarrassment. Your eyes darted back to Tecchou's stern face the second you heard a low chuckle rattle through his chest.

"If this was your end goal, all you had to do was ask. I want you too, angel." Tecchou confessed, a tight-lipped smile coating his face as his fingers finally dipped under your panties. You both gasped in unison as his lithe digits ran along the expanse of your slicked-up pussy. His tough-guy facade faded the second he got to touch you so intimately like this.

"Really? All this… for me? You mean it?" Tecchou tilted his head slightly. His brows were knitted, bottom lip jutting out into a pout as the pads of his fingers made contact with your puffy clit. Tecchou desperately needed your reassurance after your little display with Jouno. It was clear as day. And how could you deny him when he looked at you so pathetically while he tried his hardest to please you?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a desperate kiss as Tecchou began rubbing quick, tight circles into your sensitive bud. You whimpered into the kiss as your hands grasped the hair that resided on the nape of his neck, causing Tecchou to rut his hips into you unintentionally.

His erection pressed against your upper thigh. And on instinct, you pushed your leg in between his. Allowing him to rut against your thigh with ease as Tecchou continued to play with your pussy.

He whined into your mouth at the newly added friction as his fingers came down to prod at your entrance. You pulled away from his lips, taking a sharp breath before you quipped, "Does this answer your question?"

Tecchou's eyes were half-lidded, drool seeping past his parted lips as he hurridly humped against your thigh. You could see the tears beginning to brim over his lashline as he nodded his head fervently, followed by a string of, "Yes- yes, yes!"

So much for him "being in control", huh?

Two of his fingers slipped in with ease from how wet you had become. A whine escaped your lips at the sudden intrusion, eyes glued to Tecchou's face as he fell apart before you. "You're being such a good boy for me, Hiro. My good boy."

A cry spilled past his ruddy lips at your words as he picked up his pace inside you. His fingers pumped in and out of you with ease. Curling on the drag down perfectly, hitting your sweet spot with each deep plunge of his thick digits inside your needy pussy.

"S-Say it again… please…" Tecchou begged candidly, rutting against your thigh desperately. You could feel his clothed cock throbbing against you with each thrust of his hips. His thumb moved up to rub your clit as he continued to finger fuck you. You were sure Tecchou would cum in his uniform if you uttered those words again.

Your release was approaching and fast. Just as you were about to say those pretty little words; something else grabbed your attention. There was only one button still glowing brightly from when Tecchou pressed them earlier, causing fear to settle within your chest as you began to watch it fade.

"Hiro, wait- stop!" In an instant, that perfect pleasure he was granting you was gone. He pulled away from your thigh as worry coated his features. His chestnut eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "What's wrong- did I hurt you? I'm so sorry, angel-"

The doors began to open, causing panic to creep up on you. Reaching out for Tecchou's hips, you quickly hauled him toward the back of the elevator. Standing in front of him in an attempt to hide his erection as you smoothed your skirt back into place right as the elevator came to a complete standstill.

Tachihara gave you a small smile and a nod as he stepped inside, his eyes traveled to a disheveled Tecchou who stood behind you. "Uh, everything alright with him?" Tachihara questioned, pressing the button for his floor before his eyes met yours.

"Y-Yeah! We just got back from a bad mission. I'm going to take him home to rest. Mind pressing floor one for me?" You lied through your teeth, hoping it was at least good enough to trick your good pal Tachihara.

He narrowed his eyes at you, nodding and reaching out to press your requested floor. A few awkward moments passed before the elevator came to a complete stop and your colleagues' floor. "Alright… be sure to take good care of him, y/n. See you both tomorrow, yeah?"

You gave him a weak smile before waving him off, uttering a small "See ya then!" Before the doors shut again. Granting Tecchou and yourself some much-needed privacy. You let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding before reaching out to highlight all the elevator buttons one more, resetting your timer.

"That could have been so fucking bad- Hiro! C'mon, we don't have much time…" You hurriedly expressed. Making quick work of undoing Tecchou's belt, followed by the button and zipper of his pants. Tugging his uniform slacks and boxers down in one swift motion.

"W-What are you…?" Tecchou trailed off, voice getting caught in his throat as he watched you slip your panties down your legs. You balled them up before tucking them into the breast pocket of his uniform. Your hands made their way to the hem of your skirt, wasting no time lifting the flimsy fabric to reveal your bare cunt.

"Hiro… I want you to fuck me, but we have to make this quick! Please? I promise I'll make this up to you another time. I just- I need you right now. C'mon Hiro, you're my good boy, right?"

The last of Tecchou's resolve snapped with that. He was standing before you in an instant, large hands coming up to your hips. He spun you around with ease, pressing your chest up against the back of the elevator wall firmly as his hands moved down further to soothe over your ass.

He flipped the back of your skirt up, admiring the sight of your slicked-up pussy from this angle. "F-Fuck angel… I don't know if I'll be able to l-last long if we…" You pushed your ass into his twitching cock, cutting him off before you muttered, "That's what I'm betting on."

Tecchou grasped his length, lining himself up to your entrance. His thick cock pushed into you. Stretching you out perfectly, causing you both to cry out in unison as he bottomed out. "T-Too tight, hah…" You wiggled your hips into him, encouraging Tecchou to fuck into you as he pleased.

