#plus the dark circles make me look hot

[izel-scribbles]

i arted idk send post

[gojonanami]

❝ 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,

[baby-yongbok]

One Last Time

Ex-husband!Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✦ Genre: Soon to be exes to lovers [18+ MDNI] ✦ Summary: Petty claims of possession lead to one last night of pleasure.

✦ CW: Choking/ light breath play, pussy spanking [for a second], Unprotected sex [wrap it up party people], Size Kink [for a second], Oral (f rec.), Chan is... aggressive(??), Chan is referred to as Chris, He calls you a bitch once. only once. ✦A/N: Bang Chan made me do it. There's barely any plot in sight. I wrote this in 4 hrs in the middle of the night. Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

It’s funny how things change. Day turns to night, hot to cold and love to pure seething hatred. 

Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic but you swear that that’s all you can feel swarming in your chest as you sit across from your soon to be ex-husband. 

He made a show of things at the settlement meeting this afternoon. He pushed back on every negotiation you made which has led you to where you are now. Each of you on your side of the bed with a pile of stuff littering the Egyptian cotton sheets that he just has to take with him. 

“There. Are you happy now?” You throw the last item on top of his pile and Chris stares down at the item with that damned smirk that you used to love. “Almost.”

He stands from the mattress, dark eyes on something behind you. He grabs it before you can turn. “I bought you this purse.”

The muffled thud of his hard bottom shoes against the carpet is all that you hear before he turns the black designer bag upside down. The contents clatter against his shoes, items rolling in different directions as you watch with a clenched jaw. 

He’s circling back to his side of the bed as you call upon the might of the gods to keep yourself calm. After being married for five years Chris has learned each and every one of your buttons and how hard he needs to press them just to tick you off. 

You’ve decided not to give him the satisfaction of making a scene. That’ll only feed his ego. Besides, he has buttons of his own, some that you installed yourself.

“Now I’m happy.” He drops the bag into his pile, smiling before you like he’d just gotten away with a million bucks. “Yeah?” 

Two can play that game. “I bought you that suit.” The smirk on blushed lips transfers to your painted ones as you stare over at him with arms crossed over your chest. 

“I’d like it back.” With an innocent bat of your lashes Chris smiles. It’s gone just as fast as it came and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He's pissed. 

“You’re fucking serious?” You hold your hand out to him. “Dead serious.”

Dark eyes are staring into darker ones as he holds your gaze. You’ve gotten used to him challenging you. You’ve gotten used to him being a petty asshole and you’ve learned how to play him at his own game. 

You watch as he pops the button of his suit jacket. Tongue in cheek while his fingers work to free him of the fabric. His eyes stay on yours as he peels the smoky threads from his shoulders. He shimmy’s it down thick arms, pulling at the cuffs until he’s free of it. He’s left in a skimpy t-shirt before you and you take the liberty of letting your eyes wander. 

“Want the pants too?” Chris throws the jacket over into your pile before his hands start to fiddle with the metal of his buckle. “Keep ‘em. They’re the nicest thing you own now.” 

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his hand comes up to rake through his hair as his eyes wander the space you used to share. His gaze stops at your vanity, busy eyes study your open jewelry box then look back to you. 

“I gave you those earrings.” He stalks towards the table, snatching the gold studs off of the surface and slipping them into his pocket. “And..” 

The muffled thud of his shoes is all you can hear over the thick tension pulsing around you. It’s all that you can hear over your own enraged heartbeat. “This necklace.” The clasp is snapped from around your neck before you can breathe a protest. You gasp at the sudden pressure of your chain being ripped from you. 

“What the fuck.” That smirk is stolen  back when he slips the jewelry into his pocket. He stands in front of you, barely an inch between you as your chests rise and fall in unison. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Me?” He fakes a pout, blinking over at you. “I didn’t do anything” 

“Whatever, you got your stuff, get out.” You’re hissing at him, heart racing and blood bubbling with the annoyance you’ve been harboring for the length of this insufferable process. “I’m done with you.”

“Not so fast.” he says slowly, his hands finding your waist before you can step around him. You attempt to shrug off his grip and fail. “I bought you that too.” 

His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. His tongue darts out to lick over his own as he stares. “That lipstick.” His eyes find yours again.

“Fuck off, Chris.” There’s a bite to your tone that makes him smile. He’s always loved a challenge. 

“I bought it.” He pulls you into him by your waist. Your body is flush with his and one of his hands quickly abandon the plush flesh to wrap around your neck. “ I wan’ it back. I think that’s fair.”

It’s dark on dark as he leans in, eyes searching each others frantically as Chris closes the gap and kisses you gently. It barely makes a sound, it’s feather light and quick. 

“You want it back?” You whisper against his lips and he nods. “Then I want the pants.” 

That fucking smirk pulls at his red stained lips and his mouth is on yours in an instant. It’s hot and messy, drowning out the previous softness. You grab at his arms, clawing down the flesh while his fingers dig into your hips. 

He licks into your mouth with a desperate groan as you turn your heads left and right, his tongue explores your mouth as he takes in the taste of you one last time. Your arms wrap around his neck as one of his hands grab at the swell of your ass.

 “Fuck.” He groans against you, stealing another kiss before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. “Up.” With a firm smack on your ass you jump up and his hands find purchase on the curve of your bottom over your dress. 

You fall into a mess of tugging and moaning. The tension you once felt in your chest melts into pleasure as his hands wander your bareskin. He drops you onto the mattress, pushing the sorted piles out of the way and hovering over you in your ripped dress as you lay sprawled out on the sheets before him. 

“Gonna miss this.” Chris’ mouth is stained cherry red with your lipstick, it’s smeared over your cheeks and it compliments the bruises that he’s sucking into your skin. You bunch his shirt up his back, scratching along the way and leaving your own marks as you please. 

“Shut up, eat my pussy.” You pull him back with a fist full of his hair, he hisses a moan through clenched teeth as his own hand finds it’s way around your throat again. He squeezes this time. It’s just enough to have your eyes flutter shut, just enough to get you right where he wants you. 

“Can’t you be my good girl for one more night? Can’t you stop being a bitch for just a second, baby?” Chris leans down with a tighter squeeze. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the flesh. “Did you already forget who the fuck I am?”

He loosens his grip giving you the satisfaction of that blissful rush before squeezing again. “Do you see how small you are?” He whispers, placing a kiss by your ear. “Do you feel how strong I am, baby? Don’t you know how this goes?”

A moan is all he gets as he pulls back to admire you. Your pretty mouth is parted with a silent moan as your thighs press together in a desperate attempt at cumming. “I should make you suck my cock.” His knee wedges between your legs and presses hard against your core. 

“I should fuck this pretty throat. I should get you back for being such a fucking brat through all of this.” The hand that was around his wrist scratches up his arm as he lets up again, letting the blood rush and giving you the dizzy feeling he knows you love. “I should -”

Your fingers wrap around his neck before he can finish his thought. Fierce eyes stare up into his as your other hand moves to unbutton his pants. “Just gimme what’s mine.”

Your hand slips into the waistband of his underwear as you pull him closer to you. “Wan’ my cock?” He moans at the soft feeling of your fingers wrapping around the tip. Eye’s fluttering shut as he attempts to take a breath against your grip.

 “‘S mine.” You lean up to his ear. “Isn’t it daddy?”

It was quick when he pinned you against the mattress. Both of your wrists were in his grip before he shifted them both to one hand to free his cock for you. “You’re a fucking tease. You’re so fucking predicatable, you know that?” He’s hissing as he fights with the fabric of his pants and your dress. 

“You want a reaction outta me, huh? Wanna rile me up, sweetheart?” With a shift of hands and a grunt he’s turning the two of you over. You follow him with a gasp, straddling his waist and sitting over his cock with your clothed cunt. “C’mon I’ll let you. Use me, get what you want.”

Your resolve sinks as his cock twitches against your core. Chris is lying beneath you looking like a sin personified and you feel compelled to indulge in his offer. He is still your husband after all. 

Your panties are pushed to the side in an instant. Chris’ wrists are pinned over his head while you grind your cunt over him. Sloppy sounds of you working over his leaking cock swirl in the hot air and Chris watches it all with drooping lids as you work against him. “Put it in, lemme watch it.”

You ignore him, slowing your grind to counter his request. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel you. I can make you feel so good. Let daddy fuck you, c’mon.” He watches you, head reeled back and moans dripping from your lips like drool as you  do as you please. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He breaks free from your hold, hands wrapping around your waist and guiding the grind of your hips just as your clit catches on the head of his cock. “I asked nicely.” 

His cock catches at your entrance as he controls you. The push of him against your pussy has your mouth open in a silent scream as he bullies his cock into you. “You keep forgetting who I am, hm?” He sits up, landing a firm smack to your ass to match his brutal thrust as you settle in his lap.

“Chris, shit, just fuck me. Fuck me.” Your nails are in his back, drawing lines that could surely draw blood. He hisses at the pain, smiling with a bite of his tongue as he fucks up into you. 

His hips snap into yours, gradually picking up the pace until you’re falling apart against him. Chest to chest, you’re panting into each other. Littering the thick air with profanities as he splits you open on his dick. “Oh my fucking god, Chris. More. More more more, please. C’mon.”

“Take it.” He growls below you, allowing you to push him back against the mattress and ride his cock to your heart's content. “That’s it, take it. It’s yours, all yours.”

Your nails dig into his pecks, leaving marks on the flawless skin and you use him for leverage. The loud smack of skin against skin decorates the air accompanied by your moans.

 “Don’t hold back, baby. Enjoy that fucking ride.” He thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. “Let loose, just like that.”.

Chris is rambling under you, mumbling under his breath and growling praises when he fucks deep into you. 

“Fuck me, fuck me harder. Wan’ it harder.” It’s dark on dark again. Hooded eyes stare into each other void of rage, the only priority is pleasure. You’re only here to take advantage. 

“Wan’ me harder?” He fucks into you, moaning at the squeeze you give. “Wan’ me deeper?”

With a lift of his hips Chris flips you over. “Be good for me, yeah? One last time, be a good fucking girl and lay on your back for me. Lemme eat this pretty pussy.” He rips your dress down your frame with a grunt. Your panties get the same treatment before he’s falling to his knees before you. 

“Gonna miss you on your knees.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, staring down at him behind a fucked out haze. “Lookin’ so pretty for me with a mouth full of my cunt.”

With a smirk Chris licks a wet stripe from your hole to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking it between red stained lips and flicking it. Your head drops back against the mattress with a loud moan. Your hands comb through and grab at his damp dark locks but he quickly repositions you to hold yourself open for him. 

“Watch me eat it.” He reaches up, brushing your chin with his fingertips. He lays a flat wet lick to your pussy, hooded eyes staring up into yours. “Eyes on me. Eyes on daddy.”

He spreads your cunt with his fingers, holding you open for him while he spits down onto your clit. He collects it all on his tongue, licking it over the nub before spitting it back. Sloppy slurps against a drooling pussy is all that fills the room. “Daddy, please, wanna cum on your cock.”

He pulls back with a pop, spitting back down onto your cunt. He watches it drip down to your hole, following the stream with his fingers to press it into you. 

“You wan’ me deep right?” His middle and pointer fuck you open as he coos. “Want me to spread this tiny cunt on my dick?” You’re moaning. Panting confirmations and whining pathetically into the air. 

“Then hold it.” He kisses your clit, sucking it in then releasing. “Don’t cum.”

“Please.” You moan a plea, unraveling little by little with each suck and flick of your clit. His fingers fuck you open, curling into your soft spot and pushing you further towards the edge that you’re trying to avoid. 

