YAKU MORISUKE THIRST

I Can Do It Better.

{ Obanai x Mitsuri x Fem! Reader} smut

Warnings: explicit sex, threesome, puthy eating, fingering, spitting, rough sex, slapping, name calling, cervix bruising, a bit of dub-con? forced cum swallowing, semi-forced sex tbh the reader didn’t realize what she getting into

A/N: I offer you more food, I hope you enjoy since I teased the shit out of this. Hopefully I didn’t set your expectations too high 😭

Word count: 6.6k

“Please?” Mitsuri was hugging Obanai’s arm tightly, blinking at him with wide eyes. How was he supposed to say no when she was batting her eyelashes like that? “I’ll think about it.” Obanai could never say no to that woman, no matter how hard he tried. “Thank you!” Her arms wrapped around his neck, practically suffocating him against her chest. “I’ll let you bring it up at lunch.” He concluded as she pulled away.

So what exactly was Mitsuri trying so desperately to convince him on? You. She was trying to convince him to let you share their bed for a night. Obanai knew how much she loved people, it was just part of her nature. While he also knew the only person she felt romantically for was him, it was still a bit jarring to hear her bring up the idea of a threesome.

Most men would probably be ecstatic if their girlfriend was bringing up the idea of adding another beautiful girl to the mix. But Obanai knew you, and well…he didn’t like you. The main reason for his dislike was because of the affection Mitsuri bestowed upon you. She treated you just a little differently than everyone else, it was starting to remind him of how she treated him. In his eyes, you were becoming competition.

“Good afternoon!” Your voice reached his ears and he visibly flinched. “Good afternoon, y/n!” Mitsuri motioned you to sit next to her at the table, leaving Obanai alone on the other side. “Nice to see you, Obanai.” You weren’t exactly fond of the snake pillar, but it was only because of his stand-off attitude towards you. For Mitsuri’s sake, you tried to suck it up.

You smiled as the waitress dropped off an ungodly amount of food, most of which would be consumed by the girl sitting next to you. It was normal for Mitsuri to arrive earlier than the other people in her party to get her food ordered. That way it would all be ready by the time others arrived. “Aren’t you going to say hello back to me, Obanai?” You thanked Mitsuri softly as she handed you a bowl of udon.

“Hi.” Was all you got, not even bothering to look at you.

“Obanai! Be nice, I’m sorry about him y/n.” You shook your head, slightly annoyed that the pink haired girl had to try and cover her boyfriend's ass. “Oh you have nothing to apologize for, I’m used to his cold attitude.” You slurped down some of your food, eyeing Obanai who didn’t have anything in front of him.

The man wouldn’t eat out in public, if it meant he had to take off the bandages. As much as you didn’t like the man, you knew better than to ever bring those scars up, at least that's what you imagined resided under there. “Will you eat later?” Obanai was watching Mitsuri down her second bowl with a smile, one that faltered when he heard your voice. “Yes.”

“Obanai always eats when we get home! I make sure of it!”

“That’s good!” You could have sworn Obanai mimicked you under his breath. You decided to ignore the man, focusing your attention on the woman beside you. “So why did you invite me to lunch, Mitsuri?” It wasn’t every day that you got the privilege of eating lunch with the two pillars. “Oh! We can get into that in a little while, enjoy your food.”

That didn’t make you feel any better, the nerves in your stomach making you lose your appetite a bit. “When you put it like that Mitsuri, it sounds bad.” You glanced over to see Kaburamaru wiggle his head in the direction of your food.“Does it?” She was replacing her empty bowl with a third as she spoke. “It sounds like we are going to off her after the meal.” Obanai’s cheek rested against his hand now.

“Well…I am certainly trying to get her off.” You choked on your food at that, a vein in Obanai’s forehead beginning to twitch. “You’re what?” Your head whipped around to face the woman, a blush apparent on her cheeks. “Okay fine, I’ll just tell you now.” Your eyes shot over to Obanai who suddenly seemed disinterested in the conversation. “I want to have a threesome. Me, you and Obanai.”

You continued to stare at the man across from you in shock, eyes not leaving him as you responded to Mitsuri. “You’re telling me this man is okay with that?” You found it hard to believe Obanai would ever agree to something like that, then again he’d give Mitsuri whatever she wanted. “I’m allowing it because Mitsuri wants it.”

“Well if that’s the case, I’d be happy to accept if Obanai stopped kicking me under the table.” You narrowed your eyes at him, Mitsuri’s head moved to look under the table. The second she did, he stopped. “Obanai! What did I tell you.” Her bottom lip trembled, effectively stopping any more attacks on you.

The rest of your lunch continued in a comfortable silence. Both you and Obanai watching as Mitsuri downed twelve whole bowls of udon and three plates of onigiri. “So I have to ask…when exactly is this threesome to happen?” You felt nervous butterflies at the idea of sharing a bed with Mitsuri. “Today? I think today will be good.” Mitsuri was writing a thank you note for the cooks and servers while Obanai paid.

“Today?” She certainly wasn’t giving you much time to prepare yourself. You didn’t realize yet that part of your nerves were coming from the idea of Obanai seeing you naked. “Is that not okay? Do you have a mission?” Mitsuri seemed to deflate at your hesitant response. “No! I just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.” You tried to relax the nerves you felt before you made yourself sick.

“It’s nothing to get scared about! It’s me! And Obanai…but mostly me. I know you two don’t get along all that well, but he won’t do anything you don’t want.” She finished her note with a little heart, leaving it by the empty dishes. She took your hand after, following you towards the entrance while giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Are you ready my love?” You had never heard the man use such a sweet tone.

“Sure am.” You held back a laugh as his face morphed into one of disgust at your response. Mitsuri began trying to stifle her giggles behind you. “I can’t stand you.” He was walking out the door as he spoke. “Then sit down.” Mitsuri’s giggles burst out from behind you, watching Obanai’s eyes roll. “Don’t make me change my mind.” You highly doubted he’d ever change his mind when it came to a decision involving Mitsuri.

“How about we get some drinks?” You could honestly use some liquid courage for this. You weren’t that intimidated by Mitsuri, Obanai was more daunting than she was. “Oh that’s a good idea!” Mitsuri jumped at the thought, breast bouncing in a way that had both sets of eyes zeroing in on her. “I think you could both use something to relax, help you get in the mood.”

Mitsuri hooked her arm with Obanai, pulling him to her so she was sandwiched between the two of you as she walked. You felt his eyes land on you, you decided to ignore it since you were positive it was a glare. “You get one sip, you’re a lightweight and you know it. Y/N and I get the rest, unless she’s a lightweight too.” “I’m no lightweight Obanai, you don’t have to worry about me.” You found it a bit hard to believe the man handled alcohol well. “That settles it then.”

“Well that certainly did settle it” you shook your head as you downed your third cup of sake. Obanai had yet to have any, the bandages still wrapped around his face. “You gotta take them off eventually.” Mitsuri poked his cheek, her own were slightly rosy from the single cup of sake she had thirty minutes prior.

You were sitting on the floor of their shared bedroom, your back pressed to the foot of their bed. “I’ll take them off when I’m ready.” One of your few questions had been answered by the time you reached their estate, Kaburamaru was not present when the two had sex. Turns out, Kaburamaru has his very own room.

“I think I’ll be sober by the time you’re ready.” You're feeling a bit tipsy, the sake was warming you up from the inside out. Your eyes trailed to Mitsuri’s legs, up towards her breasts and then back to her thighs. You felt your mouth water, you wished the man next to you would hurry up and join the fun so you could.

“Her eyes aren’t down there.” You felt your cheeks heat as Obanai called you out. “I know they aren’t.” You glanced up at him before looking back at Mitsuri, a dopey grin appearing on her face. “Obanai? Can we please get started? At least let us have some fun while you get ready.” She drew out nearly every word, putting her hands together in a begging motion that made her breasts look even larger.

You watched Obanai do exactly what he had just scolded you for, a scoff leaving your lips as you glared at him. “Of course you can, baby, have fun.” The sudden switch up was still catching you off guard. Mitsuri wasted no time, nearly knocking the empty cup out of your hands as she crashed her lips to yours. “Mmph! Mi-mm-Mitsuri!” You pulled away from her, drool already covering your lips.

“On the bed, I don’t want to do this on the floor.” You began to laugh, cupping her cheeks to squish them together when she began to pout. You yelped in shock when Mitsuri pulled you up and pushed you to the bed in one swift movement. You landed with a thump on your stomach, rolling over as Mitsuri climbed on top of you. “This is going to be so much fun.” She cooed softly, as if she wanted only you to hear her.

Your eyes traveled lower yet again to where her chest was pressed against your own. You felt intoxicated, and not because of the sake you had consumed. “Kiss me.” You didn’t intend to sound so desperate, the whine that left the woman above you was all you could think about as her lips met yours again in a more proper first kiss.

She began tugging at your kimono, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip to ask for entrance. “I’m not used to seeing you on top.” You barely registered Obanai’s voice, not when Mitsuri had already begun to grind herself against you. Everything was happening quickly, Mitsuri was far more eager than you had been expecting.

You gathered yourself, leg coming up to hook around Mitsuri’s waist. You used that for leverage as you flipped her over so you were on top. Her pink braids splay out around her, the kimono nearly coming undone has her breasts spilled out. “Oh…fuck.” Your cheeks went hot as you felt your clit begin to throb between your legs. The sensation fueling you to kiss her again.

“So…” you kissed her “hot…” and again “Mitsuri.” And again.

Your hands moved up her body slowly, feeling every curve through the thin kimono as you finally pulled it apart completely. You parted from her lips again, taking in every inch of her now fully exposed breasts. “Holy fuck ‘Suri…” your words were slightly slurred, the drool pooling in your mouth slightly comical to you as you looked at her breasts.

They were, in every sense of the word, perfect.

You pushed yourself upwards so you were on your knees, looking down at her and nearly crumbling at the sight.

“You are one lucky bastard, Obanai.” You nearly yelled as you looked over to see him sitting on the bed beside the two of you. When the hell did he even get up there? You glanced down at Mitsuri again, hands shakily coming up to cup both breasts.

Halfway there, it registered in your mind what you had just seen. You looked back up, staring at him in shock, this was the very first time you were seeing the man without his bandages. “Don’t look at me like that.” You didn’t say a word, mouth slightly parted but nothing would come out. When you realized how poorly that reaction may be taken, you choked it out. “You’re beautiful.”

It killed you just a bit to compliment the man, you noticed the way his eyes opened slightly wider before directing his attention on Mitsuri. What you didn’t realize was Mitsuri’s look of hope, her green eyes twinkling under the dim light of the bedroom. Your eyes shifted between the two of them, and by the two of them I mean Obanai’s scars and Mitsuri’s breasts.

You decided it was better to focus on Mitsuri, it was unlikely Obanai would even want to touch you during this whole event. Her breasts were warm and soft under your fingers, definitely better than you could have ever imagined. You glanced up every few seconds to gauge her reaction, watching her lower lip tremble as you ghosted her nipple.

You felt Obanai’s eyes boring into you, as if ready to strike if you made a single wrong move. Carefully, with shaky fingers, you pinched the sensitive pink flesh, feeling Mitsuri jolt as a choked moan left her lips. “We’ll be here all day if you move that slow.” You gasped as Obanai practically shoved you away, causing you to land on the mattress with a thump.

“How about I show you what she likes and dislikes?” You wanted to yell at him for taking your moment, but the moment his lips crashed against Mitsuri’s…you were entranced. You watched thin fingers snake up her body until they met her breast, squeezing the flesh a few times before rolling her nipple between his fingers. Mitsuri moaned against his lips, back arching slightly as he helped her remove her arms from her kimono.

