#if you want smut

[florencemtrash]

The Artificer: Part IV - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, soft Azriel, fluff, some suggestiveness

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

With those words you blew apart the walls he kept so fortified around his heart. Walls you’d steadily been hammering away at like metal until he’d been transformed into a weapon that would only ever sing to your touch.

Author's Note: This is the last chapter, everyone! Thank you for reading! ✨

You hadn’t specified which home you wanted to return to, and given the state of destruction your apartment had been left in during your kidnapping, you were grateful when Azriel and Cassian winnowed past the Day Court to the House of Wind. 

Azriel was your home anyways. More than any physical dwelling or stretch of land.

The water was gloriously warm, sliding over your skin with a soothing touch that had you groaning in pleasure. Madja smiled kindly, pouring more of the jug of medicine into the water and swirling it around with a dark, knobby hand. Her magic poured out as well, lacing the water so that the burning slashes on your back cooled and the flesh began the slow process of knitting itself back together. 

“Thank you,” You murmured gratefully, sinking into the bath until only your head remained unsubmerged. 

The House of Wind breathed quietly in the early hours of the morning when even the streets of Velaris had emptied and its citizens burrowed beneath their blankets to sleep. 

Azriel had been reluctant to leave you alone, practically glued to your side the whole flight back to the city, but finally relented when Madja commented on the absolute state he was in and shooed him off to bathe. 

You sat in the tub quietly, trying not to fall asleep as Madja scrubbed your skin, tainting the bathwater copper until whatever magic in the house whisked it away, turning the water crystal clear again. 

“Azriel. You should be asleep.” 

You stirred at the sound of Madja’s voice and the feeling of shadows sniffing at your neck. You sat up, turning in the tub and noting the damp curl of Azriel’s hair. He was clean and smelled like himself again - woodsy and crisp like the Illyrian mountains at night.

He said nothing, eyes zeroing in on the marks of your back. Madja had stitched them up as best she could, warning you that they would scar. You felt a dangerous tremor in the air coming off him. 

Madja must have noticed too because she dipped her head, promising to be back in the morning to check on your progress, and instructing Az to bind your back before you slept.

He nodded stiffly, moving forward to kneel at your side while Madja made her exit.

“Hey.” You murmured, leaning close enough to brush your lips against his forehead. You winced, feeling the strain in your back and Azriel immediately had his hands at your shoulders, gently guiding you to lean back into a comfortable position. 

He wordlessly filled his hands with a sweet smelling shampoo, running his fingers through your hair and massaging your scalp. He was being so painfully gentle, cupping water in his hands to rinse out the lather. You stretched your neck back to help him, unable to help the tears that streamed down your face. It felt like ages since someone had given you such a kind, gentle touch.

Azriel stiffened, withdrawing his hands and leaving you cold and wanting.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Azriel asked, his golden brown skin paling. 

“No.” You shook your head, “No I liked it.” You gazed at him, eyes wide and begging, “Please do it again.” 

Azriel let out a breath, returning his hands to your hair as you closed your eyes and sank into his touch. He was grateful you were closing your eyes. It left his eyes free to wander over your body, tracing the dip of your breasts as they sank beneath the milky, fragrant water, rising and falling slowly as you finally found yourself able to rest. 

He traced the wound that made its way up your back and onto your shoulder with a feather light touch, hating the expanse of ruined flesh that he knew was hidden further down. He kept glancing down at your hands, swollen and aching even as they healed. It would take a month before your hands and back would heal enough to go back to work.

Azriel swallowed, wiping away at his eyes angrily. This shouldn’t have happened. He should’ve been there to protect you. He should’ve-

“Azriel.” You whispered. Your eyes were open and centered on the Shadowsinger. You reached up, gently wiping away his tears with soapy hands that smelled of rosemary and orange. “It wasn’t your fault,” You murmured, “I’m not angry at you and I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.” 

It wasn’t your fault. I’m not angry at you and I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.

With those words you blew apart the walls he kept so fortified around his heart. Walls you’d steadily been hammering away at like metal until he’d been transformed into a weapon that would only ever sing to your touch. 

He curled into you, ignoring the rush of water that soaked his shirt as he buried his face in the curve of your neck and quietly wept. 

When he finally stilled and the water had turned salty and cool, he gently lifted you out of the tub, drying your hair and your skin with a reverent touch. He then bound your hands and back in ointment and gauze. 

“Stay.” You commanded after he had slipped you under the covers of the bed - his bed - and pulled away. You held onto a fistful of his damp shirt, tugging at it with a frown like it personally offended you.

Azriel obeyed, peeling the hated garment off him and throwing it somewhere in the room. He climbed into bed beside you, letting out a groan of relief when you immediately wrapped your arms around him and buried your fingers in his hair, pulling him close for a kiss. 

“Thank you for coming for me.” You murmured, your eyes drifting closed. You couldn’t fight off sleep any longer.