You could just cum. You could just take what he’s giving you instead of following the rules but it’s so good like this. He’s so good like this. You miss him giving you what you want.

“Chris, ‘m gonna cum for you. I can’t. Please jus’ gimme.” He blinks up at you with pussy drunk eyes as his kiss bitten lips move against you despite your begging. “Daddy, please. I wan’ your cock.”

"Don't cum for me yet" he speaks against your cunt before licking a wet kiss up to your clit. 

"I can't, Chris. I can't, I can't, I'm gonna cum." Your eyes are glued to the way he licks up and down your swollen pussy. Taunting you with the skill he's gained over the years. He's pushing your buttons again.  

"Daddy, daddy, daddy, please you have to let me. You’re gonna make me cum. Your mouth, your fucking mouth, please let me cum."

You're babbling, you know you are. You’re slipping through the cracks quickly and you can’t do a thing to stop it. There’s no going back and Chris knows it but he still smacks the inside of your thigh. Warning you to be good for him and let him build you up a bit more before you take his cock again.

"Don't." He kisses your clit. "Cum." He sucks the bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it with a moan. He's a madman if he thinks you could survive that. 

"Fuck, 'm cumming. I'm cumming, 'm sorry." You’re shaking, your nails dig into your thighs as you keep yourself open for him.  "Cumming, 'm cumming, I can't stop cumming, I can't stop cumming."

He moans into you as he laps up every drop of arousal that you're giving him. He commits your sweet taste to memory with one final swipe of his tongue before he’s kissing up your stomach. 

His lips trail up the valley of your breasts. He licks over the mound, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling it with a hum. Once he’s satisfied he moves to your shoulder, kissing and licking his way over to your collarbone then finally his lips are back on yours.

You’re gasping as you tremble through your orgasm, aftershocks wash over you as you taste yourself on his tongue. Chris smirks, whispering against your lips. "No one else will make you feel this good, baby. No one else will make you cum like this.”

The head of his cock slips through your dripping folds, catching against your clit before he’s pushing in. “This is mine. All mine." He sinks in to the hilt then slowly drags his cock back against your walls. 

“This is what I want.” He straightens up, looking down at your pretty face contorted in pleasure. 

“All of that other shit doesn’t matter.” He moans, holding your thighs back to get a perfect view of you.  “I wanna watch it. Wanna see the way my pussy opens up for me. ‘S mine, isn’t it, baby? Tell me this shit is mine.”

“Yours, it’s yours. Fuck, ‘s fucking yours, please, you’re gonna make me cum.” Chris slows his strokes, grinding deep into you and dipping his hips to hit the soft spot that turns you into putty for him.

You’re drooling at the feeling. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of tired eyes as you watch the way he admires your cunt. The corner of his bottom lip is tugged and held firm between his teeth as he fights back his moans so that he can hear yours clearer.

“Shit, You’re gonna make me cum. Gonna make me fucking cum, make daddy cum.” The precise snap of his hips grows sloppy as the seconds pass. His once slow grind is now erratic. He’s purely seeking pleasure, sinking deeper into the haze with every drag. 

“Fuck, squeeze me. Yeah, just like that, that’s my girl. Pretty fucking girl on my cock.” Each thrust is met with a slap to your clit. You jolt at the contact, back arching off of the mattress. “Cum for me. Cum on my dick.” 

With one more flick of your clit you're trembling beneath him. Your cunt sucks him in and he takes it all with a loud moan. Chris lets your legs fall so that he can hover over you. He holds himself up on his elbows as he kisses you through your climax. You moan into it, shaking with each thrust and twitch of his cock. 

“Shit, that’s good. So good, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” The frantic bucking of his hips against yours comes to a halt as he falls apart. 

Moans tumble forward as he does. His muscles tense and his eyes roll back as he drives himself deep into you, filling you with every drop of himself that he has to offer. Chris collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you in place. 

You pant below him, coming down from your high as aftershocks wash over him. He kisses your neck, breathing heavily into your skin. 

“Now.” He pulls back slightly, gaze catching yours. “Now I’m happy.”

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

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[kissitbttr]

short mma!toji and his pretty pop star girlfriend being cutesies!

—

“let me see baby!” you rush in pure excitement with your skin tight leather pink dress and white gogo boots, wanting to see your man in makeup for your newest music video release,

it took a while for him to finally agree, because could you imagine having the number one world class fighter to be in his girlfriend’s girly music video? my god, the sports entertainment would probably laugh at him.

but seeing the look in your doe eyes was enough to make him fold. plus, his manager shiu and the PR team thought it would be a great idea anyway.

“he doesn’t want you to see him like this, y/n” the makeup stylist laughs as she opens the door slightly to poke her head out,

you pout at that, tip toeing to see whether or not you can catch a glimpse of him. “well that wouldn’t make sense! because we are starting in an hour! toji, can i come in?”

“i look so ridiculous, ma” he calls out with a grunt, head shaking as he eyes himself in the mirror. the fake bruises and cut lips makes him scoff. “these are so unrealistic, real battered face look way worse than this”

rolling your eyes, you thank the makeup stylist before going in. the moment you see his reflection in the mirror, a gasp flies off your mouth. seeing your boyfriend perched on the small chair, his large muscled body adorned in a black tank and dark jeans. handsome face touched with bits of makeup that makes it look like he had just gotten off a street fight.

oh dear, he look fine as hell.

he notices your stare, causing him to smirk and chuckle. “come e’re baby girl” his hand pats his meaty thigh, waiting for you to come near,

“babyyy” you giggle, practically skipping towards him before wrapping your arms around his neck from behind. “you look so so handsome” a squeal spills from your lips, before attaching them against his cheek. leaving a sheer stain of lipgloss,

his arm circles around the back, resting a hand just below her rear. “do i? i feel ridiculous. i’ve never had a makeup on before”

you nod, perching yourself on his thigh before he secures both arms around your waist. “you don’t ji-ji! you look just like a movie star already!”

he laughs at your compliment, kissing your neck. “thank you, ma”

“are you ready? the director wants us out now” you tilt your head to the side, thumb going up to remove the stain off his cheek,

he nods, running his hand through his hair. “ready as i am doll”

—

toji was in fact, not ready.

because how the hell was he supposed to act right with the cameras rolling when his girlfriend look that fucking good enough to eat?

the cups of her dress pushes her tits upwards to make them look fuller, and her plush thighs were wrapped tightly with white garters that all toji wanted to do was to pull them off with his teeth. his eyes keep falling at the sight of her pretty lips too.

was he supposed to just let it slide and still follow the script?

“toji, for the last time” the director grumbles, feeling irritated at the repeated delay because of the fighter’s mistake. “your hands should be on her face—not her ass”

he emphasizes on the last word while glaring at the man. you could only giggle seeing your boyfriend getting scolded, though you reminded him prior to be on his best behavior,

however toji is known to be a man who hates to follow simple rules,

“can you blame me?” toji’s hands squeeze your ass harder while looking at the director. “my girlfriend is hot as fuck, and you’re telling me you’re not tempted by that?”

“i wouldn’t know motherfucker, i’m gay”

toji could only snort, pulling you closer to his chest. “my bad, man i’m sorry” you reach up to kiss his jaw, and it only makes toji to yearn more of your touch,

“now—what should i do again?” he asks for the hundredth time that day,

the director rolls his eyes, but decides to answer anyway. “look into her eyes, hands on her face. she’s going to sing the lines to—toji fucking fushiguro, hands off her tits! that’s not how it’s supposed to go!”

-

@spideyyeet inspired me to make this one😩🩷

[flemingology]

too hot to handle ─ jessie fleming x reader

in which: jessie and you get a little too rough beneath the sheets, with consequences to follow

warnings: smut (18+), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), dirty talk, language, mentions of injury but nothing too major

wc: 3.5K

a/n: based on a request i got. hope you enjoy!

“You looked great tonight,” Jessie said, closing the door of your shared apartment behind her. You turned your body back towards your girlfriend and walked towards her, her arms circling around your waist and head finding solace on your shoulder. “Thank you, baby. So did you. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you half the time.”

Jessie and you had just returned from the end-of-season event organized by the Thorns. Every player and their plus one were invited, so naturally you accompanied your girlfriend. You both dressed up nicely, you wearing a dark green dress Jessie had recently gotten you, the midfielder wearing a matching dark green pair of suit pants with a white button shirt to top it off. You’d received quite a few compliments from teammates and partners on your outfits throughout the night.

“Neither could I. It’s a miracle we made it through without a bathroom break,” your girlfriend chuckled before she disentangled herself from you. “You want some water before we go upstairs?” you nodded, following your girlfriend into the kitchen. The room was quiet. Nothing could be heard apart from the faint buzzing of the fridge and the water that Jessie let run while she filled both of your glasses. Portland had long gone to sleep, the clock nearing 2 by the time the both of you had made it back to your apartment. Neither of you had anticipated to be out this late, having an appointment in the morning for a house viewing. You could feel your eyes getting drowsy.

“Here. Drink this and then we can get some sleep,” Jessie pushed one of the glasses she filled in your hands and ushered you to get it down. Designated driver as usual, Jessie hadn’t drank any alcohol tonight. You, on the other hand, had a few glasses and you could feel it. You weren’t anywhere near drunk, but you knew you’d have a headache in the morning if you didn’t drink some water now. Jessie had already made her way upstairs while you were checking the lights and locks.

You made a quick stop in the bathroom to wash off your make-up and a shortened skin-care routine, and grabbed a couple painkillers from the medicine cabinet before you emerged into the bedroom. “God, you look good,” you slightly jumped at the sudden voice breaking the silence, turning your body towards Jessie and tilting your head. “Thank you, baby,” you couldn’t hide the blush that coated your cheeks, your feelings slightly heightened with the alcohol you consumed earlier still coursing through your body.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, you know. I feel like I’ve said it about a dozen times tonight, but you look incredible in a suit,” you confessed, crossing the little distance between the two of you. Jessie had unbuttoned the first few buttons on her shirt but hadn’t undressed further. You leant your head down and pressed a tender kiss on the exposed skin of her chest. You didn’t miss the slight hitch in her breath at the feel of your lips against her body. You came back up and looked at her with a glint in your eye, one that she’d grown to know all too well.

“It’s late, baby. We shouldn’t be doing any of the things you have going on in your mind right now,” Jessie said. You sighed in mock annoyance, both because she was onto you without even saying a word and because she was already turning things down before they had even started. You tried your luck anyway, tracing your index finger over the exposed skin where she had unbuttoned her shirt. “Are you sure?”

Jessie closed her eyes and tried to ground herself, taking a deep breath in through her nose before speaking. “You know what you’re doing to me,” she breathed. You frowned in confusion and cocked an eyebrow at your girlfriend before you replied. “You’re not getting worked up over this, are you? That’s pathetic, Jess”, you said, knowing the slight hint of degradation in your voice would only work her up even further.

She opened her eyes and you noticed how their color had darkened, her pupils blown with what was obviously lust. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this. It was past 2, after all, and you had to be up early in the morning. You’d scold yourselves over it if you didn’t go to bed right now, but the thrill was growing to be too much – the few glasses of alcohol you had throughout the night not helping your self-control by any means.

Before you could speak up and tease her further, the Canadian surged forward and pressed her lips against yours, hard. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” she mumbled against your lips before you opened yours, allowing her tongue to slide into your mouth to which you let out a soft gasp. “I don’t hear you complaining, Fleming.” 