Obanai was still fully dressed in his corps uniform, the first few buttons undone but that was it. You watched red splotches appear on her skin wherever the uniform lingered for too long. Maybe it was the slight buzz you had going that gave you confidence, but you pushed him off of her. “What the fuck?” He gave you a glare that was so cold you could have shivered, that was until his eyes trailed to your chest. Your breasts had fully spilled out of the kimono’s top, a small smirk tugged at his lips as you tried to cover yourself.

“Not to be rude, but your uniform was irritating her skin.” The slight red patches were already starting to fade. Obanai’s eyes actually widened a bit, looking at Mitsuri in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Obanai began undoing his uniform without hesitation. “Oh I don’t care! Deal with all the technical stuff later! Just make me feel good.” Mitsuri’s hand pulled at your kimono, causing it to fall open once more as she pulled you on top of her.

“Don’t worry about him, y/n~ just have fun with me.” You were breast to breast, your cheeks were probably on fire at this point. You reposition yourself so your thighs cage in her waist, allowing her to pull the top of your kimono off as well. You glanced beside you, Obanai was topless now, his belt also thrown off to the side but his pants were still on. You had to force your eyes down, you didn’t expect him to have the body he did.

Muscles covered his entire frame, it would make sense considering how often he trained…but still.

Your lips were back on Mitsuri’s, tongues sliding along each other as you attempted to take the rest of her kimono off. The throb between your legs became hard to ignore as you pulled the belt loose that held the material together. You wanted to pull away from her again, just to see her whole body exposed to you but she refused. Her hands came down to squeeze the flesh of your ass, holding you in place.

“Let me…taste you.” You choked out between each kiss, her grip loosening at the thought. You took the wiggle room as a yes, lips traveling down to her jaw and then her neck. You sucked along her pulse point, leaving red marks in your wake. You were going to cover her in your marks just to spite Obanai. He seemed to catch on to your little stunt, grabbing a fistful of your hair he yanked you back.

“Cut the shit.” His voice paired with his newly revealed scars actually made you shiver this time. “Make me.” His grip loosened just enough for you to go back down, teeth grazing her collarbone and making her whimper. You moved further down, lips finally meeting the plush of her chest. You sucked on each bit of sensitive flesh until it was turning purple, finally letting your teeth graze her perked nipples. “Y/n!” You felt confident when she cried your name like that.

You moved to her other breast, repeating the same motions until she had tears leaking down her cheeks. “You really are sensitive, huh Mitsuri?” You wiped her tears with your thumb, you could feel your own arousal leaking onto your underwear as you kissed her again. You decided you didn’t want to waste anymore time toying with her, not when Obanai could easily overpower you and do as he pleased. You moved yourself off the bed, falling to your knees. “You okay with this, Mitsuri?” You were tugging her kimono out from under her, tossing it to the floor.

All that was left between your mouth and her cunt was the flimsy underwear with a wet patch from her arousal. “Y-yes…please…yes.” You're pulling off the rest of your clothes, leaving you in nothing but your underwear as well. You grabbed her thighs, dragging her towards the bed’s edge. “I’m going to enjoy this.” You were looking at Obanai as you spoke, thr scowl on his face only pushing you more.

You hooked your fingers under the waistband, tugging them off her and throwing them to the floor as well. Your eyes glanced up at him once more before turning your full attention to Mitsuri’s cunt. Your eyes widened considerably as you tried to fully absorb what you were looking at. If you thought her breasts were perfect, you clearly hadn’t taken a look at her cunt.

You ran shaky hands up her thighs, coaxing her to spread them wider for you. “You are…one lucky son of a bitch Obanai.” You could have sworn that from the corner of your eye, he smirked. He knew he was lucky, but he himself still didn’t understand how he managed to get a woman like Mitsuri. You made eye contact with the pink haired girl over her own plump chest, a slight nod of her head absolutely assured you that she was ready.

You used two fingers to carefully spread her slick lips apart, swallowing thickly as you were met with plump pink flesh and her dripping entrance. Never in your life did you think you’d wish to have a dick, you could only begin to imagine the pleasure she would be able to bring you if you did. “Fuck…” your voice felt hoarse, as if it hurt to talk. Your tongue darted outwards, wetting your lips before you moved closer, mouth hovering just over her twitching clit.

You could feel Obanai’s eyes boring into you, as if waiting for you to make a single wrong move. Lowering your mouth felt like it took an eternity, the nerves in your stomach mixing with your own needy desires were killing you. You poked at her clit with your tongue, licking up the pulsing bundle slowly until she began to whine. “Y/n…y/n…’lease~” you couldn’t keep the woman waiting, teasing clearly wasn’t something she enjoyed.

So you began to move with more intention, tongue wiggling side to side in quick motions. “O-oh!” Her hips bucked upwards, pushing you further into her fluttering cunt. You steadied yourself by holding onto the jiggling flesh of her thighs, suffocating yourself on her dripping pussy. You could feel her quivering beneath you, delicate fingers digging into your scalp just to keep you in place.

“Gonna…gonna come…” her words were slurred, as if drunk off of your tongue. Her cries weren’t enough, you wanted to hear her scream. Carefully you plunged a single digit into her wet entrance, the action alone causing her to release a high pitched moan. You pumped slowly, massaging her gooey walls with your finger before slowly introducing a second. You could tell she enjoyed the second addition by the way her cunt clenched around you, squeezing your fingers so tightly you could barely move.

You finally got the courage to look upward, mouth never leaving her pulsing clit as you locked eyes with Obanai.

The man looked livid, disappointed even. As if he had been hoping this entire time that you’d fail. That irritated you, fingers moving just a little harder until you pressed into a spongy part that ripped a scream from the pink haired woman’s throat. “O-oh! Oh! Y/n!” You felt hot all over, and not because of her thighs encasing your head. The persistent pulsing between your legs was beginning to get on your nerves.

Obanai on the other hand was fuming, he was so certain you’d fail. There were tears streaking Mitsuri’s face for fuck sake, the way her thighs trembled? He was furious at your obvious experience. You - on the other hand -felt Mitsuri grow wetter, her walls beginning to make squelching noises around your fingers as you continued. All that could be heard were her muffled cries, her thighs essentially putting your head in a chokehold as you began sucking the bundle of nerves.

You knew she was close by the way her walls nearly held your fingers in place, wails turning into breathy gasps as she reached her end. All it took was a few more pumps, just a little harsher sucking, and she was spilling over you. Or rather…on to you. You nearly yelled in surprise as warm liquid gushed down your chin and neck, leaking slowly onto your bare breasts. You pulled her thighs away from your head, gasping for breath as you looked down at the mess she had created.

After a moment of shocked silence, Obanai’s patience snapped.

He shot forward, grabbing a fistful of your hair again and yanking your off your knees. “Fuck! That hurts!” Your eyes widened considerably when his nails dug into your cheek, effectively shutting you up. “I’ve had just about enough of you.” His face was inches from yours, you were nearly standing now. You took in his face, eyes trailing down to his lips. “You think I’d kiss you? You don’t deserve that. You’re nothing to me, don’t forget it.” You flinched as he forcefully opened your mouth, spitting into it with a cruel smirk.

“Swallow it.”

You did as you were told, it’s not like you had a choice. Humiliation flooded your cheeks, eyes downcast in shame as he forced you down on the mattress. “Obanai…” Mitsuri’s voice sounded far away, as if she was about to fall asleep. “Don’t worry about anything, she’s fine.” That was a bold lie coming from him, especially as his hand came down to hold your head in place against the mattress.

“Be careful…with her please.” Mitsuri was slowly shifting to her side, pulling herself fully into the mattress to see what exactly her boyfriend planned on doing to you. “Ain’t got no need for these.” You gasped as he ripped your underwear clean off, skin burning slightly from the force. His hand moved from your head to your back, then down to your hips.

“You better listen to every fucking word I say.” He was cold, calloused fingers grazing the tender flesh of your hips as he pulled you up. Your knees now sunk into the mattress, you were too afraid to lift your head.

You heard rustling behind you, signifying he was undressing the rest of his body. You snuck a glance backwards, catching the smallest glimpse of him through your spread legs. “I can’t fuck Mitsuri like this, she’s too sensitive. You on the other hand? You’re going to take it and fucking appreciate it.” He was back by your side, pressing down on your back, forcing your ass up in the air. “Careful Obanai…don’t hurt her.” You whined at Mitsuri’s pleas, you could feel his anger just by the way he was pushing you down.

“She’ll survive, she’ll just need help walking after.”

A swift slap rang through the room, you barely had time to process what he did. Instead, red hot pain bloomed across your asscheek in a way that had you clawing at the sheets. Another hit had a scream crawling up your throat, tears burning your eyes as Obanai abused the already hot skin. “H-hey!” Those pleas fell on deaf ears as Obanai hauled off for a third time.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” He mimicked you from earlier, the bed dipping as he put his mouth right against your ear. “You did this to yourself.” The next hit wasn’t to your ass, but your pussy. You cried out this time, muscles contracting uncontrollably until the stinging stopped. “Look at you, how fucking pathetic. You’re dripping onto my sheets…filthy. At least you are a little more fucking obedient now.” His hand cupped your sex, rubbing slowly.

Two fingers parted your lips, sliding down your slit until he reached your clit. You groaned softly as he pinched it, eyes squeezing shut as he changed the pressure every few seconds. “You don’t even deserve this.” You gasped as his fingers left you, turning your head to try and look back at him. Your mouth parted as he forced both fingers inside, pressing down on your tongue so you had to taste your own arousal.

He pulled his fingers away a moment later, letting his hand fall to your waist. Your whole body stiffened, the bulbous head of his cock sliding along your slit. “You’re being cruel, Obanai.” Your eyes traveled upwards, looking at Mitsuri who seemed rather surprised by his actions. “She likes it, don’t you y/n?” His nails dug into you, forcing a choked “yes” from you. “Oh?” Mitsuri still seemed uncertain.

You watched Obanai lean towards her, coaxing her up to kiss him. “She’ll tell me to stop if it becomes too much, alright?” The nails biting into your skin told a different story. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.” Mitsuri seemed a little more trusting at that, moving to settle herself amongst the pillows by the head of the bed. You were beginning to regret this.

Obanai’s cold demeanor returned nearly instant, forcing his head through your entrance. You buried your face into the mattress, knuckles turning white as he began to spear you on his cock. It wasn’t exactly painful, just uncomfortable. Especially with the way you were second guessing the whole thing. When Mitsuri suggested a threesome, you didn’t think it would turn into Obanai forcefully entering you.

Your walls molded to every inch he pushed in, suctioning around him with a vice like grip. So much so that he was beginning to struggle. “Relax.” His nails ran down your hips to your thighs, goosebumps followed in their wake. Your walls spasmed wildly around him, easing just enough for him to bottom out. “Not as good as her, but you’ll do.” You could only whimper in response.

He pulled back slowly, only half way before slamming his hips forward again. You were silently thanking anyone who would listen for the fact that he was starting a bit slow. Anything else and you may have had to tap out…if he’d even allow it that is. Obanai’s thrusts built in tempo, from slow and steady thrusts to practically pulling all the way out of you before slamming back in.

It was as if every ounce of his frustration was being pounded out and into you. Every time he had ever held back when fucking Mitsuri was being relieved in you. You pulled your face from the mattress just a bit, pressing your cheek into the drool mark you had already made.

You were positive there would be fingerprint shaped bruises left on your skin, his grip refused to ease up. You knew part of the reason was so you couldn’t run away from him, his vice-like grip was keeping you in place. You hadn’t even realized the moans that were spilling out of you, partially dazed as you tried to figure out if this was worth it.

