#A&P is definitely not a class you take 'just to see what its like' lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 10 months ago

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❝ 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) | part one | part three | part four

“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,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru smut #suguru geto fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru imagines #geto suguru x you #geto x you #geto fanfiction

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justmeinadaze · 2 years ago

Text

We're A Family Part 10 (Steddie X You)

A/N: I had many feels with this one. From this point forward I may start aging everyone up a bit just because I have some ideas with Steddie being girl dads and then Dylan needing them for advice all growing boys need. Im also drooling to get to teacher Steve... We also may throw another kid in there. Idk. Definitely not 6 @sidthedollface2 !!!

Warnings: ANGST and SMUT with a dash of fluff. Reader interacts with her mother which is always fun (I may also be dealing with things personal in this regard that flowed into my writing...), Reader and boys fight! I know! Its a small one though. She mentions feelings from her previous marriage and feeling like she isn't enough. Um...I think that it.

Word count: 4085

“Dada…da…da…”

“I know, sweetheart. I miss them to.”

You and Aurora were sitting on the floor of your bedroom while Dylan laid a few feet away patting the floor.

“Come on, Ro. You can do it.” She giggled at her brother as she tried to take a step forward before falling back on her butt.

This was the fourth day in a row that the guys hadn’t been home in time for dinner. Eddie had been working late at the shop while Steve had stayed behind at school to work on a project he had due. You missed them terribly but you would never bring it up. They were both working so hard to take care of you and the kids but you’d be lying if you said there weren’t a few times you had some flashbacks to your previous marriage.

You reminded yourself constantly that this was different. Charlie had always been out on the town with his friends or fucking other women behind your back. Eddie and Steve were both at work. You weren’t allowed to be angry…right? It’s ok though. The guys said tomorrow everything would go back to normal…right?

The sound of your phone ringing startled you back to reality.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Is my son there?”

“Lynette? No, he isn’t and if he was I wouldn’t let you talk to him.”

She aggressively sighs. “Just like Wayne. So fucking self-righteous. I need to know if he’s going to the hearing.”

“Oh, well, I can answer that. No. Now leave him alone.”

Dylan laughed as you hung up the phone. “You’re so spicy, mom.”

“Yeah, it comes with old age.” He laughs harder as you laugh with him. “You want to watch a movie, weirdo?”

##################

Steve sighed as he quietly opened the front door to a relatively dark house. Like you had been doing all week, the kitchen light remained on illuminating the entryway enough for him so he could see.

“Hey, Munson.”

“Harrington. You’re just walking in to I see?”

He nodded as he reached for the fridge door, softly smiling at the food you left behind for them.

“We don’t deserve her.” As he turns back around, he notices Eddie reading the note you left behind. Even though you could text them, you always left a note on the counter giving them a play by play of the evening. The metalhead hands it to Steve as he retrieves a beer and leans against the counter.

“Eddie and Steve,

Dylan insisted on Chinese food so I ordered you both something and left it in the fridge. He had a good day and even told me about a new girl in his class :P. I think he likes her.

Ro still hasn’t got walking down. Our son keeps calling to her like she’s a dog and all she does is laugh lol She has definitely mastered crawling for sure. I saved the lives of one of your guitars, Ed!

She asks for you guys a lot. At night while we’re watching tv, she’ll point or look around and call out for ‘dada’. She misses you two…we all do…

Eddie, baby, your mom called my phone tonight looking for you asking about the hearing. I told her you didn’t want to go. I wanted to give you a heads up just in case she tries calling you to.

I love you both so much,

Y/N <3 “

“Steve, one of us should at least be here.”

“I know… I don’t know what to fucking do, Eddie. This is a big project for the semester and then I have to still go to work and make money. What about you?”

“I’m working to, man. I have more responsibility now and not just here. I…”, he exhales as he heads for the stairs. “I’m too fucking tired.”

Their hearts break when they enter the bedroom, finding all three of you asleep on the bed. Steve carefully picks up Aurora from your chest as Eddie pries Dylan from your hip, carrying them to their respective areas.

Without even changing, they threw themselves into bed next to you, pulling you into their embrace as they fell asleep.

#############

When you woke up, they were both already gone for work. The only reason you knew they even came home was because you could still smell their scent lingering in the sheets.

For the rest of the Saturday, you busied yourself around the house to make the time go by faster. Eddie and Steve were supposed to come home by 6 but the anger didn’t start to rise until 7 when neither of them had come back yet. Stomping to your phone you noticed a few texts you had missed. Steve said that the group he was working with in his class had some free time so he was going to run to one of their houses to finish up their project and Eddie said he had to work late again but promised he’d be home by 8 at the latest.

You fumed as you paced in the kitchen. They promised today everything would go back to normal. They told you things were going to go back to how they were so they could at least see the kids before they went to bed. Without thinking it through you grabbed your phone and texted them a response.

“Fuck you both.”

Thirty minutes later, both boys angrily barreled into the house, shocked to find not you but Kierra in the living room.

“I don’t know what you two did but my sister is pissed.”

“Where is she?”

“She said she needed to let off some steam.”

“Kierra, come on, we know you know where she is.”

Your sister glared in their direction, rising to her feet with Aurora on her hip.

“Dada. Dada.”, she clapped reaching for Steve.

“I’m taking them to my house to spend the night. Talk to her, gentlemen. Y/N can handle a lot but she won’t put up with another Charlie.” It was their turn to glare, hating being compared to your douchebag ex. “She’s at The Hideout. Bring your shield and swords. My sister isn’t exactly a happy drunk.”

##############

I’m not supposed to be angry. I’m not supposed to be angry. I’m not—”

You chugged back the liquid in your glass as you lit another one of Eddie’s cigarettes. You imagined you looked pretty pathetic in a dark bar, smoking a cigarette in a shirt and jacket that were two sizes too big but you needed them close to you. Eddie’s jacket and one of Steve’s button up shirts were blanketed in their smells that had you hugging yourself as you tried to push back the tears that tried to run down your face.

“Man trouble?” Your eyes shoot up to meet your moms as she sits diagonal from you at the bar, ordering a drink of her own as she lights up the cigarette in her mouth. “I swear me being here is a coincidence. It seems Mrs. Harrington and I don’t have a lot to talk about these days. Plus, she spends less time at that country club now that she’s at your house more.”

“Can I just drink alone, please?”, you whine.

Your mother nods as she takes a sip of the martini that was handed to her. “How’s, um, how’s Dylan?”

“You would know if you bothered to come by or even call.” She looks down as you snap at her, immediately feeling guilty. “He’s doing ok. He plays baseball now and is dead set on teaching Aurora how to walk.”

“Is that the baby’s name?”

“My daughter, your granddaughter? Yes, it is.”

Your mother sighs as she turns to fully face you. “I don’t have a problem with her. I hope you know that. Janet showed me some pictures of her. She’s really beautiful.”

“No, you just have a problem with her mother being together with her fathers.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Y/N! She has ONE father. ONE parent. How are you going to explain that to her when she gets older. Hell, how are you going to explain it to her now?! I imagine for a toddler that will be extremely confusing. And have you even considered what school will be like for her?! You’re so selfish, Y/N.”

You chugged down the rest of the liquor in your glass as you began to subtly cry. You already felt selfish for being angry with the boys…this is the last thing you needed.

“Y/N, let me call Eddie to pick you up!”

“I’m not driving, Nick!”, you shouted as you exited the bar.

As you began your trek into the parking lot, your mother’s voice floated from behind you.

“Y/N, come on. Let me drive you home.”

“Don’t!”, you snap as you turn on her. “Don’t pretend like you fucking care about me now. Don’t patronize me and pretend like you give a fuck about me or my kids! You told Charlie all about my life and things he didn’t need to fucking know which kick started a brand-new custody filing which fucking back fired because even a court so far seems to think my home is better than his! He felt so cornered he took him from school without telling me and got arrested. Did you know that?”

“Did you know that no one makes fun of Dylan at school and most of his friends think it’s ‘cool’ he has three parents? Of course, my son doesn’t care about that. All he cares about is the fact that he finally has men in his life who are there and actually make him feel wanted!”

This was a long time coming. Everything you been holding in was finally spilling out of you and you couldn’t reel it back in. A hand suddenly touched your arm but you didn’t bother turning around. At that moment, it didn’t matter.

“Y/N, baby, come on.”, Steve murmured before you yanked out of his grasp.

“Aurora may only be one but believe it or not she understands that these two are her father. Biologically, yes, one helped make her but it takes more than that to be a parent but you wouldn’t understand anything about that, would you? I haven’t seen you in almost 2 years and why?! Because I found two good people I love and love me back? Jesus, you’re right. I am fucking selfish! I’m not perfect!”

As you spoke, Eddie and Steve tried to pull you towards the car but you kept fighting to get out of their grasp.

“Why am I not enough for you?”

Eddie finally stepped in front of you, blocking your mom from your view as he grabbed your biceps forcing you to look at him.

“Stop! Stop... Get in the car, sweetheart.”

Steve opened the back door, guiding you in before facing your mom. “You know, for someone who cares about how people perceive her, you give off a really shitty image. Maybe it’s time to consider if you’re trying to impress the right people.”

#############

You barge into the house and head straight for the liquor cabinet in the kitchen.

“Fucking child proof...garbage…ugh!”, you whine as you aggressively pull on the child lock attached to the door.

“You don’t need anymore alcohol, Y/N.” Both men were leaning against opposite counters watching you.

“I’m sorry, Steven, but you don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m an adult—”

“Whose acting like a child.”, Eddie cut you off.

“Said the man who acts like a kid 24/7.” You glare at them as you exhale. “Fuck this. I’m going to bed.” As you tried to head towards the stairs, they both cut you off. “Move.”

“Or what?”, Steve challenged.

It had been awhile since you saw this version them; the angry version that didn’t mind playing into your attitude with a fury of their own.

Turning on your heels, you planned to go around the counter through the living room but Eddie cut you off.

“What was that text about? ‘Fuck you both.’”

“You BOTH promised me you would be home today?!”

“Sorry, honey. Shit came up. It’s not like we’re out on the town or having any fucking fun! Eddie and I are working our asses off!”

“So do I! I work an 8hr shift AND come home to take care of TWO kids alone!”

“We talked about this, Y/N. You knew when Steve started school and I took that promotion our schedules would be tight. You said you were fine with it.”

“Well maybe I’m not! And tight is completely different that not seeing you at all.”

“What do we do then, huh? You want me to quit my job so we can scrape by for the next year and a half? Maybe, Ed can go back to his old position that he hated. At least everyone would be fucking happy!”

You marched outside, slamming the backdoor as you lit a fresh cigarette.

“Hey! Don’t walk away! We aren’t done.”

“I DON’T KNOW!”, you screamed. Your hands beginning to shake as the tears started to flow again. “I don’t know, Eddie. I-I know I’m not allowed to be angry and I know that you guys aren’t doing anything wrong or anything like that. But I hear Dylan talk and see Aurora search for you…then I go to bed alone and I just…I feel like I did when I was married to Charlie.”

“That’s…”, Steve aggressively sighs as he tries to control his temper. “That’s not fair, Y/N.”

“I know but, fuck. Maybe I am selfish.”

“If there’s one thing you’re not, sweetheart, it’s selfish. Don’t bring your mom’s ignorance into this because what she thinks about you and us doesn’t matter. What I do want to focus on is you’re the second person today to compare us to your ex and I don’t fucking like it.”

“Me either.”, Steve chimed in.

“Y/N, we know you went through a lot with him and still are but we aren’t him. How would you feel if we said something you did reminded us of Emily.” You cringed at the thought. “Exactly. We would never fucking hurt you the way Charlie did and we would never fucking give up on you either.” You made a funny face in his direction so Eddie continued.

“Baby, he stopped fighting for you the moment he cheated on you. Fucking asshole was so petty he wouldn’t even let the mother of his child and son stay in their home.”

“If he hadn’t done that though, I never would have met you two.” You flashed them a slanted smile as you wiped your eyes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I sent that text earlier. You know me, I saw red and… I was just so excited you guys were going to be home.”

Your gaze shifted between theirs as something quickly passed through their eyes, something you hadn’t seen directed towards you since living across from them...

“I’m going to go get ready for bed.” You grin again, tossing the cigarette into the ashtray before swishing past them into the house.

A hand abruptly grabs your shoulder, spinning you around as lips crash to yours. The many rings on his fingers tells you its Eddie as he pushes you against the living room wall. There’s a neediness to both your energies as he hastily unbuttons your pants and slides his hand under the waistband of your panties, making you moan as he roughly inserts two of his fingers into your cunt.

You cling to his neck as he sucks on yours, thrusting into you at an aggressive pace.

“E-Eddie… slow…oh my god…slow down.”

Without a word, he does as you ask, choosing to curl his fingers deep inside of you. Your legs began to shake as you reached down to grip his wrist. You tried to pull at his hair to look at his face but his lips remained attached to your neck. Instead, you searched for Steve, finding him leaning beside you both, his eyes overshadowed with that determination you saw before.

Tonight, it was just you three and it had been so long since you had been together not just sexually but intimately. You were hurting and so were they. They missed you as much as you missed them and tonight they were going to show you how much. Tonight, the house belonged to you guys and they were going to make you scream their names so all of Hawkins understood you were theirs, no matter what.

You moan his name repeatedly as you cum, yanking Steve’s shirt to bring his lips to yours. As soon as Eddie removed his hand, the other man lifted you into his arms, bringing you into the kitchen and placing you on the island in the middle. The metalhead came around to grip your waist as Steve aggressively tugged off your jeans and panties.

After pulling you closer to the edge, he threw off his shirt before kneeling, opening your legs wider, and wrapping his mouth around your clit. His motions were just as fast as Eddie, not allowing you much time to catch your breath. Lips and teeth warmed your breast as Eddie switched between the two.

“I…guys…please…fuck…” You were struggling to form words as they both overwhelmed your senses. The sharp, cold temperature of the granite hit your back as you laid flat against it, thrusting your hips against the man’s face till you felt the coil snap and you came again. Eddie lifted you, placing you on your feet, and turning you so your back was to his chest.

He fumbled with his belt as he walked you towards the stairs, kicking them and his boxers to the side as you fall forward onto the steps. The man licks his hand, pumping himself a few times before pushing into you as you moan. His fingers clung to your hips as he thrust into you, the obscene sound of skin hitting skin filling the area.

Footsteps echoed beside you as Steve pushed off his own attire tossing it to the ground. After sliding himself in front of you, your hands grip his thighs for support as you encase his cock with your lips.

He grunts at the feeling as you moan and bob your head, pulling your hair into a ponytail so he can watch you take him. Eddie falls forward, grinding into your pussy hard as his hands roam your now sweaty body.

You lift your head, continuing to jerk him as fast as you can, shouting Eddie’s name as you hurtle quickly over that ledge again. He groans as you flutter around him, pulling out before taking you in his arms as he heads for the bedroom.

Throwing you onto your back on the mattress, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and breaches your entrance again as he chases his high. Steve climbs up beside you, licking his fingers and reaching between you to rub your swollen clit.

“Please…I can’t…again…too much…” They both silently continue what they were doing, lost in you and the moment. Eddie grunts as he cums, thrusting his hips till he empties inside of you.

Steve takes over as the other boy pulls out and backs away, sliding himself into you before pushing your legs together and turning you on your side. This position had him deeper inside of you then you had ever felt as you gripped the sheets for support, needing to hold on to something as he smacked his hips against yours.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand reaching for yours, quickly reaching over to take it as he gripped you tightly. The sound of your whimpers and moans escalated until you couldn’t hold back anymore, crying and shouting Steve’s name into the darkness. His body folded over your own slightly as his rhythm sputtered and he came, rope after rope filling you up.

The room feel quiet except for your sniffles into the blankets. Someone gently lifted you into their arms and carried you to the bathroom before placing you on your feet by the tub. Looking up, you met Eddie’s soft brown eyes as he smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. A loud grunt left him as you practically tackled him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cried into his chest. Steve came up behind you, hugging you as he rested his cheek on your head.

They waited for the bathtub to fill before releasing you, holding your hand as you stepped inside and immediately tugged your knees under your chin as they joined you. After Steve delicately pulled up your hair, he tenderly ran his palms along your shoulders and down your arms as Eddie cleaned your body.

“I don’t like this…the silence…” The only reason you knew they heard you was because their movements paused for a moment before they continued. “Please say something.”

“You’re more than enough.” Your eyes met Eddie’s in total confusion. “You asked your mom why you weren’t enough and I know part of the reason you feel the way you’ve been feeling is because Charlie made you believe that to. You’re MORE than enough. You are everything.”

“You’re not selfish for feeling the way you’ve been feeling, Y/N.”, Steve continued after. “We miss you to and the kids. When you said Dylan has been trying to show Ro how to walk more, I panicked like what if we weren’t here when she finally did?”

You sighed as you leaned against his chest.

“We finished our project so I’m done there and, of course, the semester ends next week so I’ll be home more. Maybe next semester, I can cut back on some of my hours at work. Things might be a bit tight but…”

“Maybe not.”

“What do you mean, Ed?”

“The owner of the shop, Scott? He’s retiring after the new year. Part of the reason I’ve been staying late is because… he’s been talking about giving the garage to me.”

“Eddie, oh my god. That’s amazing!” You lean forward wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up including my own if he decided against it. But, baby, this would mean I could be home more and we would have more money. Steve could even solely focus on school but knowing him he would insist on continuing to work.”

“You’re not wrong.”, Steve chuckles.

“But what about music? Corroded Coffin?”

“I can practice more with them to. Sweetheart, I’m not going to become a rockstar in the next year.”, he laughs.

“You’re already a rockstar to me.”, you smile as you kiss his lips.

################

“Oh hey, look. The entire Munson-Harrington clan came to get you guys AND they seem happy.”, Kierra grins as she opens her door wider to allow you three into her home. “Did you fall on your knees and beg for forgiveness?”

“Eh something like that.”, Eddie laughs.

“Your mother was at the bar to last night. I’m not sure if she told you that.”

Your sister sighed at Steve’s comment. “I swear to God, that woman can be so…ugh! What did she say, Y/N?” When you didn’t answer, she turned to face you, noticing your eyes focusing on the kids.

Dylan was holding Aurora’s hand allow her to balance before letting her go. She took one wobbly step forward before falling on her butt and smiling up at him. You sunk to your knees placing yourself a small distance away from her. Your son lifted her up again, holding her hand as he guided her towards you before letting her go. She stood still just for a moment as she looked your way.

“Come here, baby. I missed you. Give mama a hug?”

You reached out your arms as she giggled before slowly taking two steps forward. She almost fell catching herself on her hands before pushing back to a standing position.

“Ma…mama!”

She took two more determined steps by herself before falling into your lap.

“Oh, Wayne’s going to hate that.”, Eddie grinned.

“God job, Ro.” Steve kissed her forehead as she keened into your neck.

“Get ready, boys. Here comes the fun part. Running after a toddler around a two story house with sticky fingers.”, Kierra laughed as she wrapped her arms around you leaning her head on the Aurora’s back.

###############

@adequate-superstar @kalinaselennespeaks

@alienthings @steddieloverrr @manda-panda-monium

@decadentwombatmiracle @katie-tibo @marsupiooo

@local-stoner-bitch @steamystrangerfics @lunatictardis

@adaydreamaway08 @hazydespair @actuallyspencerreid

@moviefreak1205 @waylandmorgernsternherondal-blog

@kik51199 @strngrlytn @idkidknemore @damon-loves-pie

@k-k0129 @micheledawn1975 @eddie86baby

@justmeandmymeanderingthoughts @3rriberri

@sashaphantomhive @chelebelletx @big-ope-vibes

@munsonzzgf @munsonmoonshine86

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captainderyn · 1 year ago

Text

OC Tag Game

Ehehehe thank you for the tag @tiredassmage <3

Favorite OC:

Oh man...oh how can you ask me to choose my favorite? In all honesty it kind of rotates depending on what game I'm fixated on that most that day/week/month lol. The usual havers-of-my-fixation are Five, Ryn, and Raenor & Wulfwryn (they come as a pair, fight me).