Jessie took the reins in the kiss, pushing the two of you until the back of your knees hit the mattress, carefully lowering the both of you down as she hovered over you, holding herself up on her arms. Kissing Jessie never got old. She knew what you liked and didn’t like and knew how to get you completely at her mercy with barely a few brushes of her lips against yours.

Despite having only just started, you could feel the wetness between your legs growing to a near-uncomfortable level. On another day, you might’ve felt slightly embarrassed at how easy it was for Jessie to get you soaked, but you couldn’t care less at this moment in time. “Jess,” you breathed, a soft whimper escaping your throat as you pressed a hand against your girlfriend’s chest to break the kiss. “I need you,” you said matter-of-factly.

A sly grin formed on Jessie’s face and she got up quickly, ridding her of the rest of her clothes, leaving herself in her underwear before she turned back to you. “Get up baby, I’ll help take off your dress,” you quickly followed Jessie’s instructions as she let her hands roam all over your back before she undid your zipper and the piece of clothing pooled at your feet. “You look incredible, I hope you know that.”

Jessie circled her arms around your waist and you did the same around her neck, playing with the baby hairs that didn’t manage to make it in her ponytail. With Jessie, you were never short of praise. Whether it was about how you looked, how something suited you, how you were doing at work, she always made sure that you knew just how much she loved you, that you never had any lingering doubts about her or your relationship. “Mhmm,” you mumbled, pressing your forehead against hers. You liked the change in pace, compared to earlier. No rushing to get each other’s clothes off, just reveling in the love and adoration you had for one another. “You’ve told me a couple times, yeah”, you accentuated your words with a fleeting kiss against Jessie’s slightly chapped lips. You made a mental note to buy some more chapstick on your next grocery run. The remnants of the couple drinks earlier had now finally worn off, no longer feeling tipsy. “I’m never, ever, getting enough of you, darling,” Jessie whispered. “Well, I’d hope so, because you’re stuck with me, Jess.”

The midfielder chuckled and closed her eyes, brushing her nose against yours. “Wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else”, Jessie let her hands wander back to your front and inched them upwards until she reached your bra. She traced the outline of the garment with her index finger, silently asking for permission to take it off. You nodded, blowing out a breath you didn’t know you were keeping in. Jessie’s arms circled around you once more, now to expertly unclasp your bra behind your back and letting it fall to the ground, bunching together with your dress that was discarded earlier. “You too?” you questioned, forever slightly insecure whenever you were the only one – almost – naked in the bedroom.

You missed Jessie’s body heat the second she took a step away from you, sliding the sports bra she was wearing over her head and throwing it on the growing pile of clothes near the edge of the bed. “Better?” she questioned with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Jessie stepped back towards you and embraced you once more, seemingly not able to get enough of your body pressing against hers. You nodded, pressing a kiss against her exposed shoulder. “I wanna make love to you,” Jessie whispered in your ear. You looked up at her with a look full of love. Your cheeks now coated in a darker shade of red, blushing at the earnestness in her voice, you bit your lip. “Please do,” Jessie brushed her thumb across your bottom lip before kissing it softly, taking your hand and leading you back to the bed.

You propped yourself up against the pillows, getting comfortable. You forgot about the time, about your appointment tomorrow morning, all the valid reasons why you shouldn't be doing this, and why you definitely shouldn't be dragging it out at all. But with the way Jessie spoke to you earlier, the way she handled your body with care and looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars, you wanted nothing more than to be intimate with her.

Your girlfriend settled between your legs and started peppering kisses all over your face and down your neck, switching between her tongue, teeth and lips, making your head dizzy with pleasure. She whispered sweet nothings in your ear every time she came back up, nipping on your earlobe in the process – something she knew would drive you wild. Before long, she slid further down your body and started pressing kisses against the exposed skin of your boobs. She let her tongue glide over one of your nipples before taking it in her mouth, sucking lightly as she pinched the other between her thumb and index finger. The action had you growing restless and you pressed your thighs against each other, something Jessie didn't fail to notice.

"Getting worked up, baby?" She knew what the answer was, but she loved to hear it from you firsthand. "Yeah," you breathed, finally being able to form a coherent sentence as you were given some reprieve by Jessie. "You're making me feel so good," you finished your sentence, locking eyes with Jessie. An earnest smile – it leant towards cocky – grew on her face, before she ducked her head again and continued her assault on your chest. Her licking and sucking on your nipples were a little less coordinated now, you could feel that she too was getting worked up.

A couple more moments went by, her attention shared between your nipples, before Jessie moved further down your body and tapped your hips, signaling you to lift them from the bed. You did so, and your girlfriend slid your underwear down your body, leaving you completely naked in bed. Your earlier comment in mind, she too stepped out of her boxers and made sure you didn't feel conscious about your naked state. She found her spot back between your legs, using her own to spread them. She looked up at you with a glint in her eye. "How do you want me?"

"Can I have your fingers, please? They feel so good inside of me," you bat your eyelashes at Jessie, teasing her a little further. You heard a groan escape her lips and you knew you had her where you wanted, sitting up and pulling her in a passionate kiss before she could even start thinking about her next move. Your lips moved in unison, all tongue and teeth as you tried to pull her impossibly closer to you. "Your fingers, Jess, please," you whimpered the last part in her ear and could feel the goosebumps rising on the back of her neck.

"Anything my lady wants, she gets," Jessie quipped back, before moving back down your body and nestling herself in between your spread legs. She pressed a couple lingering kisses against the insides of your thighs, taking her sweet time before she directed her face to where you wanted her. Jessie decided to tease you a little further, blowing a little air towards your core, which was drenched. "Jess," you said sternly, "please."

She let out a chuckle, but decided not to have you waiting any longer, pressing her tongue flat against your folds, before she licked up a long stripe from your hole up to the sensitive bundle of nerves that was sitting atop your folds, aching to be touched. She sucked and licked expertly at the nub, leaning her head down every now and then to gather some arousal on her tongue that was leaking out of your entrance. You were soaked by now, a moaning mess, and Jessie was sure you would be able to take about anything she wanted to give you.

She manoeuvred her body in a way that she could prop up her arm between your legs, using 2 of her fingers to gather a bit of arousal at your entrance before spreading it all over your folds. "Fuck, Jess," you whimpered, "that feels so good." "I know, baby, I know. Let it all out for me, mkay?" You nodded, leaning your head back into the pillows and your back arching as you felt Jessie teasing your entrance. "Please, please, I need you."

"What do you need, darling?" Jessie teased, pushing her fingers inside of you, no further than a couple centimeters. "Do you need this?" You squeezed the hand you were holding that wasn't holding your thighs apart, trying to form a coherent sentence. "Y-yes," another jolt of arousal coursing through you as Jessie pushed every so slightly deeper. "Fuck, Jess, I need you inside of me, please, I've been so good."

With that, Jessie filled you to the hilt. She pushed inside of you until her knuckles hit your folds, and curled her fingers to reach that spongey spot inside of you. Your back arched at the feeling, a loud moan escaping your lips as you felt the delicious curl of Jessie's thick fingers. Jessie bit her lip as she saw your blissed out expression, a frown etched on your face and your lips forming an 'O' while Jessie pushed her fingers in and out of you.

Her digits filled you deliciously and before you had the chance to register her movements, you felt her tongue licking through your folds again. The added pleasure was sending your head spiraling, no longer able to contain your moans. You were sure you were being way too loud, disturbing the neighbors at this ungodly time, but you couldn't care less right now, not when Jessie's fingers were plunging inside of you and her tongue was making you see stars.

Before you could grasp the feeling that was building in your stomach, Jessie pulled her fingers out of you. A whine got caught in your throat as you were about to complain about the empty feeling, but Jessie was back on you in a second. Her tongue was now stretching you out, digging inside of you deliciously. Her thumb started circling your clit, pressing down firmly on the sensitive nub. You let out a cry at the sensations that were overwhelming you, the added pleasure from her fingers on your clit almost sending you hurtling over the edge.

"Fuck, Jess, please don't stop, you're making me feel so good," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in her hair as she moved her tongue in and out of you. Suddenly, Jessie freezed, her tongue stilling inside of you and her thumb stopping its circular motion. You swore you could see a wince etched across her face, but you didn't manage to give it any mind because as you went to ask if she was okay, she continued her ministrations and you were back on the edge as soon as quick as you'd fallen off it earlier.

"Cum for me, baby, cum all over my tongue," Jessie said, giving your thigh a harsh squeeze as you locked your legs around her head, feeling the coil in your belly snap at the overwhelming pleasure Jessie was giving you. You arched your back off the bed and moaned her name loudly, biting your lip as you tried to keep the profanities in. A couple moments later, you started coming down from your orgasm and Jessie started slowing her actions, before pulling away from your core altogether.

The Canadian had a goofy grin etched on her face, her chin slick with your arousal. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a mess, courtesy of the way your thighs rubbed against her head as she was eating you out. Despite everything, you could tell something was off. Jessie climbed up your body and plopped down next to you, her head resting on her chest as you tried to catch your breath. She hadn't said a word ever since you came and you were growing quite self-conscious about the whole situation.

"Jess, are you okay?" you tried, raking your fingers through her curls, scratching at her scalp with your nails in the meantime. She gave you nothing more than a nod and a hum, not doing anything to ease your worries. You lifted her chin with your front and middle finger, forcing her to look at you. You leant in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips, one that grew a little heated rather quickly. Despite the orgasm, you were still feeling quite worked up. One of your hands found the back of her neck and the other cupped her cheek, deepening the kiss. You slid your tongue across Jessie's bottom lip, asking for silent permission to enter her mouth, but you were confused as the Canadian kept her lips pursed. You tried again, but to no avail.

You pulled away abruptly. "Jess, what's wrong? Don't lie to me." You knew something was up, Jessie wasn't one to refuse a kiss, definitely not after she had just made you cum. She always claimed that she loved it when she knew you could taste herself on her lips and her tongue. In the darkness of the room, you could still make out the blush that crept onto Jessie's cheeks. She opened her mouth a couple times, searching for the right words to say. "Babe, I-" she hissed, closing her mouth again with a wince. "I think I tore something in my mouth," she mumbled, trying to talk without opening her mouth too much.

You sat up straight and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Tore something?" you exclaimed, not sure what she was going at. "Yeah," she breathed, "right before you came, I felt like something tore in my mouth," you started getting worried, a frown etched on your face as Jessie explained what she felt. "But don't worry, I think I've read about this." Of course. If there was one certainty in life, it was Jessie doing research about quite literally everything. So it didn't come as a surprise to you, that somehow she knew what this was. "It's the tongue frenulum. I've read stories from a couple queer couples where it happened before. Apparently, some people even get it surgically removed because it's too much of a bother."

You chuckled, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My Goodness, Jess, did you really tear a part of your tongue while eating me out?" You smiled brightly at her, trying to lighten up the situation, but you could tell that she was actually hurting quite bad. "I think so...," she trailed off, digging her head in your chest. "I'm sorry, love, I can imagine it's not a very nice feeling."

Jessie breathed you in and lifted her head back up to meet yours. "Yeah, no, it's not nice. I hope it's not something that lingers, because I can assure you that there is no way I can use my tongue right now. It hurts to move it." You knew what Jessie was pointing at, she didn't want it to be a bother for your sex life.

You tried to come up with something that would make her feel a bit better about herself. "Hey, Jess," you booped her nose, "you made me feel very good, though. And I think this injury is nothing but a testament to just how good you can make me feel." You leaned in closer to her, whispering the next part in her ear. "You fuck me so good, always." You felt her body tense up at your words, grinning at yourself as you realized your words pulled the exact reaction out of her that you wanted.