“C’mon you can be louder…or is this not enough for you?”

A particularly harsh thrust had his balls slapping your cunt with a wet smack. You gurgled out some sort of response, too dazed to really figure it out. You couldn’t even muster a proper yell as your hair was yanked backwards yet again, Obanai pulled you towards him as he pushed his hips forward. Pleasure and pain blossomed through your body as he hit your cervix.

“W-wait wait…fuck…” he repeated the motion regardless of your pleas, tears leaking down your cheeks as he let your hair go. You began panting, looking over at Mitsuri with blurry eyes as her boyfriend continued to abuse your cunt. You felt like you had been lit on fire, each thrust that separated your slick walls brought you closer to your release. You had to wonder if he’d even let you come.

“You know…heh…you really got some fucking nerve.” He pulled out completely, watching your arousal ooze from your abused entrance. He plunged into you again, pulling your hips towards him as he did. There was something so satisfying to Obanai each time he hit your cervix. He never did this to Mitsuri, too afraid to hurt her. You on the other hand were allowing him to release all the pent up frustration he had held in.

“H-how…how…” you tried to wipe the drool from your mouth. You finally used your elbows to give you some leverage instead of smushing your face into the mattress below. He didn’t respond to you, instead hauling back and landing another harsh blow to your ass cheek. He showed you a little bit of mercy this time, choosing the other cheek instead of the one that had a red hand shaped welt forming on it.

“You acted so shocked…so—ha—innocent at lunch. Just to come into my home and put me to shame.” Is that what it is? Had he never made her squirt before—

Another slap echoed the room, followed by your pained cry. Embarrassment flooding your cheeks for the second time as you felt yourself get wetter. “You fucking like it.” Obanai had bent over you, his chest pressing into your upper back. “How fucking sick. You actually enjoy me abusing you like this…it’s too bad we can’t do this more often. You’re a great stress reliever.” You buried your face into the mattress, he truly saw you as nothing but a fuck toy.

What was even worse was the build up you felt. You couldn’t believe you were about to come just from this man’s dick. Each thrust had you seeing stars “I can feel you. Come on, come for me. Give me the fucking satisfaction.” One hand let go of your hips, snaking around your body to pinch your clit. Your entire body jerked backwards to try and get away from his hand, but that only helped him go deeper behind you.

You moved forward to try and lessen the blow of his thrusts. Each push inside of you was becoming too much. Your hips jerked again when he pinched your clit, you had no way of escaping what Obanai wanted to do to you. Mitsuri watched a cruel smirk creep up his face as you gave up on trying to get away. “Do…do you want me to help?” Her voice snapped Obanai out of his daze, cheeks turning pink.

“No.” His voice was gruff, hand burying in your hair again to pull you up. You yelped when your back met his chest, scalp sore from his previous stunts. His mouth pressed directly into your ear now. “Nowhere to run.” His arm hooked around your abdomen, holding you in place as he continued his assault. “You act like you don’t want this yet you are prolonging your release… I can feel it.”

You wanted to hide your face, you were trying your damn hardest not to come, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You were stuck honestly, did you want to swallow your pride or prolong the “torture”? You felt it building up, it would happen whether you wanted it to or not. “There we go.” He cooed in your ear, walls spasming around him as you came.

“See that wasn’t so bad?” He let go of you completely, laughing as you fell to the mattress in a heap. You couldn’t catch your breath, not with the way he continued to slam his hips into you. “M-Mitsuri!” You wailed finally, hand reaching out for the pink haired girl’s hand. She crawled across the bed, laying on her stomach as she began to kiss your fingertips. “You’re doing so well y/n!”

“She is. I’m rather surprised.” You wailed as he buried himself deeply inside of you, head putting so much pressure on your cervix that you wanted to crawl away from him. “Are you gonna come in her, Obanai?” You didn’t expect the two to begin conversing, you glanced between them in shock. “Hell no.” He noticed you looking at him, the scars on his lips only extended his smirk. “She knows she isn’t worthy enough for that.”

He leaned down now, blocking Mitsuri from view as his eyes locked with yours. He blinked, moving closer to you while still buried inside your cunt. “You don’t get the privilege of my cum.” He growled those words right into your ear as he pulled himself out of you. You could finally breathe again, it was as if your body sighed in relief from not being stuffed so full anymore.

Obanai dragged you to the edge of the mattress. “On your knees.” His voice was gruff, irritated despite the sickly sweet voice he was using only a moment prior.. When you didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and practically ripping it out of your head as he pulled you down himself. You landed on the wood floor with a thump, lips parting to cry out in pain. He used that to his advantage, shoving his entire length down your throat in the same cruel way he had stuffed your cunt.

“Mmhmmphm!” You gagged loudly as he hit the back of your throat, clawing at his thighs for merch. “I bet you wish I was back in that tight cunt Huh? Now you gotta deal with me another way.” tears began leaking down your face, dripping to your chest and thighs. Drool coated your chin as he held you there, unmoving. You squealed as he pinched your nose shit, effectively shutting out any air. You tried to pull your head back, only to be met by a softer, delicate hand.

“Stay still and he’ll stop.” You shifted your eyes to see Mitsuri, having changed her position so she could watch you. You stilled as she said, forcing your body to relax regardless of the lack of oxygen. He finally let go, allowing his cock to slip past your lips and allow you to breathe. You gasped for breath, coughing a few times as your whole body shook. Mitsuri’s hand was still on the back of your head, not allowing you to go anywhere.

“Better?” She was reaching with her other hand to wipe your tear streaked face. “We can’t stop now. I’ve come. You’ve come. Obanai still needs to.” Her eyes were wide and innocent as if she didn’t see anything wrong with the scene before her. Obanai had even said he doesn’t go this rough with her…how was she not confused? Scared even?

“Are you okay for him to keep going?” Did you really have a choice? You nodded regardless, mouth parting as he pressed his head to your lips. He pushed in slower than he had the first time, still pushing until he hit the back of your throat. You were shocked he was actually giving you a second to adjust. “Can I move now, Mitsuri?” Oh. He didn’t move because of Mitsuri.

“Go ahead.”

Your heart picked up in pace as both hands came up to hold your head. You choked around him again, his hips beginning to move at a forceful pace. Your eyes squeezed shut as tears started falling again, embarrassment flooding your whole body as he began to moan. “So good, still not as good as Mitsuri…but damn…” the backhanded comments had you scrapping your nails down his pale thighs.

“You want my cum, don’t you? How sad that you didn’t get it where you wanted it.” His drool was covering your chin, neck and chest as he continued. “How stupid do you have to be to think I’d ever spill even a drop of my cum in you? You seriously don’t deserve that.” You cried around him when a slap hit your cheek. Not nearly as hard as the ones he dealt to your ass, but it stung nonetheless.

His release sprayed the back of your throat, the sudden intrusion making you jump. “Sh-ha-shit.” You stared up at him, struggling to swallow whatever he gave you. He looked oddly beautiful as he came. “There we go!” Mitsuri cheered beside you, using her hand again to wipe your stray tears. “You made such a mess.” She disappeared from your vision, rustling could be heard around the room. You looked back at Obanai, is it done? Is it over?”

He pulled out of you slowly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed with a deep sigh. You began rubbing your sore jaw, jumping a little as Mitsuri appeared in front of you with a wet cloth. “Let’s clean up a bit and take a nap.” You tried to say okay but all that came out was a hoarse jumble of noises. “Sorry.” Your eyes shot up to Obanai, for the first time he actually looked apologetic.

He seemed a little surprised when you looked at him, his face shifting into one of disinterest. “Let’s get into bed, ‘m sleepy.” She looked adorable as she yawned, helping you off the floor and onto the bed. “I-Is it okay? For me to s-stay?” You were crawling under the covers as you spoke, your entire body aching. “It’s fine, shut up and sleep.” Obanai got in bed with you, perfectly sandwiching you between the two of them.

A mix of emotions flooded you along with an endless stream of questions. Why did I enjoy that? Was the one that rang through your head the most as you slowly drifted to sleep. Obanai waited until both your breathing and Mitsuri’s had evened out, signifying you were asleep. He laid on his side for a moment, taking in your sleeping face. He held his breath, not exactly sure what compelled him to do what he did next.

With a gentle hand against your cheek he leaned forward, placing a soft, barely there kiss above your brow.

PLEASEEEE MATCHING WITH CAPTAINS ON TINDER WITH USHI AND KITA PLEASEEE IM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES 🙁 FROM ONE AUTISTIC TO ANOTHER I AM BEGGING YOU

❥ timeskip! haikyuu captains matching with you on tinder | wakatoshi ushijima and shinsuke kita

warnings: timeskip! ushijima and kita, fem! reader size kink, protected sex, hayloft sex, unprotected sex, biting, marking, virgin! ushijima, soft dom! kita, spanking, rough sex, tendou mentioned, kind of dom reader for ushijima

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 2k

Wakatoshi Ushijima | Loosing his virginity

Ushijima wasn’t a stranger to people talking about their sex lives around him. His face was so stoic and statuesque that no one could tell if he was uncomfortable listening to the subject. The topics spoken in his vicinity ranged from how big a woman’s breasts were to how someone lost their virginity. He had to admit, he was a bit more awkward around those conversations because he couldn’t relate. He was a 26-year-old virgin, while his teammates and rivals had no doubt lost their virginity years prior. Some people even lost their virginity in high school. How scandalous!

He had contacted Tendou, his closest friend from Shirtatorizawa, to hopefully give him advice on the subject. Tendou was shocked at first (and found this entire situation to be completely hilarious) but offered his advice anyway. He told Ushijima that losing your virginity doesn’t have to be a big deal, that it doesn’t have to be romantic or special. It’s just something that happens, and everyone is different. Tendou also recommended downloading Tinder, which is a very useful resource. “If you want sex with no strings attached, look no further.” his words rang in Ushijima’s ears, his thumb hovering directly over your profile. You seemed like a good match for him, but he didn’t really know what he wanted yet. 

Shrugging his shoulders, he slid right on your profile and was surprised when you matched with him. He had very clearly stated that he was a virgin in his biography (Why would he not? It was accurate), so that kind of deterred people from matching with him. You messaged him instantly, suggesting he visit your apartment sometime this week. Of course, he accepted; that was the whole reason why he was on that app. He had one concern, however. Ushijima was massive, bigger than any other man by a wide margin. Could you handle him?

“Shh,” gentle sounds left your lips as you covered your dripping core above Ushijima’s length, observing how it was practically twitching with want for you. “We don’t have to rush things, okay? I know it’s your first time, baby,” you kissed the side of his cheek tenderly, your nails dragging themselves up and down his muscular chest. “Just let me make you feel good.”

He could only nod as your lips touched his once more, biting on his swelling bottom lip playfully. His hands rested on your hips, kneading the flesh between his calloused fingers. His usual stoic face was flushed, lipstick marks adorning his chapped lips and thick neck. He impatiently squeezed your hips, not daring to open his mouth just yet. 

“Oh? Are you ready now, ‘Toshi?” you purred, breaking the kiss to lower yourself down even further. “You have to tell me if you want this, baby. Or else I won’t do it.”

“P-please,” Ushijima mumbled, his eyes staring intensely into yours. He couldn’t take it anymore; he needed to feel you. He needed to know if the stories his teammates told him were true and if it felt like euphoria once he was inside you. Without giving you any warning, he thrust his hips upwards, pushing his pulsating shaft inside your sobbing core. “Sorry, couldn’t wait any longer. Fuck.”

“Shit!” you cried out, balancing yourself on his broad shoulders. “Y-you’re really fucking big. G-gimme a second, okay?” your breath was quick and shallow, your walls wrapping so perfectly around his huge cock. Was he really a virgin? There was no way in hell someone with that big of a dick was a virgin. After regaining your composure, your hips began to move up and down on his length, a wanton mewl escaping your lips as the tip of his cock brushed against your most sensitive place. 