"C'mon my good boy, make me cum. I know you can do it, baby." His mind was fuzzy. All Tecchou could think of was how good you felt wrapped around him and how badly he wanted to make you feel good. He gave you an experimental thrust eliciting a moan from you. He attempted another one. Only this time with more force, you clenched around him fiercely at this.

"Ah- Hiro! So good, baby…" You babbled, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts as Tecchou finally found a steady rhythm. One of his hands found purchase on your hip, fucking you on his cock as he pleased. His other hand snaked around your frame to play with your puffy bud.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as the coil within you began unraveling. He was so deep inside you, and his nimble digits worked wonders against your clit. There's no way you would last like this. "Hiro, m' close! Please d-don't stop!" You cried out, trying your hardest to stay up on your shaky legs.

Tecchou picked up on your struggle. Opting to wrap his hand, which was on your hip, around your midsection. Pulling you close to his chest and burying his cock even deeper inside your twitching hole as he held you up against him.

Tecchou ground himself deep inside you. As he added more pressure to your twitching clit, the thread within you snapped. "Cumming- m' cumming!" You cried out. Your walls clamped down on his cock with so much force. Tecchou's hips stilled inside you as his orgasm tore through his entire body.

"Fuck- angel! S-So good, so perfect… I-I love you!" He doubled over, whining into your ear as the tears ran freely down his cheeks at this point. His breath fanned over the shell of your ear as his cum spilled deep inside you. You could feel his balls twitching from where they kissed the underside of your spent pussy as he emptied his load inside you.

As both of you came down from your highs, you fully processed what Tecchou uttered to you only moments ago. You pulled off his cum coated-cock, tugging his hand away from your waist and turning in place. Getting a clear view of his fucked out expression.

"What did you just say to me…?" You looked up at him in disbelief. Watching the way his face morphed into a deep shade of crimson. "I-I uh…" Tecchou trailed off, too embarrassed to utter those three words back to you once more.

You peeked over to the elevator console, noticing that the floor numbers were not fading in color. Now that you thought about it, the elevator hasn't moved up or down in the last ten minutes… shit.

You brought your finger up to Tecchou's lips, "We'll pick up on this conversation later. I think we have something more substantial to deal with." Tecchou looked defeated. What could've been more important than him confessing his love to you?

You answered his intrusive thoughts before he could express them aloud, "Hiro! Not like that, no- but, we're fucking trapped in this elevator! Fuck, and I have no service, great…"

"We can always go for round two while we wait-"

"Not a chance…"

LEATHER & LACE

(Dabi’s birthday special)

☽ ask: ILYSM ur so so sweet ty love <3 im having soooo many dabi thoughts lately. I just got white thigh high socks w bows on them and I can't cannot stop thinking of dabi not being able to stop himself from fucking me in them. I love how innocent light colored lingerie looks w my black tattoos & I think he'd like it too. I never really like the way I look but cute clothes and lingerie make me feel better when I don't like to look at myself in the mirror. ALSOOO i'm obsessed with the idea of innocently seducing him. like just walking around with barely anything on and pretending you don't see him getting harder and harder by the second. him just trying to hide it bc he doesn't want to ever make you uncomfortable but once he catches on to your lil act he just pins you against the wall and fucks u full of his cum bc he adores his girl. <3 -🍓anon ☽ featuring: Dabi x female reader ☽ warnings: birthday sex, unprotected sex, car sex, oral sex (both giving and receiving), slight breeding kink, soft!dom Dabi, romance and smut. ☽ length: 4,4K words. ☽ RATED: 18+ MDNI

A/N: OMG I’m sure that you look so beautiful in those socks and every piece of clothing that hugs your body and Dabi thinks the same. I’m actually playing with my dressing style so your ask felt so perfect and it inspired me to write a birthday special for Dabi. I saved it for this very special day. I hope you enjoy. 🖤

January 18: Dabi’s birthday.

It was finally the date you had marked with a blue felt-tip pen on the little calendar in your bedroom. Not that you were going to forget your boyfriend’s birthday, that wasn’t happening.

You wanted that day to be special for him because it was his day…and since he met you he got to know the warmth of being happy to celebrate with someone he loves deeply. Something that always seemed so out of reach due to the shadows of his past.

You tried to keep Dabi away from the kitchen the day before as you carefully prepared a little cake for his birthday, you tried to hide it in the fridge away from his eyes and also to prevent the frosting from falling apart.

And when the day finally came, his day, you got ready to surprise him with your gifts. You weren’t really a person to wear dresses but for the first time you felt something was shifting inside of you, so you decided to surprise Dabi even more with your outfit.

Freshly out of the shower you did your makeup and added glitters, chose a white lace dress, fishnets with a pattern made of stars, a pair of black mary janes and an oversized leather jacket (his leather jacket). To finish you sprayed yourself with your favourite perfume (which was also Dabi’s favourite), added some nice jewellery and then picked your black studded purse, the cake you carefully wrapped in cardboard and another bag where you had your present for your boyfriend.

You both loved the nighttime so you thought it was the best time to celebrate, even because it always felt more silent or at least quiet than the morning or afternoon.