"Well, I certainly hope that this pain subsides quickly so I can fuck you again, and again, and again," she accentuated every word with a kiss, earning a blush from you. "I love you so much," you said earnestly, pressing a soft kiss against Jessie's lips. "But if this means that I can't properly kiss you anymore, you better get that thing surgically removed, and quick."

[gilverrwrites]

Swatches of pink and red

Tim Drake/Reader, 650 words Kinktober entry 12: Vibrator Warnings: Dom/Sub | Blindfold | Vibrator Requested by: Anonymous

When you arrive home, Tim’s already kneeling on the bed, stripped down to his custom-printed Blue Beetle I socks, dick at full attention, and eagerly awaiting instruction. You’d promised him tonight would be the night, even went out and bought a brand-new wand just for the occasion, and you can tell from his pink cheeks and bashful smile that he’s been looking forward to it.  

“Okay, Timbo. Don’t move.” You smile at him as you cross the bedroom, fishing an old blindfold, your new toy, and a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Tim watches keenly as you climb onto the bed in front of him until you wrap the silky fabric around his eyes. You place a chaste kiss on his soft lips before leaning back to admire his muscular frame; his pale skin and the dark body hair that adorns his lower body until you see his toes twitching in anticipation. You count them out, making him wait until he gets to thirty before you concede. “Lay down, legs open, hands above your head.”

Ever greedy for praise and intensely aware of his surroundings at all times, Tim immediately follows your instructions easily getting comfortable without accidentally nudging you or fussing over where you might be situated.

“Oh wow, aren’t you being a good boy today?” You coo, and he offers an appreciative “thank you” in return, cheeks turning two shades darker already. If you wanted to, you could make a pretty apt chart of Tim’s horniness levels using nothing but pink and red paint swatches.

“Just keep it up.” You warn, enjoying the way his hips shudder in response to the cold lube you begin to brush along the length of his dick. Already he begins panting as you wrap your hand around his shaft, jerking him in slow, loose movements. “If you move out of position, I will stop, and you’ll have to wait until tomorrow night for another chance to cum. Is that understood, baby?”

“Yes.” The word sounds strained, pushed out of his throat between bitten lips as he tries hard not to rock himself between your fingers. “Please do it.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” You deliberately take your time however as you locate the power button and switch through the different speed and tempo settings until you find one you’re happy with.

As soon as you press the tip of the wand to the base of Tim’s cock, his mouth falls open, a long, obscene groan escaping his lips. His legs stay nice and wide for you, but he lifts them in the air, following the curl of his toes and incidentally giving you a gorgeous view of his tight ass.

“Does this feel good?” You implore, working the vibrating head along his shaft until it's pressed against the pink crown of his cut penis. Tim responds to your question with a series of indecipherable whines and the rapid nodding of his head. Intoxicating to watch, but not the answer you’re looking for. “Come on Timmy, you can do it. Tell me how I’m making you feel.”

“Sssss.” He hisses as you circle his tip, fingers thrusting into his hair to temper his fervour. Not quite the position he’d started in, but his hands are above his head, plus he looks so sinfully debauched, all rosy skinned and messy-haired, so you’ll let him pass. “Shit! So good, so, so good. Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Already the veins of his cock are twitching and throbbing beneath your touch. Every time your pumping hand reaches the base, his balls grow tighter. Breath heavy, sweat-slicked skin growing more heated with every move of the vibrator. Poor thing is not going to last long at all.

Hey you, yeah you! You think you're hot shit? Good! Cause you are. 💖

Kinktober Masterlist

[peachesofteal]

John Price/female reader The Ocean Anthology

It’s a hollow knock that pulls you from sleep.

The Ranger is standing on the slanted slats of your front porch, Aly in his arms, cradled to his chest. Her too long legs hang over in a heap, face sweet and soft, spun in the silken bliss of sleep.

“John.” His name is a croak, a splinter of confusion on your tongue. It’s four in the morning.

“Sorry to wake you,” he shifts his daughter’s weight, and you shake your head wordlessly, “there’s a problem, up at the forestry camp. Normally Mari would…” his mouth twitches, trailing off, sequencing into a helpless, silent request.

“Of course.” Frigid air spills around his shoulders, curling into your living room, and you press the door firm after him, turning to where he lowers Aly onto the couch, broad palm sweeping over forehead and tucking her in her blanket, plus yours.

“She’ll be no trouble.” He murmurs, shoulders rolled back.

“Sure, yeah. It’s fine.” You whisper, following his lead to the door, standing in his shadow.

“I’ll be back, before it’s time for her to start school. And she can handle herself for breakfast.” Rough hands cradle your elbows, cracked callouses and torn skin snagging on the flimsy cotton of your long sleeve t shirt.

Aly truly is, no trouble. Once she's up, rubs the crystal sleep from her eyes and orients, she hops off your couch and into the kitchen where you're at the table with a hot mug.

"Breakfast?" Hopeful eyes glance at your pantry. "Got stuff to make pancakes in there?" You laugh.

"You want pancakes?" She shifts her weight, bashful.

"Dad doesn't let me have them much."

"Alrighty. Let's make some pancakes then."

You manage a too tall stack of fluffy pancakes before there's a knock at your front door. Aly, like any child, wanted chocolate chips in hers, but she settled for blueberry, and just as she's about to have her first bite, cold wind whips through the house like a lash.

"Hi." Fuck. Is he going to be mad you made his kid pancakes? He evaluates the table, sweeping gaze traveling from Aly back to you, leisurely rolling up from your toes.

You ignore the clench in your stomach.

"Those look good."

"Oh, uh... you want-"

"Blueberry?" At this, Aly's fork freezes, eyes darting from her plate to her father before turning back to breakfast.

"Y-yeah. Didn't have chocolate chips, and plain pancakes are kind of boring." His mouth twitches, sloping to one side with a furrow of his brow, chord of sadness striking his irises. There one second, then gone. A warm breeze of the cusp of summer’s end, something you can’t quite catch. You think he’s going to ignore you, the moment suspended in the void of your kitchen, batter caked bowl and whisk shuffled haphazardly towards the sink, splatters of it on the tile. He hums.

“Good choice.” The flannel is nearly too small for him, clinging to his shoulder, the breadth of his body, thick forearms stretching the buttons where the cuffs are rolled up to the elbows. You're tongue-tied in the passing silence, before he puts you out of your misery. "You've got something," a thumb to the corner of his own mouth, rubbing against something that isn't there, as you stand, lost in a moment of desiderium that slams into you with full force, "here."

He licks his thumb, then he reaches.

He rubs your skin, instead. The corner of your lips. Pasty batter splattered and dried, now gone beneath his circling touch. It's... fatherly, in passing. A short glimpse into the moment would convince you he's being kind, helpful, but the way his venetus gaze lingers on your lips, and rolls up to your eyes... it's more than patriarchal. It's heated, and dark, flashes of secrets and songs you've never heard.

"T-thank you."

"Will you go out today?"

"Oh, uh... yeah I had hoped to."

"In the kayak?" You nod. His lips twitch.

"I'll take you, in the boat." The words he gave you the first time you looked for the Orcas ring in your ears.

"I thought I had to earn it?" A sliver of possession gleams in his eyes.

"You will."

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi 👋🏻 I’m currently very sick rn and I need cuddles and love from either Clark Kent or Simon Riley, you pick. And could it just be fluffy and sorta angsty with a ps!reader who is just super mopey and mad about being sick and others things. You can pick most of the background for this!!

Btw love 💗 all of your writing 💛🦡🙃

.⋆｡Sick Days and Comfy PJs｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

Sick days require your boyfriend to become your live-in nurse, but who are you to complain.

Warnings: sick!reader, fluff, little smidge of angst but not really, general sick warnings, brief nudity WC: 840

A/N: I hope you feel better soon! I’m so glad you find joy in my writing and I hope you get some out of this one 💚

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“I’m dying.”

“No you’re not.”

“I feel like I’m dying.” There was a sigh.

“You just have the flu sweets.” 

“I swear it’s the plague.” The bed groaned and the weight of another person settled on top of it but you didn’t move to look at them. A large hand cupped your head over the thick blanket draped on top of you.

“Can you let me take your temperature again?”

You grumbled back. “No. Too cold.” 

There was another sigh and then the blanket was moved aside, sending a wave of cold air into your little cave of sickness. You groaned in annoyance as you attempted to escape the disruption but before you could, your boyfriend’s thick arm wound around your hips and pulled you up. 

“That’s just the fever talking.” His voice was much clearer now as he held you to his chest while he rummaged around the mountain of things on your nightstand. Your head was pounding with a migraine that was only compounded by your clogged sinuses. 

“Clark.” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut against the harsh light bleeding in from the hallway. 

His palm spread out across your back, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your shoulder blade as he finally found the thermometer. “Just a couple minutes sweets and then you can go back to sleep.” The cold metal tip prodded your lips for a second before you begrudgingly opened your mouth. “That’s a good girl.” He cooed and pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“I hate you.”

He chuckled softly, the vibrations of it rumbling through his chest. “I know sweets.”

“Dumb alien genes.” Clark sighed again.

“I can get sick sweets, just not with anything here on Earth.” You cracked your eyelids open to glare at him again, letting him get a good look at your bloodshot eyes and dark bags from three days of fitful sleep. “Fine. I’m sorry I can’t get sick. How can I make it up to you?”

“Grill me a cheese.” The thermometer beeped and Clark gently pried it from your lips. You gave out a rattling cough. “And lemme wear your pjs.”

He tsked and wiped off the end with a tissue. “Still too high. Alright, how about a nice hot shower and I can throw my clothes and your blanket in the dryer so they’re nice and warm by the time you get out.”

“And a grilled cheese?” He gave you a look.

“I’ll heat up some of that soup mama made. A grilled cheese might be too heavy for your tummy.” You stuck out your bottom lip at him. Clark tugged you up higher on his chest, letting your soft legs wrap around his waist as you rested your head in the crook of his neck. His hands fell to your ass and unable to help himself, he gave the plump cheeks a gentle squeeze.

“But you’re the one that got me sick.” He had taken you out on a little fly around Metropolis four days ago, ignoring your warning that it was too cold for you to be whipping around the clouds with him.

“That’s not- ok fine, I’ll make you a grilled cheese.” You beamed up at him. “But only if you don’t complain about a stomach ache afterwards.” He rose to his feet as gently as he could, keeping you from being jostled too much.

You sighed and clung onto your boyfriend, feeling utterly sorry for yourself. “Don’t like being sick. Hurts so much.”

“I know sweetheart.” Clark kept you wrapped up safely in his arms as he turned on the hot water.

“You won’t leave me?” Steam soon filled the small bathroom, making it a little more bearable when he gently stripped you of the old pyjamas you had on. Clark paused.

His brows furrowed and he looked up at you from where he knelt on the tiled floor, one socked foot in his hand. “I’d never leave you. Where-where’s this coming from sweets?”

You shook your head and roughly wiped away the tears of aggravation. “It’s dumb.”

Clark pulled off your sock and threw it into the laundry basket in the corner before standing up to his full height. “It’s not dumb if it’s making you this upset.” He cupped your full cheek. Your hands curled into his t-shirt and you nodded.

“I’m sorry I’m so annoying, making you take care of me.” 