“Go faster,” Ushijima demanded, gripping harder onto your hips. He wanted to take charge but had no experience in this department. What if he messed up? What if he hurt you? His left hand was the size of your entire ass, you were so fragile compared to him. “Wanna feel more of you.” He cracked his palm against your ass softly, massaging the stinging flesh soon afterward. 

You nodded, burying your blushing face in his neck. Your bruised lips peppered soft kisses on his skin as you continued to bounce up and down on his gigantic cock, his head brushing against your cervix so deliciously. All that could be heard in your apartment was the sensual sound of R&B music, your wanton cries of pleasure, and Ushijima’s occasional grunt or deep moan. He wasn’t very vocal, but he was close; he could feel his cock twitching inside of you, relishing in the sensation of your gummy walls, attempting to milk him for all he was worth. “I’m, fuck, I’m gonna cum soon. Feels fucking incredible.”

“D-d’ya wanna cum inside o-or on my tits?” you whimpered, feeling your own climax quickly approaching. He was just so fucking big, and his voice was so deep. Each word he spoke made your clit throb even harder. “P-please ‘Toshi!”

“Inside,” he demanded, bolding, leaning up to kiss you once more. The kiss was molten, full of fire and passion that he had so long oppressed. He groaned in your mouth as he felt you let go of your cock, feeling your body convulse around him. The sounds of your pathetic and fucked out mewls drove him over the edge, his cum painting the walls of your womb white. 

You broke the kiss and smiled at him, pulling yourself off of his cock with a pop! Ushijima groaned at the sight of his seed trickling down your thighs so beautifully, looking like a Renaissance painting. Was this the sensation his teammates were talking about earlier, was it this kind of beauty? 

“Was that a good first time?” you asked, snapping him out of his wandering thoughts. He nodded and got off the bed, dressing himself quickly. “Yes, I liked it. Thanks.” The faintest tinge of pink dusted his cheeks, his eyes not daring to meet yours. He knew that if he looked into your pretty eyes again, he would be included to stay, and he couldn’t risk getting distracted from volleyball. 

“You have my number if you ever want to, y’know, fuck again. You were really good for a virgin.” Was that a compliment or an insult? Ushijima couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both, he didn’t take it personally. He turned towards you, still not making eye contact. Fuck, you were so damn pretty. Was missing his practice tomorrow really worth it? Did he want to have you in his arms that badly? 

“Maybe I’ll give you a call some other time.”

Shinsuke Kita | The florist

Kita loved the local farmers market. It was where he could sell his rice without worrying about the middleman. It was peaceful, seeing the mothers bring their children and pets. Seeing couples holding hands as they checked out the local food and drink vendors. This weekend, Kita wasn’t at his usual booth. He chose to browse instead, having turned an acceptable profit this month. There were stands that he had seen a million times before and one that was brand new. Fresh, the paint is not yet chipped off by children carelessly running into it. And it smelled beautiful, but that was no surprise. After all, it was a florist's booth.

He saw no one running the stand currently, maybe they were on break. Kita shrugged and took out his phone, opening Tinder to mindlessly swipe through it. It wasn’t an ideal pastime, but it beat standing around waiting for the floral stall owner to show up. 

You greeted him with a rushed hello, an embarrassed blush tinting your cheeks as you apologized for being away from the stand for so long. Before Kita could respond, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Opening the notification, you saw none other but the profile of the man standing before you, looking incredibly attractive. 

“You matched with me,” you blushed, holding your phone for Kita to see. He smiled softly, thinking it was adorable how you could barely make eye contact with him. 

“It appears I have.”

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so well, princess,” Kita purred against your lips, thrusting into you so gently Like you would break like you were made of glass. “Think you can take more of me, darling? I’m barely halfway inside that pretty pussy.”

Fuck, his voice made you squeeze around him even harder. Here you were, laying under him in a hayloft with your hands clawing desperately at his muscular back whilst he thrust inside of you so slowly, painfully slow. Was he trying to be a tease? Was making you squirm his kink? “J-just fuck me already! Don’t tease. It’s mean!” you whimpered in frustration, attempting to angle your hips in such a way that you could feel Kita deeper inside of your core. 

“I’m not trying to be mean, sweetness,” he chuckled against your lips, pecking them softly. They tasted like vanilla and roses, a pure scent that did not fit you being defiled in a hayloft. “Just don’t wanna be too rough with you, that’s all.” he squeezed your wrists, pinning them above your hand with just one of his hands. “But if a pretty girl like you wants me to go rough, I guess I have no choice.”

The atmosphere changed instantly as Kita slammed himself into you at full force, his length pistoning in and out of your sobbing core. Your pathetic and adorable sobs of pleasure filled the hayloft, the occasional beg and plead thrown in as Kita destroyed your insides with his cock. He was holding back, not wanting to break any barriers you had set up. But when you beg him in that angelic voice to fuck you, who is he to refuse a darling such as yourself?

“Is this any better, sweetheart?” Kita groaned against your neck, trailing kisses down the already bruised flesh until he reached that sweet spot just above your collarbone. His teeth just grazed the skin as he continued to practically slam into you, shaking the sensitive wood of the hayloft with each powerful thrust inside your drenched core. “Do you like it when I fuck you like this instead, hm?”

“Yes! Fuck, Kita! M’close, holy fuck! I’m so fucking close, please!” you sobbed into his shoulder, your nails leaving angry crescent imprints on his back in accompaniment with the array of feral red scratches. “Please, please, please! Lemme cum!”

Kita moaned at your desperate words, the cadence of your voice making his dick twitch deep inside of you. He was close to his climax as well, your mewls of pleasure making the sensations he was feeling all the more delicious. “Yeah, you wanna cum pretty girl? It’s okay, cum on my fucking cock. Fucking make a mess all over me.” he bit down harshly onto your collarbone, punctuating every other sentence fragment with a powerful thrust into your weeping cunt. He felt your gummy walls attempting to pull him impossibly deeper, your orgasm approaching incredibly fast.

Finally, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave of complete euphoria. You sobbed as your release coated his cock, almost sending Kita over the edge in tandem. Quickly, Kita pulled out of your throbbing core and frantically fisted his cock, quietly roaring as his hot and sticky ropes of white painted your stomach so beautifully. He stood above you for a moment, admiring how beautiful you were from his point of view. Shaking from your orgasm, covered in his mess. You looked so fucking perfect.

“That was incredible,” Kita smiled at you, sitting beside you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, kissing the teeth marks he had left earlier. “Do you feel good, sweetheart?” His tone was soft, gentle, and kind. He wanted to ensure you knew you would be cared for, even though you both accomplished what you wanted. 

“I feel amazing, thank you.” you smiled, resting your face on his exposed shoulder. Your eyes landed on the scratches and marks you left on his back, fingers tracing over them tenderly. “Uh, sorry about all of this. I’m not usually this rough.”

Kita kissed the top of your head and pulled you closer to his form, caging you in his muscular arms whilst he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. 

“You have nothing to worry about, pretty girl.”

okay this ask was literally so sweet i love u nonnie

#POUNDT0WN (2 death) ?!

—#info. thinking about dubcon scenarios. . . ; chuuya, dazai (sep)

—#warnings. x fem!reader | nsfw content (mdni) | not edited | dubcon, sex virus (dazai), chocolate aphrodisiacs (chuuya), no protection/rawing, p->v, mean dom charas x sub reader (woohoo!), heavy degradation, humiliation, a bunch of positions i won't go over, marathon sex, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, and whatnot.

—#love, may. i was absolutely geeked while writing this. ehuhu iykm by my writing, hiiii.... i am baaack.... 💦 im posting thid then crsshing outttt!! PSADJDNS!!!@ on a side note, i need to start following other blogs again to reconnect to ppl 😭 i just don't know who's opened to be bothered atm

—#streaming. pound town 2 😝

⁰⁰¹DAZAI—sex virus

" 'Donna.." Dazai whispers behind you, arms supporting him as he rocked his body rhythmically. "Yeah?" You look behind, stopping in your tracks to sway with him. He grins, stepping aside to waddle around you—now standing in front of him was your confused figure. "Lookie here," he holds up a thermometer he stole from Yosano's clinic, "and open your mouth".

You look at him weirdly, but do as he says nevertheless. He padded the tip onto your tongue, waiting for the reading to be finished. the screen blinks once, twice—"Aw damn, you're not sick..." He mutters quietly.

"Has anyone seen Dazai?" You hear Yosanos' muffled question through the door you were currently pressed against. Loud murmurs echo down the corridor, and up the office area where most of the agency lounged at. "Uh oh.." Dazai's voice, breathy and quiet, peers above you. His thumb massages your waist, the languid action nearly made you sob as he held you still. "Did'ya hear that? She's looking for us."

Us, implying him only. His cock rocks slowly, your arousal seeping everywhere onto the floor as he moves. Your lips part, close to letting loose noise that'll get you two caught. His hand was quick to cover your mouth, "Nah-uh..! Keep quiet or she'll find us". He peeped, his voice balanced the edge of urgency and collective coolness. His body was hot—almost feverish to an extent.

As the chatter got louder, the laughter of a certain someone's snicker was enough to tell you; they knew. Or at least he did.

"Osam- uhnn..!" Tou moan through your teeth, his cock piercing your insides with a sharp annotation of silence. Dazai uses his free hand to pat your stomach, the gesture endearing and humiliating at the same time. "Your noises are like the tune of a birds song my dear. Unfortunately we need to stay silent before the teachers' pet snitches' to our lovely school nurse." He says while punching his cock up your gut.

Your body stiffens under his hold, your hips lifting itself to meet him as you fell limp to his mercy. "Do you hear yourself?" He chuckles to himself, "squealin' so cute! What's next? A waterfall?" Like the prophet next door, your cunt convulses—pussy gushing out your orgasm as you cum. The slick that puddles beneath you and Dazai pings another cord inside him. You were sure his cum was starting to foam up with how relentless he was behaving, using his cock to plug everything in while he whisks your insides to batter.

"C-can't!" Your eyes roll back, "Osaamu..! Mhnn--! I - I just came!!" You damn near screamed from the chambers of the enclosed bathroom. He expressed a sad smile that you can feel, the chitter of the air frowns upon your panic. "Okay." He says solemnly. Unexpected and uncharacteristic of him to just agree with whatever you say.

There always had to be a condition that benefited him, and you had yet to find out what he was planning on the spot. Instead of letting you dwell on that thought any further, Razai strokes your walls with long, slow thrusts. "Could've sworn he was just standing near utility." Yosanos' mutter brings you back some lucidity with the click of her heels.

Before you could react appropriately, your body jolts down, impaling yourself further onto his cock. "Oh fuck -!" Dazai curses in your ear, his breath ragged and sloppy. His hands catch you, stabilizing the two of you while his thrusts felt like never-ending. "Keep still." He barked into your ear. " 'M sorryy..!" You hiccup an apology. Dazai didn't need you ruining his initial plan, but...

"Oh doctor, doctorrr!" He sang, knocking the door to alert Yosano. Your eyes went wide—what the fuck was he doing!? Your palm reaches your mouth as the sound of her heels near the bathroom. "Dazai?" She calls from the other side, another knock echoing a gentle lullaby into your ear. "Oh! Yosano!" He pants out loud, giving himself away.

You spun your head in a hurry, a glare etching its way onto your fucked out face. Don't make a sound, he mouths, a sly grin eating you up.

"Dazai? – Oh my gosh..." Yosano groans once she realizes his little predicament. "You're not supposed to be here, Dazai – you're fucking sick! go home!"