You patiently sat on the edge of your bed as you decided to send a text message to Dabi since you wanted to ask him if he was ready.

You

Heyy, just wanted to let you know I’m ready. Take your time obviously!! Ilysm. 🖤

Though you didn’t notice he was standing right in front of your door, with his hands in his pockets as usual and he was smirking at you so devilishly.

“Oh…I can see that. Ready to shine as bright as the moonlight, aren’t ya sweetheart?” He said in a scratched tone, his voice always seductive.

You almost dropped your phone and let out a loud gasp.

“Oh fuck, Dabi. You almost gave me an heart attack…” You exhaled and then you stood up to fix your dress and get closer to him.

And holy shit…he always looked so damn fine. He was so ethereal and perfect to you. You loved everything about him, every “flaw” was simply perfection to you.

He was right in front of you, with his eyes that resembled the ocean, turquoise like pretty crystals. He wore a black shirt, a few buttons open at the top, a pair of studded black jeans and really cool boots. His hair white as winter and soft as snow.

“Wow…you look so damn good. Fuck.” You said almost breathless.

“Me? You haven’t taken a good look at yourself in the mirror - haven’t you?” He got even closer to you, his nose touching yours as he grabbed your waist firmly.

“Let me take a good look at you, holy shit…” He whispered as he interlaced your hand with his, making you spin so that he could check you out completely.

His eyes looked even brighter than before, burning blue with love. And all for you.

“Damn, baby. I guess it really is my fucking birthday today.” He chuckled as he lifted your chin.

“Happy birthday, my love.” You smiled at him, you couldn’t contain your happiness and excitement that you felt like melting.

It was almost embarrassing but in a good way and that’s why you decided to kiss him. You tried to lift yourself with your feet to reach for a kiss since your hands were full of bags and you couldn’t wrap them around his neck and jump into his arms.

“What’s all of this stuff you have, huh?”

“Ohh, this?? Don’t be curious now. Or better…be curious but don’t ask because now it’s not the time to know.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got me something for my birthday…you know I don’t-“

“Would you please be good and shut the fuck up? Kindly, thank you.” You ironically grinned as you blinked repeatedly.

“Shutting the fuck up ‘kindly’, is that what you’re really asking me?”

“It’s exactly what I asked you, yeah.”

“Well, at least allow me to ask you for directions after because I’ve got no clue where you want to take me.” He squished your cheeks.

“Oh shit, that’s true!! Well - you’re allowed to ask for directions and so on, just not these bags huh huh.” You stick out your tongue.

“I’m gonna fucking eat you after. Mark my words.” He had that smirk once again as he walked out of the door and picked up the car keys.

“Where did we even get this car?” You asked as Dabi turned on the engine.

“Dunno, I wasn’t there that day but let’s use it for as long this is gonna last.” He said as he started driving.

“Then tell me where I’m supposed to go, if I gotta turn right or left and shit unless you want us to wander around.”

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ve got this.” You giggled.

“Alright.”

“I’m sorry I gotta make you drive on your birthday though…”

“I don’t mind. Besides it’s just the both of us, together, alone. I love that.” He said as he turned left since you pointed it out.

“I’ve got a few questions for you.” You said.

“Thankfully I was the one who had to shut the fuck up, huh? Now it’s you who wants to ask me questions.” He clicked his tongue.

“Well, that’s gonna make you shut up about you asking me questions so…it’s a win.”

“You’re iconic.” He chuckled as you softly smiled.

“Go ahead, what is it you want to ask that I haven’t told you yet?”

“First of all: how did you learn how to drive? I mean…considering our lifestyle.”

“I learned and that’s it. I never drove that much exactly because of our lifestyle but I know how to drive a car.”

“So you’re a natural…just like with other things.”

“If you want to put it like that, then yeah?”

“Okay, makes sense. Second question: how is your motion sickness?”

“Easy. I’m driving so I’m fine. It highly depends also on who’s driving and the kind of street we are on. This one you’re making me go through is pretty calm and that makes me calm.”

“One day you should teach me how to drive…maybe I’m good.” You suggested.

“That should be fun.” He smiled wide and giggled.

“What’s so funny?” You pouted.

“I’ll teach you one day, but I can already see how some things will go. But yes, I bet you’ll be good. You’re amazing at everything, after all.”

“Okay, now you gotta turn right real slowly and stop.” You pointed to the street to him while looking out the window of the car.

“We’re almost in the middle of nowhere-“ He cut off mid-sentence as he stopped the car while looking with wide-open eyes at what was in front of him.

“There is no way…” He placed both hands on his face, completely speechless at the sight.

“You know…I remember you told me you wanted to go to a drive-in one day. This is a drive-in, well- an abandoned one. But don’t worry because I can fix everything and got all the stuff ready to make this work.” You said as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“Besides we got a nice night, don’t we? There’s the sky full of stars and the Moon looking at us. Wait here. I’m gonna come back soon. I also brought your favourite movie!!” You added as you were going to get off the car but Dabi stopped you by grabbing your wrist and turning you to face him.

His lips interlocked with your softer ones, his tongue exploring your mouth and kissing you with such intensity. The grip on your wrist slowly turned into a caress as he detached his mouth from yours, leaving a light string of saliva still connecting the two of you.