(But, just between you and me goers-of-tumblr, Five and Raenor are pretty tied :P)

Newest OC: I'm not going to count my Ryder from ME:A because I haven't introduced her here yet, so I'd say Roslynd. I wanted to create her in theory for awhile but then I got bit by the agent bug thanks to @tiredassmage and finally actually created her!

Oldest OC (length of time you've had them): As far as some form of their existence in the source material, probably Wulfwryn. I created her waaay back in...oh man...2011/12 when my Lord of the Rings hyperfixation was really sparked. Though I was an early middle schooler at that point, so naturally Wulfwryn was a thirtheenth walker insert and also far less developed and nuanced its a good thing I didn't post in the internet

However, in any iteration, probably Emeldir and Wren. They've been two of my longest standing OC concepts that have kind of bounced from universe to universe from old RP forums, to LOTR, to SWTOR. Though they're very, very different now. Emeldir used to be a wolf shape-shifter and Wren used to be far less of a WLW boss ass bitch.

Emeldir is my oldest SWTOR OC though, he was my first character way back in 20...uh...2015/16 when I first picked the game up.

Meanest OC: See, I'm really bad at making mean characters so I'm not sure xD Wren is probably the one who gives the least fucks and is more likely to put you in your place. She is a Dark Counselor after all, she's got to have an edge to her to succeed.

Softest OC: Raenor my bby boy (affectionate, that's a whole ass 500+ year old elven man). He is absolutely my softest OC who gets dragged into The Plot. He just wants to love Wulfwryn and create his music but instead Things Keep Happening.

Most Aloof/Standoffish: *trying to card through all my OCs, I have too many, especially Dragon Age ones I haven't talked about in awhile). I would say Five, only because that's how he is with basically everyone except Roslynd, Era, and his junior agents in the Cipher Division.

Dumbest (affectionate): This one probably goes to Ien, but I haven't talked about Ien in awhile he's fallen off the radar :') my idiot freckled blueberry smuggler. He's dumb as rocks (by choice).

For OCs I talk about regularly(ish) that has to go to Emeldir. He very book smart, but very young and naive at the start of the class story and very much NOT what you expect from a smuggler's personality and so many times Risha has to keep him from getting scammed because "NO they aren't being nice, they will take your money, no they don't actually need your help."

Smartest OC: Five and/or Ryn no contest. Five is smart as a whip, he needs to be and he's very logic-minded.

Horniest OC: *sigh* V. This woman cannot stop being horny for Judy even when we have plot to do. She's singularly minded, that one.

Ryn is also surprisingly horny but neither she nor I understand why she's attracted to turians, if she's actually attracted to turians at all, or if Garrus just Got Her With That Voice And Personality and the rest just kind of happens. So let me correct myself, she's *VERY* horny for Garrus, I just rarely write it because I don't understand physically why.

OC You'd Bang: *bisexual panic* Ha..ahaha...quite a few of them. Let's see, Five I accidentally projected My Type Of Man onto so definitely him. And also Ryn...very much Ryn, I mean *c'mon* yes Shepard hold me in your buff arms.

OC You'd Be Best Friends With IRL: Probably Emeldir ngl, he's so nice and chill and really just a quiet guy and by proxy that means I get a token extrovert friend in Rielay. I would love to be friends with Era but I definitely feel like she'd be way cooler than I am IRL.

Tagging... @storyknitter @queen-scribbles and @greyias if you'd like to join!

#captainderyn memes #me with my many ocs but only a small handful that ever come out of the toybox

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creedslove · 2 years ago

Note

Have you watched the Kdrama "Nevertheless"?

spoiler!!!!

It's a story about a girl who develops feelings for her FWB, who is a very popular guy and behind the scenes they are total bf gf and she’s falling hard for him but he is still close to his ex who is visiting. she realizes that he may never commit to her and starts avoiding him.

She does that after confronting him and after he has been total jerk to her and she discovers he has lead other girls on the same way. She briefly leaves town and He follows her trying to win her back and is being loved by her aunt, he then confesses his feelings many times but the girl chooses not to believe at all.

They go to the same art school, they have always acted like there's nothing going on between them, while she was vising her town her friends visits her too??? one of her friend from her friend group is openly hitting on him and simultaneously there’s a childhood friend of the girl who is trying to pursue her. but then the childhood-guy realizes that these two have something going on and he puts his feelings aside and stops pursuing her. Also, The fuck boy in this show knows how to make the girl weak he’s just so perfect like that lol.

On returning back, she has been failing her art classes and the Fboy offers to help to which they work together on the condition that he leaves her alone for good before the final art exhibition. (they work in his basement and he finally shows her his place or something i dont remember) right before the exhibition He keeps his word and leaves her without a way to contact him.

After doing well in the exhibition she realizes she has noone to share the good news with ( esp him) she tries to find him, but there's no trace.... the girl goes to the basement where they worked on the project to realize he has sold the house.. she then discovers old sketches of her drawn by him out of admiration, he has drawn her the very first time he ever saw her a year ago (she didn't know him then but he had seen her already) and how grateful we was that their paths crossed again in art school, she finds out he always loved her but was too afraid to express his feelings. He knew from the start she deserves someone better and he knows he is too careless with her heart..

Love at first sight kinda thing for him, even though he got a chance to be with her he constantly fucked up and now its too late bc the girl will never take him back. This is just a brief summary of the series it’s actually very nice and detailed they do end up together.

your writing Betrayed reminded me a lot of the show , both the guys are playing with girls heart and how the girls get wiser and push them away is when the guys get their act together … I hope you get inspired and actually give the reader & Pedro a chance because I am assuming they aren’t fwb.. I hope they either cross the friends line if not at least now or P suffers watching other pursue her but the reader isn't really happy bc it's not P... I wish to see some element of wants/cravings lol

Great Work!!!!!!!

I have never!!! I have a lot of kdramas on my nefltix list but i never got to watch them because I'm honestly so lazy for series and i usually waste all my time on soap opera lmao but this whole story sounds absolutely amazing!!! That's definitely the kind of drama i like and i already added it to my list, and as it is a short series I'll take a look at it on the weekend, so hopefully I'll enjoy it as much as I did the description you sent me!

It is funny how similar the plots are, but i swear I didn't watch it, it all came from my mind plus my lovely anon's ideas hehehe, but I'm happy to see a lot of people dig into drama hahaha

Pedro and reader aren't fwb but there's definitely feelings between them, they are unresolved and they need to figure out if they'll stay together or not. I'm so excited to see what people will think of this next chapter, I guess people will be divided, hehehe thanks for the awesome ask, anon!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#ask #answered #pedro #pascal

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apricotpopsicle · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Talk

masterlist || requests || ao3

pairing: best friend!Eddie Munson x Reader

word count: 15.6k (oops lol)

warnings/tags: eddie is alive and graduating because i say so, Hawkins is fine too, fem+afab reader, "mean" reader (she's just bad at emotions), eddie and reader make fun of each other a lot! descriptions of light violence, dubious d&d knowledge (sorry), underage(?) drinking, eddie and reader both drink a little, mention of reader having hair, some angst because ofc, mentions of eddie almost dying, mentions of vomit (nondescriptive), insecurity, perceived unrequited feelings, SMUT, slight dom!eddie ig, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, light choking, unprotected p in v (plz use protection y'all, this is just fantasy!), sort of semi-public sex/chance of being caught

description: based on this ask! i definitely did way more than you asked for nonnie my bad lol

Minors DNI!!!!!

---

Your relationship with Eddie Munson has always been unconventional, to say the least.

You've been unlikely friends longer than most people in your life remember. You, however, remember vividly how it happened- the first day of third grade, Mrs. Walcott's class, during lunch. He was what the teachers called a "trouble student," all fidgety limbs and mischievous smiles. You were a "pleasure to have in class," quiet, and mostly kept to yourself.

The day you met Eddie, one of his friends had dared him to yank on your braids in exchange for a twinkie. As soon as his hand released its grip from your hair, you turned around and punched him in the face.

The lunch room went dead silent when his butt hit the floor. You hadn't hit him hard enough to hurt, just enough to stun him. But you could see in his eyes how surprised he was that the shy, mousy girl could lay him out flat like that. You thought he would cry, yell, run to get a teacher. Instead, he opened his mouth wide and devolved into fits of laughter.

You both got in trouble. And in detention that afternoon, he offered you half the twinkie he earned. You thought about punching him again.

You've been inseparable ever since.

That moment defined your whole relationship. If a stranger saw you interacting, they easily could've mistaken you for a couple mortal enemies. You were both sarcastic and a touch combative, but it was all in good fun. He really was your best friend. Your dynamic held a strange kind of intimacy- it was the kind of relationship where you had virtually no secrets from each other.

Okay, maybe you were never exactly "vulnerable" with each other, but it was good. You kept each other grounded. Even when times got hard, when his dad went to prison, when your parents nearly lost the house, you were the only people who could cheer the other up. The only ones who could make each other feel normal. And you never made a dig harder than the other person could take.

When you graduated high school and started going to the local junior college, he was so proud of you. Mostly, he was over the moon you were staying in Hawkins. He didn't say that directly, of course, but you knew. He showed his gratitude by teasing you for not getting out of town, and you teased him for being a super senior. And then, a super super senior.

It was nice. Normal. It was enough for you.

Lately, though, things have been different. You've been so busy with classes and work, and Eddie's been just as preoccupied with running his D&D campaign, and finally snatching up his high school diploma (and apparently, saving the world). You haven't been calling or hanging out like you used to. You've both been weirdly distant. Especially you.

What's even weirder, is on the occasions you do hang out, he's almost... nice to you. Not lobbing insults as fast, not so quick to poke fun at you for stumbling over a word. Maybe it's the fact that he almost died, or that you're both getting older, or... maybe he just doesn't feel as close to you anymore. But you can't get mad at him for being nice. You're definitely not freaking out about it.

And most importantly, you're not freaking out because all the weirdness made you realize you've been in love with him for years.

Nope, not freaking out at all.

But you push those swirling thoughts out of your mind. Your feelings towards your best friends aren't important right now, because today is an important day. Eddie's and your absolute favorite day of the year- the Hellfire Alumni party. An annual tradition that started after the first graduating class of Hellfire club crashed a meeting with enough booze to tranquilize an elephant.

This is the day that every current and former club member can gather together, come home from college, from new cities and new lives to play a crazy, elaborate one-shot (then throw a crazy, elaborate party). This is the event of the year for the nerds, freaks, and outcasts of Hawkins.

And this year, with your parents serendipitously out of town for the week, it's your turn to play host.

You have a solid hour before everyone is set to arrive. The game would be ending soon, but you left early to set up. As per tradition, the afterparty's host was "tragically and without any coincidence at all" sent off on a side quest early in the game to allow for plenty of time to prep for guests.

You flit from living room, to kitchen, to back porch, affixing cheesy homemade D&D decor to the walls, setting up string lights and seats, laying out snacks on the tables, and making sure coolers are stocked and readily available. There's still so much to do if you want this party up to your impeccable standards. This might be too much for one person, and you curse yourself for being too stubborn to ask for an extra set of hands. With how much effort you were putting into the party, you haven't even had time to change out of your Hellfire shirt.

The one you helped Eddie design.

You pause your fussing on the streamer you're hanging up as soon as he crosses your mind.

You'd managed to avoid him completely at the meeting, having shown up late and left early. He was just making you... nervous. Ever since his near death experience in the Upside Down, and how nice he's treating you now, you just can't push down your emotions. Any time he's close to you, you can physically feel the words "I Like You, You Idiot" being pulled from your throat.

And god, it's so hard when he just looks so Goddamn good. Jesus, it's like you can't even control yourself around him anymore. Any time he laughs, or touches your arm, or stretches to reveal a sliver of skin riding above his jeans, the urge to jump him is nearly untamable. That stretch of skin lives in your head rent free, and you start to picture the fabric lifting up and off his body, imagining him in front of you bare and soft and so warm-

Fuck fuck fuck, you need to get it together. You can never let him know he's affecting you like this, or it's bye-bye best friendship and hello awkwardly bumping into each other at the supermarket until one of you moves away.

You've decided it's much better to just push him away until you get a handle on your feelings. Keep him at arm's length. That always works, right?

Luckily, you don't have too much time to dwell. The sound of the front door slamming open returns you to reality.

Right, you're on a step-ladder, hanging streamers. Don't fall off and break your neck because you can't stop thinking about how in love you are with your best friend. How embarrassing would that be?

"I'm coming in! Oh my god- it looks like a middle school dance in here," a deep voice calls from your front corridor.

Of fucking course. Who else would show up at the worst possible time?

"Well, speak of the devil," you call back over your shoulder, ignoring his jab about your awesome decorations and trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Jesus, don't call me that," Eddie's voice appears right behind you this time. You hurry yourself to look busy with the crepe paper you're hanging. Nothing's amiss, you're not avoiding him, nobody has a crush on their best friend. Keep it cool.

"Right, I forgot about the whole 'Eddie-Munson-is-Satan-Reincarnate' thing," you turn over your shoulder to flash a shit-eating grin and feel it falter momentarily. You whip back around quickly, hoping he didn't catch sight of your panic.

Fuck, he looks so good right now. Pale cheeks tinged pink from the excitement of the evening, Hellfire shirt stretched tight across his chest, his hair pulled back into a scraggly low bun with curly tendrils framing his face, neck extended upwards to look at you on the ladder, and God wouldn't it be so easy to reach out and just bite it-

"Wish everyone else could forget," he mumbles.

Right, touchy subject. Roll it back. You want to push him away gently, not to remind him of his recent trauma. Thankfully the feds had spun some story and greased plenty of palms to clear Eddie's name. Legally, he was free and clear, but the town is much slower to forget.

"Well, thank God for government hush money," you offer, glancing back with a smirk.

He chuckles lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

An awkward silence settles over the room. Why is he so quiet right now? It's not something you're used to with him. The silence makes your skin feel too tight, your face feel too hot. You feel exposed under his gaze, like an animal cornered.

It's been a while since you've been alone with him, and you can practically see his unasked question hanging in the air between you- are you avoiding me?

You really, really don't want to explain the answer to that question.

He moves forward slightly, his full lips parting around the beginning of your name, so you do the logical thing. You interrupt before he can say anything.

"Is the game over? I thought I had more time," you return to the red streamer billowing loosely above your head. You may have only interrupted Eddie to prevent him from questioning you, but your statement is true. There's plenty left to accomplish before your guests arrive, and you expected more time to complete everything.

Eddie readjusts himself, retreating from whatever he was about to say.

"Nah," he tilts his head, "I had Henderson take over. Wanted to help you set up."

This throws you for a loop. You carefully turn yourself around on the stepladder to face him.

"You, Edward James Munson, left the campaign you've been planning for the past three months to help me... hang streamers?"

That's entirely unexpected. Thoughtful. Sweet, even? Some unwelcome part of you swells at the mental image of Eddie leaving the drama room early, keys in hand, eager to see you. Telling everyone Sorry guys, go on without me, gotta help my girl set up the party!

God, he makes you sick.

"Yeah, figured you'd fuck it up," he says, grabbing an extra roll of streamers off the couch and lobbing them at you. "Couldn't let that happen, could I?"

You catch the roll against your stomach with an unattractive grunt, and the misty vision of Eddie calling you his girl fades away. Right, back to being rude. Good. That's good. Less confusing.

"Asshole," you mutter amicably.

"Only for you," he smiles. You feel your heart tug in your chest, so you throw the streamers at his head. He ducks it with a boyish laugh.

You point out all the tasks that still need attending to, and Eddie makes himself surprisingly useful. Almost everything was finished prior to his arrival, but you'd be lying if you said that his help was unwelcome.

He clears off the couch and finishes laying out all the snacks, and you deal with this fucking streamer that just won't stay up, God damnit.

You both work in silence for several minutes, Eddie moving from room to room just like you did before he arrived. Hopefully with all the prepping, he doesn't have a chance to grill you, and you don't have a chance to slip up and confess anything.

Perfect. Having a task will keep you from utterly embarrassing yourself.

Speaking of your task, this streamer is the worst piece of paper you've ever encountered in your life. This is your White Whale, your Mount Everest. The bright tail of it flutters in your face mockingly, refusing to be affixed to the corner of the room. You wipe a bead of sweat off your temple and clench your jaw on the thumbtack pinched between your teeth, refusing to let this goddamned children's decoration get the best of you.

Somewhere in your periphery, you sense Eddie finish what he was doing and come to a rest leaning against the doorframe. The tiny hairs on your neck raise from the feeling of his eyes on your back.

You're fighting for your life over here, and Eddie is just... holy shit, he's laughing at your very serious, momentous struggle with the streamers!

Whatever, just focus, you think, trying to ignore how shaky his gaze makes your hands, how his laugh makes your stomach flutter, This streamer is imperative to the party's well being.

The corner of the wall is just barely out of your reach, but you refuse to readjust the stepladder again. That's basically admitting defeat. Maybe if you just- just lean over completely to the right, keeping one hand on the ladder for support? Yes! If you fully extend that should work- one arm completely outstretched with the streamer in hand, the ladder squeaks ominously underneath your feet, but you ignore that, you've nearly got it-

The ladder starts to keel over, threatening to send you with it.

Your best friend peels himself off the wall, crossing the room swiftly. He steadies the ladder with both hands, putting its legs firmly back on the floor before you can topple over. His arms bracket you in, and you return to an upright position. Ok, maybe that wasn't the smartest idea you've ever had.

He shakes his head, exasperated.

"Here, Jesus, you're gonna hurt yourself, sweetheart."

Before you have a chance to process sweetheart, Eddie climbs the ladder behind you. He doesn't even tell you to get down first, he simply steps onto the rung underneath the one you perch on. The smell of him envelopes you, the faint scent of cigarettes and weed, of drug store cologne and no-tears apple shampoo. You can feel the heat from his body against your own, pressed behind you, and it's all too much. This is too domestic of him. He's rendered you completely dumb.

His hands snake around your front to pluck the offending decoration from your viselike grip. One strong, ring-clad hand grips your right shoulder for balance. His chest flexes against your back as he leans over with minimal effort to hold the end of the streamer against the wall.

Was it this hot in here before? It feels really hot in here all of a sudden.

"Ok, now give me..." He says absentmindedly, reaching towards your lips with his other hand to pluck the thumbtack from your mouth. Your brain short circuits at the feeling of his calloused fingers brushing your parted lips. It sends an embarrassing bolt of warmth through your stomach, and if he hadn't been basically holding you up, you would have fallen off the stepladder.

"And- got it!" Eddie stabs the thumbtack through the end of the streamer with a victorious flourish of his hand. He leans back in and rights himself behind you, moving his palms to grip your waist for balance.

Fuck. Fuck. He's too close. His hands feel way too good on your sides. He's holding you close, back to chest, and you're sure he can feel your heartbeat thumping wildly out of your ribcage.

This is not good for your "pushing him away" plan. This is, in fact, the exact opposite of pushing someone away.

Eddie slinks back down the ladder, his hands sliding gently down your sides, his breath ghosting down your back as he descends. You can feel your pulse in your teeth.

And of course, when you shakily turn around, he's offering his hand to help you get down like a total gentleman. Because of course he's doing that right now.

Stupid fucking chivalrous, crazy-hot Eddie Munson.

You need to put a stop to this. Stop letting him be nice to you before you ruin everything (and make sure he doesn't know you were ridiculously turned on by all that).

"Ok, you're being weird," you say, ignoring his outstretched hand. You step off the ladder without his help, and shove the last of the streamer roll against his chest. That puts a healthy amount of space between the two of you, and you can finally breathe again.