"But Yosano-kun..!" Dazai damn near whines into the small cracks that allow air to flow. "As you know, I—oh— am a little occupied."

"Doing what? Fucking your hand? Get out and go home." She sighs, "Thank goodness you haven't caught [Name] yet.." A mutter made way, a giggle from Dazai confirming her belief. "You're right! Wouldn't know what I'd do with [Name] around. Probably fuck her cute cunt like this."

His hips snap forward, your eyes bulging just as big as your stomach. "Mhnn - hmpp..!!" A muffled cry escapes before you can stop it. "Shshh.. No noise, remember?" He dumbifies his wording, acting as if you were an idiot who forgot they were dead. His cock buried itself deep inside, your walls molding it to the base like a silicone wrap.

"Dirty talking your hand isn't gonna help you, fyi." She mumbles.

Your eyebrows are pinched together, proof of your will trying its damn hardest not to blow it. "Aye ma'am.." He says in a scathing tone, his grip on the door slipping as he bundles your flesh in the other. By now, the whole frame was trembling with immense force, it forced Yosano to back up a bit. "Can you not break the agencys' door? Unless you're alright with it being taken out of your pay."

Your breath became ragged, heavy, deep heaving took over your circulation as your body shook from your anticipated orgasm. "Os-ah-Osamu..! G-gonna—Eeen!!" A particularly harsh thrust came into contact with your bundle of nerves, starting a chain reaction of your weary fears.

Dazai's fingers collide with your lips, stretching them open, restricting your jaw movement as you let out a blood curdling scream that rivals a piglets' cry. Dazai huddled your body close to him, a bite to your shoulder indicating his own orgasm threatening to lodge itself inside you even more. "Ghmnm—[Nameee], you feel amaziiing..!" He gurgles a combination of choice words like he didn't just thoroughly humiliate you in front of your coworker a few seconds ago.

What came next wasn't a surprise to you, Yosano, or anyone else standing outside with her for the matter.

Couple of thrusts later, and he's emptying his load into the canister with no regard to your puffy, stuffed cunt. A squeal escapes your throat as your cunt clenched with vigor, milking him for all he's worth while white heavy spurts join the puddle below. He pants right above your shoulder, catching his breath.

He falls back slowly, lifting his weight off your shaking figure. "You okay?" He asks, helping your exhausted body stabilize on its feet. You grumble, "Tired. hot.. and–wait."

Your head did a whole spin, the cheeky smile your boyfriend always wore whenever he got caught doing something a toddler would do, was present. "Sorry..."

"Osamu," You pressed him for information. He says nothing.

You felt your eyebrow twitch in annoyance; of course he fucking did. His arms tightened around you, a malicious smirk coming forth. "Since we're both very sickly and in need of sex-induced release – how 'bout we–".

Large, rounded bangs pounded the door, "Get the hell out you two! Gross!" Yosano shouts from the other side, her heels clacking away as she mutters something about; 'This is what that virus does to a person or two, Atsushi'.

⁰⁰²𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀—endurance training

A box was dropped in front of you; heart shaped with a beautiful red bow tied to the side. "What's this for?" You quiz, untying the lace and lifting the lid. The milky chocolate laid bare in each hole, about six total. "For you to keep up," He shrugs nonchalantly, toneless as he picks two up and held it to your lips.

Smack—smack, smack, "Chuuya..ah—c-can't..!"

"Don't give me that crap." Chuuya grits his teeth, an arm holding you up with ease while the other delivers a harsh blow to your ass. "I gave you two—no, insisted on two," He tugs you down harshly, impaling you on his cock more. A choked moan feverishly escapes your throat as your body was being pinned and mercilessly used like an artifical, doll-like fleshlight. "But—" His voice was heavy, uncaring of his harsh words, "What did you say?" Chuuya's voice was condescending, an exact mimic of your previous mockery that was far too late to retract now.

"What—" smack "—d'you—" smack "—say?" Two consecutive harsh thrusts brought you back to reality. "I- ah- I- s-said.." His thrusts never slowed, a harsh reminder that you got yourself into this mess. "Said what?" Another slap to your ass. By now you were sure your bum was as red as the chimney downstairs—puffy and sure to loosen up the more it's used. "Said..!–T-that I can h-handle..! You—ohnnn!!" A cry, that echoed nothing. feeling pity for your struggle, Chuuya paces himself, allowing you to catch your breath while still maintaining a light tempo that has you dancing on the edge.

"Can you?" He sneers, his stupid smirk doubling down as one grand tease. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid—! "Don't look at me like that." Chuuya laughs, catching your lips in a kiss. His own caught your whines in a net of darkness, swallowing them like a whale-shark eating plankton. "Fuck," He mumbles—staring adoringly at the way your tears paint your face, "Hot as hell, aren't ya' babe?" He pushes you both off the wall, stumbling back a bit from the instability.

Sinking to his knees with you in tow, you're seated gracefully on his lap—cockwarming him. Your back meets the wall again, the cool area turning warmer as you're pushed and squished against it, Chuuya's body trapping you with room to barely breathe. His arms cage you in, rocking his hips back and forth to simulate friction. "Chuuu—ah! Please—" You beg, his humiliation ritual going as far to bring tears to your pretty eyes. He hums expectantly, using two fingers to lift your head up by your chin—kissing them away like the tooth fairy excitedly placing silver coins under a childs' pillow.

His grinding comes to a stop as he takes your hand in his, lips meeting your knuckles. "Want me to stop?" He intertwined yours with his, "We don't have to do this sweetheart." He coddled, docile, and firm in standing by your decision. Chuuya knew he could be a bit much sometimes—specifically during sex—but he knew you inside out, even your limits and how much he can take from you. You wipe your own tears, determined to see this challenge through, "No...give me another one—" Fuck it to hell. you desired to keep up, match his tempo, and force him into the same overstimulating orgasm that keeps you on your toes when his cock bumps that sensitive nerve in you.

His eyes widen, radiant eyes eager to follow suit in your new adventurous game. But...yet again, you were just sobbing into his chest—Chuuya! Chuuya! I can't handle it! How was he supposed to put his poor baby through hell again when he just brought you out of it? Well, the answer may surprise him, and boy did it shock the hell out of him.

You start humping, stumping Chuuya for a moment for you to push him down and pin his arms to the side of his head. Crawling above his entire torso, your arms were barely long enough to reach the small round table holding the box of aphrodisiacs hostage. In all your glory, Chuuya finds your little stunt remarkable for someone as unathletic as you were—giving your theatrics a mediocre rating though.

You swallow another, barely chewed and still practically in solid condition. Its' effect was slow to start, allowing Chuuya to reposition his hands onto you, his cock sliding in between your thighs. "Wow, that was spectacular babe," he jokes, "teach me how to do shit like that. I wanna be a gymnast too."

"Shut up." The imaginary holes your glare dug out was almost visible to him. He pats your hip, all apologetic like he meant it. His touch sent cold shivers in waves through your body—goosebumps evident from the way his hand felt cooler than your body. "Hmm.. oh what's this?" His cock teased your entrance, rubbing himself in the warmth of your thighs. His tip was beading precum, white oozing just a bit to get you sticky.

"Do you know what you do to me?" He pumps his cock back a few times before spreading your legs wide and plunging his head deeeep into your pussy. "Gggouuuhhh—!" Your whole head flew backwards, landing softly onto his shoulder.

"Chu—ah—uya! My, I'm—!" Your body was on fire, the intensity of the sudden rush threw you into a loop. You couldn't stop yourself from cumming the moment he thrusted inside, it was euphoric, even as he was chasing his own high in discount to your sensitive body. He's quick to switch out his hands for his arms, launching his feet to give him slight momentum. Chuuya has you on your stomach, getting a close grip to your scalp as he yanked your head up, tears jittering down your face from the nonstop pleasure. Your lips are captured into another kiss, the residue of the chocolate on your teeth taking flight. He memos a small note at the back of his mind, the subtle flavor of the chocolate, after breaking the kiss.

The flaming pit in his abdomen has grown stronger, hotter—despite the quick motion. For the first time throughout your entire session, Chuuya quietly moans into your neck, his breath fanning an area that was more prone to sensitivity than others—coincidentally overlapping with yours, more loudly.

Jesus; Chuuya felt like your cunt was threatening him with extortion. Every jab his cock made, churned your stomach inside out, the once tight wedge he had to prep was fully turned into a broken dam that was rummaged through. There was a twitch. And another, then another— "Shiiit—hold on, I- I'm alsooo—ghnn..!" His groan was gruff, thin but still hold the weight of an undertone whine. You felt wrung up, his arms wrapped around your entire waist, hugging you closer.

Chuuya's body felt just as hot, if not more, than yours by this point. A smooth, creamy glaze bursts your thought bubble, all rational action is snubbed as soon as he pulls out, "Chuuyyaa!!" You cried. He was nasty, finishing himself off in between your thighs rather than together. "Nonono!!—Pleeease!!" Your sobs sound like the cruel one to him. Tacky, always crying to get whatever you wanted—how manipulative you could be to him, should he deny you any princess care.

"One sec, darl'." He continues, pausing every now and then to check up on you. His cheeks were so red, damn was he feeling the effects now, preventing him from toying with your screaming sex any longer. "Ugh—! Oh, [Name]—Sweetheart, you kn—oghn—ow—Haa..Fuck!!" He slides his dick in between your thighs one last time, "You drive me absolutely—In—mgh!—sane..!" And that was his breaking point. As your pussy gaps around nothing while you arch your back, Chuuya positioned his cock to your entrance, and pistoned upwards, his cum filling the scene of the crime he left to rot in the woods.

Only this time, you managed to keep up.

GASPPPP—i am so sad. i lost the ability to write for more than 2 charas 😭😭💔

erm. here was supposed to be oda's little part :'D ദ്ദി! was also gonna write a section for fyodor + nikolai but i just couldn't .... gonna have to update my lil req part to be "2 charas max"

💀i have gone from fic pumper to having dead fingers. the quality of my writing went down significantly a lot..

cw: f! reader, whiney choso, unprotected, cowgirl, 18+

riding choso after he just came.

he‘s still insanely sensitive—

lying down against his back as he stares at you with soft eyes, panting as he’s coming close. his abs clench within every hit that you make against him, and it’s so good, you nearly have his eyes rolling back.

“. . . f—fuck me— fuck me— princess—”

he huffs out in short tiny breaths, and he can’t help but let his rough scarred hands roam all on your waist.

watching your hips jerk and move against his lips, he kisses your ass with a soft spank as his head slightly goes back. “m' close again baby— close..”

“i know,” you whine, leaning in to kiss him. choso moans right against your lips.

kissing back— it was sloppy, his tongue moved against yours, he couldn’t help but suck on your bottom lip a little, a tiny nibble as his hands remained on your waist. his cock just hit so deep.

deep past your walls, into that very spot that makes you start to moan as well. “. . . choso— mfph—” you gasp, breaking away for a moment.

“woman— you’re killing me— i—” he babbles, huffing and puffing, your hips were vigorously salacious.

just teasing him from the way you moved alone. time after time, choso couldn’t stop being so noisy, so vocal, so whiney.

choso’s eyes grows half-lidded, ravened hair strands of his stuck to his forehead like glue, sweat of tiny beads started to race down the side of his naturally arched eyebrows before his grip on your ass weakens just a bit and he moans loudly.

“. . fuck— cu—cumming.. baby— y/nnnn.”

you pause your movements, feeling choso spurt a thick rope inside of you— filling you to the complete brim. he looks so cute, literally fucked dumb. his usual hairstyle of two ponytails, was now just his hair down—

messy strands of hair all in his face, nearly covering his eyes. choso pants, swallowing and catching his breath, nearly pausing for a moment after shooting yet another load inside your needy pussy.