“I will always come for you, Y/n.” Azriel promised. “Always.” 

He couldn’t be sure you heard him or that you would remember this in the morning, but you had a soft smile on your face when Azriel tucked you under his wing and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You can thank me later by convincing your mate not to slaughter me.

Eris Vanserra’s words rattled around in your mind as you sat at the breakfast table, sandwiched between Azriel and a bronze-skinned female with the most striking features you’d ever seen. 

Emerie. You reminded yourself. 

There had been a great number of introductions the past two weeks as everyone clamoured to meet the female that had stolen Azriel’s heart like a bandit in the night.

Azriel was a private male through and through, and you had the sense that if the circumstances were different, he would have wanted to keep you to himself for a while longer. In between bites of honey-soaked bread dusted with cinnamon and roasted pistachios, Azriel slyly reached down and grabbed your chair, sliding it close to him and wrapping an arm around your waist until you were practically sharing his seat.

Emerie stared at him strangely, but he remained frigid and silent. 

“Territorial Illyrian babies.” Emerie muttered with a roll of her rich brown eyes. 

Mor leaned back, peeking around Emerie’s wings and catching the blush in your cheeks as you rearranged the silverware and plates. 

Her shoulders shook with laughter, cherry red lips splitting into a wide smile. She squeezed Emerie’s thigh beneath the table, leaning forward to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. 

Forgive him, Em. He’s being an idiot. 

I just don’t see why he won’t tell her they’re mates. I can understand him being protective against Cassian and Rhysand, but me? Emerie told Mor with a grumble, taking a sip of the mimosa Mor loved so dearly and twisting her nose in distaste. This is disgusting.

You’ll grow used to it. Mor responded with a coquettish wink that had Emerie’s core tightening. 

After breakfast and a day spent in the city you found yourself alone in your room - or rather Azriel’s room - once again mulling over Eris’s words.

Your mate. Your mate. Your mate.

You finished tying the bow in your hair, admiring the lush blue satin and thinking of the Shadowsinger who’d gifted it to you just hours earlier, coyly suggesting you wear it to dinner tonight before disappearing to take care of his own Spymaster business.

You smoothed the hand-painted bodice of your cobalt blue dress. Diaphanous silks spilled out from your waist, melting into darker hues where the dress stopped at your ankles. It had been decades since you’d worn such finery, but unlike the dresses you’d been forced to wear for Dawn Court functions, this one you’d chosen for yourself.

You hoped Azriel wouldn’t mind you stealing his colors in such dramatic fashion, even if he had gifted you the ribbon without seeing the rest of your planned outfit. 

You frowned at your reflection, pale plum lips turning down. 

Rhysand and Azriel had been highly insistent on you staying in the Night Court until the end of next month. For Rhysand it was because he wanted to repay you for the swords you’d crafted for him and his brothers - you’d safely hidden them away in your workshop before the Autumn Court males had torn through the place. For Azriel it was because he wanted you to heal in lavish comfort - which Rhysand was more than willing to fund - and because he couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from you ever again. 

But with every pair of trousers, shirts, shoes, and elegant dresses that started to fill your half of Azriel’s wardrobe, you began to wonder - if you were truly Azriel’s mate, why hadn’t he said anything yet? Why hadn’t you felt anything yet?

Everyone else certainly seemed to be under the impression that you’d be staying. That they just needed to wait for your permission before fully absorbing you into their wonderful family. 

Mor had clung to your arm on shopping trips, charming you with her personality and pointing out places in the city and around the River House where you might set up a workshop. Rhysand had already set up an account for you at the city banks, and the last time you’d checked, he’d thrown in such a large sum that your mother would faint if she ever saw the balance books. You’d even gotten roped into joining a book club with Emerie, Gwyn, and Nesta.

Had Eris only been lying about you two being mates? Or maybe Azriel wanted you, but in a different way… 

While you continued contemplating this, Azriel slipped into the room in his usual preternaturally silent way, freezing immediately when he saw you standing in front of the mirror. 

Your dress… He swallowed. Gods you were breathtaking. The bodice laced in the front, velvet blue cords snaking down fabric hand-painted with swirls of dark ink that spilled down your skirts and seemed to collect in a pool along the hem. Your arms were still free to move and you’d decided to forgo slippers for your new favorite pair of boots. The supple leather was molded perfectly to your feet and had, as of yet, been spared the mark of hard labor. 

And the ribbon… gods the ribbon. It hung down your back and over your shoulder like a curl of shadow. 

You were breathtaking. No more or less breathtaking than the day he’d first met you, just in a different way.

So why did you look displeased?

You wiped the expression from your face when you felt Azriel’s presence in the room, turning around slowly with a proud, but shy smile on your face.

“What do you think?” You asked as he slid across the room with silent footsteps. His eyes traced over you, pausing on the bodice laces and the ribbon, like he had half a mind to tug both until they unraveled. “Not my usual garb, I know.”