"I'm being weird?"

"Yes."

"I'm being weird?"

"Yes," you repeat, purposefully ignoring how he emphasizes the first word.

He pauses. You're not letting this go.

"Weirder than normal?" a lopsided smile appears on his face. You fight the urge to smile back. He's trying to joke it off, but you have to stay strong, set some boundaries. Cool the situation down before you do something you'll both regret.

"I'm serious," you cross your arms against your chest. If anyone asked you'd say they're crossed in annoyance, but it feels more like protecting your vital organs.

"Ok, I'll bite. How am I being weird?"

"You left the game early for me," you list off on your fingers, "You're helping me decorate. You haven't said one thing yet that makes me want to punch you!"

"So?" he drags a hand across his face.

"So! So, you're being... nice to me."

That sentence hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. Yes, he's definitely the problem. Nice is definitely the problem. If he would just stop being nice, no more being in love with him! Problem solved.

An imperceptible emotion flashes across his eyes, but he recovers before you can name it.

"Aww," he coos mockingly, "I'm always nice to you, princess."

"Fuck off," you shove his shoulder gently. You hate that nickname, and he knows it. He gifted it to you in detention the day you met, with half a twinkie held out like a peace offering in his hand. You punch like a little princess, he told you, and it stuck. You hate it, and it helps to ground you further, having a taste of your normal back and forth.

You realize you haven't taken your hand off his shoulder. Withdrawing it quickly, you put another few inches of space between you, the back of your knees knocking into the stepladder.

"We're not nice to each other, Munson. Be mean to me."

"You want me," his head tilts curiously, "to be mean to you?"

"Yes!" you rapidly exclaim, much louder than you intended. He takes an unsteady step back at your outburst.

"... Ok?"

"Thank you," you breathe.

The two of you stand silent like that for a long time, you still cowering against the ladder, him still cradling the streamers to his chest, unspoken words hanging thick in the air.

Eddie swallows loudly. You feel like he's about to say something, and if he keeps looking at you with his stupid beautiful doe eyes you're either going to kick him out or tear his clothes off.

This time when you hear the front door swing open, you're desperately grateful for whomever is barging into your house unannounced.

Walking single file into the living room is the newest group of Eddie's friends/World saving partners- Steve, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan. You thank God for the group's intrusion. Like, for real, you might give each and every one of them a kiss for rescuing you.

Steve is the first to spot the pair of you.

"Hey, Munsonnnnnn! Woah," Steve looks around, squinting as his eyes adjust to the room's sparkly adornments, "it looks like prom in here."

Eddie's back is to him, and he makes one more attempt at eye contact with you before turning to greet the newcomers. You avoid his gaze.

"Hey, pretty boy!" Eddie turns on his heels, shaking off the awkward fog between you and slipping back into his cool-guy persona, "Glad you could grace us lowly freaks with your presence!"

The pair meet in the middle of the room and do an awkward half handshake/half man-hug.

"Well, no idea how to play yD&D , but I do know how to party," Steve says, raising a six-pack high in the air.

You exchange quick hellos with Jonathan and Nancy. Robin waves at you before scanning her eyes around the room. Her expression drops when she realizes no one else has arrived.

"We're early? Oh my god, we're early! That is so lame," Robin grumbles, kicking Steve lightly in the ankle.

The group bickers and laughs, blissfully unaware of the strained tension between you and your best friend. Unaware of how, if you had taken Eddie's hand when he offered it earlier, you would have pulled him into you and kissed him right there.

You mumble something about needing to go get changed, slipping past the group and rocketing up the stairs. The boisterous conversation fades behind you, and you exhale a sigh of relief.

It's only one night. You can handle yourself for that long.

"Where's Henderson?" you faintly hear Steve ask.

This is exactly what you needed. All your fussing over the decor might have seemed ridiculous at the time, but looking out over the living room, at all your friends enjoying themselves under the fairy lights and streamers fills your heart to the brim.

You play the gracious host, grabbing everyone new drinks, directing your friends towards the bathroom, keeping the music going and the people happy. There's a lot more people than you expected, but it's a perfect scenario for you- with all this party tending, you have no time for Eddie to catch you alone.

Several hours in, with a light buzz going, you find yourself trapped on the couch, being regaled with the epic tale of how the campaign went down after your departure.

A very long, extremely thorough tale.

"- and then I rolled two nat 20s in a row," Mike informs you, absolutely beaming, "I swear, I was on fire tonight!"

"Mmmhmm," you mumble for the hundredth time in the past 15 minutes, head leaning on your fist. You definitely need more beer if you're going to indulge them in this much longer.

Dustin shoves his friend in the shoulder.

"Pants on fire, maybe," Dustin turns to you self-righteously, "It wasn't an honest roll. He totally bumped the table."

"Did not!" Mike scoffs.

"Uh, did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

The pair continues their back and forth for an embarrassingly long time. If this is the future of Hellfire, God help you all.

"Boys!" your eyes snap upwards when you hear Eddie's voice enter the circle, "Boys, boys, boys. Let's stop trying to look cool in front of the lady, shall we?"

Eddie towers over them, his features lit softly by the fairy lights above him. Donning what he believes is a menacing look, he takes on the role of the ever-annoyed parent. The boys turn to him and plead their argument, talking over each other, growing increasingly louder and more frantic. He silences them after a few moments with a dismissive wave of his arm.

"No one cares, kiddos," He tuts. They pout as he continues, gesturing to you with the cup in his hand, "And what do we say for dick-measuring in front of the nice lady?"

"Sorry," both the boys mumble to you at Eddie's behest.

Eddie shoos Mike from his spot on the couch next to you, encouraging him to find his little girlfriend. He plops down ceremoniously, two red solo cups in hand. He positioned himself close, his ripped denim-covered thigh brushing your own. The drag of his leg against yours is so intoxicating, it's hard to remember why being this close to him is a bad idea.

"Both those drinks for you, Munson? That's excessive," you tease.

"Yup," he pops the word theatrically, and brings both the cups to his mouth at the same time. He sips them both goofily and inefficiently, a dribble of cheap beer trickling from one of the cups down his smooth chin.

You pursue the drop with your eyes, and imagine following the trail with your tongue, licking a lazy stripe from his jaw up to his open mouth. You nearly have to stifle a moan picturing what it would taste like- the amber liquid mixing with clean skin and spit.

"You're an animal," you mutter, feigning disgust at his antics.

He growls playfully at you. The noise would have been weird and cringey if it didn't make you throb involuntarily between your legs. It takes all the strength you can muster to roll your eyes.

"Actually sweetheart," he wipes his mouth with the back of his tattooed forearm and passes you one of the cups, "I grabbed this one for you."

Almost in a trance, you grab the beer from him and hold it close to you. You should be making a snarky remark about not wanting to drink his backwash. But once again, the smallest morsel of affection he throws your way leaves you vulnerable and speechless.

Why is it such a bad idea again to give him a thank-you kiss on the cheek, to snuggle into his side, to praise him profusely for thinking of you?

Because, the rational part of your brain reminds you, you're going to ruin your friendship, stupid.

Right. That.

You shrug off your lovesick daze and level Eddie with an indignant look. Not wanting to rehash your previous conversation in the middle of the party, you reiterate your point silently.

What did I just say about being nice to me? you raise an eyebrow at Eddie.

He stares back, then looks off quickly, giving in to your silent demand.

Right, sorry, He throws his hands up in surrender, Won't happen again.

A derisive snort erupts from the boy on the floor across from you. Right, Henderson. You'd forgotten he was there. And unfortunately, he'd been watching the entire non-verbal exchange with your best friend. He's also annoyingly perceptive.

"Booooo," Dustin cups his hands around his mouth, "Get a room, lovebirds."

You feel your cheeks heat up, and Eddie scoffs.

"I can hardly stand being in a room with you now," he throws cheekily at you.

You breathe a sigh of relief. This is... good. This is safe ground, familiar ground. You honestly aren't sure how you'd react if he was nice to you again.

"I'd leave right now if this wasn't my house," you hide a smile on the edge of your solo cup.

Now it's Dustin's turn to scoff.

"Oh please, Eddie, you never shut up about her! It's getting really annoying. You two should do us all a favor and just do it already-"

Eddie sets his drink down and moves so quickly to put Dustin in a headlock, the kid doesn't even have a chance to react.

They wrestle childishly for a minute or two, rolling around carelessly, knocking into people and furniture alike. You watch on in fake annoyance, only interjecting to berate them for bumping into your parents favorite lamp.

Eddie releases Dustin with a huff, having successfully pinned the freshman, and throws his hands over his head victoriously.

"Congrats, Eds. You physically dominated a twelve year old. We're all so proud."

Dustin sputters incredulously, something along the lines of I'm fifteen, actually.

You giggle at that, and Eddie settles back into your side. This time, much to your displeasure and excitement, he throws his arm around your shoulders. He's touchy in general, and for all your catfighting, you're no stranger to being tucked into his side like this. But today, with your light buzz and fuzzy emotions, it feels more intimate. More dangerous.

His fingers trace absentminded circles on your upper arm, and you shudder lightly at his touch. You should throw his arm off of you, but can't bring yourself to. Not when it feels so right.

Dustin picks himself up off the floor and dusts himself off with a huff.

"Eddie's just mad because he knows I'm right. There's too much sexual tension," he says, his bruised ego shining through. Damn, that kid always sounds like such a know-it-all. It's just his tone.

Your best friend leans in close, his lips lightly brushing the shell of your ear, and your breath involuntarily catches in your throat.

"Not even in your wildest dreams, sweetheart," he whispers loudly, then leans back with a toothy grin.

You curse the way your stomach drops at his statement. His mixed signals are driving you crazy. He still has his arm wrapped around you, but he basically just rejected you, basically said he would never even think about you in that way.

But this, this is normal, isn't it? Exactly what you asked for? This is how you guys are, he's an asshole to you, you're an asshole to him, why should your feelings be hurt, you never let it hurt, you won't let yourself get hurt.

The boys wander to a different topic, something about how lame the graduation ceremony was this year, completely oblivious to the internal riot happening in your head.

Not even in your wildest dreams, sweetheart. What the fuck did he mean by that? It's not like you were banging down his door or anything, you never even thought- I mean, yeah, fuck, ok maybe you thought about fucking him all the time, any way he would have you, but it's not like he knows that, and God did he have to say it like you were so fucking unappealing, like even the thought of being with you was some big fucking joke-

You shake your head violently, willing the physical action to clear your mind. Like an etch-a-sketch, you think blearily.

Yeah, you're definitely done with alcohol for the night.

Eddie's eyes drift back over to you at the sudden movement. His dimples fade away, the lazily content look on his face morphing into one of genuine concern.

"Hey, you ok?" he asks so earnestly it makes hot tears prickle behind your eyes.

Now he's being too nice again, and you can't handle it. It's just all too fucking confusing, his arm around your shoulder suddenly feels too restricting, too mocking.

Jesus, you need to get yourself together before you respond. The phrase I'm fine dies on the tip of your tongue. Ok, just don't say anything revealing, don't say anything at all actually, just don't say anything-

"Am I really that repulsive?" you spit, not meaning to let so much vitriol drip into your words. The plastic cup creaks in your hand, and you release the tension in your fist. You didn't even realize you'd been squeezing it so hard. Fuck, chill out, you're both just kidding around, he didn't mean to poke the one raw nerve you've been hiding from him.

Confusion flashes across his face. You never react like this to his teasing.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Munson, you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid."

The party is still going strong, but you swear the whole world goes silent in that moment. Maybe it's all the blood rushing to your ears, or the lack of a standard sarcastic reply from your friend.

You must have said that much louder than you intended, because now everyone in the living room is trying very hard to pretend they're not listening to your conversation.

Your mind flashes back to that moment in third grade, right after Eddie hit the ground. That achingly long, silent moment after you'd knocked him down, when you were waiting for him to say something, anything, and then he started laughing.

C'mon, start laughing.

But this wasn't a childish squabble. There was venom in your words, a tidal wave of repressed emotions and raw anger and lust and hurt, feelings you didn't even have the words for- and Eddie felt it.

His face blushes a deep scarlet, and his arm retracts from your shoulder like it had burned him. You’re itching to pull him back in, to take it back, to apologize, to explain that you were just kidding, but you're frozen.

"'M gonna get some air," He stands up swiftly, not making eye contact with you.

"Eds, wait-" You reach out for him, trying to grab his arm. He slips easily from your grasp and shoves his way through the mass of partygoers, disappearing into the hallway.

Well, that could have gone better.

"Shit," you mutter, slumping back into the couch. This is exactly why you'd been avoiding him in the first place- so you wouldn't stick your foot in your mouth.

When you glance up from your wound-licking, everyone's eyes dart away from you, avoiding your gaze.

Real nice, guys.

Dustin must feel guilty for instigating your outburst, because he stands up from his spot on the floor and takes point on damage control.

"Alright, show's over everyone. Go get another drink or something," he announces to the room, waving everyone away. He plops down on the couch and awkwardly puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Sorry about them. We're just not used to Mom and Dad fighting,"

You laugh bitterly at the epithet the freshmen class had dubbed you. While it normally makes you secretly giddy to hear the kids refer to you and Eddie as such, you're not ready to give up on wallowing in your own self-pity.

"We fight literally all the time."

"No, you don't," he says matter-of-factly, "You never really get mad at Eddie. And I can't even imagine him being mad at you. What you actually do," he pauses, "is convoluted flirting."

You let out a groan. Is it really that obvious to everyone how you feel about him? You must not have been hiding it as well as you thought. That's so humiliating. And if everyone knows... that means Eddie must know too. Despite what you just yelled at him, he's not a stupid guy.

He must have figured it out. No wonder he's been so weird to you the last few months. It must be what... pity?

Oh my God. He's been so nice lately because he feels bad for you.

That's almost worse than him not liking you back.

"Christ, Henderson," you try denying, a transparent last ditch effort to cover up your feelings, "you have no idea what you're talking-"

"Are you dicking me around? You're fully dicking me around right now," he states incredulously, "You. Are. Into him."

Denial isn't going to work on the kid. He's too goddamn observant for that.

Hearing your feelings out loud like that, even if it isn't you saying it, sends a shot of anxiety through your stomach. Normally you'd dissent and evade the topic, but that hasn't exactly been working out for you tonight. And if everyone knows already, fuck it.

You decide to give honesty a try.

"It doesn't matter, ok? Eddie doesn't... see me like that," you concede.

"Have you ever, I don't know, asked him?" He questions, his voice tipping right on the edge of condescending.

"... No."

Dustin pats your arm sympathetically, as if he's soothing a petulant child rather than someone five years older than him.

"Well, that seems like the place to start."

Still pouting, you shake your head.

"Why would I do that, Dustin? Just for him to reject me? It'll ruin what we have," you sulk and look down at your hands. The whole incident with Eddie sobered you up immediately, making the foamy cup of beer you're clutching look extremely appealing right about now. Moving the cup to your lips, you start to gulp it down. Dustin, clearly fed up with your self-indulgent wallowing, stands up and snatches the cup away from you.

"Hey!"

He holds the cup out of your clawing reach, and speaks at you loudly, in that sanctimonious tone he uses when he thinks he knows better than someone.

"You may be too stubborn to see it, but you're both so into each other it makes me sick!"

You're not even listening to him anymore. You're so frustrated at how this conversation is going, with how your whole night is going. Jesus Christ this kid is a total fucking headache! First he causes your fight with Eddie, then he totally embarrasses you by making you admit your crush, and now he's snatching shit from you? All of the misdirected irritation you've felt building since earlier balls up in your stomach, threatening to break out. Malicious words start to form in your mouth, preparing to absolutely rip him a new one. What a self righteous little-

Pause.

His sentence finally registers in your brain.

Both? You're both so into each other?

All the anger you felt dissipates in a split second. Both. Meaning, you and Eddie. Feeling the same way.

No, there's no way. It had to be a figure of speech, or a slip of the tongue. The part of you desperate to protect yourself retains there's no way that's what Dustin meant, but a cautiously hopeful warmth spreads through your chest all the same.

"He- when you say both- do you mean he also..."

Dustin cuts you off with an exasperated sigh of your name.

"Just go talk to him."

You've been doing laps around your house for nearly twenty minutes in search of your best friend. Everyone is 100% annoyed with you by now. You'd asked all your friends at least twice if they'd seen him, and only got back half-hearted shrugs and variations on "I don't know, we thought he was with you."

He has to still be here. His shoes are still by the door, and Gareth assured you that Eddie's van is still parked outside.

He wasn't on the back porch with the smokers, or in the kitchen, or in the basement with the other type of smokers. You tried checking your bedroom, but the door was locked, and from the outside you could hear multiple voices making some very emphatic sounds. Mental note- bleach literally everything in your room tomorrow.

Wouldn't it be a real cosmic gut-punch if that was Eddie in there with someone? a jealous voice in your head croons. You roughly push the thought down.

The only place left to check is the upstairs bathroom. When you reach the door you notice the light is on inside, yellow light leaking from the doorframe.

You move your hand up to knock, and waver momentarily. Your hand is still poised to rap on the door. Maybe it's not Eddie in there, you consider. Maybe it's just someone who had a few too many, and you're about to bother some poor soul hugging the toilet bowl.

Yeah, that's perfect. It won't be him. He definitely just left his van behind, walked home without shoes, and you can both take the night to cool off. You won't have to confess anything tonight. You'll call him tomorrow, apologize for being a dick, and pray he doesn't hang up on you. Everything will go back to normal.

Clinging to your false hope, you tentatively knock on the door.

"Ocupado," a muffled voice bleeds from the other side of the door.

Eddie.

Of course. You wouldn't be that lucky.

You steel yourself for whatever lies ahead, and turn the knob. Part of you prays it won't open, that he miraculously shed his bad habit of forgetting to lock bathroom doors. But the knob rotates without resistance.

No going back now. You swing the door open and shut it behind you swiftly. The sounds of music and laughter muffles abruptly as the door closes. Sitting hunched over on the edge of the tub is your best friend, his head sheltered in his hands.

"Holy shit, occupied!" He raises his head to rail at the intruder, "What part of- oh," he cuts himself off abruptly when his eyes land on you.

He stares at you intently, his jaw ticking from how hard he's clenching it. Both of you are waiting for the other to speak, neither one wanting to break the silence first. You squirm under his piercing gaze and lower your head to peer at the floor.

"The, uh, door was open," you mumble after a while.

"Jesus Christ, what if I was taking a shit or something?" he hisses.

Normally you'd wrinkle up your nose and call him gross, or admonish him for not locking the door, but you don't have the energy for that right now. You lean back against the door for support and cross your arms over your chest. He still refuses to break eye contact with you.

"... Sorry."

More silence.

"Well?" he asks pointedly. He looks pissed, more pissed than you've ever seen him, "What's so fucking important that you had to bust in here?"

His tone reignites the swell of anger in your stomach. Normally he's the funny kind of asshole, but right now he sounds like a total prick. You can't believe you were really coming in here to apologize and confess your feelings to him.

"I'll just go," you snap. You turn around to leave, gripping the door knob tightly, "This was a mistake."

You barely manage to crack the door open before Eddie appears behind you, reaching over your shoulder to close it firmly. He's boxing you against the door, his breath fanning over your neck. Against your better judgment, you register a dull throb between your legs at the position he has you in.

He reaches down to lock the door this time, still caging you in, a silent demand that you don't run away from this conversation. You swallow audibly.

He's not going to let you avoid him any longer.

Eddie lingers behind you a moment before retreating again, allowing you space to turn around and face him. His brown eyes, normally soft and jovial, are squinted in irritation. His broad shoulders shake lightly, with hurt or anger you can't be sure.

You take a deep breath and prepare to apologize for earlier, but he cuts you off before you even begin.

"What the hell is your problem tonight?"

He raises his eyebrow at you, impatiently waiting for your response.