“I kinda hate surprises but fuck…you always know how to get to me, don’t you?”

“That’s why I say that you’re amazing at everything you do. Because you actually and actively listen to me, pick up everything and sometimes it’s so fucking scary but…I love it. I love you.”

“You always know how to surprise me but by giving me and making me feel the best emotions. Thank you.” He whispered as he left a kiss on your lips once again, though this time it was soft.

“I love you and care about you immensely, there’s nothing I won’t do for you. I was honestly kinda nervous because it’s your special day and knowing you are not too fond of surprises I was scared of fucking everything up-“

“-especially because I wanted to do something to celebrate you, that you like, not me. I mean, I indeed love drive-ins even though I never went to one so I guess it’s a first time also for me but I want this to be about you.”

“Shh~ you’re talking too much, don’t overthink this. It’s perfect and I want this to be about us. You’re here celebrating with me and that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere or with anyone else’s but you.”

“That makes me really happy and fuck we’re being so soft and mushy right now.” You giggled.

“And so what? Who cares. I want to do something after the movie, though…” He said as he brushed his thumb on your lower lip.

“Anything you want. I’m up for it.”

“Well, I’m gonna fix the projector as you wait here and then we are gonna be full in your birthday party.” You stated as you got off the car.

He patiently waited inside the car, removing his seatbelt as he took a very deep breath. He didn’t remember a time where he felt so special, listened and loved. You remembered every little piece of him, every detail and every word he spoke to you. He felt like he existed, like he mattered and was worth fighting for.

With you, his inner-child felt safe. He felt so alive again and if not “again”…he touched what freedom felt like.

His thoughts and rapid heartbeats were stopped as soon as he heard that click coming from opening the car’s door. And there you were.

“Hii, I’m back!! The movie is starting now, how about we eat while we watch it?”

“I truly hope it didn’t melt or else…” You messily searched through the bags you had and picked up a rather big card box.

“There you go, open it.” You handed the box to him as you smiled.

He looked at you with a rather confused expression but as soon as he opened the box his eyes sparkled with joy.

“Baby…you didn’t.” He whispered softly, his tone almost broken.

“Happy Birthday Touya, I’m happy to see the cake didn’t melt by the time we got here. I hope it tastes good.”

“I don’t even…thank you so much, it looks really nice and I bet it tastes as good.” He quickly smiled at you and he got closer to you, giving you a delicate kiss on the forehead.

“I’m glad you like it!! I have little forks and a few biodegradable plates.”

“Heart-shaped, huh?” He teased.

“Ah- I just like the shape, I’m not fond of Valentine’s Day. But you get a heart-shaped cake for your birthday.” You said as you placed your head back on the seat’s headrest.

“I love you, I hope you know that.”

“And I hope you know that I love you, it would be so sad if you were to forget it or have doubts about it…”

“There’s not a single chance I’d be able to forget your love, even if I had to get brainwashed. You would still be able to remind me, to give me a feeling of that warmth and care you only have to yourself. All of this just by looking at you.”

“How romantic~” You teased, snorting a laugh.

“Oh, shut up before I cover your face in cake.”

“You wouldn’t…”

“You’re right. I can always ruin your makeup in another way, love.” He grinned at you as the movie in the background was starting to stream on the movie projector connected to the screen.

Your eyes opened wide as your lips were slightly parted from hearing his words. He licked his lips as he was still smiling at you, knowing for a fact that he made your heart skip a beat.

You quickly cut the tension and suggested cutting the cake and starting to eat while watching the movie inside the car. The night was still long, a cold breeze was moving the branches of the trees outside in the panorama around you. The First Quarter Moon was shining so bright outside surrounded by all of the pretty stars.

During the movie, Dabi slid an arm behind your shoulders and with his hand he caressed your cheek throughout the whole time. You placed your head on his arm and held his hand with your smaller ones, melting into comfort and warmth. The rest of the not-fully eaten cake decorated in blue with the addition of blue roses was now resting on top of the car's dashboard.

Once the closing credits started appearing on the screen, Dabi started putting the playlist you both created together from the stereo — then he got off the car and quickly moved to your side, opening and holding the door for you.

"Come and dance with me?" He asked, holding his hand out for you to take.

"You wanna dance?" You asked as you placed your hand on top of his and got out of the car yourself.

"Yeah, that's my plan." He made you spin around and then caught you in his arms.

"Well, isn't this quite romantic of you — huh?" You giggled as you danced with him.

“Quit teasing, you know where that’s gonna get you.” He whispered in your ear as you felt his warm breath on your bare neck.

“Well…it’s your birthday, we can go wherever you wish.” You made close eye contact with him as you both stopped in your tracks.

“What is your wish, Touya?”

And without even allowing your brain to form a proper thought, you instantly found yourself laying on top of the car hood — your legs wrapped around his torso as his lips found a place to kiss your neck, his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck.

You moaned at the sensation of his wet tongue licking your bare skin as his hand ran from the curve of your ass to down your thigh, resting there as he squeezed your flesh.