“I like it.” He insisted, voice as soft and silky as the shadows that wound around your waist and pulled you close to him. He replaced the shadows with his hands, hands moving to your back where they rubbed calming circles. “You’re wearing blue.” He said rather dumbly, still in awe.

He wanted to say, You’re wearing my color. But that was overly possessive of him to think you’d worn the dress for him. He didn’t have a monopoly on all things blue. And yet the fabric matched his siphons so perfectly that his hands disappeared in the folds of your skirts. 

“I am.” 

He stilled, and then carefully asked, “Are you… displeased by it? You didn’t look particularly happy when I came in.” 

You looked down, escaping his gaze, “No! I like the dress. I picked it myself with Feyre and Mor last week. Do you like it?”

“I love it. You’re beautiful, Y/n.”

Ask him now. Just ask him.

Azriel felt your nerves roiling in your stomach through the bond. The bond you still had no idea about. A pang of guilt slivered into his heart. He had wanted to tell you the first night at the House of Wind, when the mating bond had finally snapped in place so powerfully he’d almost gotten down to his knees in front of Madja’s questioning gaze. But then he’d seen your back, and that wave of anger from Icaryon Hill had returned to him ten-fold. Telling you about the mating bond paled in comparison to the need to give you space to heal, to be happy and safe and cared for. So even though it felt like his blood was boiling in his veins and his heart would leap out of his chest, he’d slipped into bed beside you that night and every night afterwards, content to just hold you as close to his chest as possible and get drunk off your intoxicating scent. 

You’d told him you were happy in the Night Court. You’d filled his wardrobe and his heart with more of your things as you traversed Velaris and fell in love with the city. 

“Have I done something wrong?” His voice was quiet, tinged with a child-like guilt that he’d carried around with him ever since he was young. A guilt that made him want to beg you to love him, even though he hadn’t been able to protect you like you should have.

“What?” You looked at him in alarm, “No! No, you’ve done nothing wrong, Az. Nothing.” 

He deflated in your arms, nuzzling into your neck so you felt every sigh breeze against your throat. 

“Why would you ask me that?” 

He gave only the barest shrug of his shoulders. Then he began to kiss your exposed neck, gently tugging aside the thick straps of your dress to kiss your shoulders. You shivered when he reached the new scar tissue, soft lips tracing their pattern like he wanted to smooth the skin there and erase the pain of what had happened. 

His shadows condensed around you both, reflecting the anguish he kept simmering beneath the surface. You wove your fingers through his night-black hair and he relaxed beneath your hands. 

Ask him now. Just ask him.

“Azriel? Why haven’t you said anything about the mating bond yet?” You blurted out before you could lose your courage.

Azriel jolted back like you’d slapped him, pupils blown. 

“You…” He exhaled heavily, “You know?”

“Eris told me. But when you never said anything, I figured he might have been lying about it or that maybe you didn’t want me to know or something-”

“No.” Azriel cut in quickly. He had no idea how Eris had found out about the mating bond when his brothers weren’t even aware, but that was a mystery to be solved another day. “I wanted to tell you. Please know that I wanted to tell you.” 

“So it’s true.” You said breathlessly, feeling your chest clench in anticipation. “We’re mates.” 

Azriel became a solid block of ice, silent and foreboding. You were nervously shifting from foot to foot, pressing your hands tightly against his chest and that made him feel sick to his stomach. Finally he nodded, steeling himself for the worst and praying for the best. 

It took a moment for the words to fully seep into your mind and into your heart. Then your face broke in a grin that put the sun, moon, and stars to shame. 

“We’re mates?!” You shrieked with laughter, leaping into his arms and throwing your arms around his neck. “You bastard! You absolute bastard!” 

Azriel dared to laugh back, melting into you like cream on a summer day. 

Bastard suddenly seemed like quite a pleasant title when it came from your lips. 

He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, spinning you around before he could help himself. 

When you felt the bond for the first time, it wasn’t some thunderous crack in the air or some shifting of the bones of your soul. It was more like twirling around in Azriel’s room with his hands flat against your back until you both stumbled back into the bed, something gentle and solid sliding into place and setting the air abuzz with gripping clarity. Like metal melting and fusing together into something impenetrable. 

You stroked the bond, a rumble of pleasure leaving Azriel’s body. 

Hello there, my love. You said softly.

His eyes became pools of liquid gold. 

Hello, Y/n. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest like an ecstatic bird. The feeling didn’t dissipate as Azriel led you down ethereal arched hallways to the balcony where a small banquet table had been laid out for his family - yours too now. 

You were very aware that your hair was disheveled and that your skirts were crinkled despite the efforts of Azriel’s shadows to make you presentable. You could only hope that the color you’d swiped over your lips wasn’t as smeared as you suspected it was. 

Azriel, on the other hand, looked as flawless as he always did. Not a single hair out of place. He’d somehow even managed to wipe the pale plum lipstick off his mouth and his neck in the time it took to walk downstairs to dinner.