Lie, the cowardly voice in your head says. Dustin was just jerking you around, you're going to ruin everything. Lie lie lie, you can't let him know how you really feel.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you say coolly.

"Really?" he crosses his arms and pouts, mocking your closed off stance.

"I don't-"

Eddie cuts you off before you can double down.

"I'm nice to you, and you tell me to fuck off. I'm mean, and you lose your shit. I'm walking on goddamn eggshells over here, so pick one, because you can't have both."

He finishes his monologue, his breath coming out in short puffs.

Oh my God, you think, I must seem literally crazy right now.

It sucks to have your own behavior laid out so plainly like this, to be confronted with how your actions are hurting him.

You can't even get defensive, because the worst part is, he's right. You were mad at him for sending mixed signals, but you're the one who's been avoiding him for weeks and embarrassing him in the middle of a party. And now you're flipflopping so fast he can't even keep up.

In all your self-absorbed uncertainty, you never stopped to consider how confusing you must be to him right now.

You don't answer him fast enough.

"Just tell me what you want from me!" he begs.

"I just- I want-" you start and stop several different sentences, but can't find the end of any of them. You sigh raggedly and tilt your head up towards the ceiling, harshly blinking against the frustrated tears beginning to bead up in your eyes.

You can feel him inching closer to you. When he speaks, his voice comes out gentle, low, almost... hurt?

"Do you want me to be nice to you or not?" he implores, "I'll be mean if you want mean. Whatever you want, sweetheart, I'll do it. You just have to tell me."

"I... Both. Neither?"

He huffs at that, rolling his eyes to stare up at the ceiling.

You think you're confused, buddy? Try living inside my brain.

He's not getting anywhere with this line of questioning. He tries approaching from a different angle this time.

"You've been avoiding me," he states. It's not a question.

"... Yeah." you admit carefully.

He purses his mouth tight and nods. You'd only confirmed what he already knew, what you'd both been dancing around all night.

"Did I do something wrong?"

No, you shake your head tearfully.

"Do you want me to," he sighs, "give you some space, or whatever?"

"No!" you exclaim. The thought makes you panic, a single teardrop finally spilling over your lash line, "Fuck, God no, that's not- I mean, I thought I did but- that's not what this is about."

Eddie's curses under his breath, growing tired of playing twenty questions.

"Then what is it about?"

"I-" like you, you idiot, "It's just.. I can't- God! Fuck, I can't!" you groan dramatically and bury your head in your hands.

Why is it so hard to just say Munson, I want you? It's just Eddie. Drug-dealing, music-snobby, ridiculous, overdramatic, forgetful...

Caring, funny, thoughtful, loyal, beautiful Eddie Munson who you don't want to lose forever all because you have a stupid crush on him.

He crosses the chasm between you hesitantly. Grabbing both your wrists, he removes them from your face, replacing them with his own. He cradles your face tenderly, like you could shatter under the weight of his hands, and uses a thumb to swipe away the tear on your cheek.

He breathes your name gently, and you glance up at him through your lashes.

"Please, just... tell me what you want," he whispers. His face is so close to yours, every freckle and hair visible in perfect clarity. His eyes dart around your face intently for an answer.

What do you want? He wants you to choose what you want?

Fuck this, you choose. You choose fuck this- fuck how beautiful he looks right now, fuck how him touching you like this makes your heart flutter, fuck how badly you wish you could drop all the stupid pretense and tell him that I need you to be mean to me because otherwise, I'm gonna admit I like you!

"I like you," you blurt.

Fuck.

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up at your declaration. His hands fall from your face as he backs up a bit, and you want to scream. You actually might scream, he looks so freaked out.

"You... like me?"

Fuck.

"Yes," you repeat. You're fighting to seem confident, like that will quell the pit of fear in your stomach, will lessen the wave of humiliation threatening to drown you. His eyes open impossibly wider, an indiscernible expression on his face.

You backtrack quickly, "No. No! I'm so sorry, of course not! You know what? I take it back. I didn't mean it, I was just kidding! Just please, please forget I ever said anything, ok?"

He shakes his head and points a finger at you as you ramble.

"Nooooooo. You said," a mischievous smile spreads across his face, his voice sing-songy and teasing, "You like me. Like, like me like me. Like, you want me."

Of course he's letting this go to his head. You told him you like him and now he's laughing at you. The last thing you can handle right now is him making fun of you when you're at your most vulnerable.

"Well, if you're gonna be a fucking dick about it-" you shoot your hand out once more to reach for the door. Eddie blows out a sharp breath and pulls your arm towards him, maneuvering you to face him with your back pressed against the sink.

"Sorrysorrysorry, I’m sorry! Will you stop trying to run away from me? It's getting annoying," he says, not at all unkindly. He still has that wide smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in amusement.

Your face is still radiating heat. Your breath comes out in sharp pants. One of Eddie's hands moves to your hip, the other attempting to lift your chin upwards. You move your head out of his grasp.

He says your name again, vying for your attention.

"Would you just look at me," he jostles your hip playfully, "Please? You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

You shake your head at the ground. Now he's trying to cheer you up when you totally just ruined your friendship? This is so fucking humiliating, you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

His head rolls completely around, face-framing curls flopping in his face. His whole body tilts to the side in a dramatic display.

And in that moment, Eddie makes a decision- you just admitted something, and now it's his turn.

"Does it really make me look stupid?" he asks, tightening the grip on your hip, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him.

You finally raise your gaze to his.

"I- what?" you blink dumbly up at him.

He quickly drags you in even closer, until there’s no space between you at all. Your hands fly up for balance, landing squarely on his broad chest.

"You said earlier, it makes me look stupid," he swallows, "How badly I want to fuck you."

You must have passed out from sheer embarrassment. That’s the only explanation for what’s happening right now- you’d knocked yourself out in humiliation, and now you’re laying on the bathroom floor, dreaming. Because there’s no way Eddie actually just admitted to wanting you, no way he’s holding you this tightly against him, and no way he’s licking his lips as his eyes dart down to your mouth.

"What..." you repeat dazedly.

His head dips down at an aching crawl, like he’s giving you the chance to push him away.

"I thought it was kind of obvious,” he chuckles, “But I like you too, sweetheart. Always have,” a boyish, vulnerable smile flashes across his face.

Instantly a tidal wave of relief floods your body. Your sigh fans across his face, still so close to your own. You didn’t ruin anything. He likes you back.

Eddie likes you.

“We can talk about what this means later,” he murmurs intimately, one thumb stroking your hip, “But right now I really need to kiss you, so just… tell me to stop."

You don’t stop him. His plush lips brush yours briefly, chastely. Tingles spark where his mouth presses to yours, and now you know it’s not a dream. None of your dreams have ever felt this electric.

When he goes to pull away, you don’t let him. You grasp his face with both hands and pull him hungrily into you, kissing him again- harder this time, more insistent. His mouth parts under the pressure, and he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip. You give him entrance immediately, and you both let out a soft moan at the feeling of his tongue massaging against yours.

It’s unreal- absolutely unreal how good he is at this. When you used to hang out alone, he would always divulge the details of his latest hookup- which cheerleader is actually freaky, which Corroded Coffin groupie cornered him at a venue. You would laugh when he proclaimed himself a sex god (of course, you’d also be secretly jealous of whichever girl he was hooking up with). But you never thought he was actually as good as he claimed, you thought he was exaggerating out of male-pride. Now you can't believe you’d wasted so much time not kissing your best friend.

A giggle rumbles up from your chest.

Oh my God, you think giddily, I’m kissing Eddie. My best friend Eddie.

He pulls away reluctantly with a final quick peck, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his.

“What?” he smirks down at you, with an expression that can only be described as adoration, “What’s got you all giggly, baby?” his hands brush comfortingly up and down your arm.

You snort again at the pet name, your heart swelling and your head lighter than air.

“You,” you ball up his shirt in your grasp and yank him back down to you, “Just you.”

He reattaches himself to your lips, resuming his worship of your mouth. Your arms slide up from his chest to clasp around the back of his neck, and you kiss him harder. One hand reaches up into the curly hair tied up behind his head, and gives an experimental tug. He rewards you with a short gasp. His tongue swipes against the roof of your mouth, almost like he’s trying to tickle you, and you giggle again.

Kissing him is really, really hot. Ridiculously, leg shakingly, earth-shatteringly hot.

It’s also full of silly moments. You’re both teasing and prodding at the other, trying to get the other to laugh into the kiss. But you’re also both gasping and panting, holding onto each other with all your strength, growing more and more turned on.

“You know what’s weird?�� he says into your mouth.

“Hmm?”

“This doesn’t feel weird. Like, at all,” he squeezes your hips. You give his hair another gentle tug in response.

He’s right- even when you imagined what this moment could be like, there was always the underlying fear that it wouldn’t work, that you and Eddie together would be too awkward. But this is so you- so perfect.

You kiss like that for what feels like forever, taking time to explore each other. Eddie paws at whatever he can reach, the curve of your ass, the plush of your thighs, the divots of your spine.

As the kiss grows more and more heated, the silly teasing dies down. The hands wandering your body grow rougher, more frantically grabbing at you. Your underwear starts to dampen uncomfortably. Something hard and warm presses against your stomach. You’re aching to find out what.

He disconnects from you again, and you pout.

“Hop up for me?” he taps twice at your hip bone.

With his help, you brace yourself on the counter and haul yourself backwards to sit on the edge of the sink.

“Good girl,” he praises, sharp canines flashing at you roguishly.

Your cheeks heat up at the endearment. Good girl. You’re his good girl. Fuck, that sounds so good coming out of his mouth. You cover your face with your hands and let out an embarrassed whine.

“Oh my God,” he snickers, “I so knew you’d be into that.”

“Shut up,” one hand shoots out to shove at his shoulder. He catches it and presses a mockingly apologetic smooch into your wrist. “Kiss me again.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. Two ring-clad hands grip your legs and spread them wide, an open invitation for Eddie to stand between them. He accepts graciously. Now that he has better access, he tilts your head backwards and leans down to mouth at the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.

Eddie works up and down your throat, pressing bruising kisses into the sensitive skin there. Your hands wander his body as he works, shakily pushing hair from his face, grasping his taut biceps, clutching his ass.

“So good for me,” he mumbles.

You gasp when he sucks and nips one spot particularly roughly, then soothes it with his tongue. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register that you’ll have crazy hickeys blooming tomorrow, bruises that everyone else will definitely tease you for. But you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Eddie decorated you with them so lovingly.

His hips slowly start to grind into yours, stuttering against your warm, still clothed center.

“Just let me know if you want to slow down,” his words say one thing, but the desperate way he ruts in between your parted thighs says another.

“I’m good,” You shake your head vigorously. You’re burning to keep going. You’ve waited so long to have him touch you, love you, worship you like he’s doing right now. You’re ready for whatever he’s willing to give you, “I wanna keep going. Please.”

“Fuck. Yeah, ok,” he stifles a groan at the desperation in your voice. Lithe fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt to splay against your stomach. His fingertips twirl intricate patterns on your skin, and you shiver at the temperature difference between his hands and the cool metal of his rings.

With your permission he tugs your shirt upwards and over your head, tossing it on the floor behind him. Silently, you thank your earlier self for putting on your cute bra today.

“Is this ok?” he checks in with you, keeping his hands to himself with great difficulty. His eyes rake over you hungrily.

In answer, you reach behind you to unclasp your bra, tossing it over Eddie’s shoulder.

You lean back on your palms, pushing your chest out as confidently as you can. His eyes bug out of his head the moment you’re half naked, and it’s a shot straight to your ego.

“Holy shit, babe,” he reaches out greedily to grasp at your chest, palming both, pushing them together and then letting them drop into his hands, “Did you know you’re really fuckin’ hot?” he tweaks both nipples in his hands, grinning as they perk up under his touch.

You squirm under his praise.

“Oh, you’re shy again, huh?” he smirks, and dips down to catch the peak of your breast in his mouth. One hand flies shakily to his hair as he nuzzles at you, cradling him tightly to your sternum.

He pulls away from you with a pop, then switches to the other side. His tongue slides over your nipple lasciviously, the tantalizingly wet sound of spit on skin reaches your ears. A soft moan leaves him as he rolls the sensitive bud between his lips.

The gentle scrape of his teeth is what breaks you.

“Fuck, Eds,” a sound embarrassingly close to a whine escapes your throat.

“Shit, baby, you sound even better than I imagined,” he mumbles against the skin of your chest.

You feel an impossible amount of wetness spreading between your thighs at his admission. He’s thought about this- the mental image of Eddie alone in his trailer, hand palming his cock roughly, getting himself off to the imagined sounds of you moaning- it’s almost too much for you to handle.

“You imagined this?” you ask breathlessly.

He looks up and scoffs, making a face that says, are you kidding me?

“Only every night since I hit puberty,” he ducks back down to suck a mark into your collar bone.

Your head is spinning. Eddie’s lips are on you, his hard cock is nuzzled against your thigh, his soft pants and curses are all because he’s touching you. This all feels unreal, and you’re desperate for more of his skin to be exposed to you.

“Your turn?” you hum, tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

He disconnects from your skin with a pop and grins wolfishly at you. He reaches behind his head and pulls off his t-shirt in one fluid motion, turning at the waist to toss it into the steadily growing pile of discarded clothes.

You should be focusing on his pale taut chest, the curve of his collarbone, his bare arms flexing underneath his tattoos, the sparse trail of hair on his stomach disappearing into the waistband of his boxers- but you can’t.

Your eyes fall to his ribs immediately, to the crisscross of bite marks and scar tissue lacing his sides. You knew he’d been injured saving the world, but you’d never seen how bad it was.

He rushes back into you, eager to reattach his lips to your skin, but you hold him at arm's length. You can’t take your eyes off his healed wounds.

You must look as concerned as you feel, because he's quick to brush you off.

"It looks worse than it is," he tells you humbly, grabbing one of your wrists and pressing it to his side, inviting you to gently brush against the battle-marred skin.

Fuck, it's so easy to forget how close you were to losing him. How he could've been gone, and you wouldn't have had the chance to tell him how you really feel. The last thing you said to him would have been some dumb, meaningless quip. The thought makes you lightheaded, your breath coming in short puffs.

"Hey," he lowers his head to your level, purposefully holding eye contact with you, "I'm okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise."

You nod erratically, pressing your hands more firmly into his sides. His heart beat flutters through his ribs against your palms. Steady. A bit elevated.

Perseverant.

"Yeah, I know. I know, I was just thinking," you clear your throat against a voice crack, "That you look pretty metal."

“Yeah?” his face splits into a wide grin.

“Yeah. Metal as hell, Munson,” you lovingly caress the wounds on his side once more.

He pulls you into a heartbreaking kiss. Not as lustful as earlier, softer, yet more insistent. Full of heart and hope and love, and the unmistakable feeling of being alive.

The kiss quickly grows deeper and more desperate, his tongue dragging headily against the roof of your mouth. Your back arches into him when he bites at your lower lip. You both pant into each other's mouths, the press of your nipples against his chest sending shivers down your spine.

Your mouth reaches for his neck, and you mimic his earlier ministrations on you- licking a long wet stripe up his neck, suckling bruises into the hot spot right below his blushed ear. His hips give a weak stutter when your teeth catch his earlobe, and you swear his eyes cross.

“I so knew you’d be into that,” you repeat his tease from earlier, and nibble gently on the shell of his ear.

He presses into you impossibly closer, and what can only be described as a whimper falls from his lips when you leave a love bite on the crux of his jaw.

“Can I touch you now,” he sighs, “Please?”

Mmhmm, you nod eagerly. Equal parts of excitement, arousal and anxiety course through your veins- you’ve waited for this for so long, and now that it’s finally happening, it’s a tad nerve-wracking.

His hands fumble with the button of your jeans, and he glances quickly up at you with a look equally nervous and elated. You’re relieved to know he feels just as nervous as you do. It sets you at ease. Eddie always makes you feel better, even when he isn’t trying.

He pushes and paws at the fabric until it passes over the curve of your ass. You lift your hips off the counter, allowing him enough room to peel the denim off you and drop it to the floor. His eyes glaze over when he turns his gaze back to you.

You sit before him, lips kiss-swollen, chest heaving, completely naked except for a pair of tiny black of panties.

Eddie’s sanity has left the building.

“How are you even real,” he groans, more to himself than to you.

One shaking hand deposits itself on the crease between your thigh and your waiting center. You hum with need. The hand on your thigh peruses you lightly, testingly. You’d expected him to dive right in, to rip off your underwear and go to town, but he doesn’t. He draws it out, building up the anticipation.

His thumb brushes a line across your damp underwear with a smile.

“That’s cute,” he crinkles his nose when you jolt at the sensation of his thumb catching your clit. He goes back to touching everywhere but that electric spot, teasing and rubbing around it, his finger exploring you through the fabric.

“What is?” you shiver, fighting the urge to take his hand and push it back to where you ache for it most.

“How wet you are for me already,” His finger slides shallowly underneath the elastic, just barely ghosting across the sensitive skin. He raises the band of your underwear and lets it go with a snap. You jump slightly at the stinging sensation.

“Eddie!” you yelp, “Stop teasing, you’re being-”

“Mean?”

You huff a small laugh. At first, you think he’s joking. But a mischievous glimmer flashes across his eyes, and then he’s hardening his expression.

His thumb returns to your clit, and you nearly sob in gratitude until you feel how soft he’s being- just barely grazing the nub with each half circle.

“But I thought,” he leans down and gnaws a gentle bite into your pulse point, “You wanted me to be mean?”

You shake your head desperately.

"No? So what, sweetheart" he says in between nips at your neck, "You gonna let me be nice to you now?"

His thumb circles faster, still only applying the faintest hint of pressure through the soaked fabric. You attempt to grind your hips up into his hand, but he holds your hip down flush against the counter, only allowing you to take as much as he wants to give you.

"I get to say all the nice things I've wanted to say?" he whispers against the shell of your ear. You mumble under your breath, unable to form a proper response. Eddie stills his hand completely.

You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Yes, God, whatever you want, just please, please touch me,” desperation leaks into your voice.

Eddie smiles against the side of your throat and yanks your panties down to hang off one ankle.

“Well, because you asked so nicely,” he swipes two fingers through your folds without further delay.

Your breath catches in your throat as two of his fingers circle your entrance, collecting the wetness that pools there. Fireworks flash in your vision. He dips ever so slightly inside of you, then works his hand upwards towards your clit and gives a testing rub. You stutter through a moan.

“Right there?” he strokes more confidently this time.

“Yeah, that’s- yeah,” you sigh, throwing your head back.

“Fuck,” he drops his head to your shoulder, staring at the way his fingers work against you.

He lets you rock your hips into his hand for a while as he strokes you, chasing the growing sensation. It’s like he can read your mind. He knows exactly the amount of pressure and speed you require to be shaking under him. He’s hardly even touched you, but you can feel your orgasm building up, curling around your insides like tendrils of smoke.

You’ve never needed anything more than to touch him back. With unsteady hands, you reach out to unbuckle his belt, shoving his pants half-way down his thighs unceremoniously. Your hand wraps around his dick through his boxers and gives a few squeezes. He bucks into your hands with a moan, his rhythm on your clit faltering.

You whine when he bats your hands away reluctantly.

“Don’t worry about me, pretty girl,” he whispers, refocusing on you, swiping against your bud in a way that has your toes curling, “This one’s all you.”

His two fingers disappear momentarily, and he shushes you before you can whine again. He replaces it with his thumb, continuing the rhythm you liked before, and trails his index finger down to inch slowly into your waiting entrance. You gasp at the feeling. It’s just one finger, but it’s so long and thick that you can feel yourself stretch around it.

“You have the prettiest pussy baby, Jesus,” he presses an adoring kiss to your shoulder and gawks at the way his fingers thrust inside you, glistening with your slick.

You can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed.