“Hey. I take care of you because I love you, you aren’t annoying or a burden. You’re mine and that means I take all of you. Ok?” You nodded and he rewarded you with a soft peck to your chapped lips. “Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up. Finish your shower and I’ll get everything ready for you.”

With a gentle pat to your ass, you were bathed in hot water, easing the pressure behind your eyes. “Love you sweets. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

And as the bathroom door shut, you smiled. Sick days with Clark weren’t bad at all.

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[perseephoneee]

blood sharing (kol mikaelson x f!reader)

warnings: blood sharing (obvs), allusions to sex, female identifying reader

a/n: this is purely self indulgent. i'm not good with smutty things, but it's kinktober, so here's the only thing i can contribute. anywhooo. enjoy?

↳ masterlist ↳  want to be shipped with a fic character?

He was hungry, and you could tell.

The way he stood as far apart from you was the first sign. Then, the veins under his eyes that he tried so desperately to hide by turning his face. The clenching and unclenching of his fists, like he fought the urge to run across the room and suck you dry.

"Go and get food," you said, arms crossed uncomfortably as you took in the starving vampire.

"I can't leave you, darling," Kol cooed, looking up at you. "I'm supposed to stay in this room and protect you. Brothers orders." "And you listen to your brothers?"

"For pretty girls, I'll listen to them," Kol flirted, but you could tell it was forced. He hadn't had food in a while, and he was in here because of you.

Guilt gripped your heart, as well as morbid curiosity. You harbored a school-girl crush on Kol, and the cheesy novels you read always made you wonder what it would feel like to be the victim of a vampire's appetite. Plus, you felt bad that he was struggling. At least, that's what you told yourself.

"You can feed on me," you whispered. Kol heard you, though, his head immediately shooting up to look at you.

"Bad idea, luv."

"I trust you to not, uh, kill me," you chuckled nervously. Kol dared take a step closer to you, and you fought the urge to step back. He was intimidating, albeit a cheeky bastard. Your heart raced as he approached you, towering above your smaller form.

"Is this out of the kindness of your heart or some other need?" Kol murmured, reaching up to play with a strand of your hair. Your breath became shaky as you dared to make eye contact with the original vampire. His eyes were darker than usual, and his gaze was fixed on your mouth, on the way you licked your lips. "See, darling, I think you want me biting you, taking you as mine." Kol circled you, standing behind your form as he pulled your hair away from your neck. You gulped, your eyes fluttering close as his fingers traced over your carotid artery. His other hand traced up and down your forearm, creating goosebumps in his wake.

"I don't think you have the guts to bite me," you whispered, challenging him. The reverberating dark chuckle told you that you were stepping into dangerous territory.

"Is that what you think?" Kol mumbled into your ear, his breath hot on your cheek, his hands gripping your arms. "I'm happy to prove you wrong."

He didn't give you any warning before biting into your neck. The pain that flared was nothing compared to the pleasure you derived from feeling his fangs. God, you were such a masochist.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, a shaky breath leaving you. His arm wrapped around your middle, holding you to him. The warmth and icey fire surging through your body was nothing you felt before. Kol pulled away, licking over the wound before kissing it better. He bit his wrist, blood welling up as he held it to your lips. You wanted to moan as the saccharine blood touched your tastebuds. You grabbed his wrist close to you, and he didn't bother stepping away from your form. When you removed his wrist, you dared turn and make eye contact. Kol's gaze was nothing short of lustful, and your inhibitions were already low. You kissed him, enjoying the growl that left him as he turned you in his arms to hold you better. Somehow, the kiss made you as high as sharing blood. Pulling away, you didn't dare go too far as a coy smile danced across your lips.

"I have an idea of what we can do to pass the time," you smiled, looking up at him through heavy lashes. Kol grinned, leaning down and picking you up in one fell swoop.

"I like where your head is at."

[campingwiththecharmings]

for minigirl87

Hi, congratulations 🎊 on your 1 year anniversary. Could I request, please. Poe Dameron and the AU firefighter. I used to clean in a fire station and have a thing for firefighters, plus I could could easily see Poe as a fireman, lol. Take care ❤️

Some Like it Hot

For @minigirl87

AN: Another fic-aversary request! I know you sent this to me via messenger AGES ago and you probably don't even remember doing it but I need you to know that Firefighter!Poe has had me in a chokehold ever since lol. THAT SAID, I have no idea if this is what you were looking for but my muse is a whore (esp for Poe) so here we are. Absolutely shameless smut, very, very little plot. Hope y'all enjoy 😌❤️

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,297 Pairing: Firefighter!Poe Dameron x Photographer!F!Reader Warnings: PWP, p in v, strangers to lovers, praise kink, please let me know if i missed anything. AO3

——————

Somehow, you’d known that it would end this way.  

Well, maybe not this exact way—with you fucking a smoking-hot firefighter in the dark room of your studio—but the second he’d walked into the room, you’d known something was bound to happen. Granted, you’d been thinking more along the lines of a coffee date or, if you were really lucky, dinner.  

The Universe had other plans, it seems (and who were you to argue?). 

His strong fingers grip you tightly as he fucks into you from behind, every powerful thrust of his hips all but knocking the breath from your lungs. A choked moan escapes you as he hits one of your sweet spots, cunt clenching around his (considerable) length and pulling a groan from between his lips. You feel so good, so full, the pleasure zinging through your body as he drags himself in and out of your slick heat.  

You don’t normally do this—this being fucking someone within hours of meeting them, without even knowing their full name—but there’s just something about this guy—Poe—that makes you wanna give him everything. 

It had started innocently enough, just lingering glances and a bit of flirting, but the tension had grown between you the longer the shoot went on. More than once, your gaze had lingered, unable to stop yourself from admiring him—with his leanly muscled body, chiseled jaw, deep eyes, and that stubborn curl that kept falling across his forehead. He could tell you were into him; you’d known by the way he’d looked at you. 

Normally, you were more professional while you worked, more respectful of the vulnerability of your subjects as you shot them. You’ve never felt this before though, this pull, this need, and it surprised you how quickly you’d thrown out all your principles for what you assumed was just a one-time thing. 

“Taking me so well, sweetheart,” Poe slurs, the pace of his thrusts faltering slightly as you flutter around him. “Fuck, feels so good.” 

You can’t help the whine that escapes you at his praise, your fingers gripping the edges of the counter he has you pressed against. You kind of wish you could see his face (you bet he looks stunning when he comes), but he’s hitting you so deep like this it’s a little hard to complain. 

He grunts when you flutter around him again, your fingers aching as your grip on the counter tightens. You’re so close, can feel the tension coiling inside you as he spears into you again and again. You push back to meet him and he moans, his cock somehow reaching even deeper inside you, electricity zinging up your spine. 

“Please,” you breathe, unsure exactly what you’re asking for. 

He seems to know though, adjusting his thrusts so he can lean forward and slip his hand between your thighs, calloused fingers immediately finding and circling your clit. You whimper in pleasure as a myriad of sensations race through you, your arms shaking as your body is pushed closer and closer to the brink.  

“You’re right there aren’t you, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice thick with his own pleasure. “You’re so close, squeezing me so tight—” 

All you can do is moan in pleasure, in agreement, the combination of his cock and his fingers making you feel almost drunk. 

“Need you to come for me,” he pants, more of a plea than a demand. “Need to feel you.” 

Without warning, Poe pulls you up from the counter so your back is flush against his chest. Your mouth falls open in surprise, a noise somewhere between a squeal and moan escaping as he grinds up into you, his thrusts slower now but no less devastating. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, head lolling back against his shoulder as he groans in agreement.  

He’s just as far gone as you, it seems, his thrusts a little sloppier now as he nears his peak.  

“Pussy feels like heaven, sweetheart,” he slurs, his mouth and tongue molten against your heated skin. 

You feel like you're drowning, like he’s suffocating you with pleasure. You need something, something to hold onto, something to keep you grounded. You reach back, plunging your fingers into his soft curls, gripping them for dear life. You’re so close, right there at the edge, the tension inside you wound so tight you feel as if you might burst.  

Another brush of his fingers against your clit is enough to send you soaring over the edge, your body shaking in his arms as your release slams into you. Poe’s groan is choked as you convulse around him, but he fucks you through it, mumbling words of praise and encouragement in your ear as waves of pleasure surge through you (“That’s it, baby, soak my cock. Oh fuck, yeah, just like that, oh good girl—”) 

He stills a moment later, spilling his thick, hot cum deep inside you, his strangled moans muffled as he buries his face in your neck. You relax a little as you come back down, the solidity of his body against yours comforting. You stay like that for a moment trying to catch your breath, the two of you panting and half naked in the middle of the room. After what simultaneously feels like two seconds and an hour, he pulls back a bit from your neck, leaving a gentle kiss at the top of your spine that makes something in your chest ache.  

“Okay?” he asks, his voice soft and a little raspy. 

You hum, nodding as you allow yourself to melt into him a little, your body going limp in his hold. He chuckles softly, tightening his arms around you and pressing another kiss against your neck. For a moment, you let yourself pretend, pretend that the two of you aren’t strangers, that this isn’t a one-time thing, that he’s yours (and you’re his). 

He slips out of you with a hiss, the loss of him dragging you back to reality. Your legs feel like jelly, but you manage to stand on your own, shakily pulling your clothes back on before turning to face him. Considering the position you were just in, it’s silly how awkward you suddenly feel. You lean against the counter behind you, chancing a glance up at him; the soft smile on his lips makes your heart skip a little. 

Ugh, he looks just as gorgeous in the red light of the dark room as he did when he’d waltzed into your studio hours ago. A part of you kind of hates him for it. 

Before you can say anything, he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you kiss him back, your arms winding around his neck. His hands settle on your waist, pulling your body against his as he licks into your mouth. You moan softly, completely lost in him, in the way he’s making you feel. When you part for air, he presses his forehead against yours, your pants mingling in the small space between you. 

“Go out with me,” he breathes, his nose bumping against yours. 

You huff a laugh at the request (demand?), fingers tangling in the curls at the base of his skull. He smiles again, his lips brushing over yours. 

“Probably should’ve asked that before, huh?” 

You laugh again, still breathless. “Better late than never.”

His laugh is husky and the sound of it makes something warm settle in your gut. “I appreciate you being so understanding.” 

You bite your lip, smothering your smile. “I know you’ll find a way to make it up to me.” 

He hums in agreement, a playful gleam in his eyes as he leans in to kiss you again. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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PART 2

[marvelmusing]

Earned It

Pairing: Mafia!Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Aleksander Morozova has specific tastes. Nikolai knows this, which is why he invites you to join him at one of Morozova’s parties in the hopes of fostering a business partnership. Once you set eyes on Morozova, you are more than happy to play the part of pawn.

Warnings [18+]: sexual content, dom!Aleksander, pain kink, exclusive kink party, semi public spanking and nudity, sir kink, praise kink, hints that the reader was used as an incentive for a deal between Aleksander and Nikolai

My Masterlist

It won’t be much longer before you lose your patience.

Bent over a table, you manage to moan when Nikolai swats at your ass cheek instead of groaning in frustration. He’s too gentle. It’s driving you up the wall.

He had asked you to be his plus one for this unconventional party, hosted by a potential future business partner - Aleksander Morozova - in an attempt at forming an alliance. Despite the rumours you’ve heard about Morozova, you had agreed to help your friend.

The two of you had discussed what you would be comfortable doing together at the party, though Nikolai seems to have misunderstood just how enthusiastic you are about public spankings. All too soon, it’s over, leaving you unspeakably dissatisfied.

He helps you stand upright again, looping his arm around your waist and smoothing your dress down as he looks down at you.