“You look too damn precious not to fuck you full of my cum tonight. Fuck.” He groaned as he felt his dick getting hard through his pants, it was almost like the zipper of his jeans could unzip by itself from his erection.

“And it’s my fucking wish to have your pussy dripping with my cum — would you let me, baby?” He kissed all along your jaw, saying your name through each one of those sinful kisses.

“I’m all yours, Dabi…you can do whatever you want with me. I’ll gladly make your wish come true.” You breathed out deeply, you felt your pussy drenched and pulsating by how much you needed him.

“That’s my girl.” He smirked as he grabbed your jaw, his digits buried in your cheeks not enough to hurt but enough to let you feel his desire.

He stood up, looking at you as you were lying on top of the car hood. He unbuckled his belt as his pants were really getting too tight for his own good, he could have busted right there.

“Those lips of yours are driving me mad, c’mere…let me feel them wrapped around my cock.” He invited you to come closer as he dropped his jeans down over his thighs — his pierced dick erected right in front of you was slightly dripping with pre-cum.

“Fuck, Dabi. Let me take care of you.” You ran your hand from the outside of his thigh to the inside, reaching more and more up.

You caressed his balls with the other hand as he hissed out of pleasure from your soft touch. You made deep eye contact with him as you licked the tip of his cock and then opened your mouth to slowly take him in — inch by inch.

“Holy shit, baby…take it all the way down that pretty throat, c’mon~” He moaned as he felt himself slowly melting at the feeling of your mouth and lips wrapped around his thick cock.

You swirled your tongue over his length and started bobbing your head, letting out soft moans and gags as you took it all the way down.

His veiny hand was gently resting on your left cheek, guiding you all the way through it. He kept praising you, over and over again — letting you know how good you were making him feel, even though it was pretty noticeable from how hard his dick was and from how it was throbbing inside of your mouth. You were such a good girl for him, always so damn pretty with your mouth full of his cum. Such a sight he had in front of him.

Your brain felt like it couldn’t think anymore, you didn’t even think about oxygen since you were so caught up in the act, of making your villain boyfriend feel so damn good, hearing his beautiful moans as your name rolled off his tongue multiple times. You didn’t care about anything else — just giving your man the best birthday present, making it a night worth celebrating and remembering.

“Stay still, I’m gonna cum down that pretty throat — love. Gonna fuck your mouth a bit through it.” He wiped away the tears streaming down your cheeks as you looked up at him as if to give him access to you.

He held both sides of your face tight in his hands as he started bucking his hips into your mouth, fucking his cum deep down your throat — making you taste his love for you and you only.

You eyes squeezed shut due to the amount of pleasure you were feeling as you got lost in him completely, your vision was blurred anyway due to the amount of tears streaming down your beautiful face.

Dabi’s eyes rolled back completely in his skull, leaving just the sight of the white eyeballs. His cum shot right down your throat and you couldn’t help but let out a rather loud swallowing sound.

“Look at ya, so damn pretty. You okay?” He softly asked as he pulled his cock out of your mouth. His thumbs wiped away the almost dried tears left on your cheeks.

You nodded as you were snapping back to reality, your heartbeat still felt somehow out of your chest.

“Touch me…kiss me…please.” You sighed almost out of breath, you felt your voice so weak but Dabi picked up each word. Every breath contained your desperate pleas for him to fuck you nice and good, to fill you up to the brim.

Dabi picked you up in his arms and he opened the back car’s door — laying you on the backseats. He ran a hand under the white lace dress, reaching for your star pattern fishnets and removing them so that he could have better access to your pussy.

“Let me feel how wet you are for me, fuck~” He breathed heavily — pushing his middle finger on your clothed cunt.

A shaky ‘shit’ left his lips as he felt the wet stain with his fingers, you were completely soaked. He rubbed your clit through your panties with his thumb, earning a sweet moan from you.

He kept rubbing circles on your clit as his lips went for a passionate kiss, interlacing your tongue with his. It felt so messy yet so good, especially the way you were moaning his name in between kisses.

“Dabi…hmm~” You whispered as he pushed your panties to the side — inserting two fingers in your pussy.

“Fuck, baby. Feel how easy they slipped in. Such a needy girl you are. Making fingering you so easy and squirting too — huh?” He said as he curled his fingers inside, touching your sweet spot that made your mind go blank already.

Your body was running hot as the squelching sounds of your soaked pussy filled the atmosphere. Dabi moved his other hand under the hem of your dress, pulling down the shoulder strap and doing the same with your bra one.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“ You couldn’t even repeat it twice that you instantly released all over his fingers, your juices coating them as he lowered the top of your dress and bra all the way down, exposing your bare breasts.

“Good girl, look at ya — such pretty tits you’ve got.” He uttered as he chuckled darkly.

Soon after, Dabi pulled out his fingers from your pussy and placed them in his mouth, tasting you on them. Then he removed all of the rest of his clothes along with yours, you were now both completely naked — admiring each other’s bodies.

“So good.” You sighed as you made eye contact with him again.

“Oh yeah. But I crave more of you, need you to cum once again but this time on my tongue. Make me taste your love f’me pretty girl.” He muttered as he squeezed your tit with a hand and started flicking his tongue on the nipple of the other.