Chattering voices pause outside the doorway, and you fight to still yourself, even as Eddie’s fingers work against you, inside you.

You’re suddenly very aware that he’s fingerfucking you in a bathroom, in the middle of a party, with all your friends just downstairs.

He adds another finger without warning, and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a moan. Eddie turns his ear towards the door, gauging the distance of the people outside, never pausing the rough drag of his fingers against your walls. His free hand raises to his lips, one finger against his smirking mouth in a hush gesture.

He pulls the tips of his fingers forward in a come-hither motion, rubbing deliciously against the spot inside you that you can never reach with your own hands. Luckily at the exact moment a loud whimper leaves you, whoever’s outside erupts into obnoxious laughter.

You both pause and turn to the door, waiting to make sure no one heard you moan. After what feels like an eternity, the voices in the hallway fade away, the sounds of footsteps thunder down the stairs.

Eddie drops his forehead to your shoulder once more, and redoubles his efforts, thrusting his fingers harder into you, the thumb circling your clit nearing on vicious.

“That was a close one, babe,” he teases, “almost got caught.”

You can feel your bottom half tightening, and your pussy starts to flutter around his hand. Eddie smiles and circles his thumb around, hitting from a new angle, and you’re about to combust.

"I ha-have a room, you know," you gasp through your fingers, your legs start to shake around him.

Eddie shakes his head vigorously into the crook of your neck.

"Nancy, Steve, an' Jonathan are using it."

Well, file that away to ask about later.

“Guess you have to try and keep quiet,” he leans up to kiss you, silencing your growing pants with his mouth.

You whimper against his lips, the hip held in his grip thrashes upwards into his hand, and he holds you steady through it. Your hole squeezes his fingers rhythmically, warning him of your impending orgasm.

“Shit baby, you gonna cum for me already?” he asks incredulously. Color stains high in his cheeks, and he looks so proud of himself, so proud of you.

You nod pathetically.

“Such a good girl,” he simpers.

The rubber band in your stomach tightens impossibly, threatening to snap. His fingers move inside you once, twice, and you’re gone.

“Eds- Eddie, I-” you lean back and come around his fingers with a broken moan.

It’s like a wildfire, ripping through your whole body without abandon.You don’t care how loud you are, because the only thing that exists right now is Eddie- his hands, his mouth, his panting. You clutch his arm roughly, your nails leaving half-moon impressions in his flesh. He works you through it gently, lovingly pumping his fingers inside you until you have to push his thumb off your clit, shivering from overstimulation.

You catch his lips again in a sloppy, sated kiss.

“That was… wow,” you lean back, resting your cheek against the cold bathroom mirror.

It was much more than “wow”. That was better than you ever dared to hope. If you knew this would happen tonight, that your feelings would be returned, that Eddie would be smiling down at you after giving you one of the best orgasms of your life, you would have walked in on him in the bathroom ages ago.

“Very wow,” He smiles slyly and slips his fingers wetly out of you.

The cool glass of the mirror against your cheek is a welcome contrast to the hot drag of his fingers leaving you. Your breath still comes out in heavy pants, recovering from your climax. Even as you come down, you still feel that spark inside your gut, that need for him.

Eddie leans across your naked torso to plant a kiss on your cheek, and he nuzzles his nose into your hair.

“Do you wanna stop?” he whispers into the side of your head.

Hmm? You murmur, your brain still fuzzy from the orgasm he just gave you.

“We can stop here, if you want,” he kisses your forehead, “Go back to the party, or just talk?”

You glance down at the erection clearly visible in his boxers- at some point when he was fingering you, he must have shoved off his ripped jeans completely. His chest is flushed completely, heaving silently, and you can tell how turned on he is. He’s straining against his waistband with arousal, and he’s still thinking about your comfort first.

“No!” you lean forward, and brush a finger across the front of his boxers. He shivers at the faint touch, “No, I wanna… wanna keep going.”

His hands tighten against the edge of the counter, his knuckles blanching from the pressure.

“Yeah?” his nearly growls, eyes darkening at the prospect.

“Yeah,” you smile coquettishly, “I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes roll back into his head and shut tight, almost as if he’s saying a quick prayer.

“I was really hoping you’d say that,” he kisses you again fervently, like he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the last sip of cold water.

His hips slot between yours again, grinding intentionally this time. You exhale a moan as the tip of his cock nudges your oversensitive clit through the fabric. Your wetness spreads around the front of his boxers messily, and you’re about to tear them off him-

"Fuck, shit!" Eddie rips himself away from you without warning, leaving you cold and exposed on the counter, "Shit shit shit," he mumbles. A spike of anxiety rips through you.

"What? What's wrong?"

Eddie drops to his knees on the ground, grabbing his discarded jeans off the floor and digging through the pockets fervently. You nervously cross your arms over your bare chest, watching as he tosses the pants back down. He sighs heavily, not having found what he was looking for.

He rises up and moves to the cabinet above the toilet. Swinging the hinge open, he rifles through your toiletries, cursing under his breath the whole time. He's still in just his underwear. The sight would be comical if this display wasn't making you so nervous.

"Eds, what are you-"

"I don't have a condom. Shit!" he interrupts with his back to you, still shoving through your belongings frantically.

"Eddie-"

"You don't have some down there, do you?" he turns around, points to the cabinet underneath the sink and advances forward to squat in front of you. He grabs both your ankles with one hand and holds them to the side, placing a distracted kiss on your knee before reaching to rummage in the drawers under you.

"Do I keep condoms in the bathroom my mother cleans?" you snort, your legs flexing in his grip, "No."

"Fuck. How about plastic wrap?" he punctuates each suggestion with the slam of a drawer, "Ziploc bag?" slam, "A really thick sock?" slam.

"Eddie, stop," you giggle and grab his face between your hands, stilling his restless body. He stares up at you through his lashes, breathing hard, and trails his hands up from your ankles to grip your thighs.

"It's okay," you reassure him, "I'm on the pill. So, if you want to- I mean I really want you to- ya' know..." you trail off.

He exhales unsteadily.

"You want me to come inside you?"

Your chest tightens with slight embarrassment. Hopefully that doesn't freak him out, but yes. You can't think of anything besides Eddie fucking into you with no barrier, feeling every twitch, him spilling so deep inside you that you can feel it for days after.

You nod at him, tight lipped.

His forehead drops to your thigh and he lets out another shaky breath. You wiggle impatiently on your tailbone, waiting for him to respond. He settles his shoulders decisively, and you're almost worried he's about to turn you down. Instead he lunges up and catches your lips in a bruising kiss.

"This is my fuckin' wet dream, I swear," he yanks your hips to the very edge of the counter. He kisses you again, all tongues and teeth, and his underwear disappears in an instant.

You’re floored. Like, your jaw is dropped, absolutely flabbergasted- and that’s not a word you throw around lightly.

“Holy shit,” you pull away to stare at him, completely naked and aching before you.

“Impressive, right?” he waggles his eyebrows at you, “Do I live up to your imagination?”

Impressive is definitely the right word. You’d felt him earlier, just briefly, but nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him. He easily has the nicest dick you’ve ever seen. It’s fucking pretty- a trail of dark hair leading mouth-wateringly down, blushed as red as the rest of him, and leaking pearly drops of arousal at the tip.

It’s also way bigger than you anticipated. Like, I don’t know if it’ll fit bigger. Your eyes widen with slight anxiety.

I have no idea where the fuck you think you’re putting that, buddy.

“I mean, yeah. Better than imagination. But- uh…” you swallow. He has to know how intimidating this is.

“Hey, you’re gonna be fine, baby,” he drops the smug act and cups your face, “I’ll go slow, ok? Just let me know if I need to stop.”

With one final glance down at his throbbing cock, you give a sharp nod.

“Yeah, ok,” you steel yourself and brace against the counter as he grabs himself with one hand, giving a few short pumps before lining himself up with you.

The stretch you feel around just the tip of his cock is insane. He’d already worked you open with an orgasm around his thick fingers, and you’re drenching both your thighs with your arousal. You’re as prepared as you could possibly be, but this much of his cock inside you already makes you feel full.

“Oh my God,” he groans as he slowly breaches the ring of muscle at your entrance, “You’re so wet baby, Jesus.” You know from previous drunken conversations that Eddie has never had sex without a condom before. It must be taking all his willpower to go slow for your sake.

He moans your name brokenly, just barely inching himself inside you. You desperately want to hear that again.

You wiggle your hips gently and clench around him, anything you can do to get him to moan your name again. He has to shoot his hand to the countertop and grab it ferociously to stop himself from bucking his hips fully into you.

“Not nice, sweetheart,” he growls, “I don’t wanna hurt you. Play nice.”

Your pouting is cut off by a moan when he gently thrusts further into you.

“Fuck- how are you still so- ah- tight?” the hand gripping the counter comes up to clutch at your breast. His grip is just on the edge of painful, and he claws at you like he’s trying to distract himself, to calm himself down. You hope you’ll have finger shaped bruises to stare at in the morning.

You hum and pant, “I think you’re just really… really big.”

He huffs an uneven laugh at that.

He’s only halfway in when you hold him still with your thighs, clenching them tight around his waist and trembling with exertion. It’s not exactly painful, it’s just so much. You need a second before he continues.

You tremble for a few moments, then give him a quick nod, his cue to keep going.

“Good?” he swipes a hand down your arm affectionately.

“I’m good, I’m- I’m good,” to be honest, you could use a few more seconds. But you want him to just fuck you already so bad, you’re willing to endure a bit of pain.

He clicks his tongue in doubt. He’s always read you like a book, and he knows you’re fibbing a bit.

“Relax, sweetheart. Just relax for me, ok?” his hands drops down to your clit and starts to circle gently. You sigh and lean back against the mirror, giving Eddie ample space to bite at your exposed throat and chest.

The new angle, paired with Eddie’s mouth and fingers relaxing you, serves to open you up enough for him to bottom out completely. You both moan when he sinks fully into your heat.

His hand removes itself startlingly from yours. Your calf comes up to rub against his hip, and you attempt to kiss him, but he’s not looking at you anymore.

Eddie’s eyes are trained straight ahead into the mirror, his brows furrowed deep, his mouth clenched hard. His arms are braced next to your shivering form on the counter, and his whole body is statuesque with tension, except for a slight shake in his shoulders.

“Eddie,” you whisper, “It’s ok, you can move now-”

“No.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he says it. He keeps his eyes trained forward, his brows cinching impossibly tighter. It almost looks like he’s giving himself an internal pep talk in the mirror.

You scoff. It’s sweet that he’s trying not to hurt you, but you’re more than ready.

“Really, I’m ok,” you wiggle your hips around his thick cock, feeling victorious when he exhales sharply, “I want you to-”

His hands grab your hips fiercely, holding you down with all his strength so you can’t bounce down onto him. You pout at him, eager for him to do something, do anything.

“I know. I know, just… give me a second,” he grits out, “Or I’m gonna finish before we even get started.”

Oh.

You hide a proud smile. Your pussy is driving him so crazy he’s about to cum without even moving. It’s ridiculously hot. It’s also something you can tease him for later, but not right now. Right now you lean back on your hands and put space between your bodies, giving him room to calm himself down.

“‘M trying to think about baseball.” he huffs humorously, “But I don’t know anything about baseball.”

You start to grow fidgety as the seconds tick by, waiting for him to move.

You’re only getting wetter at the feeling of him unmoving inside you, filling you so completely, like he was made to fit right there.

“Eddie, please,” you whine, teasingly clenching around his length, “”S ok. Don’ wanna wait anymore, just please, please fuck me-

He tilts his hips back and then thrusts forward, and he’s finally, finally fucking you.

It's not comfortable. The counter digs into the flesh of your thighs, your panties hang garishly off one ankle, every thrust of Eddie's hips shoves your head into the mirror behind you.

It's not comfortable, but you hardly even notice because it feels so good.

He thrusts into you, and you lose track of time, lose track of anything besides the feel of him burying himself deeper than you thought possible.

“Oh my God,” you dig your hands into the curly hair at the base of his neck, his hair tie having long since been pulled out. His forehead is flush to yours, and he’s peppering your face with little kisses, a sweet gesture in stark contrast to the filthy way he fucks into you.

“You ha-have no idea how… fuck- long I’ve wanted to do this,” he moans at the feeling of your warmth dragging wetly against him.

“Me too,” you admit breathlessly, “‘S always been you, Eds.”

“Just for me, yeah?” he says with a sharp thrust, “This little pussy is all for me?”

If anyone else had spoken to you like this, you would be beyond embarrassed. But there’s something about the way Eddie spits filth so possessively, so passionately. It makes you burn with need.

“Yes, fuck, all for you, only for you,” you whisper.

You can already feel that tension growing in your stomach again. His hair forms a soft curtain around your face, and he’s the only person in the world right now. His tongue flicks out over his lips as he concentrates, and even as his thrusts grow more desperate, he flashes you the sweetest smile.

Perfect.

One of your hands reaches back down to your aching pussy, to the place where he splits you open. You gingerly caress the place where his cock meets his body and he stutters.

Your hand trails back up to your clit and you start to circle it, chasing the orgasm you can feel squeezing your insides.

He pulls your hand away and replaces it with his own, using his thumb to work toe-curling strokes into your clit in time with his thrusts. Your eyes roll to the ceiling at the sensation, and you’re so close.

Eddie’s close too, you can feel it. His pants and moans grow higher, breathier. The movement of his hips grows frantic and erratic, and he starts to shake. He loses the ability to form sentences, the only coherent words coming out as broken curses and stutters of your name.

The hand that isn’t circling your clit slides up your body and deposits itself over your collarbone.

“Can I…” he hovers his palm over your throat, asking for permission.

“Yes, ohmygod, please,” you lean your neck up into his waiting grasp. He gives a gentle squeeze, never harder than a soft grip. It isn’t about controlling your air. Instead it feels like Eddie having total possession of you- the willingness to place your most vulnerable pieces in his hands for safe keeping.

Eddie nearly cums on the spot when he catches sight of you with your eyes shut tight, moaning his name, with his rings glinting lowly around your throat.

Neither of you are going to last much longer. The hand circling your clit doubles down, and you nearly black out. Full body shivers wrack your body, and Eddie isn’t doing much better- he looks ready to snap.

“You gonna be a good girl and come for me again, baby?” he asks you, lightly squeezing at your throat and bearing down on your clit.

You nod and whine as his cock nudges against your plush walls, your pussy fluttering around his cock as you come hard.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” both his hands drop to your hips when he feels you coming around him, and he ruts up into the tightness. He gives a full body shake and a final broken little whimper, and then he’s spilling deep inside you.

You’re both panting, chests heaving with your release. You lean back so your shoulders rest against the (now foggy) mirror, and Eddie follows, draping himself over you, cuddling you as best he can in the cramped bathroom.

When he goes to slip out, you stop him with your thighs, keeping his cock still inside you. You’re not quite ready for him to leave your warmth yet. He chuckles lightly and drags you back up to a sitting position. You grumble, but allow him to manipulate you where he wants you. He pulls your arms up to rest around his neck, and his come down to wrap around your waist. You exchange soft breaths, both caught up in what just happened.

“Well, fuck me,” he mumbles after a minute or two, “I was always rooting for us crazy kids to get together,” he tickles lightly at your sides.

You giggle at that, and snort again when his whole body seizes up. Whenever you laugh, you clench around his now-softening, overstimulated length.

“Fuck. I gotta take it out now, sweetheart,” he warns. He slips wetly out of you and slots his mouth over yours to catch the moan falling from your lips. You feel intensely empty, but satiated. Although now, you’re not sure you’ll ever feel whole again without some part of him inside you.

Seconds later, his cum begins to drip out of you. Eddie notices as you stiffen up, eyes dropping to your naked center then back up to your face. Before you have a chance to deal with the mess, he’s dragging your panties from your ankle, up your legs, and hitching them to their rightful place over your ass. He flashes a dastardly smile, very aware that his cum will stay in your underwear, keeping the smeary mess between your thighs. Gross.

Hot.

He leans onto the counter and kisses you easily, lazily as you both come down from your highs.

After a while you part from each other. He offers a gentlemanly hand to help you down onto your shaky legs.

The pair of you begin to redress in silence. It’s just a tad awkward. Still nice, but the vibe is a bit delicate. You can feel a question lingering in the air- where do we go from here?

“Well, Henderson’s gonna be really smug about this,” Eddie smirks, pulling his underwear and pants up his legs in one easy motion.

You pause halfway into pulling on your shirt over your head, your arms extended upwards, your belly exposed to the muggy bathroom air.

“Dustin talked to you too?” your voice is muffled by the fabric. Eddie laughs at the sight.

“Yeah, he’s the one who convinced me to leave the meeting early tonight. He helped me work up the nerve to tell you how I feel,” he admits.

You finally wrestle your shirt down.

“Oh my God,” you cup the sides of your face in embarrassment, “That kid is a little fucking puppet master! He totally manipulated us into- not manipulated, sorry, that’s not the right word, that makes it seem like I didn’t want to- you know, but I really, really did, I promise,” you ramble on, growing increasingly more flustered, “Ugh, not the point! I’m totally gonna kick his ass!”

“Well, I’m gonna thank him,” Eddie drags you into him and plants a sweet kiss on your cheek, “And then I’m gonna kick his ass.”

You laugh gently at that. Silence settles back over you again, and you back up ever so slightly to cross your arms over your chest. One of Eddie’s hands grabs at his hair and pulls it in front of his face, hiding behind it.

“So, I-”

“Eds-”

You both speak over each other, and giggle again. This kind of awkwardness is new, and sweet, and something you’re excited to explore with him. Your palm slides down his arm and catches his hand in a loose hold.

“You first?” you offer.

He nods and takes a deep breath.

"I went through a lot a few months ago,” he taps the scars on his rib absently, “And maybe it would be easier if we were just friends.”

Your heart sinks at those words. You drop his hand and retreat further. Oh. Maybe you misread everything that just happened. Just… friends. Just friends who hook up? You don’t think you could handle that.

“No, hey, listen. That came out wrong,” he huffs, and grabs both your hands in his once more, “Almost dying from those stupid fucking bats, it made me realize... I don't want ‘easy' with you. I don’t want to be just friends. And I don’t want this to just be a hookup, either.”

You exhale shakily. You’re beyond relieved, but questions still niggle in the back of your mind. Was he worried about that? That you just wanted a hookup?

"This isn't just... I don't want you to think- fuck, why is this so hard?" you groan.

"Yeah, it was pretty hard, huh?" he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up,” you shove lightly at his shoulder, “I’m trying to be vulnerable here!”

He smirks down at you gently.

“Not exactly your forte, sweetheart.”

Once again, he reads you like a book. But if you want to make this work, you have to let him know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, how you feel about him.

Be vulnerable.

Your two index fingers hook into the loops of his belt and pull him into you flirtily. You push yourself up on your tiptoes and bring your face close to his, like you’re about to kiss him.

“I think you should spend the night,” you pull back slightly just before your lips touch his. His face sours jokingly, but he allows you to continue, “And then tomorrow you should take me on a date. And then, you can ask to be my… boyfriend, or whatever.” you make a silly face at the word boyfriend.

His doe-eyes light up, and his teeth bare in the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen.

“Boyfriend, huh? Very official. I like it,” he leans in slowly, achingly slowly, and his lips are just barely brushing yours-

Knock Knock Knock.

Both your heads whip around to the door at the sudden sound.

“Hey,” you recognize Dustin’s muffled voice, “Are you guys done having sex in there? I need to pee and Gareth’s totally throwing up in the other bathroom.”

You cover your mouth to hold in a raucous laugh. Yeah, you’re totally kicking that kid’s ass later. Eddie holds his hands up to you as you're about to respond, and gives you a shh gesture. He cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone.