“chosoooo, you’re so cute when you whine like that,” you hum— and you start to gather your pace up again. your boyfriend’s eyes slightly widens as he feels your hips start to move and move again against him, taking his fat cock that’s shoved between your gummy walls— long white string of cum running down your inner thigh.

“baby— 'm sensitive, just came—”

he gasps, returning his hands on your waist again, his breath starting to hitch and become raspy again. the feeling of being so sensitive— it was so delicious, he couldn’t help but lick his lips, then again he couldn’t help but whine and whine against your ear.

choso stood no chance against your hips, he loved whenever you rode him—

he always enjoyed the view, plus he’s always thought you looked so sexy while doing it. giving him that cute smug grin as you’re using him to get off.

“. . . f—fuckmefuckmefuckme,” he whines, and you’re even going slow while riding him yet still, he’s a mess—

nearly losing himself from how deep his very tip kisses against your sweetened spots. so deep, he reached places you didn’t even know he could reach, and it drags out a whine or two from you.

“baby— you’re . . gonna kill me with those nasty h-hips of yours one day,”

Shitty pervy roommate Dazai who's always just a little bit too comfortable with you. He has weird hours so you never really know when he'll show up, draped over your couch or stealing food from your part of the fridge. He never seems to be fully dressed, always has some ratty old sweats hanging low around his hips, always walks barefoot, never wears a shirt. An unzipped hoodie if you're lucky, maybe, but he always insists this is his house too and he'll wear whatever he wants. He encourages you to wear less stuff as well, always with a sly little grin that makes you wonder why exactly he's so invested in what you wear.

The walls are thin, thin enough for you to hear him moaning when he jerks off, but he's always so unashamed when you find him 5 minutes later flicking through TV channels that you never bring it up. His room is dark and always smells of weed and cheap alcohol, and you're sure it would be a mess if he actually bothered to own more than 5 things at any one time. But the rent is always on time, he never makes too much noise when he brings people over for his infrequent one night stands, and it's hard enough to find a decent place to live as is.... you can't exactly justify leaving.

hey, how are you doing? :)

may I request Leto joker smut headcanons?? thank you

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

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

Leto joker x gn!reader

!! Warning: Smut !!

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

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

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

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

I don't think he minds toys.

Aftercare is holding into you, not letting go.

will it be ok if i request wrong number w touya… insert rachel berry pleek gif

.ᐟ sent & received

t.todoroki smau

a/n: this is so heavily inspired by my moots waowwww (haiiii satty baby ilyyyyy can you tell this is based on you <33)

m.list

based off this song !

" girl lay yo body down .. on this fuckin' couch –

open up yo legs , I'm gon work my mouth "

" try not to make a sound , this my momma house "

tw : drool , body fluids ( cum, spit , tears , a little bit of snot ) , overstim , slight choking , dirty talk , squirting , PET NAMES! size kink (?) THINKIN BOUT DABI 😩

winter nights are usually for staying inside. inside where theres heat, maybe watching a movie with a friend. after your cold, you want to warm up right? so whats the best thing to do when your cold? have your man warm you up.

squelches filled the silent air around the living room where your spread out, stuffed hile hes fully dressed. the squelches of fingers being pushed into and out of something wet. muffled whimpers was like music to Dabi's ears. he snickers a bit as he sees you struggling to take his think fingers.

one hand has two fingers, his middle and ring in your mouth, holding its place at the back of your tongue. guaranteed restricting your sounds and making you slightly gag on his fingers. his other hand, two fingers plunged into your cunt. thrusting in and out at a rough pace, dragging his trimmed nails against your g-spot. his mouth ( as he said would be put to work ) sucks harshly on your clit. the action has your pretty eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"going dumb for me already, baby? its only been a few minutes" he chuckles into your core as he watcher your thighs tremble with every harsh thrust of his fingers and suck of your clit. "hold out a bit for me. cant you do that much, my dumb girl?" he smirks wickedly and dives back in to run his thick tongue over your hole once he removed his fingers.

your hand reaches down to tug as his locks but he doesnt budge, his tongue presses open-mouthed kisses onto your whole cunt. the fingers in your mouth dig deeper and the lack of air turns you on even more.

the orgasm quickly approaches and you dont know weather run from it to try and give into the pleasure. your legs tighten around Dabi's head, basically capturing him there as your fingers dig into his scalp and his wrist which was down your mouth. your body completely tenses and a spray of clear liquid came squirting out, drenching the couch, his shirt, his face, his hair. "there we go, baby. let it allll out." he said, with a mean smirk as he saw your body basically shut down on itself. drool drips out of your mouth steadily as snot mixes with it. your tears dampens the couch under your head. your body twitches every few seconds while dabi pulls his fingers out of both your wet caverns, and you whimper pitifully. he sticks all fingers in his mouth, tasting everything while making a mess of his own with the mouth full.

"you taste so good, baby. i just cant get enough"

- saw the song on tiktok and thought teenager DABI would fit this

- Aizawas BARB !

❥ shameless | kei tsukishima

warnings: fem! reader, timeskip! tsukishima, enemies to enemies but they fuck, blowjob, making out, semi-exhibitionism if u squint, degradation, doggystyle, rough sex, spanking, mentions of blood, little bit ooc tsukki, yamaguchi mentioned, mentions of alcohol, hair pulling, protected sex, crying but not really, tsukki and his love of dinosaurs

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 6.1k

❥ song: shameless - camila cabello

a/n: 1000+ special fic!!! i hope u guys like it :))

Kei Tsukishima was the bane of your fucking existence. It was bad enough that you had to endure three years of being in the same class as him at Karasuno, but in university? You chose Sendai because there was no way that Tsukishima would willingly go to a university that specialized in physical education. He wouldn’t be caught dead there. Oh, how wrong you were. Turns out, volleyball became more than just an extracurricular for him ever since Karasuno won nationals when you were first years. And so, just to your chagrin, that sarcastic bastard wound up living in the same dorm as you, on the same floor, three doors down.

Life has a funny way of fucking you raw.

You tried to ignore him at first, you really did try. If you saw him coming down the hall for some water, you ran back into your room (which caused your roommate to sigh in annoyance, but what the hell does she know?). If he was using the study room that you wanted, you found another place to study. Was he talking to one of your friends for whatever reason? You didn’t associate with them anymore. You hated him so fucking much that avoiding him was probably the only thing that kept you from actively trying to strangle his smart-ass neck. You figured that as long as you avoided him like the plague, he couldn’t open his mouth, and you wouldn’t go to prison for attempted murder. Maybe, just maybe, he was dense enough not to realize that you were never around despite living in the same dorm building. 

Wrong again.

Tsukishima saw you on move-in day, struggling to carry your various boxes of manga into your room and cursing like a sailor. How childish, he thought. Someone so smart choosing a physical-education-based college was a fucking riot. He knew you only chose Sendai because you didn’t think he would go here, which was adorable in a weird sense. Tsukishima was good at volleyball, dumbass. He was the best middle-blocker Karasuno had in a while. Why not exploit that talent? Even though the Sendai Frogs was only a D-2 team, it was still a team. Seeing the color drain from his opponent's faces whenever he blocked their spikes was a reward in itself. The respect that game from being on the team was good as well, he supposed. Sure, his teammates were idiots who only got into university because of a sports scholarship, but they were decent on the court. Besides, they were more than happy to be doted on by their many female fans while Tsukishima focused on his history degree. Plus, it would give him more time to mess with you, his favorite little toy.

He hated you as well. Not because you were different; that wasn’t the case at all. No, it was because you were too similar to him for his liking. You were intelligent, cunning, and incredibly judgemental. And you hid it all under a mask of kindness and laughter. He hated you because he knew that behind closed doors, you were laughing at someone for getting an answer wrong in a lecture when the correct answer was so painfully obvious. You reminded him of himself, and he hated that. He hated you in high school, and he despised you now. 

He wanted to make your life a living fucking hell. Not in a bully-sort-of-way, no. He wasn’t going to beat you up in the middle of the day. That was for barbarians. The little insults would eventually cause you to break, and when that moment came, he would relish it.  

As fate would have it, your class schedules were very similar. You both shared a morning and a writing-intensive evening class, so there wasn’t much room in the curriculum for group assignments. All you had to do was show up and write a couple essays every month, which was incredibly easy for the two of you. Tsukishima could make you squirm in your seat from afar just by looking in your direction, just how he liked it. You could physically avoid him in the lecture halls, but not his piercing yellow gaze. It was perfect.

“I’m sorry. You want us to do what?” you slammed your hands on your professor's desk, your eyes twitching in frustration. “Forgive me, sir, but this cannot be part of the curriculum. I read the syllabus and the student handbook, and there is nothing about having unofficial student teachers.”

Tsukishima covered his mouth as he chuckled, finding amusement in your frustration. You were shorter than him, so you looked like an angry baby bird not getting enough breakfast.

Your professor sighed and rubbed his temple. “Look, I know it’s not ideal circumstances, but I need the help. You and Mr. Tsukishima are my best students. This class is easy for you. I know it is because you two always give each other…strange looks from across the hall.”

You nearly choke on your air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” you cross your arms over your chest.

Your professor sighed. “Well, whatever you two have with each other, make sure it doesn’t interfere with being my assignment graders. Besides,” he paused. “If you do this, it’ll boost your GPAs. For you,” he pointed in your direction. “That could mean a better chance at graduation school.”

“What about Tsukishima?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Tsukishima is constantly bored in my class. He needs something to keep his hands busy, which isn’t volleyball.” Your professor had the ghost of a smirk on his chapped lips. 

You snorted, quickly smacking your hand over your mouth. “Oh, is something funny about this?” your professor asked.

“No sir,” you couldn’t shake the smile off your face. “It’s just that I’ve known Tsukishima since high school, and you’re completely right. He’s so bored.”

Tsukishima shot you a dirty look. “I didn’t notice that you were paying so much attention to me, shrimp.”

“Shut up,” you retorted.

“How childish,” Tsukishima had his signature shit-eating smirk.

“Enough!” your professor slammed his hands onto his desk. “I will give you both ten papers to grade by the end of the week for fifty extra credit points. If you don’t have them by then…well I can’t do anything about that, so please have them in by Sunday, alright?”

You rolled your eyes, begrudgingly taking your half of the papers. “Well, as long as I get to work alone, I should be fine.” Tsukishima nodded in turn.

“Oh, this is a partner project. Have fun!” your professor ushered you two out of the lecture hall, slamming the door.

You and Tsukishima exchanged looks for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Your mouth hung open, and your plush lips parted.

“Close your mouth. You’ll attract flies,” Tsukishima pushed up his glasses with his middle finger. “God, I can’t believe that old man is making us work together. I would rather attend a party with Tadashi.”

“Tadashi doesn’t get invited to parties. He’s afraid of what being drunk is like,” you began to walk towards the exit.

Tsukishima quickly caught up to you in a couple of strides. “How do you know that about Tadashi? He only told me that.”

You turned towards him and smirked. “Maybe he tells me stuff too, Tsukki.” you purred, enjoying how his eye twitched when you called him that. “You’re just too self-absorbed to notice anything else around you.”

“Oh, and you’re not?” he leaned against the only exit. “God, you’re so annoying. You think you’re all that, but in reality, you’re miserable. I can’t believe I’m being forced to work with someone like you.”

“Oh, fuck off, Tsukishima. Get out of my way, I need to get dinner.” you pushed past him, flipping him off. “By the way, your new haircut is fucking horrendous. Did you do it yourself? Poor baby.” you pouted your bottom lip in mock pity, shoving your way outside. Tsukishima remained dumbfounded, running a hair through his curly blond strands.