“Dabi, oh fuck…” You groaned, your voice a little broken because you were losing your mind.

He felt so lost in you as well, his mind was running wild. He was so crazy about you, he loved you so much that he couldn’t even properly explain it with words and that’s why he went for actions instead. Making you feel how much he loved you, how much you meant for him.

He went down on you after giving the well deserved attention to your tits, spreading your legs nice and good for him so that he could bury his face in between your thighs and taste you properly.

“Eyes on me, don’t you even think about looking somewhere else.” He demanded but his tone still remained soft.

“Yes.” You uttered as you pulled yourself up a bit on your elbows so that you could look at him and never take your eyes off.

He grinned at you and then buried his face in your drenched cunt, slowly teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking it to stimulate you.

After he was satisfied with himself he started kissing your lips, inserting his tongue here and there causing you to moan uncontrollably. Your eyes were rolling back in your skull as you were trying so hard to contain yourself and failing. You grabbed his winter-white hair with your hands as you pushed him even deeper into your desperate cunt.

“Fuck…just like that. Oh yeah~” You whined as his chuckles sent vibrations to your body. You legs started to shake at each and each of his licks, with his index and middle finger he spread your pussy lips wider to insert his tongue to tongue fuck you.

“C’mon, give it to me. I know you need to cum. Make me happy baby and squirt all over my tongue and face.”

“Give in already, let yourself go. Give me your sweet cum.” He plead as he picked up the pace, holding intense eye contact with you.

“AH- Dabi!!” You screamed as clear liquid made a complete mess of you both. You loosened your grip on his hair and fell on your back, touching the texture of the backseat.

He cleaned you off everywhere, licking and tasting every drop of you. He moved up to you to meet your fucked out face, your chest kept rising up and down in a quick motion.

“I’m addicted to you, you know? How dare you be so perfect. This is the best birthday I could have asked for.” He said as he caressed your face from your temples to your cheeks, giving you a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

“You make me so addicted to you, I hate it.” You faced him with such desire in your eyes. You wanted him so bad.

“Hate it? Damn, that must be pretty bad. So bad that it makes me wanna fuck you even more — until I pump you full of my cum.” He grabbed your jaw once again that night.

“Then do it, I can’t take it anymore…please.” Your eyes almost watered.

“If you look at me like that and say ‘please’ in such tone…I’m not stopping until I make sure my cum sticks inside of you. You get what I’m saying — don’t you, baby?” He whispered on your parted lips, a warm breath touching your skin. His words melted into you.

“I do.” You mumbled as he brushed his thumb on your lower lip.

“That’s my good girl, I love you.”

And before you could finish saying ‘I love you’ back, you felt his pierced dick making his way inside your pussy. Dabi was balls deep instantly inside of you from how soaked you previously were.

“Fuck.” He groaned as he pushed his forehead on top of yours, his hand squeezing your tight from how good he was feeling by being met with such warmth.

“So deep…feel so good.” You babbled, drunk on his cock.

“Oh yeah, you feel so damn good. This pussy was made for my dick, holy shit.” He said as he started moving his hips, his pierced cock moving inside and out of your cunt, his balls hitting the curve of your ass at each movement.

Your hands were wrapped around his neck, your eyes never looked away from one another. The air in the car kept getting more and more steamy, the car windows misted. Your moans filled the atmosphere as the music was still playing in the background.

His hips kept bucking into yours, wet sounds of skin slapping, your moans got more and more breathy and choked. His dick was touching all the right places that it was impossible not to cream around it, your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you released all over his cock.

“Dabi, ‘m sorry…” You breathed out as he kept up the pace, still hitting your sweet spot with the tip of his cock as he felt himself starting to throb all thanks to your walls tightening around him.

“Sorry? No need to be, cum as many times as you wish. I’m close too baby.”

This time he slowed down his pace, his movements were slow and sensual. He wanted to make you feel every second of it, he wanted to make you enjoy the orgasm and pushing it so deep in your soul. Both of your souls.

Dabi’s movements got all messy and he threw his head back, interlacing your fingers with his as he came deep inside your pussy. He pulled out to see his seed leaking down your hole just to put it right back in with his cock, fucking it even deeper — making sure none got wasted.

He moved one hand to the window but it soon slipped away, making the both of you laugh.

“I forgot it got so hot the windows got slippery.” He said as he pulled out completely this time.

“It was so beautiful. Thank you, Dabi.”

“Thank me? I’m the one who has to say thank you. It was so perfect. Making me feel so soft and loved…how dare you.” He clicked his tongue as he brushed his thumb on your leg.

“Because I dare, besides I’m more than happy to make your wishes come true.”

“It was the best birthday I have ever had, you really are something else. Thank you.”

“Anything for my favourite Capricorn. Always hated the stereotype of Capricorns being cold…look at you. You can’t hide your romantic and soft side from me.” You joked.

“C’mon, let’s get cleaned up a bit before going back. We basically messed up the whole car but who cares.” He suggested.

“Wait!! I have one more present for ya. It’s the one wrapped in purple.”

“Another one? You know I’m not good at accepting presents.”

“Neither I am but I bet you will like this. I’ll spoil you how much I please because I love you.” You pouted.