“AhAhAh! Fuck ohmygodfuck I’m gonna-,” Eddie loudly fake moans and whines in a high pitched voice at the door, aiming to scar the kid for life. You hit him lightly on the shoulder, holding in silent giggles the whole time.

“EW WHAT THE FUCK,” Dustin screams, and you hear him run off loudly in the opposite direction of the bathroom.

You turn to each other and burst into laughter. Eddie throws his arm around your shoulder as you unlock the door, opening it wide, ready to face whatever comes next together.

"You're such an asshole, Eddie," you roll your eyes. Your face feels like it’s going to split from how hard you’re grinning.

"Yeah,” he gives you a quick peck on the cheek, “Only for you, princess."

___

here's where that line is originally from!

crossposted to ao3

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things x reader smut #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things #stranger things spoilers #st4 #st4 spoilers #stranger things 4 #stranger things 4 spoilers #my eddie stuff

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krabjoons · 4 years ago

Text

omg professor... what are you doing?!?!?! [pjm]

⮕ summary: park jimin is the hottest, most popular guy at school. the only catch? he also just so happens to be your teacher.

⮕ pairing: park jimin x reader, mentions of jaebum x reader

⮕ genre: smut, university!au, pwp

⮕ word count: 12.8k

⮕ rating: 18+, nsfw

⮕ warnings: hard dom!jimin x bratty-ish sub!y/n, professor!jimin x university student! y/n (he’s 27-28 ish and she’s 21-22), fuckboy!jaebum, pussy eating, fingering, thigh riding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk (carries the whole fic tbh), degradation, edging, dumbification, impact play (pussy + ass spanking), manhandling, humiliation, exhibitionism, creampie, teasing, praise, orgasm denial, begging, overstimulation, crying, kissing/making out, jimin’s a meanie but y/n likes it (aka i go ham on the degradation and edging you have been warned), aftercare (like 500 words of it :P)

⮕ a/n: this took too long to come out and has literally been sitting in my drafts since august but here it is! writing this was definitely a rollercoaster because this was my first smut and honestly i felt like it was really bad at times but other times i was like wtf this is so hot,, ANYWAYS, i’m glad that i’m posting it and getting over that fear of imperfection. i hope that you guys enjoy this piece :). i would also like to add that please don’t hook up with your teachers… if you do, that’s on you i take no responsibility for that whatsoever lol. excuse the title i literally have no idea what to change it to but i like it the way it is tbh LMFAOOO OK I’LL STOP RAMBLING NOW BYEEE ILY ALL

University has never been when you’ve expected. When you first graduated high school and came here, you expected your late teenage years to be filled with just as much studying as high school combined with only a few parties here and there. You didn’t expect to make as many friends as you did and certainly did not expect to be known as the girl with the high grades and even higher alcohol tolerance. No longer are you the shy Y/N L/N that walked through the entrance gates on the first day of school; you’ve changed a lot.

It was a surprise to you. With academics taking precedence much of your life, the freedom university provided you with was welcomed - perhaps a little too much. You quickly learned that polar bear shots were great to keep you in a good mood at parties and that eating mangoes before smoking gave you a better high. And, you also learned about sex.

Admittedly, the first time you had a hookup, it was awkward and messy (at least for you… it was a guy, what else were you expecting?) but with more practice, you were able to get the hang of it. You’ve found your tastes and now willingly talk about who catches your eye to your best friends, something you never thought you’d do last year.

Speaking of who catches your eye, as of now it’s Park Jimin. A really hot guy, according to your friends, and according to you, an even better voice. When you first walked into your Applications of Economics class, you nearly spit out your Starbucks drink after you saw the astonishingly handsome man with silky black hair in a dress shirt and tie. Surprisingly formal for a university student, you thought, but you weren’t one to talk, considering your current outfit of business casual.

Only, he wasn’t a student. He was your teacher. You should’ve put the pieces together earlier but you didn’t. Let's just say a Coconut Lime Refresher is good for hangovers, and you needed one desperately (basically, you were drunk as hell the night before and were still in the process of recovering). It certainly didn’t take long before all of campus was talking about the new economics professor who was hotter than hell. Girls (and some guys) immediately tried transferring into his class, one of them being your best friend Lisa, just to get a glimpse of how attractive he was. You remember a couple of girls offering you literal cash to transfer out, but you didn’t.

A good call, thinking about it now. You’ve gotten closer with Mr. Park, although it’s nothing too special yet, the two of you are on good terms and have even hugged before (you still get giddy thinking about it). Y/N from 2 years ago would be screaming her head off at how bold you’ve gotten, but now, you can’t bring yourself to care. Park Jimin is a hot guy, and you’re pretty hot too (if you must admit), so it would only be logical if the two of you could hook up. Unsurprisingly, you’ve lost your shame, nothing but thoughts of your teacher filling your mind in your spare time.

So here you are, another day of university, as monotonous as ever. The only highlight of your day will be the morning, where you have a class with Mr. Park. You've started changing your style a bit recently, opting for more, let’s just leave it at provocative outfits. Walking into the room, you take your usual seat in the front, closest to Mr. Park’s desk.

The class progresses like it normally does, starting with a review of the work from the last class and a discussion about the new material. "I’m going to give you guys this last half hour of class to review the material individually if you want or you can leave early, I don’t mind. I know it's a Friday so there’s gonna be some parties around campus, if you want to prepare yourselves for that then go ahead." Your professor glances around the room, smirking at you when mentioning the parties. You flush and look away, biting your lower lip.

You make the decision to stay in the classroom while the majority of the other students file out of the room. "I'll be available for any questions," Jimin calls out, returning to his desk across from you.

Sticking to your reputation, you get a head start on the assignment and easily work through the homework. Surprisingly, you forget about Jimin for the time being, focused on finishing your assignment so that you have as little work as possible to do after classes. You don’t notice your teacher looking at you, admiring the way you put so much effort into the things you’re passionate about. Hearing a student call his name, he gets up to help him.

Surprisingly, Mr. Park has assigned a disturbingly low amount of homework, probably because of the upcoming weekend and maybe a pop quiz later next week (ugh). You’ve finished your work in a mere twenty minutes and are surprised to find that Jimin is not at his desk when you look up from your laptop. You turn around, looking for him, and see that he’s helping another student. Whipping out your phone, you text your best friend Lisa (who just so conveniently, also thirsts over Jimin the same way you do).

to lisa: hey i finished classwork for mr park and have like 10 minutes of free time now lol

Instantly, she responds as if she wasn’t in class. Then again, she has never been one to pay too much attention to her professors.

from lisa: ayo talk to him

from lisa: also save me from bio i literally cannot

Smiling slightly, you respond to her.

to lisa: i WOULD but he’s helping other students

from lisa: then be like "m- mister park, i- need help please" and use puppy eyes

to lisa: LMFAOO PLEASE he’d be like whats wrong with you since when did you struggle in this class

to lisa: but i mean, anything to hear him talk i guess

from lisa: god i'm so jealous you have him early so you can hear his morning voice it must be hot asf

to lisa: it is omg

from lisa: god what if he moans like that it'd be such a turn on

to lisa: dUDE STOP NO the way this is literally true like if he has a good sip of coffee or a pastry he likes hes gonna go all "mmmm I wish you could try this" pls its so fking hot

to lisa: like SIR I WANNA TRY YOU or you to try me no complaints

from lisa: wtf he finishes his breakfast before my class so i can't even hear it tf I hate it here

to lisa: u have him right after my block bro at leAST you have him

to lisa: what ab the people who don't even have him

from lisa: idk what i'd do honestly. imagine not having a literal sex god teaching you every day i pity those who dont

You’re about to type out a response when a smooth voice sounds out from behind you, "alright guys, you’re good to go. Have a good weekend!" You jump in your seat, not realizing that your teacher was helping the student right behind you for the past five minutes.

As the rest of the class begins to pack up, you pray that he hasn’t seen you talking about your sexual fantasies less than five feet away from him. Mr. Park doesn’t say anything, so you must be in the clear, right? You’re hoping and praying that he didn’t find out, but your heart rate is already rising and you’re getting a sick feeling in your stomach. Your gut must be trying to tell you something.

Well, your gut’s telling you that the universe must not be on your side because as soon as you stand up, he says, "Ms. L/N, can you stay a bit after class? I have a few things I want to discuss with you." Cheeks flushing hot, you squeak out a "yes, sir."

When everyone has left and it’s just the two of you left in the room, Jimin pulls up a seat next to his desk. "Sit," he commands, leaning on his desk. You scramble to your feet and walk over, mind buzzing with thoughts. Oh god, what if he tells the administration department? Then you’d definitely be punished and maybe even kicked out of the school. Maybe you could make up a story? Oh, it’s ANOTHER Park Jimin, haha. Definitely NOT my teacher. Even if you did, they could go the rest of the texts between you and Lisa and you’d be screwed. And not to be petty or anything, but being kicked out would mean that you wouldn’t be able to be in Jimin’s class anymore and wouldn’t be able to see him. Oh, and the bigger problem would be that you’d also be unable to get your degree.

You start internally panicking, heart rate picking up even when your teacher rolls up his sleeves and leans down in front of you. Stop thinking about dirty things FOR ONCE, Y/N, half of you screams, while the other half of you has already started fantasizing about things which shouldn’t be thought about, especially with one of the people in the fantasies less than a couple of feet in front of you. With his hands on his thighs, the ones you’ve thought about riding far too often, he smirks.

"So, I heard you wanna try me?"

You gulp, absolutely mortified that Jimin caught you. Yes, he was attractive, and you would do practically anything to fuck him, but you didn’t expect to be humiliated into admitting it. "Um, no sir! I mean, maybe, but not in the way you think!" you ramble. Shut up, Y/N, part of you screams. You’re only digging yourself into a deeper hole.

"Yeah, sure. Because I definitely didn’t see what you were talking about with your friend. Be honest, Y/N," he says, smirking down at you. "You think about me, don't you? I'm not new to this. I see the way girls like you look at me. I know the way they talk about me when they think I can't hear. I know the way you think. Who would've thought? Little Miss L/N, all prim and proper on the outside, would be so filthy deep down?"

"Sir, I- uh. I-" you stutter out, cheeks burning furiously hot.

"You what? You're not going to try to prove your innocence now, are you? Not when you've gotten this far, hm? Getting to do what you’ve wanted after all this time?" he asks, standing up from his desk, and walking over to you, kneeling in front of you so that you were forced to hold eye contact.

"You know, nobody else has been as daring as you, my dear," he hums softly. "Sending promiscuous texts about their teacher in the very class they're in. Rubbing their thighs together every time their teacher catches their eye." You shift in your seat, Jimin's words sparking the slightest of fires in your core. "Gazing ever so obviously at said teacher’s dick, too. Y/N, you amaze me. So, so brilliant. yet so, so naughty. You thought that nobody else would catch onto you? Unfortunately, you thought wrong."

"I'm s- sorry sir," you whisper out.

"You're just sorry that you got caught, Y/N. You'll keep doing this even after today," Jimin chuckles lowly. "Possibly even more after today," he adds on, taking note of how his words have affected you. Your pupils are dilated and your cheeks are starting to get flushed. "Such a dirty girl. I'm here trying to scold you, and here you are, getting turned on by my words. Is this why you ask so many questions, doll? To hear my voice?"

You bite your lip in a mixture of embarrassment and nervousness, nodding imperceptibly. The logical, studious side of you is thinking, oh my god, is this really happening? Am I going to fuck my teacher? I really shouldn’t be doing this. The relaxed, easygoing side of you (pretty much your horny side) is thinking, finally, it’s happening. I’m going to FINALLY be fucking Park Jimin.

"What else have you imagined about my voice, hm? How I'd whisper into your ear while pounding into you? Hear me moan as your tight cunt clenches around my dick? Tell you how good you're making me feel? Reminding you how much of a slut you are to fuck your teacher in the middle of his classroom, where anyone could walk in?" he continues, seeing you shift in your seat more. "Would you like that?" he asks.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I would," you whisper. You have to consciously clench your thighs together to keep them from spreading at his words.

"Hm, I don't believe you. Try again another time, darling," he sighs, leaning back on his knees, getting ready to stand up. You don't want this, whatever it is, to be over that quickly so you make up your mind. Swallowing your pride and succumbing to the dull throb in your panties, you pout.

"But professor, I really do want you. I want you to make me feel good and I wanna make you feel good. Please," you whine out. "I wanna be thinking about you all the time because you fucked me so well in class. And when my friends talk about wanting to get in your pants, I want to be the only one who already has. Please, Mr. Park. I need you." you breathe out. At this point, the pressure in your core is rising steadily, and only intensifies when you see the way your teacher's eyes are glazed over in lust and eyebrows are furrowed. Your eyes travel down the expanse of his face to his lips, plump and pink. Oh, the number of times you've wished to kiss them, imagined them suckling on your clit. And now that Jimin knows, perhaps it's finally coming true.

"You'd like that, hm? God, you're so dirty," Jimin mutters, inching closer to you, cautiously placing a hand on your knee. Your legs instantly part to make room for him in between and he inches forward. "Does dirty talk really turn you on that much, Y/N? I can smell you through your panties," he remarks.

"Mr. Park, please do something," you whimper. And with that, Jimin pulls you over to his desk and sits you on the edge. You spread your legs and he stands in between them. He leans his head closer to you until he's next to your ear.

"Want me to get you off with my words? You seem to like that already and I haven't even tried, doll. Or perhaps," he pauses, bunching up your skirt so that it pools at your waist. "You want me to touch you?"

You nod eagerly, chest heaving in anticipation. "I want both Mr. Park. I want you," you purr salaciously. And with that, your teacher lets out a low growl and presses his lips onto yours harshly. It’s already bruising, but you just can’t get enough of the way he tastes of caramel and coffee and how ridiculously soft his lips are, so you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in even closer. He seems a little put off by how eager you are, but once he hears you sigh in enjoyment, he melts into your eager grasp.

His hands start sliding down your waist so that they are resting on your upper thighs, and he rubs comforting circles into them, trailing them closer and closer to your panties. He breaks off from the kiss to look down and smirks back at you before joining his lips to yours with even more fervor and you praise yourself for deciding to wear your lace thong today. You feel his tongue slide against your lips, asking for permission to enter and your mouth immediately complies.

The feeling of his hot breath on your lips and thumbs rubbing against the juncture of your thighs has you feeling needy for more. Jimin swirls the tip of his tongue against yours, the filthy action turning you on even more. You moan into his mouth and thread your fingers through his hair, causing him to let out a low groan.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the two of you break apart. Chest heaving up and down, you take note of your teacher's face. His lips are redder and plumper than ever before. His cheeks have the faintest blush on them. His eyes, the ones that crinkle into a happy smile whenever you answer a question correctly in class, are now clouded over with deep lust.

"Get onto all fours. On the desk," Jimin commands, and you immediately comply. Now your ass is facing Jimin and you're very nearly completely exposed to him, save the thong you're wearing.

"God, you're such a slut," Jimin moans out at the sight. "Do you get dressed up like this just so you can get fucked in class? Such a short fucking skirt that I can see whatever you're wearing underneath whenever you bend over, hm? You wanted me to give in to you, doll?" When you nod weakly, he chuckles, "I don't think so."

Arching your back so your ass sticks out even more, you whine, "professor, please fuck me. I'm so fucking horny, please." Jimin cups your pussy from outside your panties and leans over you, "I don't think so, kitten. I'm the one calling the shots here." Your pussy flutters in response and Jimin slaps it lightly, chuckling. The brief stimulation has your cunt clenching around nothing.

He spreads your knees slightly and begins trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs to the arch of your back. Feeling his breath so close to your core has you getting wetter by the minute in anticipation. He finally hovers over your back, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, muttering, "I'm going to wreck you, Y/N", and you feel yourself clench in excitement.

"Then do it," you whisper, and Jimin hooks his fingers around the waistband of your thong and pulls it down, so slow that it's almost painful, exposing your heat to the cool air of the classroom and causing you to shiver in response.

You don't see it, but his eyes widen seeing the strings of your slick connecting your pussy to your panties. He takes a look at your core and his mouth starts watering. You're soaking and clenching around nothing, thighs shaking ever so slightly in anticipation.

He flattens his tongue and licks a flat stripe up your pussy, from your clit to your entrance. He pauses to suck some of your juices from it, but your cunt just keeps leaking them out. He runs his tongues through your folds over and over again until you let out a wanton moan.

Encouraged by your reaction, he hooks his arms around the side of your hips, nuzzling closer into your pussy. He laps at your cunt and purposely avoids your clit, only heightening the pressure in your core.

"Mr. Park," you whine out, pushing your hips back. "Please. More," you pant out. Suddenly, Jimin spanks your right ass cheek, rubbing his hand over the fleshy globe soothingly afterward. You let out a little yelp and turn around to catch his eyes.

"More what?" he spits out, smiling at you evilly. "My little slut's gotta tell me what she wants. How else would I give it to her?" your mind is foggy, pleasure causing you to lose track of everything other than the man behind you. "W- want you," you garble out, "t- to play with my clit too."

"What's the magic word, doll?" Jimin teases, breath fanning over your slit, causing your walls to clench erratically. "Please, Mr. Park," you whine, pushing your cunt closer to his face. He smirks at you, avoiding your advances.

"Good girl," he praises before finally positioning himself just barely in front of your clit. You feel him blow cool air onto your slit, but the temperature of it is magnified even more due to how wet you are. You whine out, expressing your displeasure, and Jimin finally indulges you by taking your throbbing button between his plush lips.

"F- fuck, sir, yes! Right there, please," you squeal, back arching even more. Jimin hums, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your entrance squeezing out more and more of your arousal down to where Jimin's lips are sucking. He momentarily pauses to flatten his tongue out, letting your juices drip onto them and slurping them up eagerly. The obscene noises behind you combined with the low thrum of student life just outside the classroom door mesh together to have you realize where exactly the two of you are doing this.

You glance at the clock, and your eyes widen. "Prof- oh my god, Pr- Professor Park," you moan out, trying to keep your focus. Jimin again hums, making you jolt in pleasure. "I- uh, there’s only ten minutes until the next block of classes start. I need t- to leave in around five." When Jimin releases from you with a pop, you can feel your slick running down your thighs and some dripping onto his desk. You feel a rush of excitement at the thought of everyone walking in during class to see the mess Jimin made of you on his desk and again squeeze around nothing.

"Well then," Jimin hums lazily, "guess you better cum within five minutes if you want to cum at all." He dives back into your heat, tongue skillfully running through your folds. He cycles between kitten licking and delivering harsh sucks to your clit and dipping his tongue into your entrance. You grind against his face in desperation to reach your release, and just when you finally feel it hurtling towards you at an alarming rate, suddenly, Jimin gets up.

He leans over you, trailing a hand up your slick-ridden thigh to cup your bare heat and mutters lowly in your ear, "time’s up." Your heart drops in frustration, and you whine out. Grinding into his palm, you beg for him to touch you once again, knowing nothing but how good he was making you feel just seconds ago. "Mr. P- Park, please. Make me cum," you cry out.

Jimin spanks your pussy, a wet echo sounding through the room. You jolt forward and your cunt leaks out even more of your arousal in response to the combination of pain and pleasure. "I said no," he hisses, "you couldn't cum in time, you don't deserve to cum."

"God, look at you, you're a mess. Bent over and spread out so desperately for me. You taste so sweet, doll. So responsive, too," Jimin murmurs, lazily rubbing your slit. He's, once again, avoiding your clit and driving you insane. Your sensitive nub is now swollen and throbbing with need, slick with your arousal.

"Has anyone touched you as well as I do, Y/N?" he asks. When you shake your head, he slaps your cunt again, another wet sound echoing through the room. "Words, baby girl," he goads, fingers dancing through your folds.

"N- no, sir. they can’t make me feel half as good as you did. I’ve al- I’ve always been thinking about having you touch m- my cunt and making me cum really hard. and I- shit I’m so needy sir, I wanna cum," you garble out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You feel Jimin’s hand leave your pussy, exposing your soaked heat to the cool air of the room. Slowly, he pulls your thong up your thighs and the light touches make you clench in desperation and whine out.