“Poor baby,” those words echoed inside his mind, bouncing around as he returned to his dorm. It was the only thing he could think about, even when he tried to shake it from his thoughts. The way your plump lips pouted, mocking him, it was driving him fucking crazy. He couldn’t get your annoyingly sultry voice out of his head.

Yamaguchi wasn’t in the dorm. He was out with friends for the evening. Something about a new hotpot place, Tsukishima didn’t remember the details. All he knew was that he was alone, probably until two in the morning. That gave him enough time to deal with the problem in his boxers. 

It was your fault anyway; your stupid voice made him feel as hard as a rock. He fucking hated you. He hated everything about you, especially that slutty voice. As he desperately fisted his cock, the collar of his t-shirt in between his teeth, he thought about how much he hated you. He wanted to make you pay for constantly being on his mind, causing him to think the most lewd and depraved thoughts that someone as smart as him should never think. He fucked his hand, imagining it was your mouth that he was fucking instead. How you would struggle to take his massive length inside, your hands pumping what your mouth couldn’t take. It was fucking pathetic, you were pathetic. Pathetic and needy for him, just like he wanted you to be.

“Shit,” Tsukishima made a mess all over his hand, the sticky white substance splashing onto his exposed midriff. He wiped it off with a tissue, tossed it in the waste basket beside his bed, and placed his foggy glasses on the dresser. Tsukishima fell asleep not long after, praying that he wouldn’t have another fucking wet dream. That would be embarrassing. 

He woke up to the sound of quiet swearing coming from the hall. His clock read 3:21. Who the hell would be up this late anyway? It wasn’t Friday, so it probably wasn’t drunk sorority girls who weren’t old enough to live at the house yet. Whatever, whoever was swearing was being a real pain in the ass. Tsukishima groaned in annoyance as he swung his legs off the twin XL bed, careful not to wake the passed-out Yamaguchi on the opposite side of the room. He creaked the door open, squinting as the light from the hallway burned his sensitive eyes.

“Shut the hell up. Some of us have class in five hours!” he whisper-shouted, rubbing his eyes to see who he was lecturing. To his utter shock, your frame finally came into view. You were hunched over, clutching your palm and hissing slightly. “Oh, it’s you.”

You turned around, rolling your eyes. “Yes, asshole, it’s me. Sorry for waking you up or whatever,” you stared at your palm. “Listen, I hate to ask you for anything since you’re literally the worst person on the planet, but do you have a bandage?”

“And why would I give you that?” he leaned against the doorframe, smirking.

“Because I cut my fucking hand on the water fountain, and I’m kind of bleeding out here.” you showed him your palm that brandished an ugly cut across the base.

“Oh,” Tsukishima almost felt bad for a second. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so clumsy, you wouldn’t be bleeding.”

God, he was the fucking worst. You took a step towards him, leaning up to match his eyeline. “Listen here, dick, I know you fucking hate me, but this is kind of a medical emergency. So please, put your feelings towards me aside and help me wrap this up,” you swallowed, averting your gaze. “...please.”

He put a hand to his ear. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch what you just said.” Liar, he heard you perfectly well.

“You are fucking impossible,” exasperated, you did what he wanted. “Please, get me a bandage so I can return to bed. It’s starting to hurt.”

Tsukishima smirked in satisfaction, allowing you to enter his room. “Stop with the painful whimpering. Tadashi is trying to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. And he sleeps like a rock. I’m not worried.” you sat in his desk chair, massaging your palm. 

Tsukishima pulled out the first aid kit from one of the storage bins under his bed, rummaging through its contents. There were bandages of varying sizes, but he chose the brand he used for volleyball injuries; they were more absorbent. 

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” he whispered, holding the back of your hand as he rubbed an ointment on the cut. “This is going to sting, but you can handle it. You’re a big girl, right?”

“Call me that again, and I’ll kick your dick in.”

“There’s the attitude,” he smiled to himself. Even when you were bleeding in his dorm at three in the morning, you had that fire in your eyes that made his blood rush. His calloused fingertips guided the wrappings over your palm, making sure to be gentle. He despised you, but not so much that he would worsen your injury. That would be cruel, too cruel for him. 

While wrapping your wound, his yellow eyes trailed up and down your form, taking in what you wore to bed. A band t-shirt that was a few years old accompanied by Sanrio pajama shorts that rode up your thighs too much for Tsukishima’s liking. You were tempting him, waving something he couldn’t have in front of his face, like Tantalus and the hanging fruit. So close, yet so far out of reach. Tantalizing.

“Tell me if it’s too snug,” he stood up, cracking his back.

“It’s fine, thanks,” you mumbled, brushing off your knees. Your eyes lingered momentarily, observing the shirt he wore to sleep. It had a dinosaur decal on it. You weren’t sure which one. “What’s on your shirt?”

“Stegosaurus,” he instantly answered. 

“That’s…nice,” you chuckled, your voice still barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know you were so childish, Tsukishima.”

“You’re wearing Sanrio pajama shorts and calling me childish?” he rolled his eyes, towering above you. “Pot calling the kettle black.”

“Sanrio is cute, dinosaurs are dorky. You’re such a fucking dork,” you retorted, placing a hand on your hips. The smirk you wore was delicious. He wanted to bite it off of you.

“Once again,” Tsukishima leaned down, grasping your jaw. He would never ordinarily do this, but the lack of sleep let his inhibitions run wild. “Pot calling the kettle.”

“Let go of me,” your small hand encompassed his wrist. “What’s up with you? You’re acting less like a smug asshole and more like a perverted one. Are you high?”

“Why in the hell would you think I’m high?”

“Because you’re grasping my jaw like the main character in an R-rated movie.”

“And you’re dressed like a slut in my dorm,” he smirked, pulling your face closer to his. He noticed how your cheeks were the faintest shade of pink. You were enjoying this. “Oh, and now you’re blushing. How pathetic.”

“I am not blushing, fucking pervert.” his lips were almost against yours, his hot breath making you shiver.

Tsukishima breathed deeply. “You have no idea what you fucking do to me, what you make me want to do to you.”

For the first time in a long time, you were utterly speechless. It didn’t help that his lips were so close to being pressed against yours. “You’ll wake up, Tadashi,” you gestured to the sleeping Yamaguchi, drool and everything.

“Tadashi sleeps like a rock. You said it yourself,” and his lips were upon you, relentless and unforgiving. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his torso. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling on the blond curls as his mouth assaulted yours in a frenzy of unspoken passion. His teeth pulled on your bottom lip, eliciting the tiniest moan. 

Tsukishima pulled away as quickly as he kissed you. “Get out, now.” he pointed to the door. “Before I do something I’ll regret.”

You pretended not to be offended. “Whatever,” your hand turned the doorknob. “We have to see each other tomorrow when we grade those papers. And by the way,” your eyes landed on the carpet. “You’re a crap kisser.” Liar.

And with that, you left, the taste of your strawberry chapstick lingering on Tsukishima’s lips. He sighed and crawled into his neat bed, staring at the ceiling, the tent in his boxers incredibly annoying.

“Dammit, not again.” he couldn’t take care of it now, not with Yamaguchi sleeping across the room. It was now 3:49 in the morning. Classes would begin in a few hours. Whatever, no big deal. It’ll be gone by the morning. Hopefully, you would dress in the most modest clothing you had so he wouldn’t be tempted to fuck you against the wall of the study room. 

Tsukishima hated you, and yet he had to have you.

You really didn’t want to leave your bed. It was so warm and comfortable…but your roommate kicked you out so she could have sex with her loser boyfriend. At least she was somewhat polite about it. 

There was only one study room available for you to use. For some reason, the D&D club occupied the one with the massive projector screen, and a student council meeting was happening in the one with all the nice windows. Why didn’t they just use the library? That’s where all the nerd stuff is. Whatever, you didn’t care. You got the cramped study room that was initially a large janitor's closet. There was no window, one door, and a whiteboard that came with dried-out markers. Perfect. At least it would be for a couple of hours before your roommate would kick her boyfriend out.

The clacking of keyboard keys filled the cramped room as you worked on a paper for your ancient civilizations class, specifically about the rise and fall of ancient Rome. Your eyes were glued to the glaring blue light of your laptop, fingers typing like they had a mind of your own. Time seemed to come to a halt as you worked, words filling the blank digital pages to be compiled into a brilliant essay that would surely get you a 90% or above; you wouldn’t settle for anything less than that. You were so incredibly focused that the door opening landed on deaf ears. It was like you were in some sort of academic trance. 

Fingers snapped in front of your face.

“What the-” Tsukishima stood in front of you, holding half of the papers given to him by your professor. “Fucking knock next time! You scared me to death.”

“If only that really happened,” he smirked, taking the chair across the table. “I was actually looking for you so we can help grade these papers. I knocked on your door and heard loud moans, so I knew you weren’t in there.”

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. “Did you just say that I can’t get laid?”

“More or less,” he took out a red pen. “You wouldn’t happen to have your papers, would you? I don’t want to spend any more time with you than I have to.”

Reaching into your backpack, you retrieved your papers. “I took them with me before my roommate told me to beat it. I didn’t wanna risk getting anything gross on them.”

“Your roommate sounds like a real bitch. Maybe an even bigger bitch than yourself.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Thanks for the compliment, jackass.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he sported his signature smug smile that made your legs weak.

“Whatever. Can we just grade the papers together, please? I have other homework to finish.” you tied your hair in a messy bun, loose strands framing your face. 

Tsukishima’s golden eyes observed your movements and how your hands glided over the paper as you wrote corrections with your blue pen. He noticed how you scrunched your brows together when you saw something you didn’t understand or how you licked your plump bottom lip when you saw something you liked. Did you even realize how stupidly sexy you looked right now? The weather was warm outside, so you wore a spaghetti strap tank top that shamelessly exposed your cleavage. You were a fucking minx.

“How much have you done?” you looked up from your papers.

Tsukishima faked a cough. “I graded two.”

“Ha, I graded three,” it was now your turn to look smug, crossing your arms behind your head. “You’re slow today, Tsukishima. I’m surprised. You’re usually on top of your game. Did my late-night emergency interrupt your sleep? Poor baby.” 

There it was again, that fucking nickname. His grip on his pen tightened. “Don’t call me that.”

You chuckled. “Did I strike a nerve? Somebody’s sensitive today.”

His calloused hands pushed away from the table. In an instant, he had forcefully stood you up and pinned you against the wall, his slender body caging yours. “Shut the hell up.”

Your face was bright red, similar to the events of last night. “Did I strike a nerve, Tsukki?”

“Don’t call me that, you brat.” his words were like venom. “You piss me off so fucking much. You’re so fucking annoying with your smartass behavior.”

You titled your head to the side. “But you act the same way, don’t you? Are you mad because I remind you of yourself?”

He shook his head, pinning your wrists to your sides. “No, dumbass. I’m mad because you’re so fucking sexy when you act like a smartass.”

“Oh.” you were speechless once more. 

“So,” his nose was pressed against yours. “Shut the hell up and let me kiss you. Stop being a fucking brat for five minutes.”

You giggled. “I can’t believe you’re asking. How polite of you.”

“I said to stop acting like a brat.” he slammed his lips against yours, his strong hands still pinning your wrists to your sides. He was unforgiving in his kiss, molding his chapped lips with yours. You were wearing the same chapstick, strawberry flavored. Fucking delicious. Tsukishima groaned into the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth so it could dance with your own. His hands let go of your wrists, choosing instead to wrap them around the underside of your thighs. He quickly lifted you, his lips never leaving yours as your legs wrapped around his waist, almost upon instinct. Your hands flew to his blond curls once again, eagerly tugging on the locks as he ravaged your lips.