He gave you such expression before opening up the soft wrapped up gift. And when he opened it, his heart skipped a beat once again that night.

“My favourite band leather jacket…baby. I’m-“ He uttered as he looked at the oversized leather jacket.

“Shh it’s okay, anything for you.” You kissed him on the cheek.

“Maybe…I have one last wish for tonight.” He said in a scratched tone.

“Sure — tell me.”

“Fucking you while you wear this jacket you gifted me. I will make even more of a mess of you once we get back home — that’s my wish.”

“You looked way too beautiful for your own good while wearing leather and lace.”

Happy Birthday to my beautiful man. I worked on this for so long because I wanted it to be special just for him. 🖤

just… farmer!kita x housewife!reader but it’s the middle of the night & kita always has to be up early, and you feel so bad because he’s had such a long day and he deserves to rest… you’re just unbearably horny, and you can’t bring yourself to be selfish by waking him up, so you try to quietly masturbate next to him, struggling to discreetly get off, but you can’t hold back your whines or the fact that after being with him for so long, he’s trained your body to only respond to him. right when you’re about to give up, you feel him grab your wrist.

“what’re y’doin?” his voice is gravelly and thick with sleep, but the strength behind his grip is alive with energy. when he married you, he promised you that he’d provide for you. that includes wringing out orgasms from his pretty little wife whenever she wants. it’s not that he’s upset because you woke him up; he’s upset that you didn’t initially wake him up to help you, and now he’s going to have punish you.

gege said canon gojo was incapable of normal relationships and people forreal took that as womanizng and not that he is actually so fundamentally burdened by jujutsu society and responsibility he would never ever want someone he loves to bear that with him or for him . anyway

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟcan't stop thinking about yuuta who overhears you confidently telling your little friends, "i don't fuck virgins," at a party. listens intently as you go on and on and on about how you hate how inexperienced they are, how they require so much hand holding and fussing over the whole ordeal. "i wanna fuck someone who can fuck me the way i need it."

you're unimpressed when you first spot him across the party, rolling your eyes in a way that should not send excitement thrumming up and down his skin, sharp eyes twinkling under the harsh neon lights.

knows he's been looking for way too long when you finally make your way over, joining him at his solitary spot on the couch, surrounded by various levels of debauchery. "you going to make a move or just stare at me all day, lover boy?"

"i—no! wait, i mean yes, i want to make a move, but i—you see," he's tumbling over his own words under your scrutinizing gaze, and god, this has to be the world's worst impression ever, he knows there's no way you could possibly want him⸺

your eyes narrow. "spit it out."

"i'm a virgin."

for a moment, you let your eyes drift over his entire figure. you hum, a disappointed, low sound that makes his heart drop to his stomach. "a shame. you're actually real cute up close."

yuuta slumps, as if basking in the fact that he's hopeless, and it's almost funny, but then you remember how intently he looked at you, with so much unfiltered desire and need.

"i don't do charity cases," his ears perk up. you know you've got him, hook, line, and sinker as he nods so eagerly, invested in what you've got to say next, and it's delicious. you grin. you're going to devour him whole. "say, what if we just took a practice run?"

when you give him a sloppy, rough handjob in a tiny little bathroom sequestered off upstairs, he cums, embarrassingly fast and oh-so-loud, forcing you to have to cover his mouth with a spare hand.

"keep it quiet," you hiss as his eyes roll back, rutting uselessly into the palm of your hand, whimpering when you keep milking him for all his worth even as he cums. "but that's it, there you go. so pretty for me, huh, lover boy?"

he nods uselessly, back bowing at all of the unexpected sensations, but keeps his eyes trained to the way you pull your hand back to sneak a taste of him, pink tongue swiping across the glistening pad of your fingertip. eagerly accepts your fingers in turn to taste himself and your saliva. he closes his eyes at the taste, moaning softly.

when he opens his eyes, you're shimmying out of that tiny little skirt he's been eyeing all night, a glimmer of something devilish in your eyes. "you ready to lose your mind, yuuta?"

© ROSESAINTS ᐟ — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own. requests are OPEN .ᐟ

SOFT ‘N SLOW !!

•̩̩͙⊱ notes. inspired by swv — summer walker ft. no1-noah. also a little experiment. i’m trying to see something. lol i was all over the place writing this.

•̩̩͙⊱ ft. draken, ran, rindou, mitsuya, sanzu.

•̩̩͙⊱ cw. afab! reader, soft sex, praise, overstimulation, breeding kink, size kink, and dacryphilia if you squint.

disclaimer. 18+ only. minors, blank, ageless blogs dni.