He marvels at the sight of you so fucked out in front of him. The way his top student was falling apart at the slightest touches he gave you. And the words you said. God, to have you say such filthy things in comparison to your gentle demeanor, all because of him, it really did something to him.

Jimin finishes clothing you and presses a kiss to the top of your ass and walks across the room to get some tissues to clean up the mess you made. Still perched on the desk, you watch him needily, thighs rubbing together to relieve some of the pressure from being denied your orgasm. "So I really don’t get to cum?" You ask meekly, holding back a sob. "I need to cum, Mr. Park."

He chuckles, "there’s a difference between need and want, doll. You want to cum, you don't need to cum. But what you do need," he returns to you, leaning down so that his face is right in front of yours, "is to get to your next class." Your face, once eagerly lit up in anticipation, has now fallen in disappointment.

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a "fine" and get off his desk, feeling your arousal make your thighs stick together. Your panties are uncomfortably damp and you’re so wet you can even smell yourself. "Can you make me cum later?" you question Jimin, sliding closer to him and playing with his tie, praying that he’ll be the one to make you release instead of having to do it yourself when you get home.

"If you play nice I might. If not, then… we’ll see," he hums, handing you a tissue to clean yourself up while heading to wipe down his desk. "I have a lunch meeting in the second half of the lunch block, so if you really need me, I’ll be here before then."

You grin and nod in excitement. "Cool! so I’ll-" you begin before the first students from the next class start filing in, making you jump. "The door wasn’t locked?" you whisper frantically to him. "We could have been caught, Jimin! Are you crazy?!"

He smirks at you, "didn’t you say you wanted it that way? Where anyone could walk in? I only did what you asked, doll." You’re left speechless as he continues. "Anyways, you should be in your next class pretty soon. I’ll write a note to your professor just in case you’re late. But get going, yeah? I’ll see you in time for our meeting." He hands you a slip of paper and straightens up, tossing the dirty tissues into the trash can in the corner of the room.

"Okay class, we’re going to get started soon. I presume you all did the reading, so just prepare for the discussion we’re going to be having about it when the bell rings," he calls out to the class. Turning to face you, he questions quietly with genuine concern, "you okay? Did I push you too much for our first time?"

Your mind swirls with thoughts. Our first time. The words fill you with giddy excitement. It’s just the two of you that know about this, the dirty things you were doing just minutes ago, very nearly getting caught. Knowing that this won’t be the only moment you guys are doing this, fills you with excitement.

"On the contrary, actually," you tease your teacher with a smile. "It was really nice honestly, but perhaps, you didn’t do enough." You bite your lip at the way Jimin's eyes darken and he looks away. "Get to class, Ms. L/N. The bell will ring any minute," he says lowly, jaw slightly clenched. Your core throbs at the sight and you head towards the door.

"Goodbye, Mr. Park. Thank you!" you call out, catching sight of Lisa, who raises her eyebrows at you teasingly and mouths text me. Blushing, you nod at her before leaving the room to go to your next class.

Being "one of the smartest students on campus" comes with its perks. Like right now, for example. You always (somehow) come to class overprepared, so when your next teacher gives you a day to work on your project (which you've already finished), you head to the back of the room to text Lisa in private.

from lisa: dude wtf was that you were literally talking to Mr. Park outside of ur class time with him

from lisa: omg wait don't tell me you fucked him

from lisa: did you

to lisa: NO I DID NOT OMG I wish tho lmao

to lisa: I was asking him for help on the paper he's assigning us and to proofread it and stuff before I submit it

from lisa: omg I forgot he assigned us that shit

to lisa: dude lmao its due in a week or so you have plenty of time

from lisa: ugh literally he's such a hottie why does he have to be so into teaching

to lisa: sis commitment to something is hot

from lisa: omg ur right wait a sec tho

from lisa: dude

from lisa: omg

from lisa: he definitely has a boner

Knowing that you were likely the cause of it, you shift in your seat cockily, smiling slyly to yourself while looking down.

to lisa: whAT

to lisa: wait how big is it

from lisa: ok I dont think he’s fully hard yet he's like semi hard but barely

from lisa: LMFAO Y/N don't worry I think he’s packing seems kinda thick too

Taking in a deep breath, you look up at the ceiling. You imagine him slowly sinking into you and making you whimper at his size. Him seeing your face and growling, "if you’re really a good girl, you should be able to take it." You cross your legs tightly and rock up and down in a lame attempt to diminish the rising pressure between your thighs and look back down at your phone.

to lisa: pls thats so hot

from lisa: IKR I want him to r a i l me

to lisa: or eat me out… have you sEEN those lips of his wtf

from lisa: on god do not get me started

to lisa: pls i bet he’d be the type to tease you

Oh Lisa, if only you knew the truth behind those words.

from lisa: YES hes lowkey cocky bc he knows like the entire fucking population simps for him

from lisa: he’s def gonna make you beg to cum

to lisa: pls thats hot do not get me riled up in class istg

from lisa: too late i've already started babe ;)

You continue texting Lisa throughout the entirety of your class. Finally, you look at the clock and seeing that there are only a few more minutes till the class ends, you wrap up your conversation with her.

to lisa: hey btw i’m gonna be coming to lunch late… save me a seat at our regular spot?

from lisa: when ur best friend is a teachers pet :(( fiNE I guess I will

to lisa: love u!! xx

from lisa: love you too nerd xoxo

The bell finally rings, signaling the start of the lunch break and you immediately stand up and walk out the door, bidding your teacher goodbye and thanks.

Running into the bathroom, you do a quick check of your appearance. You tug up your skirt a bit higher and tuck in your shirt so that your outfit accentuates your curves. You glance at your face and notice how abnormally large your pupils are in comparison to most days. Jimin has completely ruined you today, just like he said he would. I'm going to wreck you, Y/N. His words echo in your ears as you make your way out to his classroom. Trying to ignore how uncomfortably wet your panties are, you knock on the door to his room.

You hear a smooth voice answer with a, "come in," and take a deep breath before opening the door to see Jimin sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. He scans you up and down, eyes taking in every inch of your figure. "Nice outfit alterations," he notes, patting his laps as a hint for you to sit on it. You quickly lock the door and make your way to him, placing one leg on each side of him so that you’re now straddling his thighs. "Is this all for me?" he asks and you tuck your head down, suddenly shy now that all his attention is on you again.

"Mhm, depends on whether you like it or not" you smile timidly, hands reaching out to play with his tie again. He laughs. "Princess, I’m conflicted. You do look very nice, all dolled up for me like this. It’d be a shame if I were to ruin your efforts. But on the other hand," he remarks, "you’ve very nearly crossed the line for indecent exposure. What if another teacher caught you like this? you would get in trouble, hm? And what if it were a student to see you like this? What would they think of you then?" He questions, causing your cheeks to burn at his words.

"They would think I- that I’m a whore. I- and that I dress up like this just so I can pass my classes," you whisper out, biting your lips in a combination of excitement and humiliation. You can feel yourself start to throb again and you start to rut against Jimin’s thighs. He shifts you over so that you are sitting on only one and slightly bounces his leg. The stimulation to your neglected cunt sends a shock running through your body and you squeeze your thighs around his.

"Look at you, so fucking desperate to cum. You think that you aren’t a little whore already, so needy for me this quickly, hm? Do you really think you deserve to cum?" He hums, admiring the way you’re worked up. He pushes up your skirt and slaps your thigh just underneath your ass. You shift away as a reaction, causing your clit to get the stimulation it finally deserved. The way your underwear rubs against your neglected bundle of nerves causes you to let out a groan and drop your head to Jimin's shoulder. He spanks you this time, making you yelp. "I asked you a question, doll."

"Mmhm, yeah," you whine out, "I deserve t- to cum, sir." At this point, your hips are moving on their own accord, shifting back and forth desperately against Jimin's thigh. He grabs your waist tightly, holding you still. "Look at me," he commands, bouncing his thigh. You mewl into his shoulder, the change in motion making you lose focus. He spanks you again, the sound echoing around the room. "Listen to directions, sweetheart. Or else you’ll get punished," he warns.

You lift your head to look at Jimin, faces just inches apart. His eyes scan over your face, lingering on your lips. Slowly, you lean towards him, closing the distance between you two. He gives into your eager kiss and you glide your hands up his firm chest to run your fingers through his hair. He starts bouncing you on his thigh and you groan into his mouth. Breaking apart panting, you place your forehead against Jimin’s, moving your hips back and forth harder to increase the pressure going to your clit.

"God, Y/N, you’re so wet," Jimin pants while looking down at the way your clothed pussy drags over his thigh. "I can feel you soaking through my slacks," he says, shifting you over. just like he said, there is now a wet spot on his thigh from where you just were. Thankfully, it’s barely noticeable, but if you focus enough, you can see it.

"What are you going to do about it, hm? I have classes to teach, meetings to attend. Do you want people to see the mess you made all over me?" He hisses, spanking you to elicit an answer. "N- no, sir. I’m s- sorry," you whisper out, eyes clenched, still rutting against him. You feel your orgasm bubbling up as every second passes.

"I don't think you're sorry, doll. Look at you making a mess all over me through your panties. You're absolutely soaked, so fucking desperate to cum," he tuts, clenching his thigh muscles purposely. You gasp and shove your head into the crook of Jimin's neck, letting out a low groan.

"Mr. Park, I'm so wet because of you. I- god, I wanna cum. please. I'm so close," you mewl into him, legs starting to tighten around his thigh.

You shut your eyes, feeling your impending orgasm build up. Right when you're about to let go, Jimin holds your hips in place tightly, preventing you from moving. Squeaking out, you make an attempt to shift your pussy over his thighs. It's no use because you can feel it start to drift away slowly and you look at him in need. Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you plead, "S- sir I need you to touch me again. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Jimin smiles cockily, lifting you onto his desk and spreading your legs after stripping you of your panties. You lean back so that you face the ceiling. Your eyes roll back once you feel him take your clit into his mouth. You moan and arch your back off of the desk, thighs involuntarily clenching around his head.

"God, Mr. Park, yes! O- oh, fuck, please," you blabber out incoherently, your mind hazy and overwhelmed with pleasure. "More," you whimper out without thinking.

Jimin disconnects from your heat to look up at you, murmuring, "Greedy little slut wants it all, huh? Won't even ask nicely for it. Tell me what you want, Y/N. Beg for it, and I might just give it to you."

"God, I- I want it all, professor," you call out, wiggling your hips in search of stimulation that never comes. "Want you to stuff me with your f- fingers and lick my p- pussy and make me cum. Want you to fuck me r- raw with your fat cock from behind and sp- and spank me. Want you to ma- make me cry from cumming so hard just as much as you have from not letting me cum. A- and I want you to leave hi- hickies on my thighs so that if I bend over, p- people are gonna know how much of a cockslut I am, just for you."

"Yeah? Well, I can tell you this," Jimin says, fingers dancing up your thigh closer to your sick-ridden core. "You are a cockslut. So fucking dirty. Most people come to class to learn but it seems that you come here to get off." He inserts a finger into you and your walls immediately clamp down on it. He moves the digit in and out of you smoothly, your arousal allowing the smoothest of motions. "You like that, baby? Finally having something in that tight cunt of yours?" You nod at his question, adding on "want more, sir."

"Not enough? Greedy little bitch. look at you, so needy. What are you gonna do when I have my cock out, hm?" He shoves a second finger into you and starts curling them into your heat. You arch your back to the ceiling and he hovers over you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the squelch of his fingers in your wet pussy and your panting as he stares into your eyes. Jimin's eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip - he’s focusing on something.

That "something" becomes apparent when, all of a sudden, you nearly sit upright and let out a loud moan of pleasure, "Fuck, Mr. Park! right there." His fingers continue rubbing that special spot inside you repeatedly and your legs start shaking ever so slightly. You look back at him to see a smug smile on his face. "I found it," he chuckles as you writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss you, lips melding together.

He keeps fingering you, bringing his thumb up to ghost over your clit ever so slightly to provide enough pleasure to bring you close to your orgasm but just not enough to make you cum. You whine against his lips and he breaks the kiss, asking "you want to cum, doll?" to which you weakly nod. "Then fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me how much of a little slut you are for me. How you’re a cocksleeve for me, so wet and needy as soon as I touch you, so ready for me to fuck you." He stills his digits inside of you and you buck your hips on them, rolling your pelvis repeatedly in an attempt to get to your orgasm. You reach down to provide some stimulation to your clit, but he smacks it away.

"Jim- professor, it’s not enough. I- I need more, please." Tears start welling up in your eyes at the thought of not cumming for the third time. Jimin kisses your temple, the gentle action reminding you that he’s not going to do something you can’t handle. "Please, Mr. Park. I wanna cum," you whine out, hips jerking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to chase after your high.

"Show me then, Y/N. how much you want it. A good girl can show me that she wants it bad enough and will make herself come on my fingers alone. She’s not greedy. She doesn’t need to touch herself too. She just needs my fingers to cum. I know you can be a good girl, Y/N," he goads. "Can you show me what the pretty little face of yours looks like when you cum? I bet you’ll look so beautiful, even more than you are right now, all fucked out for me."

"Hhngh, sir I- I’m trying," you pant out. "It’s just not enough. I promise I'm a good girl, I swear. Please let me cum. Oh god, I wanna cum." At this point, you’re nearly crying. You haven't ever been edged like this and are desperate for release.

Jimin sees this and purposefully retracts his hand from your cunt covered in your honeyed juices, glistening in the lights of his classroom. "Professor Park, please," you choke out weakly, chest constricting in disappointment. With a soft smile, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and cleans them off, savoring the flavor of you.

"Be a good girl for the rest of the day and then I’ll let you cum, baby," he hums. "You promise?" you plead, holding onto his arm desperately.

"I promise, Y/N," he kisses you gently and you taste the remnants of yourself on his tongue, the filthy action causing your clit to throb even more. Combined with the way your cunt is still clenched tight in preparation for an orgasm that won’t come soon, you can definitely say that you can't wait for the school day to come to an end.

"Go to lunch, doll. I have a meeting soon. Don’t think of me too much, hm? Gotta keep those straight A’s the way they are," Jimin teases, pulling down your skirt slowly, fingers just grazing your thighs. He grabs your panties. "Oh, and I think I'll keep these for now," he says cheekily, putting them in his pocket. "They didn’t seem to be doing their job when you were riding my thigh."

You watch him in shock, cheeks flushing red hot. "I- okay. uh, I’m going to lunch now, Jimin. Have a good lunch and meeting, I guess?" you say awkwardly, shuffling to the door with him, tugging your skirt down.

"Jimin? We’re on a first-name basis already, Y/N? Don’t let anybody hear you call me that in class, baby," he winks, holding the door open and you nod, preoccupied with the little "situation" your skirt just barely hides. You can feel yourself still leaking down your inner thighs, and pray that nobody’s going to notice when you walk into the dining hall.

"Ugh! Bitch, what took you so long?" Lisa exclaims when you sit down next to her with your lunch. You pout. "I wasn't even gone for that long."

"Ha! That long, my ass. You were gone for more than half of the break! I had to tell Jaebum and his cronies to fuck off on my own! I’m not as intimidating when you’re not around, though, so I don’t think it worked. They’ll probably come over again soon." Lisa rolls her eyes. You snort, "One of them probably likes you, that’s why they keep bothering you."

"They just like any female and will take what they can get," Lisa mutters, "but anyway! How was your meeting with Mr. Park? Did you solve his boner problem?" she wiggles her eyebrows.

You clear your throat. "No, Lisa I did not. I'm obviously above that," you say in a sarcastic tone. "I simply offered to," you tease. Lisa squeals and slaps your arm in response. "But for real though," she says. "Anyone that gets to hook up with mister Park Jimin automatically wins at life," and you hum in agreement.

You scan at the dining hall around you and catch the eye of Jaebum sitting with his friend group. He winks at you and you roll your eyes and stand up, "come on Lisa, let’s go. Those assholes are going to come over any second if we stay here any longer." You drag her to your guys’ next class.

The bell rings and the two of you burst out of the classroom. Thank god that’s over. Only one more class left, you think to yourself, gripping your books tighter to your chest in excitement.

"Jesus fuck, since when were you this eager to get to the last class of the day, Y/N? I thought you loved staying in school for as long as possible," Lisa huffs out. You steer her into the direction of your locker, right across from Jimin’s classroom.

"I'm picking up my books, you dummy. Be grateful I paid for this locker because otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to put your books here." You put in the code and exchange your books while Lisa checks herself in the magnetic mirror attached to the door. you have to be careful when bending over because otherwise you’ll flash the entire school, so you do a weird sit-squat thing. "Geeking out over lockers? You act as if you’re still in high school, Y/N," Lisa teases. "Only during the school day," you wink up at her.

Lisa spots someone through the reflection of the mirror and groans out. "Incoming," she warns, rolling her eyes and turning around. "Wha-" you begin when you get cut off by a smooth voice behind you.

"Damn, L/N. didn’t know you wore skirts this short on campus. Looks good on you," the guy winks. "But it would look even better on my bedroom floor." You hold back a gag and turn to Lisa, raising your eyebrows in exasperation.

"Wow, I see the originality," Lisa says in the most sickeningly sweet voice. "What do you want, Jaebum?" He chuckles and places an arm over your head, leaning over you. "Well, I’m having a party tonight, and it would be amazing if you two little ladies could attend. Be mine and Jackson’s plus one?" he says. You’re about to say no when he leans in closer to you, inches away from your face, "plus you can get the high-quality drinks for free, not the cheap booze we leave out for the randos who show up."

"You’re probably gonna drug them or something. No thanks, dickwad." you huff out after a second’s hesitation, pushing him away, ready to go to your next class. "Nah, baby. I may be a fuckboy but at least I've got morals. Whaddya say? You get me off, I get you off? Maybe make you cum so many times it starts hurting? You look like you haven’t been able to get an orgasm in a while, you’re so uptight, L/N," Jaebum smirks.

"You fuckin-" you start to hiss out but you’re shut off again. This time it’s by someone different. Jimin. "Mr. Lim, I don’t think it’s necessarily appropriate to discuss your sexual endeavors while in an academic setting. I’ll be letting you off with a warning for now." He turns to you, eyes flitting across your DIY skimpy outfit. You feel your cunt leak more of your honeyed juices under his piercing gaze and clamp your thighs together to keep them from dripping down your thighs. "And Ms. L/N, I expected better from you. You’re not typically one to do these things in a school environment. Get to class, the two of you," he says, turning back to his classroom.

"Oh," he adds, "and Y/N. fix your outfit. I would hate to see you get dress coded by a teacher who isn’t as lenient." You, Lisa, and Jaebum stare at his back in shock as he heads inside his classroom.

"Well, uh, that just happened," Lisa states, turning to you. "Ready to go?" you nod numbly, mind swirling with embarrassment and excitement as you tug down your skirt. The two of you walk to the last class of the day while Jaebum calls out, "my place after 11, L/N! I’ll be waiting!", making you wince. Great, now a bunch of people are gonna think you’re hooking up with him.

The last bell of the day finally rings, and you head to your locker after bidding Lisa goodbye. You put your books in your locker and head to the bathroom to fix your clothes. You decide to tease Jimin even more by adjusting your skirt so that it ends just at the bottom of your ass. It’s a terribly risky decision; if you walk too fast, you risk flashing everyone. You’ve tried to wipe the slick off the juncture of your thighs, but it keeps getting replaced with more of your arousal.

You speed walk down the halls and fling open the door to see that Jimin isn’t in his classroom - or so you think. Once you take a few steps into the room, you hear the door shut behind you and lock. Jimin looks at you up and down. "You didn’t fix your outfit, Ms. L/N. Looks like I’ll have to dress code you for indecent exposure then," he hums, heading to his desk to take out a slip of paper.

