#(<- guy who was sure jetlag wouldnt get him is awake at 4.30 am) :)) should not have slept during the actual day whoopsss

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Substitute of Love

1.6K || reader x Arakawa Shuuji || Smell & Masturbation & Murder || sex reader: ambiguous || AO3 (<- he/him!arakawa available)

You liked the routine the both of you had rolled in to. Every other school day or so you would make up an excuse to drop by the nurse’s office, and do your exchange with your lover. It had to be a secret, because if anyone at all found out, Mx. Arakawa would be in indefinite trouble.

---

It had started the day she walked you home. An unfortunate rainfall befell the two of you, leaving you both drenched and cold sheltered under a bus stop. With you shivering and sniveling, she had offered up her nice satin handkerchief. She winked, and the gesture would be a lot more romantic if you weren’t utterly distracted by her bra slightly visible under her sopping shirt. Grabbing it, you tried to distract yourself from the warmth rising in your cheeks.

Eventually, after a long wait (with a silence that was as comfortable as it could be), the sun managed to peek trough the clouds again. Mx. Arakawa walked you home, the now snotty cloth she gave you still bungled up in your pocket. You would wash it and return it the next day, and that would be it.

---

That was not it. After washing it, the urge to smell her lingering scent snuck up on you, and you couldn’t stop your face from moving into it. The sight of yesterday came back again. It brought back the image of you together, way more comfortable than the circumstances should have allowed. Sniffing deeper, you landed in the comfortable smell of sanitizer and lemons that did always seem to surround her. You decided to ignore the faint seafood that was also there, and just focus on the better ones, as more thoughts of her flooded your brain. She had always been so kind to you. And she had defended you from the kids in the cafeteria. And whatever she had let you see yesterday (because she had to know what she was showing off) didn’t leave a lot to imagine.

Despite not needing the imagination, your mind couldn’t help but wander off on its own. Despite having entertained yourself plenty last night, your hand drifted down again, handkerchief still clenched between your fingers. Her smell, faint as it had been, has implanted itself into every grain of your soul, but you wanted more of it. You needed more of it.

You should probably wash the handkerchief again.

---

You could have forgotten about it. You should have returned to school the next day NOT immediately heading to her office. But you didn’t. Somehow, that one night had gotten you hooked. And you would be a fool to believe that would be the last of it after she welcomed you this morning, her smile just a bit wider than before.

---

Mx. Arakawa had started it in the rain, but there was no reason to give you her kerchief the second time she did. After one of your regular nosebleeds (only half an excuse at this time), she touched you. It was just her hand slightly resting on your upper thigh. To outsiders nothing more than a somewhat weird place to rest. To you, another sensation that would occupy your thoughts the rest of the day, alongside her now familiar smell and all-too-close face. Unnoticed, she had slipped her token of love back in your pocket.

You didn’t notice until you were at home, taking your pants off. The bump apparently wasn’t enough to distract you from thinking about her at all. Confused, you took it out. Alongside the returning comfort of lemon and doctor, a small piece of paper caught your attention.

“DO CONTINUE <3” it said.

---

You don’t know how she had known. The second wash should have properly cleaned everything, and you were certain you did not spend enough ~intimate time~ with the kerchief for your smell to overtake hers. But then, you guess you could recognize her smell throughout the whole cafeteria as well. And, admittedly, you didn’t care about the how. It really wasn’t important to think about the how right now.

You couldn’t tell when she had joined in on the fun. It very well could have been directly after the first exchange. If she did, you didn’t notice until the fourth or fifth time you received her kerchief. Up until then, you had due diligently returned it clean and proper, like there wasn’t anything wrong happening at all. But this time you received a noticeably unclean one from her. It was wet and sticky and freakishly gross. It even smelled too good to have been from before school, lemon and a clear sour taste being more present than ever before.

It was enough to get you trough three round that night. And once more in the morning. You only returned it to her office the day after that. It had been given it a good clean and another round for good measure, and to not show all the desperation she had clearly already seen trough.

---

It was a comfortable routine. Receive the kerchief. Dirty the kerchief thinking about her. Occasionally receive a cleaner kerchief, but most of the time one that was twice as disgusting. Jerk off to her smell and image and taste again. Return. Repeat. You loved it.

With each bit of shame that grew smaller within you, your unity grew. It did not matter that it was unorthodox and illegal and Wrong. All that mattered was the little satin square slipping between your legs again. Hand gripping it tightly, tighter than your eyes were shut at that moment. The visions came to you easy these days. Her mouth, her lips, her tits, it didn’t matter. You were surrounded with her smell, lemon and sanitizer and even seafood becoming all your senses could take in. You gripped, you felt her, you came. Repeat.

Mx. Arakawa did the same. Twice or thrice or five times or seven. A thin layer separated her own touch from herself, but it felt all the better for it. One hand with her kerchief was consistently rubbing her clit, her other hand playing with her hole, or her chest, or her hair, or her mouth. It was never enough. This was all she could get from you without being prosecuted for it, and damn you if you thought she wouldn’t take every inch.

Sometimes she did it during school. Stowed away in a toilet, pants shoved halfway over her thighs. Hand and kerchief feverishly rubbing away, her other hand trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape at every brush of pleasure. You were so close, often just on the other side of the wall, yet the satin bond was all she could take. This was still a school after all.

It was your favorite when she had those moments in the stall. The layers of utter filth made the smell that much stronger, the desire for HER made you transform into something animalistic. Days like that were the only ones that didn’t drive the kerchief to your legs, it instead being forcefully shoved in your mouth and nose and face. It was the closest you could get to her.

---

You needed to wait. Despite the kerchief laying burning and gross in your pocket, you couldn’t do anything more than to return it once again. You could not rip off her pants right here and now. You could not force her to take you right on the bed you so often bled on. You could not stick her beloved piece of cloth in front of her mouth and nose as you did. Despite all the want, you could not.

Just like your thoughts were rarely present in her office, Mx. Arakawa was just as occupied on days of exchange. She was constantly thinking about ravishing you right on the floor. About stripping you naked and taking you whole, all at once. During those times she wouldn’t have to care about anyone peeking in trough the door. If that were to happen in her fantasies, she would just grab your face harder and force her tongue down. She would moan louder, the sound of you and her overshadowing anything else in the world. During those times she was free. She had you, and even if she did not, she still had her kerchief.

---

It was bliss and joy and want. The both of you were addicted to each other, with no way to actually use your love. You knew from the moment you met that she was stronger, but foresight couldn’t provide how much more her need for you could grow. How much hurt it could bring in spite of its bliss.

One day she would snap. Her time at the toilet had lasted too long, and on her way to look for you fate forced you with her. She dragged the two of you to her office. The door closed. You did not object when you were shoved onto the bed. You did not object when she took you raw. You did not object as she shoved the kerchief in your mouth using her own. You did not object as the smell of lemon and alcohol took over, as she pinched your nose closed. You did not stop when the only movement you could still make, was trusting up into her.

Your last breath released at the same time as you.