Cassian sputtered on his wine, spitting half of it out on the black lace table.

Gwyn squealed in excitement, blue robes billowing as she shot up from her seat and clapped her hands. 

“I called it! Nesta, you owe me fifty gold.” 

“For fuck’s sake.” Nesta grumbled, a leather bag appearing in her hand which she deftly threw in the priestess’s direction. “You couldn’t have waited another two weeks?” But a smile of approval pulled at the edges of her lips.

Rhys and Feyre leaned into one another as Mor, Emerie, and even Amren stood from their chairs, prepared to offer their congratulations. 

Azriel tightened his hold on your waist, pulling you even closer to his side like he wanted to be absorbed into you. A deep hunger lay barely concealed behind a facade of nonchalance. But he managed to hold that all back when the females approached, but to Cassian he gave a growl of warning.

Cassian gasped, clutching at his chest, “My brother. My own flesh and blood. What is this betrayal?”

“Technically you’re both adopted. No blood relation.” Rhys called out from a safe distance away at the end of the table. He lifted his wine in acknowledgement, grinning brightly at the two of you. Unlike Cassian, he had a slightly better grip on his self-preservation skills.

“Shut the fuck up, Rhys.” Cassian said, rolling his eyes and retreating back to his seat glumly, “Well at least sit down! We’ve been waiting for you both.”

You glanced at Az and he finally smiled, bowing his head to your neck and gently pressing kisses there. You slid forward out of his hands before you could fall prey to more of his tempting touches. 

Soon. You promised, clicking your tongue. He’d been touching you incessantly ever since the bond fell into place. So impatient.

Azriel sent another wave of longing through the bond. He’d waited over five hundred years and then some for you. You didn’t want him to have to wait much longer.

You snatched an empty plate and cutlery from the table before piling it haphazardly with lamb, garlic-roasted potatoes, and a few other mouth-watering offerings before finishing it off with a slice of lavender cake.

Azriel looked all too pleased when you returned to his side. In fact he looked equally, if not more, flustered than you as you gripped the plate with an iron grip. 

Everyone else stared in shock, almost overcome by the way Azriel was nearly bursting apart at the seams. 

He was ravenous and wanting and looked ready to shred your bodice to ribbons. He didn’t know how he’d been able to control himself back in the bedroom. 

“We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” You said, offering no more explanation. 

A month. Azriel chimed in.

“A month.” You amended and Azriel smiled. “Maybe more…” His smile grew even wider. 

Without another word, Azriel swooped down and gathered you in his arms, leaping off the balcony in a flurry of wings, shadow, and blue skirts. Your laughter rang in his ears all the way to the cabin he kept tucked away in the Illyrian Mountains, a cabin not even his brothers knew about. 

There amongst the snow laden mountaintops, you buried yourself in his arms and in his love. You stripped him down to nothing and he tore your dress to pieces, promising he’d buy you all the blue dresses you could ever want. 

I like when you wear my color. He revealed after you he had you splayed out in a sea of tattered cobalt fabric

You giggled in his ear. At least let me wear the ribbon then. 

Azriel groaned in response, collapsing on top of you and stealing kisses like he needed them to breathe. 

He let you wear the ribbon. 

He let you wear nothing but the ribbon.

Back in Azriel’s room at the River House - your room - Sunseeker hung on the wall, thrumming with a pleased and subtle power. Nightshade called out from next to her, a dark twin of obsidian and blue pearl. Her equal in every way. 

Two blades for two mates.

<- Previous Chapter

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[moechies]

“shit, this pussy’s damn tight, girl.” toji chuckles, leaned against the wooden headboard of his mattress, with your pretty cunt impaled on his dick. you’re sat upon the man’s lap, back slumped into his bigger body as he lifts your legs to your chest with a singular arm.

“hnn—! thank y-you, thank you, thank you !” you slur, holding onto the man’s bigger arm for leverage as he pumps his cock against your cunt, your round butt slapping against his pelvis.

“tch,” he smirks, “thank you? haven’t heard that one b’fore.” his thrusts come to a slow, leaving you breathless and dazed. you lay back against the man’s chest as he continues lazy but brutal pumps to your poor cunt, pushing against him in an attempt to get him to slow.

“hnn.. ‘m sorry..” you cry out, embarrassed, face growing flushed as your nose scrunches at the memory of a few seconds prior.

toji can’t help but fall into a short fit of laughing at your adorable innocence, soft lips curled into a mean smirk, “‘s alright, sweet thing. yer so polite, hm?” he taunts, pressing a weighted kiss against your lips. you slip your tongue against his before you lose the chance, pressing your face closer to the man’s touch.

“y’take cock like a naughty brat, though.” he whispers in between a breath.

his sloppy tongue overrules yours, slowly but surely swallowing you whole. he peeks through a sliver of his eye, watching you pant into his mouth with your eyes squeezed tight, drool leaking down your chin, so entirety focused on kissing him back. “toji—“ you mewl.