Tsukishima pulled away, breaking the strand of saliva that connected you. “You’re such a fucking slut.” he dropped you, sitting down in his chair. “You talk too fucking much,” he undid his belt, tossing it aside. “I think it’s about time you put that mouth of yours to work, don’t you agree?” he slid his jeans down to his ankles, the print in his boxers almost painful. He leaned back, patting on his thigh. “Be a good fucking girl and suck.”

Your body moved independently, your knees instantly falling onto the carpeted floor. Your hands were in a frenzy, sliding his boxers down to free his cock. His member slapped against his clothed torso, boasting a pretty pink tip that was leaking precum.

“So needy,” you whispered, wrapping your fingers around the base of his shaft. “So fucking big.”

“Stop talking,” Tsukishima groaned, closing his eyes as you gave his tip kitten licks. His hand found your hair, tugging on the messy bun as you took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his throbbing shaft. He eagerly fisted your hair and bucked his hips forward, shoving himself in its entirety deeper inside your mouth. You gagged, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as your head bobbed up and down his length. 

“You have a filthy fucking mouth,” Tsukishima deeply moaned, bucking his hips against your mouth once more. “You like it when I fuck this slutty face? Fucking whore.”

You looked up at him, the warmth feeling inside your belly growing even hotter as he began to fuck your mouth. He didn’t care if it was uncomfortable for you. That didn’t matter to him now. You were his to use however he pleased.

“That’s it, fucking take it like a good little slut. Getting her face fucked by her classmate’s cock, what a naughty little thing you are.” he was ruthless, the throbbing head of his cock making you gag over and over again as he chased his release. 

Your jaw began to ache from being open for so long. Your mascara was ruined as fat tears ran down your gorgeous face. Tsukishima drank in the sight, biting his lip at how beautiful you looked, choking on his length.

“Fuck, I’m close,” his grip on your hair loosened, shoving you off of his cock. “Stay fucking still.” 

You frantically nodded, knowing what was about to happen next. Your mouth remained open, tongue rolling out as he pumped his cock, cum spurting out and landing on your face and lips. You winced as some of it got in your hair. It was going to be a pain to get out.

“Shit,” he sighed, running his fingers through his now messy curls. “Stay there, I think I have some tissues in my bag.”

“O-okay…” you cringed at yourself for stammering.

Tsukishima dressed himself before finding an on-the-go tissue packet in his bag, sitting on the floor beside you. His hand cupped your jaw as he wiped off his release, being oddly gentle with you. 

The silence was awkward. Painfully awkward. There wasn’t much to talk about anyway. You hated the silence.

“Is this why you kissed me last night?” you blurted out, smacking your hand over your mouth. Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“That’s part of the reason.” he shoved the tissue in his pocket.

“What’s the other reason?”

His eyes bore into yours. “Because even though you are the most annoying, smart-ass, sarcastic person I know,” he bit his lip for a second. “You’re also the sexiest person I know. So painfully sexy.”

You scoffed. “You’re messing with me.”

“Take the damn compliment,” he sighed in frustration. “I just made out with you against a wall and fucked your face, and you think I’m messing with you?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It just seems like something you would do.”

“I can’t fault you for that,” he stood up, handing you the mess of papers. “I’ll finish these on my own.”

You brushed off your knees as you stood up. “But the professor said-”

He cut you off. “I know what the professor said. I’m afraid that if I stay around any longer, I won’t be able to help myself.” 

And with that, he left, leaving you confused and furiously blushing on the study room floor. You groaned, muttering curses as you climbed back into the chair, continuing to do your share of the work. Tsukishima was the worst person on Earth, and he thought you were sexy. He wanted you. He was the worst, and he wanted you. He said so himself. You tapped your pen against your bruised lips, formulating a plan—a plan to drive him absolutely feral and ravish you the way you both so obviously want.

It was one in the morning on Friday, and the dorm hall was chaotic. Various drunken sorority girls and frat boys ran through the halls, screaming whatever they pleased. Your roommate was amongst them, hosting three of her sisters in your dorm without consulting you. They talked about their recent hookups and what professors they thought were sexy. It was driving you positively mad. You had to get out of there, and there was only one place that was guaranteed not to be full of drunk idiots.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima’s dorm. Surely Tadashi wouldn’t have a problem with you staying for a couple of hours until the noise died down…right?

The wooden door rattled as you knocked, your foot bouncing on the floor. Tsukishima answered, looking confused. “Tadashi isn’t here. He’s doing something with my teammates. I’ll tell him you stopped by.” he tried to shut the door.

“Tsukki,” you forced your foot between the door and the doorway. “Let me in. My roommate is at it again, and it’s so annoying.”

He smirked. “Only if you beg for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine…please? It’ll just be for a couple of hours until they pass out on my floor. I’m…I’m begging you.”

Fuck, you looked so cute when you begged. “Alright, come on in. You’re lucky I was awake.”

“I sure am,” you muttered, kicking off your slippers. You made yourself comfortable on his bed.

“I didn’t say you could sit there.”

“Well, your dick was in my mouth twelve hours ago, so I think I deserve to lay on your bed for a bit. Don’t you agree?” you wore that smirk that secretly drove Tsukishima wild. 

“Fine,” he sat beside you, avoiding your pajamas on purpose. The silence was awkward once again, so fucking uncomfortable.

“Tsukki,” you looked at him. “Listen to me, no bullshit?” he nodded, still not looking towards you. “I know we don’t like each other. In fact, there were days in high school that I prayed you would get run over by a bus so that I wouldn’t have to see your face.”

“That seems harsh.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” you ran your fingers through your hair. “Look, we don’t have to like each other…but we don’t have to pretend we aren’t attracted to each other, either.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you get this profound?”

“Maybe since you fucking kissed me yesterday and came all over my face this afternoon. Does that ring any bells?”

Tsukishima chuckled. Before you knew it, you were pushed onto the bed, wrists pinned above your head. His lips hovered above yours. 

“I’m going to fuck that attitude out of you, brat.”

You leaned up and kissed him, electricity crackling through the kiss as he let go of your wrists to run his calloused hands all over your body in a blistering heat. They slipped under your band t-shirt, rolling the flesh of your breasts between his fingers, which caused you to moan into his mouth. He chuckled, squeezing your pert nipples between his thumb and index finger.

“So fucking sexy,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss to discard his shirt. You quickly followed, gasping as his tongue traced your breasts. “You’ve been hiding these from me for too long, naughty fucking girl.”

“Tsukki,” you breathed out, wrapping your legs around his waist as he suckled on your mounds. A yelp left your lips as he harshly bit down, sucking a blooming purple hickey on the delicate skin. “Fuck! Be fucking gentle.”

“And why would I do that? We both know you’re nothing but a little slut, so I’m going to fuck you like one.” he thumbed the hem of your sleep shorts, pulling them down to reveal your distinct lack of panties. “No panties tonight? You must have wanted this.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tsukki,” you whined as his fingers prodded against your entrance, slipping inside you with ease.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned as your cunt fluttered around his fingers. He curled them deeper, bullying his digits further into your heat. “Squeezing around my finger so shamelessly.”

Your head was thrown back against his fluffy pillow, grasping onto the sheets as his lithe fingers continued to mercilessly fuck you as if he was scissoring you open. The rough pad of his thumb found your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud. “Fuck, Tsukki!”

“That’s it, let the entire hall know whose fingers are fucking you so good,” his lips met yours once more, one hand lifting your thigh so he could curl his fingers impossibly deeper. The coil in your stomach felt like it was going to snap at any moment, his fingers and thumb merciless against your wanting pussy.

Just as you were about to reach the apex of pleasure, he pulled his fingers out, wiping them on his sheets. 

“What the hell? I was so fucking close!” you whined, pouting in frustration. 

“You’ll cum when I fucking decide you can,” he shoved his sweatpants off, his boxers quickly following. The familiar sight of his fat cock makes you drool slightly. “Turn around, get on all fours like a good girl.”

You quickly turned over, arching your back for him with your face buried in his pillow in shame. Tsukishima rummaged around in his dresser drawer for a condom, tearing the foil packet with his teeth. He hissed as the latex covered his cock, aligning it with your entrance.

“Now be a good little slut and take it,” his hips snapped against your ass, his massive cock filling you up so quickly. “So fucking tight.”

You cried out, hissing as his cock bullied itself inside of your sobbing cunt. His hands gripped your hips, squeezing the fat between his fingers. Tsukishima choked back a moan at the sight of your greedy pussy swallowing him entirely, his eyes hooded and dark with lust. 

“You look so fucking filthy right now, bent over for me like a slut,” his hand cracked against your ass, leaving a nasty red handprint. You clenched around his cock, moaning into the pillow as his hips snapped ruthlessly against your ass. “Oh? Do you like it when I call you a slut? That filthy fucking pussy of yours seems to agree.” 

He slapped your ass again, his pace brutal and unforgiving. “I’m gonna ruin this pussy so no one else can ever make you feel this fucking good. They can, fuck, they can fucking try to fuck you as good as I do, but you’ll never be fucking satisfied,” he punctuated his sentence with a deep thrust, his cock pistoning in and out of your heat expertly. “Every time you get fucked you’ll think of me and my cock ruining you for anybody else,” he grasped onto your hair, pulling your weeping face out of his pillow. “Do you fucking understand, slut? Answer me.”

“I-I understand, Tsukki! Fuck, so fucking good!” his name fell from your lips like a broken prayer, your mind slowly going fuzzy as his cock slammed into you over and over again with reckless abandon. You sobbed, the rest of your meaningless rambles dying on your bruised lips as he fucked you even harder, his release the only thing on his mind.

The coil in your stomach was about to snap. “I’m so fucking close!” his thrusts stopped.

“Beg for it.” he tugged on your hair again, pulling your back flush against his chest. “Beg for me to make you cum on my cock.”

You swallowed your pride. “Please, Tsukki! Fucking make me cum, I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

He let go of your hair. “I suppose that’s good enough.” he slapped your ass again, resuming his brutal pace. His thrusts grew savage and uncalculated, sloppily chasing his release. With Tsukishima’s permission, you came with a wanton sob, your release coating the latex of the condom. Tsukishima hissed at the sensation, slapping your ass once more in approval. “That’s it, make a fucking mess on my cock. So fucking shameless, so fucking slutty.”

He choked back a moan as his climax finally hit, fucking you through his release. He tossed his head back, his hips coming to a slow stop. His hands fell to his hips, pulling himself out of your sobbing cunt. 

“Fuck,” the condom was tied off and thrown into the waste basket next to his bed. He forcefully turned you over, taking you in his arms. Tsukishima was uncharacteristically gentle with you.

“Uh, Tsukki?” he only hummed in response. “Why aren’t you kicking me out?”

“Why would I do that?” his lithe fingers played with your hair.

“Well, because we just finished fucking.”

He raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “Are you seriously asking why I’m providing you with aftercare? God, all the men on this campus are hopeless.” he pulled you into his chest. “I’m your enemy. I’m not a monster.”

“Aw, that’s actually kind of cute,” you pouted. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep,” he mumbled in your hair, giving you the ghost of a forehead kiss.

You two were rudely awoken by the sound of the doorknob rattling. Panicking, you threw the comforter over your naked body while Tsukishima fumbled around looking for his glasses.

“Tsukki, I’m home. Sorry, I’m only now just-” Yamaguchi stopped in his tracks once he saw you and Tsukishima, both equally embarrassed.

“Oh. My. God.” Yamaguchi chuckled. “I didn’t think Tsukki had it in him.”

“Tadashi, shut the hell up.”

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

❝ 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,