DRAKEN

“that’s it, pretty.” he mumbles, finally bottoming out. a pleased sigh slips from his lips when he feels your gummy walls mold to the thick outline of his cock.

he pulls back till his mushroom tip is aligned at your opening, hissing at the loss of warm before pushing back in, a squelch resounding in the room from the action. the slow stroke of his cock, the way his cockhead kisses your cervix and nudges against your sweet spot is heaven on earth. you’re so tight and warm, makes shivers run down his spine, length twitching inside you when he’s buried to the hilt, which makes you clamp up on him.

he stays a few seconds there, looking into your eyes as you squeeze on him unprompted. draken’s always been too big for you to handle, so much so that you could cum from the stretch of your walls and his fat tip hitting against your spongy walls alone. which happens. he swirls and rolls his hips in circles and figure eights, all while keeping his eyes on yours, and you come undone. your eyes roll to the back of your head, a coil stretched too thin snaps, your cunt spasms as it gushes slick onto his abdominal muscles, and you feel him twitch inside you.

he curses before he hugs you tight, hips snapping into yours as warm seed fills you.

you see white for a few minutes as your ears ring. when you come back, it’s to draken still stroking inside of you as if he hadn’t cum, fucking the ooze of sperm gliding out of your hole back. he’s still hard, heavy balls drenched in your cum and slapping into your ass.

he grips your hips and tilts them up, legs coming to your chest in a press. the next slide in makes your toes curl, he reached an inch deeper. the new position makes you flush, head slowly starting to trail away from obsidian eyes that loom closer, but a hand around your jaw turns you back to him, where you see a thin sheen of something carnivorous gleam in those black eyes of his.

“don’t look away, pretty. keep your eyes on me. wanna see you cream all over me, again and again.” he rolls his hips a little harder when you listen and smirks when you moan and clamp down on him. “knew you had it in you.”

MITSUYA

“you’re doing so good for me, baby.” his voice rings deep against your ear, placing a tender kiss at the lobe before he moves to your neck, jaw, shoulder, chest, and collarbones. then he intertwines both of your hands together and pulls out, stroking back in to the hilt, hips glued to yours where he stays to roll them around, your clit catching onto his pelvis, his cock nudging against your spongy walls. he’s not hammering into you, but the depth of his cockhead and the intimacy of it all makes the coil in your stomach stretch thin.

he pulls out again, then he’s back in. a slow but steady pace forms. your toes curl with each hit, pussy turning straight into goo with the gentle but deep rolls of his hips.

mitsuya brings one of your latched hands up and kisses the back smoothly, adding extra pecks to each fingertip. “just like that. ‘s better this way, isn’t it?”

then his hooded eyes dart to you, pretty black lashes flutter and lilac irises shine. mitsuya looks at you so fondly like he’s truly in love that it gets to your head, makes you want to please him. your mind’s too hazy to register how he let go to rub at your clit, stomach filled too full of his cock that you feel a little drunk off him. he makes your head a little too fuzzy to do anything else but listen to him.

“let’s take things slow today. we got all the time in the world.” and he pecks your forehead last.

RINDOU

a sigh leaves his lips, tiny hum thrumming in his chest when he finally reaches the hilt. he pecks you all over your face, thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand from where they’re latched.

rindou stays, hips glued to yours for a few minutes to get you adjusted, during which he keeps his eyes pinned on you.

the intensity of his stare intimidates you a little. he’s looking at all of you, bare and vulnerable, and that makes you flush, makes insecurity and fear prickle your heart, so you turn away, but rindou clicks his tongue.

“don’t look away from me, angel. you gotta keep your eyes on me, or i’ll get sad. wanna see all of you, love.” he coos this so softly that your heart warms, beats a tad faster, so you comply.

“mhm. that’s right.” and he leans in for a kiss, hips pulling back, scraping against your gummy walls as you shiver, toes curling at the sensation.

RAN

“haa, shit. always so tight for me.” his dick makes your stomach full, always too long for you to handle. his cockhead kisses at your cervix before he even has the chance to bottom out. says the reason for that is because you’re too nervous. that that is the reason why he has so much trouble sliding in, when you know it’s not.

you nearly choke, nearly feel him in your throat, as he slides back in after pulling out. he’s only made it a third down his cock, and ran will never be satisfied until you take all of him.

“you’ve taken it before. why can’t you just do it once more?”

you tried. you really did, but some things can’t be done again. which is where you’re at now, squirming underneath ran as his beady lavender eyes take you in, fat tip lodged in your cunt, bullying its way to your cervix and you tremble and shake, overwhelmed at the sheer length of him, and yet. a sheen of slick shines on his shaft, cream frothing at the edges of your entrance, coil stretched tight in your stomach.

he twitches the more you struggle, and his eyes tremble in delight. “oh, my cock too much for you, darling? s’okay we can keep trying the whole night until your cunt can finally take me.” he pecks you on the lips, licking between the seams before he pulls back, pink muscle poking out at the corner of his mouth.

SANZU

“sanzu! slow down, slow down!” he pauses from the rapid pace he was keeping before, head tilting in confusion.

your eyes are wet as they look into his, but the sight’s so pretty he twitches. however you don’t see the increasing carnal lust in his eyes, and you don’t notice him twitch an extra beat inside you. “wanna go slow. ‘s too rough.”

“you wanna go slow?” you hum and nod your head, hand inching towards his to intertwine them, and it’s so cute, you’re so cute, that he doesn’t have the heart to deny you that.

“that what you want, princess? okay, we can go nice ‘n slow then.” he pulls back and glides back in, pushing until he’s flush to your pelvis, rolling his hips to grind against your clit, making sure he hits every angle so he can see those pretty eyes roll back until only the whites are left.

tagz! @ryuugot, @bokuroskitten, @kisakiapologist, @shibuyawardnetwork.