“You okay?”

“I thought you would have committed to the role a little more,” you remark quietly.

“You’re my friend,” he protests. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

While his words are sweet, you’re too on edge to say anything except,

“Could you get me a drink?” He nods.

Tugging at the hem of your dress a little self consciously, you move towards an empty sofa at the side of the room. Irritation prickles over your skin, a dissatisfied pout puckering at your lips as you sit down with a small huff.

Closing your eyes, you slump your head against the back of the sofa, delighting in the dull thud that reverberates through your skull. Irritated by the events of this evening, you continue to bang your head half heartedly against the soft edge of the furniture.

The repetitive motion helps to relieve some of your frustration - until someone grasps a fistful of the hair at the crown of your head, meaning it stings when you move to drop your head back against the sofa.

As your eyes snap open, you’re greeting by the sight of Aleksander Morozova standing over you.

“I don’t condone self inflicted pain at my parties.”

Heat burns through your body, prickling from your scalp down to your stomach that flips as his eyes lock on yours. His gaze is frighteningly direct and your thighs shift as you squirm in response to his attention.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Nerves have you nipping lightly on your lower lip, which makes Mr Morozova raise a dark brow pointedly at you. He hooks his hand beneath your chin, putting pressure on your lips with the pad of his thumb. Instantly, you release your lip from between your teeth, cheeks scolding hot.

“Good girl.”

The sharp breath that escapes you is involuntary and you are ten times more aroused now that you were when Nikolai was attempting to spank you.

“Let me guess,” he muses, stroking his fingers delicately over your cheek in a manner that has you leaning into his touch. “Young Mr Lantsov wants to do business with me, and thought inviting a pretty thing like you would sweeten whatever deal he hopes to offer me.”

A frown creases at your features and you begin to shake your head. Mr Morozova mirrors your expression mockingly with a raised brow and your stomach flips. He smirks.

“He didn’t?”

“I- I don’t think he did,” you stammer.

Mr Morozova laughs, tilting his head back as the bright sound escapes him. His laughter fades and he considers you for a long moment, continuing the motion of his thumb circling your cheek. Then he releases his hold on your face.

“Stand up.”

The loss of his touch is briefly upsetting, but you do as he says, smoothing your dress down nervously as you stand. Mr Morozova circles around the sofa, sliding between you and the piece of furniture before he sits down, claiming your seat for himself.

He takes a hold of your hips, guiding you to stand between his open thighs. Even sitting down, he’s able to reach for your chin, directing your gaze to meet his.

“I’m going to bend you over my knee now. Is that alright?”

Startled desire pools in your stomach as your eyes widen at his question.

“Please,” you whisper.

He pushes your dress upwards over your hips, revealing your lacy panties to him. The sight of his eyes darkening makes you shiver. He touches you leisurely, stroking over the lace covering your mound and pressing his thumb into your hip.

“Would you like to take these off for me?” he asks, his tone light. Instantly, your eyes flicker up to the rest of the party. There are plenty of eyes on you - mostly due the man in front of you. “You don’t have to,” he adds softly and you believe him.

Glancing back down to his eyes, you feel a sudden burst of confidence. The way he’s looking at you has warmth spreading through your body, making you eager to do as you please - and right now you want him to see you.

Hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties on either side of your hips, you slip them down easily, keeping your eyes locked on Mr Morozova’s. He smiles widely.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Such a beauty.”

The weight of his gaze is heavy as he admires you. It makes you squirm. Then he does as he promised, bending you over his lap so that your ass is on display for him. Mr Morozova scoffs.

“He didn’t leave a single mark on you.” A shudder runs through your body as he rubs his hand over your cheeks, his palm smoothing across every inch he can. “That simply won’t do. Will it, darling?”

“No, sir.”

“It’s unacceptable, leaving you wanting like this.”

You nod in agreement.

When he starts out gently, swatting your cheeks at a lazy pace, you whine and kick your feet lightly in protest. He lands a harsh crack to your backside that has you crying out, the skin there burning in the wake of his hand. He pinches your cheeks between his fingers and you whimper.

“Being neglected does not give you the right to act disobedient,” he scolds you in a low voice that makes you burn internally. “You will get what I give you and be grateful for it.” He places his hand at the back of your neck, giving a firm squeeze. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He settles his hand back down onto your ass, petting the tender skin.

“That’s better.”

Every strike that lands has you sinking deeper into the sofa, into him. Arousal is thick and cloying in your body, filling up your mind like molten honey. The only sensation you are able to focus on is his hand as it meets whatever portion of your skin he deems worthy of his attention - and he appears to value every inch you’ve offered him.

His encouragements make your thighs quiver and butterflies swarm in your stomach as he praises you for withstanding something that you delight in. He makes every second of the pain worthwhile, ensuring that every spot he strikes makes you moan with a pleasure that makes you throb with need.

Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes and it isn’t long before they spill down your cheeks, hot and salty as they smear over your flushed face. When he finally stops, your mind is hazy. A blissful lightness has filled your limbs and your gaze is unfocused as he turns you onto your side so that he can see your face. The beat of your heart is no longer in your chest, it’s between your legs.

“That was what you needed, wasn’t it?” he muses quietly, stroking his thumb over your cheek to wipe at the half-dried tears there. Nodding weakly, your eyes flutter shut. The image of his smile is burnt into your closed eyelids.

He continues stroking your cheekbones, his fingers tracing absentmindedly over your jawline and across the pulse point in your neck.

“Poor darling,” he murmurs. “Are you tired?”

Blinking heavily, you nod. Fatigue weighs down on your eyelids and the urge to curl up in the safety of his arms is incredibly appealing. He seems to notice, helping you sit up in his lap.

“That’s it. Come here.”

He drapes a cosy blanket over your body, his hands wandering beneath the fabric to squeeze reassuringly at your thighs, encouraging you to relax. It’s easy to press your face into his chest and you soon sink into slumber.

When you wake, you’re being lowered onto a plush mattress in a darkened room. It takes half a second for you to realise who is smoothing his hands down your bare legs, before he tucks a soft duvet over your body.

“Did you make a deal with Nikolai?” you ask Mr Morozova sleepily. He nods.

“I did.”

Exhaustion has buried itself into your body, a pleasurable ache spreading over your backside that has a giddy smile spreading over your face which you attempt to hide as you curl your arms around the nearest pillow.

“Good.”

The corner of his mouth quirks darkly as your eyes flutter closed again. He presses a kiss to your temple, his arms encaging you as he leans over your body.

“Sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

-

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla

[shares-a-vest]

🍹 If You Like Pina Coladas 🍹

wc: 1.5k | Rated: M for Mild Suggestive Language, Sexual Humour, Mention of a handjob | cw: Alcohol Consumption (Not excessive – Eddie makes two Pina Coladas)

Tags: Hot Tub, Steve Harrington’s House, Cocktails, Flirting, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Body Worship (just a smidge as Eddie ogles his boyfriend)

Note: A while back I was looking through 1980s furniture advertisements and stumbled across several Jacuzzi ads, so I decided the Harringtons needed one hehe. And thank you to the STWG discord for always indulging my silly ideas, even if it takes me months to bring them to life 💜

🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹

Eddie leans across the countertop of Family Video and kicks up his feet, grinning at his boyfriend despite the grumpy, pouty-boy frown creasing Steve’s brow.

“Come on, Stevie,” he insists, “What’s got your jeans in a such a twist?”

He rests his chin on his hands and tilts his head to the side, all innocent but nonetheless expectant. Steve has been sulking all week and Eddie is certain it has something to do with the fact that his folks have been home for an entire month now.

It has been tough on him too – what with their Private Boyfriend Time being cut down to whenever Wayne isn’t home. Which, considering his roaster right now, isn’t a whole lot of time for much of anything.

Plus, the novelty of boning in Steve’s car wore off about halfway through the first time. As it turns out, the back cab of the Beemer isn’t exactly all that spacious – nor is it conducive to avoiding a leg cramp so severe that Eddie almost got kicked straight in the head by his lover.

Eddie hums, thinking back to just what he was doing before the near-collision.

Steve stands upright to reach into the breast pocket of his tight navy-blue polo – one with four whole buttons the tease keeps undone in order to expose maximum chest hair. He produces a flimsy and tattered scrap of paper that looks to have been cut out of a magazine.

Steve sucks in a breath, unfurls the paper and hands it over.

“A hot tub?”

Eddie gawks at the advertisement in Steve’s hand and his boyfriend groans at his excitement.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, collapsing forward against the counter and Eddie’s heart flutters at their regained proximity, “My parents had it delivered a few days ago.”

Eddie delicately lays out the advertisement on the sliver of counter space between them and runs his finger over the picture, circling the rounded edges of the featured hot tub. He then moves to trace the hairline of the male model in the picture, a Fabio-looking dude who is having the time of his life sipping on a cocktail, accompanied by a pretty blonde toasting to his rugged masculinity.

“And this is bad, how?” he asks, looking up to find his boyfriend looking more than a little grumpy.

“Well, for one thing I have to make it down to the Post Office before closing to pick up some pump plug thing,” Steve grouses, all pouty with that bitchy lilt he gets (and that Eddie loves).

“Pump plug…” Eddie murmurs, transfixed as his greedy gaze makes its way down the long, tanned column of Steve’s neck…

To his chest, which is a lot more appealing than that of Jacuzzi Fabio Guy.

“Yeah, and guess who has to figure out how to get the stupid thing up and running by the time they get back?”

Eddie snaps to attention and smiles as sweet and innocent as he can muster.

“When do they get back?”

Steve looks at his watch, “They left about an hour ago and come back Monday night.”

Eddie leans over a little more – at least as much as he can before the counter begins to cut into his stomach.

“Stevie,” he coos, wiggling his brows, “My darling boyfriend.”

He abandons his fingering of the advertisement to reach for a lock of hair to twirl. Eddie giggles, dipping his chin as he bats his dark lashes.

“What?” Steve purses his lips before it all sinks in, “ – Wait. Oh, no!”

Call him selfish, but Eddie gives Steve no choice when it comes to the matter of getting the new Harrington Family Jacuzzi up and running. First, he mans Family Video so Steve can head to the Post Office for his pump plug-thing – an item he cannot bring himself to think about without chuckling a little, ‘tee-hee’. Then, when Steve returns with a box that contains said pump plug, Eddie helps his boyfriend read through the instructions before he heads on over to Melvad’s for some supplies.

It is going to be perfect.

Warm and bubbly.

Sensuous.

Private.

Eddie later finds himself buzzing out of his skin, rocking on his heels from his position right behind Steve as his boyfriend fires the bad boy up, pump plug plugged, and all.

“Great,” Eddie says, flapping the instruction manual in his hand, “Now we just have to wait for it to warm up.”

Steve huffs as he stands up and wipes at his sweaty brow – a sign of a manly job well done. He insists on washing up, so Eddie changes into his black boardshorts and sets about making them cocktails.

And yeah, he might have taken the advertisement out of the wastebasket in Steve’s bedroom while his boyfriend was showering in order to replicate Fabio Jacuzzi Guy’s alcoholic beverages. Sue him for wanting a romantic, catalogue-inspired evening – Pina Coladas included.

Eddie is all set up and ready to go as he lingers by the new outdoor accessory, waiting on bated breath for Steve to finally make his way out onto the back patio. The Hot tub is bubbling away like a hot spring, the inviting, steamy warmth every bit the picture painted in the advertisement Steve so thoroughly poo-poohed all afternoon.

But when Steve drops his towel, Eddie’s face drops.