“ya started it,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, giving your cunt a soft slap. you jerk and cry against his hold, pushing the said assaulting hand away, making him giggle. “what a dumb little thing.”

“please ! ‘m gonna c-cum! toji, please, please—“ you cry as his thrusts get harder, pace becomes sloppier, before it all comes to an abrupt stop.

your pants slow, gentle mewls that leave your lips as you begin to fall into a fit of sobs. “no..” toji breaks a grin, petting against your hair whispering sweet praises, “‘m sorry doll, daddy’s tired. let me have a break, yeah?” he adores how you look up to him with bleary eyes, chest full of pained hiccups as you attempt to bounce yourself atop his cock in your position. “..w-wanna cum!”

“don’t be so selfish, sweet thing. ‘m old, ‘s what ya get for hangin’ around me.” he lies through his teeth. pace slowly resuming. his creamy, slicked up cock causes his thrusts to grow in noise, face flushing at the evidence of the use of your poor cunt.

“daddy —!”

“shhh, settle down and let daddy focus, yeah?” he mumbles breathlessly against the shell of your ear, “or else daddy might get too tired.. and won’t be able to finish ya off.” he sighs.

[hellishattempt]

nanami kento comes home on a saturday afternoon, hands full of groceries and hair freshly cut. in the distance, he hears his precious wife humming along to her favorite soundtrack. you must not have heard him come in. he smiles to himself, setting the groceries on the counter, but not unloading them. that can wait. right now, he wants to hold you.

he slips out of his shoes, padding quietly to the laundry room where you are folding towels. you have your back to him, headphones lodged in your ears. as nanami gets closer, the music bleeding from your headphones becomes audible. he chuckles softly. no matter how many times he tells you it's bad for your ears, you insist on listening to your music at just below full volume.

snaking his arms around your waist, you jump at the sudden contact. nanami presses his chest against your back as you take out your headphones, leaning into his touch. you sway in silence for a moment, nanami resting his chin on your shoulder. when you turn to face him, your expression changes at the sight of his hair.

"your hair," you state dumbly. "you cut it."

"yes," your husband muses. "is there something wrong with it?"

"no, no!" you assure nanami, studying his hair. "i just wasn't expecting it. you normally have me do it, which you know i don't mind doing."

"i know, but i didn't want to bother you on your cleaning day."

your expression softens at his words. nanami, your ever loving, ever caring husband, always thinking about you before himself. you reach one hand up, smoothing the hair down the back of his neck. as you bring your hand up, the freshly cut hair pricks your palm, and nanami lets out a low hiss.

you immediately apologize, pulling away. "did that hurt?"

"yes, but it's okay. it felt... good," nanami confessed. "... do it again. please." his voice is thick and demanding, and you obey without hesitation.

this time, you use just the tips of your fingertips to graze his undercut, beginning at the base of his neck. his breathing quickens as you continue to to run your hands through his undercut, going up and down, switching from one hand to both, thumbs caressing the sides of the cut. the laundry room fills with his melodic whimpers and faint groans. his eyes are shut tight, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"fuck..." he cusses lowly.

"you okay, nani?" you giggle, stopping momentarily. his eyes flash open, pupils blown. "kento?"

"let's go to the bedroom," he insisted, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the master bedroom. you barely have time react before nanami pushes you back on to the bed, practically ripping your leggings off.

"kento, what are you doin-" you try to protest, his hands clamping around your wrist and bringing them down to grip his hair. his head disappears between your leg, lips latching around your clit. involuntarily, your fingers tighten around his sharp undercut. he moans into your cunt, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body.

from then on, nanami kento always got an undercut.

[tswkento]

inappropriately touching nanami in a crowded elevator;

your nimble fingers pulling down the zip of his slacks and your hand sneakily prodding through the freed entrance as he grabs the metal bar behind himself, hoping no one notices anything.

and you’re the perfect picture of nonchalance: pretty face directed forward, the curled corner of your lips that he is able to distinguish from your profile telling him that you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself, and your pace unrelenting as you stroke him through his briefs.

up and down, up and down, up and down while kento feels like he is losing his mind, and why the hell is this elevator so slow and there’s so many people and no ounce of shame in you. same for him, though, he is worried if he should be disappointed with himself for giving in to his desires right in the crowded elevator or impressed by how persuasive you can be to convince him that it’s okay.

there was no persuasion from you, by the way — just a cute little smile at him whilst your eyes glimmered with mischief and nanami knew he was fucked.

when the last person, aside from him and you, leaves the elevator, you finally take out your hand in time with him pushing the “stop” button and pressing you against one of the cold walls, one veiny hand wrapping around your throat loosely as the other grips your bottom.

and kento kisses you like a thirsty man drinks water; he devours your mouth until all you can do is twitch in his hold as his thumb presses on your clit just right. rubbing, tugging, teasing and prodding while his lips encase your tongue between them and you grip the sides of his head, ruining his hair.

and when you come with a whiny moan escaping your pretty mouth, no thoughts behind your cloudy gaze and arms gripping his shoulders, nanami barely stops his hips from rutting rhythmically against the smooth surface of your thighs because him being a mess is only for your eyes whilst he doesn’t mind others seeing your fucked out face. they’ll know it’s from him anyway.