"Wait Jimin, what? I thought we were- um. You know, going to-" you splutter out, realizing he was actually serious. You can’t have this on your academic record! What would your parents think?

"Going to what? Fuck? Seems like you already have someone else for that, Y/N," he shakes his head, grabbing a pen. You reach forward quickly to stop him, hand, gripping his forearm in desperation.

"No Mr. Park, I- I never told Jaebum yes. I just-" you try to explain, but Jimin cuts you off. "You what?" he asks bitingly, taking you by surprise. "Did you think that you could just come back and hop on my dick after nearly making out with another guy? God, you really are a slut, aren’t you?"

You rub your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the steadily mounting pressure in your core at Jimin’s words. "Look at you, I told you to fix your outfit and you fucking pulled up your skirt. You pulled it up. You don’t listen to me, talk to your friends about how much you want me to rail you, and yet let other guys make plans to hook up with you. And you expect me to let you cum after all of that?" he continues, noticing the effect he has on you. "You really think I should let you cum, Y/N? I'll tell you what I think. I think I should leave you like this, dripping and needy for me. So ready to get fucked by me but not being able to."

Your eyes widen, "no, please professor, no!"

"Should I jack off in front of you and not let you touch me? Maybe then would you learn your lesson? Or maybe I should spank your ass till it’s blue you’re unable to sit. Would that work, hm? What if I just send you back to the dorms? You could ask Jaebum to touch you, even if he can’t make you half the mess I can," he continues, pushing you onto his desk. He grabs your jaw and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him, humiliated, with tears in your eyes.

"Aw," he pouts sarcastically, "is the baby crying? Because I didn’t let her cum? Well, princess, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Little cocksluts like you don’t deserve to cum so easily."

"P- professor, please. You can punish me. Teach me a lesson. B- but just please let me cum." You whimper out, attempting to cross your legs together to assuage your aching clit, but Jimin stops you by holding your knee with his other hand.

He slowly trails his hands up your bare thigh, admiring the way your soft skin seems to get chills at his touch. He pushes you back onto the desk and you prop yourself up your elbows to look at him. "Are you a cockslut, Y/N?" he asks, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I’m nothing but a hole for you to fuck," you whimper meekly as he pushes up your skirt. He pushes apart your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the desk. "Damn right you are. Nothing but a little whore that I can use to get off. I’m going to fuck you here in school like you’ve never been fucked before. And this dick you’ve been thinking about all this time, it’s going to finally be in you, and I better not hear any complaints," Jimin growls, pumping his length in his hand. "No sir," you whimper out.

"You on the pill?" he asks, to which you reply with a yes. He teases your slit with the pink head of his cock and your entrance flutters at the touch. "But on another note, tell me if you want to stop. I don’t want to push you too much."

You smile, "Jimin, you’re being too kind. I promise I'll tell you. But I did say before perhaps you weren’t doing enough. Mr. Park, I want you to ruin me," you bite your lips, mimicking his words from earlier in the day. He cocks his head in amusement.

"Don’t worry princess, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing." Without warning, he thrusts forward into your heart, barely giving you time to adjust to his size. The girth of his cock stretches open your cunt with painful pleasure. Once he’s sheathed inside you, you can feel him very near your cervix.

You let out a shaky breath but it’s cut off as he continues thrusting in and out of you, wet slaps echoing through the room. "M- Mr. Park-" you moan incoherently.

"Fucking take it, Y/N. You wanted me to ruin you? Well here I am doing it; be fucking grateful." he rolls his hips into yours, hands gripping your sides harshly.

"Th- thank you Mr. Park, s- so much," you nearly sob out, almost crying at the relief of being fucked. You’re so turned on that your walls are clenching around Jimin’s dick so hard that he grips your jaw harshly. Gritting his teeth, he spits, "loosen up, babe. You’re so fuckin’ tight." You whine and try to relax but the stimulation Jimin’s providing has your eyes rolling back instead.

He snakes a hand down to your stomach and under your skirt, circling your throbbing clit. Your pussy flutters at the stimulation and you bite your lip harshly. He changes his angle slightly, causing your thighs to start shaking. His precum and your honeyed juices drip out your sopping cunt, the sound of wet slaps echoing around the room.

"Mmmmh," you moan out softly, back arching slightly. You can feel Jimin hitting your g-spot with impeccable accuracy each time. Doubled with the way his thumb is rubbing circles on your sensitive clit, you feel yourself reaching your orgasm. You try to suppress the giveaway signs of your impending release, knowing that Jimin, in order to "teach you a lesson" of sorts, is likely to take it away from you, so you attempt to just breathe out, "Jimin, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" he thrusts into you deeper and harder and you bite your upper lip to stop your moans from slipping out. "Come on Y/N, let me hear those pretty little moans. Let everyone else know how well I'm fucking you, how good I make you feel," Jimin urges.

As soon as he utters those words, you give in, letting high pitched whimpers spill from your lips. Your pussy lets out filthy squelching noises at each of his thrusts, your wetness dripping down your ass and onto the desk. You feel your walls tightening around his cock and try to fight it off, but Jimin can already tell of your impending orgasm. He pulls out of you, leaving your warm and soaked cunt open to the air.

"Fuck," you exclaim in frustration, bringing your hands up to cover your face so Jimin doesn’t see your face, tears starting to spill down your face. It’s frustrating you so much that he won’t let you cum. That he enjoys seeing you whimpering and teary-eyed for him. Your thighs haven’t stopped shaking and Jimin parts them after you close them. He pulls down your arms and smiles evilly.

"Well, what do we have here," he exclaims, "looks like the baby finally did start crying. Come on, Y/N, I thought you had it in you. But look at how you’re spread out on this desk for me, such a fucking mess. I bet you like it, huh? Dirtying up my desk with that cunt of yours."

"I need to cum, Mr. Park," you choke out, trying to gather your thoughts. "I need to cum now." your teacher’s eyes narrow and he grips your thighs harshly. "What did you say to me?" he asks, a tone laced with dangerous amusement.

"You heard me. I-," you hesitate for a moment, but decide you’ve already put yourself through enough teasing today. You muster up your courage before saying, "I want you to make me cum now."

There’s a moment’s silence before you add on shamelessly, "o- or if it’s too much to ask of you, I- I’ll just find someone else to help me do it. Maybe Jaebum? He promised a good time a- and said he would let me cum as many times as I want."

Jimin grabs you by the chin and pulls you up. "You’re such a fucking brat, Y/N." Shifting his hand so it’s gripping your throat, he mutters, "you don’t fucking learn, do you? I thought you were smart, hm? But has the need for sex made you lose your sense? Made you turn into a dumb little bitch, ready to bend over for anyone because you’re so horny? And here I was thinking you were better than that. That you had standards. Perhaps I was wrong, hm? Would you like to tell me?"

You try to look down, away from his piercing glare, but he turns your chin to look back at him. Humiliation courses through your veins as Jimin’s gaze wanders down your body scathingly. "Look at you," he coos sarcastically. "Y/N, baby, you’re such a fucking mess. Pathetic." Suddenly, he lifts you off the desk and bends you over it, cheek pressing the top and ass exposed over the edge to him. You whimper at the feeling of your shirt being stickied from your arousal left on the table from just a few minutes ago. You try moving away from it, but Jimin holds you in place.

"Are you afraid that everyone else is going to see the mess on your shirt, Y/N? Is that why you’re trying to move?" he hovers over you from behind. "Or perhaps," he continues, hot breath tickling over the shell of your ear, "you want to continue being a brat. Make me punish you until you’re begging for me to make it stop."

He spanks you, the sound echoing across the room before you register the sting of his action. You clench involuntarily and let out the slightest of whimpers. "Fucking hell, are you this turned on? Making noises even if I don’t touch your filthy little pussy?" he asks, smacking your behind again. You bite down on your lip to avoid giving him the answer he already knows.

"Count for me. Be good and maybe I’ll finally let you cum." he commands, spanking your right ass cheek again. "O- one!" you groan. He spanks your left side, the stinging sensation causing you to leak more arousal. "Louder, Y/N. Let me hear you," he hisses, hand in your hair, and pulls you up slightly. "T- two," you stammer. another slap echoes across the room. "Three! God Mr. Park, please." At this point, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for; your mind is numb with lust.

"T- twenty! Agh, fuck, please," you squirm under Jimins grasp. The throbbing of your clit has increased tenfold, and you can practically feel the shaking of your thighs through the desk.

Jimin slips his hand between your legs, feeling the soft flesh of your inner thighs slicked with your juices. "You’re fucking dripping, Y/N. Look at you. Did getting punished turn you on this much, doll?" He swipes up your slit, teasing your fluttering hole. You scrunch your eyes in displeasure and try to back up into him, only to be stopped by a harsh smack onto your already throbbing cunt. You yelp and flop back on the desk, cheek pressing the surface.

You feel him rubbing his dick against your folds and sigh in relief. Suddenly, Jimin slams into you from behind with no warning causing you to let out a harsh groan. "Ah, professor!" you exclaim, balling your fists in pleasure at finally being stimulated. His cock seems even bigger from this angle, and your entrance stings delectably at the way he splits you open.

"You feel how tight your pussy is, princess? How tight it is for me? Nobody else makes you feel this needy. Nobody," Jimin mutters in your ear after pulling you up. He pulls your head back by your hair, exposing your neck, which he plants wet kisses on. He reaches down in front of you, tracing an achingly slow path from your stomach to your slit with his fingers. You’re reaching your orgasm at an embarrassingly fast rate due to all of the edging you’re been through, so when Jimin finally brushes over your clit, it’s no surprise that your walls tighten even more instantaneously.

"Ji- ‘m gonna cum," you moan wantonly. "Yeah? Is my little slut finally going to cum?" He hisses out at the way you tighten around him. You nod desperately, gripping his arm rubbing figure eights over your sensitive bud.

"Oh god, Jimin, I feel it coming. Please please please let me cum. I'm being good for you, Mr. Park, please let me cum," you sob out incoherently as Jimin continues railing you from behind. You feel the ridges of his cock brushing your walls and shudder at his ministrations.

"Let go, princess, I got you. Cum for me. Tell me how good I’m making you feel," Jimin snarls, snapping his hips into yours, eager to get you to finally melt in his arms. You feel your orgasm crashing over you and you clamp down on his dick, legs shaking in relief. Jimin's grip on your hair tightens as he feels you pulsing around him, getting impossibly tight. Nevertheless, he continues thrusting into you.

You mewl, trying to shift away from Jimin's hold as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing figure eights into them, "J- too m- much," you whimper out, straining against his arms.

"Yeah?" his smooth voice asks, "but I thought you wanted to cum, princess? Didn't you? I need to cum, Mr. Park. I need to cum now." He mocks you. “Well, that's what I'm doing doll. I'm. Making. You. Cum," he emphasizes each word with a harsh thrust, jolting you forward.

You're being reduced to a mess, tears streaming down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. You can feel your gummy walls tightening more and more on their own accord, without even trying. Without even realizing it, you've changed from trying to move away from Jimin's fingers to grinding down on his dick.

Jimin, however, notices this. "God, you're such a slut, Y/N. Weren't you just asking me to stop?" He raises your left leg onto the desk, allowing him to have more access to your folds. He slaps your clit when you don’t give a response and you yelp, clenching down on his dick. He slaps you a couple more times, and your cunt drips even more, making your thighs sticky with your honeyed juices. You can feel yourself nearing your orgasm once again from his motions.

Suddenly, Jimin pushes you back on his desk and begins hammering into you from behind. "You're going to cum again, aren't you? Filthy little girl, didn't you just cum? Are you really that needy for some dick?" You try to hold back a whimper from his words but it slips from your lips. "You're really a whore, aren't you, baby?"

In response, Jimin spanks you, and you yelp. "Keep doing that," he hisses when you clench down on his dick. "You like being punished, don't you?" You nod meekly in response. He smacks your already reddened ass again and you hiss at the stinging sensation. Paired with the pleasure his cock is giving you, thrusting so deep into you, you can feel yourself practically getting high off the feeling.

Jimin feels you cumming before you realize it yourself. His hips nearly stutter at the way your walls have clenched around his dick. He opts to rut his hips into yours, no longer being able to thrust in and out due to how tight you are. He reaches under your body to rub tight circles on your throbbing clit and you start cumming again, clenching erratically around his dick. "You cumming, Y/N? Be a good girl and let go for me. Get this fat cock all wet," he commands. You ball up your fists and dig your nails into your palms, pleasure coursing through your veins. Riding the course of your high, you wish for nothing more but to be in the moment.

When you come down from your orgasm, Jimin finally pulls his hard dick out of you. You feel his precum and your cum drip down your thighs. Whining, you rub them together to get rid of the feeling but it only serves to make you stickier. Jimin parts your thighs and runs a hand up them to cup your pussy, pausing to feel your cunt still clenching from the aftershocks of your orgasm. He smacks your abused heat, jolting you forwards and causing you to grit your teeth in overstimulation.

He flips you over, spreading your legs open. He leans over you, rubbing the tip of his dick over your swollen and throbbing clit, making you shiver. "Prof- professor, I can’t-" you begin but are interrupted my Jimin quickly shoving into you. Gasping, you clench down onto his dick, eyes rolling back into your head.

"You can, Y/N, and you fucking will," he grunts harshly, snapping his hips into yours. You grasp at his arm after feeling him in you deeper than before. The head of his cock nearly kisses your cervix and his impossibly hard dick stretches your tight cunt open even more, making you wince at the pleasurable pain.

"I- oh god, I really can’t. It feels-" you choke out through your tears. "It feels too- oh!" your head rolls back as Jimin hooks your legs over his shoulders, creating a new angle of penetration. He rubs your clit ever so slightly, the abused bundle of nerves pulsing under his touch. "It feels too what?" he hisses, rolling his hips upward so that his tip just barely grazes your g-spot. Too good, you want to say, but pleasure is clouding your mind and you can’t get the words out.

"That’s it, baby," he hums, "taking my fat cock so well even though you’re so- shit, you’re so fucking tight. Are you gonna cum again, hm? Cream all over my dick and make another mess?" you’re being reduced to a blathering mess, Jimin’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue. "Yeah? Can’t even hold it back a little? Even though I let you cum so many times, you still want more? Greedy little bitch," he spits at you.

When you clench down at his words, he starts pistoning his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoing around the room. His cock seems to be splitting you open even more, and you can feel every pulse of his dick on your walls. "Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to cum," he groans.

"I- I’m close too, Mr. Park. It- fuck, it feels really good," you breathe out as Jimin leans down over you. He slows his hips down, opting to roll his hips smoothly and brushing over your g-spot with painful accuracy. Hovering over you, his stare bores into yours, eyes flitting down to your lips, reddened and swollen from you biting them. You whimper and tilt your chin up towards him and he leans his head down to yours.

He lets his lips ghost over yours, warm breath brushing over your lips as his hips grind into yours. "P- please," you beg, and Jimin finally relents and melds his lips to yours, bringing the two of you into a searing kiss, groaning as you near each of your highs. You break the kiss to gasp out, "I’m c- cumming again Mr. Park."

"Yeah?" he breathes surprisedly, "your little pussy’s that sensitive that you’re gonna- fuck, you’re cumming already? So quickly?" he leans down as your orgasm washes over you, this one hitting you slowly and harshly. You arch your back into Jimin’s chest, hands gripping at the collar of his shirt. His thumb continues to gently rub over your clit, causing you to roll your eyes back into your head at the overstimulation. You start shaking underneath him, squirming to get away from the overload of senses, but he holds you in place as you ride your high for what seems to be like an eternity.

"That's a good girl," he soothes as you continue to writhe underneath him. "Look at you, stuffed so full of my cock it’s making you cry. Does that feel good, darling?" you nod, sobbing. When your orgasm starts to fade away, spots of white dotting your vision, he still doesn’t stop thrusting into you.

You bite your lip, and seeing that he’s close, you whisper, "M- Mr. Park, I want you t- to cum too. I- in me." His hips stutter at your words. "Shit, yeah? You’d let me do that?"

You nod, "want you to fill me up w- with your cum and s- stuff me so full of it that it’s gonna be in me for days. And I wanna fe- fuck, I wanna feel you in me even when I’m alone, professor." At your words, Jimin lets out a slightly animalistic growl and leans in. "You’d like that, huh?" he asks. "Me fucking you so well till you can’t think straight? Putting my cum in you so that when you walk out of here, it’s dripping down your pretty little thighs, making you look like the filthy little slut you really are? You think you deserve that?"

"Please, sir, I really want it," you beg, "please." With that, Jimin attaches his lips onto yours again, grinding his hips into yours even deeper as he finally orgasms. He doesn’t stutter his hips as he continues his ministrations, even though he can feel your walls desperately squeezing around him, milking his cock of its seed. You feel the thick ropes of his warm cum painting your inner walls every second. Each time he pulls out slightly, a bit of it leaks out of your cunt, dripping down your ass onto his desk. He continues fucking his cum into you until he’s satisfied with the way you’re shivering under him.

For a moment, all is still, nothing but the sound of the two of your breathing filling the air as you stare into each other’s eyes. "Um-," you begin, and Jimin quickly looks away, brushing his thumb over his plump lips. So that just happened. I fucked my teacher. I fucked Park Jimin.

"Wait here," he mutters, making your heart drop in disappointment. You nod, offering him a weak smile. Seeing this, Jimin reassures you, "don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back," and cautiously steps out of the room after clothing himself.

You take this moment to recollect what exactly happened. Okay, so you just fucked your teacher. It still hasn’t sunk in yet, and probably won’t till you leave to clean yourself and look at the marks he’s made on your thighs and ass. You can’t help the giddiness you feel, like a kid who got the best candy bar in the world. After all, you got to hook up with your crush - in fact, the entire campus’s crush. The door creaks open and Jimin returns with some paper towels and wipes.

"H- hey," he smiles nervously. For the first time, he’s the one that’s stuttering. "Let me clean you up. It’s the least I could do after putting you through so much today." He spreads your legs gently, cheeks flushed, and begins wiping off the slick and cum between your thighs.

"Jimin, you didn’t do anything bad, calm down. Well, I mean you fucked your student? But other than that you’re fine. I really liked it," you try to explain, stumbling over your words. He looks at you incredulously, but shakes his head, smiling. "I don't want to tell anyone about this," you continue, "and I highly doubt you will, so this can stay as our little secret."

"Well looks like someone got fucked a little too happy. How come you never smile this much when I’m teaching, hm?" Jimin jokes after he finishes cleaning you up, kissing your knee gently. He hands you your thong that he’s kept for half the day and tells you to put it on.

"You’re still going to the party, right? Jaebum’s?" he asks and you shrug. "You should go. Have a fun time there, drinking and all that stuff." He leans into you, whispering into your ear, "and if that rascal wants to get into your pants, he’s going to see your soaked panties covering up that precious little cunt of yours stuffed with all that cum of mine. Maybe then he’ll finally back off," he smirks.

You blush, "maybe, Mr. Park. You know, you’re pettier than I thought you’d be." Standing up, to face him, he pulls you in by the waist till your chests are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck and he leans in, whispering, "well, Y/N, I don’t think you knew too much about me in the first place." Closing the gap between the two of you, you give him a peck on the lips, which quickly turns into a more heated kiss, lips melding together and tongues colliding. When you break apart, a faint blush on the two of your cheeks, Jimin smiles fondly at you and you look away.

"Well," you hum contentedly, "if I don’t know much about you now, I’d at least like to get to know you better in the future."

"One day," he breathes out. "One day."

Your grin, disentangling yourself from his arms. "One day soon, I hope. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you next class. Goodbye prof- Jimin. Have a great weekend."

He smiles softly, walking you to the door. "You too, Y/N. If you do end up going to that party, have fun. Stay safe."

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