“Why aren’t you wearing that tantalising little red speedo of yours?”

“Eddie, it’s freezing out here,” Steve argues, shivering as he looks out over the backyard.

Eddie grumbles and turns to the hot tub. He licks his lips, deciding what would be the most logical way of stepping up into the warm waters as he balances the two fruity cocktails in his hands.

“It’s what the bubbles are for, sweetheart,” he says, swinging his leg over the rounded boarder of the tub.

And in a second Steve is by his side, looping an arm around his waist to guide him. Eddie grins and pushes one of the cocktails into Steve’s hand.

“Oh, Pina Colada,” Steve beams.

They settle onto opposite sides of the hot tub – optimal positioning, if Eddie does say so himself! It allows him to get a good, greedy look at Steve, who is now preoccupied with trying to get his plush, pink lips around his straw without poking himself in the eye with the little yellow umbrella sticking out the top of his drink.

Eddie puffs out his chest and takes a sip of his own drink.

“Wait, is that my b-boombox?” Steve says mid-gulp, looking over Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie nods with enthusiasm.

“Thought it could be romantic,” he coos.

He sets his drink on a coaster near the boombox and carefully makes his way to his boyfriend. He wades through the warm water, stepping carefully – his body tingling as the tub’s jet streams rush hot water against him. It lights a fire in his belly and leaves him looking Steve up and down like he is something he could just eat right up.

Because the thing is, in this heat – with Steve’s perpetually warm body – the whole atmosphere is giving his beautiful skin a delicate sheen that is both arousing and oh-so-shiny. Like Steve is some precious thing made of gold. A God, even.

Eddie settles in close, his cheeks burning up as his arm touches Steve’s, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. Down his body.

“Steve,” he breathes, leaning into his partner’s neck.

“Eddie, this isn’t a porno,” Steve deadpans.

“You sure about that?” Eddie teases, reaching down to cup Steve through his boardshorts and rub.

It gives his boyfriend a jolt and Steve chokes out this stifled little whimper and all Eddie can do is chuckle into the bare skin of his shoulder. He bites him for good measure, earning a hiss. But Steve melts at the touch, sinking down a little in his seat.

“Eddie,” he whispers, screwing his eyes shut – damn his willpower, “You cannot jerk me off in my parent’s Jacuzzi.”

“Oh,” Eddie grins, pretending he is utterly scandalised by such a suggestion, “Who said it was going to be a mere handjob?”

Steve reaches down and wraps his meaty paw around Eddie’s wrist. He brings it up to the surface and interlaces their fingers.

“That so?”

Eddie narrows his eyes.

“Smooth operator.”

“Dork,” Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek, “Wanna go upstairs?”

“After we finish our beverages.”

Eddie pushes himself off from their side of the hot tub and accidentally propels himself a little too hard to the other side. He reaches out a flailing limb to catch something in a desperate search for purchase.

But his hand knocks over his Pina Colada, spilling it directly into the hot tub. He grapples for the edge of the tub and momentarily dunks his entire goddamn head beneath the surface.

“O-ops,” he splutters when he comes up for air, spitting bubbly, hot water from his mouth.

He shakes drenched hair from his face, only to be met with Steve’s frown.

[ch6sos]

random choso headcanons

i <3 choso i <3 making odd ball headcanons so here u guys go

content warning mentions of "metabolism", social anxiety/anxiety (not bad though) + motion sickness, and this is not proofread and lowercase so if any of those Like makes you tingle please don't read this my sweet

he’s emo as hell, he listens to emo music. now he's the one i actually imagine listening to my chemical romance, pierce the veil, etc. (bc with nanami I feel like he'd listen to more 80s-90s rock music but this isn't about my first husband)

he suffers from insomnia and finds it difficult to sleep unless he has someone he cares about in the room or at least snuggling with him.

peacemaker: he is a peacemaker when it comes to his brothers.

"hey yuji, you should really share with him. "

"no!"

"yuji...." 

"fine."

he has an earthy aroma—he often uses colognes with earthy notes that are not overpowering (i  think he might be sensitive to strong scents).

i imagine him experiencing motion sickness. for some reason, i imagine him feeling dizzy in a car, or being unable to handle a rollercoaster without feeling extremely unwell.

would probably work at your local hot topic especially if this was set during the 2000s era where hot topic was actually catered to the alternative scene. or a tattoo shop!

several piercings. on his left ear, he has an industrial, a triple lobe piercing, and a conch— his right having a double helix piercing, a tragus, and a single lobe piercing.... and then he has an eyebrow piercing and a labret piercing :)

enjoys watching christmas movies because a lot of them are about family!

deeply family-oriented, he genuinely just wants to grow up with a family. a big one, too.

thus he may have a fear of being alone, which makes me believe that he is introverted but also genuinely afraid of ending up alone as he grows older. he values the presence of family and wants to ensure that they always surround him.

he comes across as a bit shy initially, not necessarily awkward, but it takes some time to get to know him.

still not too talkative but genuinely chill to talk to.

has a lot of accessories when he wears outfits, especially bracelets or necklaces. 

black is what you find in his closet. just black (and a couple of purples and reds but mainly black)

he be thrifting them outfit pieces too idc idc he not a shein warrior

is a bit insecure about his dark circles and markings on his face (i could imagine he still has the markings but they look more like a scar rather than what it looks like in the actual manga/anime) so he begins to cover them up with concealer sometimes.

eats a LOT of junk food and somehow doesn't gain weight. bro probably can eat a whole box of pizza with wings and doesn't even gain a pound.

he is genuinely clueless/oblivious when it comes to relationships like he doesn't know when someone's flirting with him unless they tell them straight up. and when they tell him he's like:

"...oh! me...?" because he genuinely thinks, “wow, someone likes me?!?!”

plus he would ask before initiating even after being in a relationship

“do… do you mind if i kiss you?”

“cho we’ve been dating for five months”

“oh… i’m sorry for asking… again.”

spends a lot of time on his hair !!! he has to wake up early sometimes just to do his hair. and he doesn't plan on cutting it, only trims it once in a while.

when he's home he either has it down or has it in a ponytail. he even has a silk pillowcase so it never gets frizzy.

cats or dogs— no. he likes turtles. he even has a pet turtle.

i think that he wouldn't vape or smoke the way people might expect him to. i believe he may have a weak immune system, which would make it difficult for him to engage in such activities.

socially anxious as hell bro tweaks out when he has to order at a restaurant... 

but overall he’s an anxious person, i feel like he’d suffer from anxiety a lot (as someone who has anxiety i just can tell he’d be the type to have it too)

when he dates someone he's really touchy with them because he craves physical touch. he especially enjoys when someone plays with his hair he falls asleep in a millisecond.

he loves sketching in a notebook, he loves drawing nature a lot! he likes going to the park or a forest and drawing what he sees. he also enjoys drawing people and i imagine he always draws pictures of yuji too, and he shows them to him.

tease him and his face is red, his eyes are widened, and his face is in absolute shock...

literally the sweetest guy ever; he's always looking out for everyone and makes sure everyone around him is okay

he's always cold thus needs someone to cuddle him.

is fascinated by some amphibians and watches national geographic sometimes when he knows they're going to talk about amphibians. especially frogs!

his most used app on his Black iPhone 13 Pro Max would be Spotify and he is top 0.1% listener for some underrated metal band

creative hobbies more than physical hobbies (sketching, journaling, sewing)

HE CROCHETS IDC WHAT ANYONE SAYS HE LITERALLY MADE A CROCHET ROSE FOR YUKI I D O NOT GIVE A DAMN 

when he laughs it's like a silent soft chuckle, and he usually covers his mouth when he does it

gets emotional easily, especially when he receives love. for a long time, he couldn’t believe that he would ever be loved so when he is receiving affection he gets overwhelmed and tries not to cry because he thinks “how?? why me?”

he loves holding hands. he tries not to freak out but when someone holds his hands when he’s freaking out or just in general, he loves the feeling of their warm hands against his very cold ones

apologises alot even though everything is not his fault

when he’s mad he needs time to cool off especially because he gets emotional easily. he needs time to himself before calming down before discussing his emotions with someone.

speaking of emotions, i don’t think he’d be bad at expressing emotions or speaking about it, at first yes but he begins to grow better at it and plus sometimes the way he shows emotion is more impulsive and involuntary rather than on purpose

listens more than talks because he is too busy getting sidetracked by his own thoughts or he genuinely can't talk to people sometimes

he has a fidget toy because he is always fidgeting with his fingers so yuji got him a fidget toy (probably a fidget spinner) and was fascinated with it and it didn’t help it just something he distracts himself with when he doesn’t feel like being present in a conversation or just in general

cried when yuji graduated and gave him the hugest hug of his life. and i don’t mean a few tears he BAWLED he was bawling because he was so proud of his little brother.

spends time with yuji a lot sometimes more than his own friends and they always go to the arcade or mall together

yuji got him a picture frame of him and choso posing and choso cried for several days because he couldn’t believe he has such an amazing brother

learns gen z lingo just for yuji

“oh yuji! that was very w rizz of you!”

“...what?”

“i didn’t know you had that much aura!”

I  Love Him

Missing him come back emo king

[diejager]

Hello! I've been wanting to make a request like this for a while now as I've fallen back down the rabbit hole that is Bloodborne + the MonsterAU, and your writing is amazing! I have fallen in love with it! You are free to ignore this crazy request XD

What if during an incident at the base (could be Hunter bullied by recruits simply because Hunter sides more with monsters than with humans) and Hunter looses control, they all discover that Hunter is actually a monster too, though not exactly a natural monster or hybrid like the rest of the guys?

At first the monsters and hybrids of 141, Laswell, Los Vaqueros and KorTac believe Hunter is a werewolf but all of them are somewhat concerned and puzzled as to why they could never tell Hunter was a monster, plus the bestial form Hunter possesses is grotesque in appearance compared to the fantastical appearance of Soap's wolf. While Hunter is flattered to be considered a monster like them, she later explains that she is not a monster as such, but a Scourge Beast: a person infected with a plague that turns her into a beast. Hunter also explains that is never in control while in beast form and advises that if were to ever go in a killing spree, requests to be burned alive 👀.

Here are some references to what Hunter would look like lol:

Again feel free to ignore! XD

Plague Cw: blood and gore, bullying, anger issues, cannibalism, mutation, hate, tell me if I missed any.

Soap hadn’t expected you to growl, something so low and guttural —dangerous. The hair on the back of his neck rose high, his body tense as it reacted to your animalistic sound when some men approached you both with smug grins and cockily raised brows to raise hell between him and their pro-human thoughts. And it seemed that those men hadn’t expected you to act so aggressively, so beastly, after seeing you ignore their jeers and degrading words. They flinched back, fearful eyes fleeting from him to you, Soap’s eyes trailed down your shaking figure, hands clenching and unclenching with black claws, they were so sharp that it threatened to cut your hardened palms. 

“Fuck off,” you flashed sharp teeth, molars and incisors turned into an amalgamation of werewolf teeth, crooked and much sharper. 

Perhaps you weren’t truly a human, at least not fully with how vicious your expression looked like, a wretched image of your softer figure shaking and shuddering, trying to contain a beast that would ravage the frightened men before you. They scurried off when you curtly nodded to your left, shoving past some people that stood and stared at you and back into the base. He followed you closely, ears twitching at your growls and rumbling, teeth grinding together in an ear-piercing screech and heavy puffs of hot air from your nose. 

“What was that, Bonnie” Soap coaxed you into your room, frantic and concerned at your sudden shift of demeanour, “Ye okay?”