[tiedsuccubus]

What position was nanami’s mom getting clapped in to create such a beautiful man

[evilgwrl]

CW: Somnophilia

Simon loves how responsive your pussy is, even when you’re asleep, docile body snoozing next to him as he laps at your cunt like a madman.

The taste of you fuels him, sweet clit nuzzled against his nose as he slurps at your entrance, almost feral. His hands are desperate, clawing down his boxers as an angry cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, a light trail of dark hair leading down to his manhood.

You let out a whine, still asleep as he pushes your legs back, holding you by the knees as he lines himself at your entrance.

He practically groans as he sinks in, your tightness wrapping around him with a wet, gummy welcome as he feeds his cock into you. Your breasts bounce underneath your loose shirt, nipples pebbling against the fabric before he roughly lifts it up.

Your eyes begin to flutter open, calloused hands at your breasts as he tweaks at your hard nipples, working them under his touch.

“Si?” You whimper, mouth open as he pounds into you.

“Shhh, lovie, it’s okay. Go back to sleep sweet girl.”

[bunnyyyuu]

includes: f! reader, aged up! characters, dom! maki / sub! yuuta, cunnilingus, bondage, overstim

maki using you to teach yuuta how to eat pussy !!（〃∀〃；）

well, teach might not be the right word. it's kind of like when parents throw their kids into the pool and force them to learn how to swim.

her hand has a vice grip on the roots of his jet locks, shoving his pretty face between your legs — legs that are tied by the ankles to either side of the bedframe. yuuta clearly has barely any clue what he's doing, but, to his credit, he can barely breathe.

his tongue is lapping at your sopping cunny so so so desperately, no direction or technique in sight. it's not even close to enough to make you cum, it's barely even stimulation at all. ugh!!

maki can tell you're dissatisfied — it's written all over your face and clear in your lack of moans — and it brings a scowl onto her face. "yuuta," she hisses, dragging his face against your sex, "try harder."

yuuta tries to mumble some sort of apology from his useless mouth, though it comes out as just a weak whine.

"listen to me," she scolds. and, again, it's just a whine in response.

though, he seems to actually listen. you can almost hear the cogs of his brain turning as his tongue tentatively flattens on the underside of your throbbing clit. the moan the bubbles from your parted lips is enough confirmation that he's finally doing something close to right. so, he does it again. and again. and again. until your choked moans and the lewd, wet sounds of his tongue lapping at your weeping bud fill the room.

"that's better," maki grumbles, and you can feel yuuta's lips curve into a smile at her half-hearted praise.

it's not long before your strangled, pitchy moans grow louder and yuuta's slurping the cum you're despoting onto his eager tongue. maki smiles a little as your squirm and whine through your orgasm — though your writhing is heavily reduced by your restraints. she uses her free hand to gently rub up and down your trembling thigh in a stark contrast to how hard she's gripping yuuta's hair, forcing his mouth onto your twitchy, overstimulated cunt again.

"too much, maki! tell 'im i need a — ah! — break," you gasp out when yuuta's tongue doesn't let up, flicking your throbbing clit like it's all he's ever wanted.

she almost laughs in your face at that. too much? no. he won't be done until he's mastered the art of making a pretty girl cum. "not yet," she says with a small head shake , "put your tongue in 'er, yuu," she instructs the boy.

and, he is so obident to her every command — she has him on the shortest leash, you think — sinking his hot tongue into your hole. he moans against your pussy when it excitedly clenches around the pretty pink muscle. he fucks his tongue in and out of your spasmodic entrance, a small smile on his lips as another climax seems to crash over you.

and, true to maki's word, yuuta spends hours learning between your legs until he is an expert! though, unfortunately for you, you end up a shaking, sniffling mess after far too many orgasms (o^▽^o)

[skyrigel]

Simon who just can't say no to you.

It has been like this from the moment his eyes met yours, a very terrible Monday morning if he hadn't met you but now that you remembered, it's the most beautiful day of both of your lives.

“Is that seat taken ?” Simon looked up at the small morning roused and still sleep laden voice, you were as knackered as you sounded, probably runnin’ on black coffee and cuppa noodles.

“Yeah.” He wasn't even aware how quickly he said it, “Yes, ofcourse miss.”

He scooted his big thighs together, trying to make as much space as possible for you and as if some divine thought struck him, he looked up — cheeks tinting with red.

“Would ya’ like window ?”

“No, But thankyou for asking.” You answered, sitting next to him and making sure to leave some space because those legs were thick and definitely his big cock needed some room.

Fuck, look away —

“Ghost...” Another man climbed inside bus, his eyes trained on you and your partner who's apparently Ghost ?!?!

“Wot ?” He said roughly, his shoulders pressed against yours

“Nothin’ old man.” The other man smirked and sat next to a Grandma who knitted half a sweater.

“Your friend?” You asked.

“ A little...Simon.” He said, “Simon Riley.”

“Oh.” You smiled, feeling blush creep up your neck and cheeks.“I like Ghost better.” you would've booed if you weren't feeling so tingly and nervy.

“You would like Simon more.”

“I would like that.” You couldn't believe you were flirting on a Monday morning.

One month later

“Ghost...” John horribly snorted, sprawling on couch as Simon paid him no attention.

“Wot ?” He asked, giving you his pinky as you painted the last letter ‘Y’ over hot pink nail polish, completing your H-E-L-L-O K-I-T-T-Y nail art, every letter on each nail.

“Nothin’ old man.” John smirked as you clicked your tongue, beaming up at Simon.

“Done !” You blew air and flashed a grin as Simon brought his hand up to examine your work.

“Done Luvie.” He smiled, bumping your nose with ‘I’ on his nail.

And you also liked Simon better.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

Navigation

[bi-writes]

your lieutenant won't take off his mask for you. ehhhh, but you can make it work, right? (18+, ghost x fem!reader)

"no one sees my face. not even you, bunny."

but you don't mind. his face surely isn't the thing that drew you to him in the first place. no, it was when you were sitting in a loud room, and it immediately went quiet because ghost shuffled in. when you watched him duck his fucking head to get through the door only to stand there broader than the width of it. when he looked down at you with what was definitely a scowl under that mask and grumbled out "little bunny" at you in the filthiest voice you'd ever heard.

he could call you those names all he wants; he likes bunnies.

it doesn't bother you, that he doesn't want to take off his mask. you can still kiss him nasty through it.

as far as you're concerned, that's his face. you pet it like it is as least, cupping his cheeks and pulling him close, nuzzling your nose against his. he huffs underneath it, but he never pulls away, and you lick a fat stripe over the bony cheek of his mask, whining when you taste salt and sand and gunpowder.

you soak it with your spit. you cradle his head, tilting it this way and that, flattening your tongue and licking over his jaw. he holds back a groan as you kiss him open-mouthed through it, pinching his fat cheeks and planting wet kiss after wet kiss over his puckered lips. his lips part easily for you, shaky breaths like music to you, and whenever you let out a soft moan, he can't help the way he fists your ass and pulls you closer.

you want him to taste you. you force his neck back, pulling his chin down, and you lean over him just enough that you can spit on the front of his mask. you press your face to his after, using your tongue to soak it into the fabric, and you practically purr when you feel his tongue pressing back, cotton practically dripping with your saliva as he sucks on it.

you can't wait to sit on his face next. top 10 ways to die, water-boarded by pussy has to be one of them.

[inkbybambi]

chemistry teacher soap catches gym teacher simon fucking you in the bathroom during a school dance, tattooed hand over your mouth to muffle the pretty noises you make. he doesn’t think either of you notice, until those dark eyes turn on him, a slight tilt to his head in invitation.

soap decides he has a better way of keeping you quiet, stuffing his cock down your throat, enjoying the way you choke on it and the way simon tugs him forward to lick into his mouth, a hum of approval low in his throat.

[theghostinyourwalls]

Do the sexy face babe 🤤

[briefkittenearthquake]

I like my men smart

[kiatoru-archived]

"fuuuuck," choso groans, long and drawn out. he tosses his head back, a plume of smoke escaping his lips, his joint hanging limping from his fingers. he uses his free hand to grip and knead at the fat of your hip before raising his palm and bringing it down hard on your ass.

you let out a high pitched squeal and clench around him.

"cho," you whine, pretty tears collecting on your lash line.

"come on baby," he whispers, taking another drag from his joint and gently blowing it at you, "ride me harder, make yourself cum on my cock, gorgeous."

your lungs burn as you inhale the excess smoke and you gyrate your hips faster. choso moans loudly and bucks his hips up into you, making your clit grind against his happy trail. fat tears pour down your plump cheeks.

"s' deep, s' deep!" you moan and squirm above him as his tip nudges against your sweet spot.

"fuck," he growls, dropping his joint off the edge of the couch in favor of gripping your hips, "stop runnin' from my dick baby, gotta fill you up."

you choke and sob, trembling above him and clinging to his shoulders, whining and moaning over how good it feels.

"take it all baby," he mumbles, lips pressed against your ear, "m' not stoppin' till i cum s' deep in this pussy that she never forgets me."