“Nothing. Nothing, Johnny,” you sighed, shoulders slumping when you sat on your bed, letting out shuddering breaths.

He sat beside you, giving you enough space but keeping a hand on your shoulder, circling your tense muscle. 

“ ‘m fine, Johnny, I swear,” you promised, blinking slowly at your retreating claws, “I’ll tell you later, hmm?”

Soap had warned them about your shift, the nagging curiosity that filled all their minds the day they heard from him that you weren’t human, neither monster nor hybrid, but the result of a plague —a sickness. He’d been with you during your shift, letting the others know before he turned too, his body burning away his amassed energy into steam and smoke. His change was strainous and energy-dependent, but yours was downright bloody and gory, your skin bubbling as dark fur grew from your raised spine, blood popping and spewing from every part of your body, staining the ground with dark and sickly and viscous blood. 

You were a crooked beast, limbs too bony and spine too sharp, your maw too elongated and teeth too misshaped. You were a feral mixture of beast and werewolf, horrible yet intimidating, something that rang hundreds of bells in his mind. You looked like a starved dog, abdomen caved in and hair course and dry, a terrible creature that ate through the enemy, sinking your teeth into their muscles and fat and devouring everything down in wet gulps and guttural rumbles. 

You made quick work of the enemy despite being their medic, striding back with him side to side (you towered over him in your beast form, a shock if he was honest). He wasn’t sure if their silence was from the sheer size of you, looming over everyone with white, beady eyes blinking owlishly at them or from your bloody and matted fur, guts and hair sticking between your teeth. He knew you were monstrous, but it sent a thrill up his spine.

“Was hungry,” he was sure he jolted when you spoke, a deep, deep growl from the back of your bony throat, it was gravelly and raspy, more so than Ghost or Prices, “Clean up when- back.”

He learned that you were a Scourge Beast, sometimes a permanent change and other times a temporary one that left you somewhat conscious. You might’ve been there, but never in complete control of your body, lingering at the back of your mind, a passenger of your hungry and rage-prone body. You warned them that you might go into a famished frenzy, ripping into anything and everything you could get your hands on, and if it were to every happen, they would need to contain you. Be it knocking you out or killing you, you made them swear, but Soap doubted he could do it, he couldn’t and wouldn’t do it despite how much you stress how dangerous you were.

They could be able to stop you without harming you, they’re conscious of both their weakness and strengths, but they knew, if it ever came to it, they will stop and contain you until you’re back to your sense. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[ladyelissarose]

Pls pls pls it u havnt done this already (if u have LMK) but ghost comforting civilian!reader who is really sick but they are in denial and want to go to work!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hello babes!! No I haven’t done such yet so here you go!!!

Thank you sm for the ask too!! Makes me happy🤗 Let me know what you think…

————————— ☠️

“Darliiiing… please stay it’s.. it’s too early-“

Simon Riley’s words slurred a bit as he whined into his pillow, growing upset at the feeling of his hand on the side of your bed, feeling the fading warmth from when you were there minutes ago snuggled up by his side.

“Simon I have a presentation to give at work today for the new employees and I’m already running late because I couldn’t stop trembling in the shower and feeling dizzy- woahhh….”

Simon immediately lifted his head from his squished and hugged pillow (something he wished was you instead under him as he squeezed you impossibly tight and refused to let you go) and he looked at you with wide eyes as he caught you holding onto the wall maintaining your balance, with a hand holding your head as your doe eyes were screwed shut, as if you were in pain. Before you could move you felt a pair of warm steady hands clutch onto your chilling waist and give a light squeeze with soft words,

“Love you ok?”

To his sweet words you desperately wanted to say, ‘No love I feel awful please carry me to bed and hold me until it stops.’

But you had a mean boss that wouldn’t take sick days kindly and pile excruciating triple work to make up for it, something you passionately hated because the hours were sickening and the work was close to slavery.

And plus, Simon had just come back from a long mission and all you wanted to do was take care of him, love on him, cook and do all the things for your hard working man, so.. you reluctantly stood straight and mustered your best smile. “Oh love I’m ok, just got a little dizzy, I think I- oh!”

Soon that warm hand found your forehead followed by Simon gasping lowly,

“Darling you’re burning up! No no, we need to- love!!”

You snatched yourself away from him as you stood up straight again and put your foot down with a supposed authority,

“I’m fine Simon! I promise! I took a hot shower and and- we’ll you know I got to go. Get back in bed and rest, you have a lot of hours to make up for sleep because- we’ll you know-“ Simon huffed out and placed a hand on his hip where his sweats hugged him nicely, and the other pinched his crooked nose while he breathed heavily through it.

Why in the world did he get stuck with such a hard working woman who was just as stubborn as he was? He didn’t know, but he loved you regardless and would do anything in his power to break you, to protect you before something else did and hurt you.

Simon could see it in you, he’s seen it in himself; the tired dark circled eyes, slumped shoulders probably stinging in pain from trying to remain straight, the slight quiver to the lips because your holding all the unsaid words in, and the fiddling fingers attached to shaking arms, aching to be held in a reassuring and loving hold.

“- its for the best for you to rest Si, come on don’t worry about me-“

Simon raised a hand up to signal you to stop rambling as he lastly said,

“Love, don’t fight it- get in my hoodie and in bed now.”

Silence filled the room before a shaky breath was released from your lips followed by a hesitant yet firm,

“No. I need to go to work Simon. I’ll see you later.”

Before Simon could say another word you had already spun on your heel and began to walk towards the door, leaving him a tad upset that you were refusing to take care of yourself. And he didn’t want to push you harshly to the point you cried- caused he hated to see you cry, but he needed to find another way before you left and faced the hard day feeling the way you were.

“Bye Simon- Oh- *bang* OW!!!”

That sounded like you had just fallen- maybe because you had gotten dizzy again but it was worse.

“LOVE?!!”

Simon called out panically as he raced out of his room, to see you at the front door on your knees with your hands flat on the ground, your trembling becoming more visible since you didn’t get up. In an instant Simon was on the ground with you trying to get you to talk since you also refused to look up from the ground.

“Love? Sweetheart are you ok? You probably hurt your knees- look at me.”

He gently grabbed your chin but you held firm, making him sigh when he also felt you trying but failing to stand up. Simon knew you were a tough one but jeez he just wished you’d take a moment and stop- “Love c’mon that’s it-“

“*sniff*.. m’sorry Si, I just don’t feel good.”

Finally, you broke, you soft sniffles breaking Simon’s heart in the process, he hated to see you in pain too.

“Tha’s my good girl.” Simon mumbled such under his breath as his heart dropped with sympathy while he watched your face finally lift up to his. Eyes now puffy and watery as your bottom lip jutted out,

“I jus’ wanted to *sniff*- m’sorry-“

Simon reached down to kiss your now red nose before cooing,

“No no, no apologies. It’s ok, c’mon sweet girl, let me take care of you.”

Under Ghost was the most gentle man named Simon Riley, the man that could be a killing machine on orders but in his freedom he was an angel at heart. Under his spell of love and true devotion to you you crumbled in his arms as he lifted you carefully bridal style.

“i’s alright now- I’ll take care of everything-“

“But my boss-“

“Can kiss my ass if he wants to drag you out of my arms, and then meet my fists for doing such eh?”

A little giggle mixed with a dry cough came out of you but Simon only smiled as he squeezed you tighter.

Soon you were all cocooned in your shared bed after Simon helped you get into his comfortable hoodie and helped you take some medicine- (well he practically had to hold you down between his legs so you could take it) then now you watched him with bright eyes as he walked in slowly with some warm soup.

“Jus’ for you love… oh and you won’t be hearing from your boss for a while-“

Knowing what he was capable of you right away asked with a slight sternness.

“What did you do Simon Riley?”

Raising a brow at your tone Simon chuckled,

“Thought you’d tune that attitude down a notch but to answer you- let’s just say he’s still in tact but well aware of another shape he could have if he didn’t listen.”

“Si-“

Shaking his head at you Simon placed the warm soup on his lap as he settled by your side with a spoonful already in hand,

“Simon says to be sweet and to eat your soup- now open up my love.”

He attentively looked into your eyes which made you blush and smile sheepishly as you listened,

“Thank you Simon.”

Placing the spoon between your lips gently Simon smiled back as he watched you sigh happily at its taste. Then he bopped your nose with his pinky as he replied,

“You’re welcome love.”

[midnightlizard]

Dance?

Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Summary: You ask Kate to dance, but you didn't want to dance. But she says yes, so now you have to dance.

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Word count: 656

-

-

"will you do the honor of dancing with me?"

She turned her head at your question, seeing your almost kneeling form with your hand extended to her, the person talking to her giving a short goodbye before leaving you alone.

"you want to dance?" the archer asked, emphasizing the first word, a knowning glint in her eyes and an amused smile on her lips.

"ok" she said simply, drawing a step closer to you.

You straightened your posture, retreating your hand, letting it fall to your side. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out, making Kate's smile grow bigger. You definitely weren't expecting this outcome. And as if she was reading your mind she added, "you didn't expect me to say yes, did you?"

"no, I actually didn't" You answered, making her giggle.

"honey I know you hate dancing as much as I do, plus, you are totally incapable of dancing" she accused. Ignoring the warmth in your chest because of the pet name, your blinked your eyes fast and put a hand on your chest, causing Kate to roll her eyes.

Again she advanced towards you, until your chests were mere centimeters away from each other, and extended her hand

"come on, take my hand"

You tilted your head, uncertainty clear on your face, not moving from your position you spoke up

"you know what? I changed my mind"

Her teasing smile now turned into a soft and encouraging one.

"let me guide you, you won't mess it up"

She offered, making the desicion for you and taking your hand in hers, putting them in the air. Grabbing the other hand, she put it on her waist, and placed her own on your shoulder, starting to sway to the rhythm of the music.

It was only a few steps and your hand already left her body for about five times to adjust your hair, an unnecessary move, but the darked haired girl didn't pick up on your real motives, or if she did, she decided not to comment on it. Instead she circled your wrist and put it back in its original place "keep your hand on my waist"

You nodded, her soft voice doing something to sooth your nerves. If she tried to make conversation after, you didn't notice, hyper aware of all the people dancing or looking at you, especially one-

"hey! (Y/N)!" she whisper-yelled, making you raise your head, looking in her eyes.

"are you nervous?"

"uh, kinda? I mean-yes yes I am" you nod your head, blabbering on your words. At this Kate squeezed your hand searching for your eyes, indicating she was waiting for more.

"they're looking at me, at you, all of these people, your mother is looking at us and I'm almost tripping with every step. You shouldn't be seen dancing like this-shouldn't be seen dancing with-"

"(Y/N)" she called, stopping you from your rant, and your dance at the same time.

"(Y/N), stop it's okay. They're not looking at us and even if they are, let them look, we're hot" the archer shrugged, giggling at her own joke before she continued "and without you I would be standing in a corner somewhere, bored out of my mind, so don't stress out, mh?"

The brown eyed girl barely waited for any sign from you and spoke up

"don't look at the floor, look at me, no need to rush and don't focus too much, just follow my steps"

And you started doing just that.

"see? You're doing great. You had the perfect teacher after all" She tried to play it cool.

"you never danced in your entire life!" You replied, rolling your eyes and nudging her nose with your own. Har act broke, looking into your eyes, soft smile on her lips, and you were finally able to forget about everyone in the room but the one that was in your arms.

Kate Bishop Masterlist

MCU Masterlist - General Masterlist