[sellenite]

Imagine giving him a handjob for the first time and he’s soooo sensitive. He’s trying so hard to stay quiet and not move because he’s so embarrassed, but his cock is leaking so much.

And your fist feels so good wrapped around him.

You bring your hand up to his tip and squeeze him a little tighter, and it’s completely involuntary how he arches up into your touch and lets out a throaty groan.

And the high points of his cheeks are pink because he can’t believe he just let that sound out, but he can’t stop the whines now because his head feels so light and you’re pumping his cock even faster.

</3

[savicals]

[Okay but virgin König that somehow knows exactly how to please you and have you cumming on his huge cock (or his mouth ) in under 15 min… ]

“Fuck!— fuck!” You screamed, gripping the bedsheets in front of you. You’d been on the edge for a few minutes now, thanks to your boyfriend König. For someone who claimed to be a virgin, he knew how to have you calling out his name and cursing like a mantra. He swore he had never been with another person, but god it felt like he already knew every sweet spot you had.

“Is it— it good, Liebe?” He asked, as if he couldn’t tell. His harsh pace slamming into your rear did not let up, and you could hardly answer his question.

“Fuck— yes, god! Please, Don’t stop!”

He heard you. He revelled in how you usually praised him, telling him he’s a good boy that fucks you so well and how he’s making you feel so so good. Constantly.

You could feel yourself teetering over the edge, as well as the fact you could feel your boyfriend’s curious eyes burning a hold through the back of your head, watching for any and every reaction.

“Fuck! König— fuck! Im gonna cum— oh god, oh fuck!! Oh my god!”

“Not— not yet, Liebling…please..” he asked.

Fuck.

What a sweetheart. Was he making you wait for him? He stopped for a second, using it to flip you onto your back so you were facing him. He looked a little shy — like he had something embarrassing to say.

“I want… I want to see you…” he said, through rough pants, as he began his brutal pace again. Your eyes were already rolling back in your head and your body was weak. You could only let out moans and begs, so you just nodded to König and let him use you like the fucktoy you are.

Not long later you could tell he was about to cum as his pace was getting sloppier and his breathing was getting heavier. He was letting out small whimpers and moans too, his eyes focused on you the whole time. You were holding yourself back so as to not cum too early. He asked you to wait, after-all.

“Fuck— Liebe— im… im gonna cum!” He said, his voice cracking.

Thank god.

You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you and it was driving you crazy. What sent you over the edge though, was König pressing his hand down on the bulge in your stomach. Right where his cock was. He didn’t slow down for a second, in fact, he fucked you rough into yours and his orgasm until you were a shaking mess on his bed and he was pinning you down with his muscular body, resting after such an intense fuck.

[sutorus]

THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach. 

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility. 

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do. 

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man. 

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you. 

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—). 

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like. 

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year. 

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it. 

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives. 

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him. 

but you damn well managed to. 

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair. 

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit. 

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately. 

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class. 

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there. 

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours. 

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed. 

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are. 

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know. 

but you knew for a fact that it was personal. 

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance. 

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively. 

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow. 

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply. 

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class. 

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious. 

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test. 

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you. 

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well. 

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak. 

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class. 

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild. 

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another. 

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages. 

you smile, waving at the screen. 

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.” 

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying. 

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had. 

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip. 

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help. 

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.” 

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you. 

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong. 

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself. 

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again. 

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that. 

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this. 

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest. 

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know. 

damn right it’s personal. 

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation. 

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off. 

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over. 

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger. 

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on. 

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair. 

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet. 

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you. 

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums. 

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.” 

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from. 

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo. 

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction. 

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently. 

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you. 

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest. 

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom. 

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue. 

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly. 

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now… 

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun. 

you could so easily forget what you came here for. 

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn. 

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest. 

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together. 

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two. 

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh. 

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief. 

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips. 

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan. 

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core. 

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin. 

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside. 

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips. 

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you. 

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again. 

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat. 

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive. 

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock. 

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds. 

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly. 

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.” 

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of. 

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees. 

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper. 

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face. 

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants. 

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved. 

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside. 

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth. 

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would. 

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones. 

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man. 

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo. 

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time. 

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over. 

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt. 

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core. 

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you. 

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs. 

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else. 

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear. 

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt. 

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn. 

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him. 

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you. 

he notices you looking. 

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk. 

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip. 

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him. 

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head. 

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better. 

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair. 

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized. 

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers. 

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this. 

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle. 

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back. 

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening. 

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts. 

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out. 

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. 

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you. 

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade. 

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go. 

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin. 

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt. 

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips. 

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you. 

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom. 

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined. 

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.” 

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you. 

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts. 

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you. 

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you. 

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer. 

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release. 

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got. 

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“ 

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you. 

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure. 

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you. 

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of. 

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy. 

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows. 

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.  

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips. 

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?” 

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession. 

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles. 

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.