#the amount of lore would be insane | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satoruhour · 1 year ago

Note

HIHII hope you are doing well!!!

I have a request but if you're not comfortable writing it's completely fine too!!

Anyways~ can you write something with University professor geto x top student reader??? They have a lot of sexual tension and geto continuously targets the reader in his lectures only for her to storm into his office after a test in which he didn't give her the marks she deserved just so he could piss her off and eventually leading them to blow off some steam together hehe-

HEJSJSH ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT REST OF THE DAY💗💗

-🍒

I GOT THAT DUMB D*CK !

a/n: hi cherry 2! saying 2 because i already have another cherry anon, thank u for waiting for this btw sorry this took so long omggg!!! i wanna make it similar to the short blurb i did here, but ill leave out reader being a camgirl! a lot of lore talk, just a warning

wc: 8k (sigh ....)

warnings: so much lore lol sorry, no beta we die like men, age gap (32 / 24), professor!geto, fem!reader, geto is also a cam worker, masturbation (both f and m), toy use during f! masturbation (vibrator), fantasising, pet names, praise, degradation, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, oral (m receiving, f receives briefly at the end), dumbification (ig?) face-fucking, deep-throating, spitting in mouth, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, cum eating, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

no one could really pinpoint the reason why professor geto had picked on you, called you out so much, and why you entertained the incessant questions. it was unbecoming of a prof., he knew, it was never smart to favour one person (negatively, in this case) in a room of bright students who could read between the lines. but he just feels himself so drawn to your furrowed eyebrows and words laced with venom, because at the end of the day, he can see that you aren’t all talk.

you challenge his views and you do it in a way that catches him off-guard. you propose insane arguments that you willingly would die at the grave just to find evidence for; or it could just be because he was staring too much at the way your mouth moved and your eyes expressed everything to pay attention to your words, finding that you were just too beautiful to be chasing a linguistics degree.

this was another thing: geto suguru could possibly have anyone he wanted. he was fine. shoulders pulled back in proper posture, hair either tied up fully or just halfway, and always, always wearing shirts with sleeves that reach his wrist. to that, everyone could see just how bulked the man was, top looking too tight all the time.

geto knew he was fine, too, because on top of (and before) being a professor, he found that he could get a good amount of money by just streaming — camera propped below his neck and obviously tight button-up shirt discarded to reveal his tattooed body, while he has his legs spread and the thirsty, horny comments flooding in on the platform. it’s been a norm by now, started from his uni days where he needed some extra money to support his fees and living necessities.

one year turned into two, two years turned into stagnancy during his third and fourth years (save for a few occasional streams), and up came a little funny graduation stream suggested by his best friend. geto had spent a good half ’n hour talking about his time in university and thanking his viewers, changing up the setting almost immediately by showing hard he was.

[uzum4kisl0ver]: YEAAAH we’re getting to the good stuff, thank u for feeding us so well these few years uzumaki-san!!

[minstash96]: Congrats on graduating Uzumaki-san!! I rmb joining during your third year and found out from everyone u were getting busier </3 but Im glad youre back again!!!

[g_bigdick_s]: fellas is it gay to support your best friend’s graduation jerking off stream

the flood of “yes”’s replying to gojo made the streamer laugh, thankful that his best friend had listened a little and at least changed gojobigdicksatoru to just his “G.S.” initials to avoid people finding his LinkedIn. from there, geto had gotten into the true nature of his stream easily, fishing out his cock to stroke and loving the sounds of tips coming in, the name of his alias Uzumaki continually commented. since then, it’s become a side hustle — finishing his masters, training to become a professor, it’s all natural to him, taking even further steps to make sure he isn’t found out.

exactly, he could have anyone he wanted — a fan from his streaming account, or one of satoru’s regular fwb’s but instead he finds himself drawn to someone else, you, the second year student in his bilingualism and multilingualism module that he has no trouble teaching despite his freshly employed status.

at the start of the week, the gods decided thought it would be funny to delay the campus bus that would take you to the english department for a consultation session with your professor. you couldn’t focus in lectures due to bad cramps, you were behind on your non-major related courses, the bad luck just seemed to seep into one day after another. you had woken up late, putting on a terrible outfit that no one really cared about, except your professor who just had a smirk on his face.

“if you notice, runes were created as they were spoken — spelt as they are said which almost look like ‘pictographs’,” prof. geto switches to the next slide with the runes and their meanings alongside a jumble of symbols that send the whole class into hysterics, “can anyone sound out the phonetics of these runes to me? hint: even though i said they look like pictographs, the first rune is definitely not an E.”

he was known for asking questions during lectures, pleased with anyone that would even try because he knew how quiet lecture theatres could get. he was exactly like that in university, too, letting satoru take all the attention due to the many unknown people in the same room. now, he found that asking the questions was a little entertaining, seeing the way students look back down at their laptops and avoid eye contact. but he doesn’t need to do anything and his body is already turnt towards you. he’s not even pointing physically, which he thinks he’s done a good job of restraining himself.

ᛊᛃᚨᚾᛖᛚ

“the words and names should be as they sound — so ‘s’ or ᛊ should translate into a ‘c’ since they didn’t have a C back then and it’s the closest sound to C. ᛃ can’t be ‘h’ because of the usage of H in hagl . . its pronunciation is different and plus, we’ll spell it how we say it, so maybe it’s ‘j’?” you mutter to yourself, an urge to answer the quickest, always. you aren’t sure where this streak came from, but you’ve been smart always, “sja . . it either can be chanel or channel since there’s a rule you can’t use the same rune twice in succession . .”

professor geto already knows you’d be the first to answer, raising your hand even without looking since you were still calculating the other four letters which you put together fairly quickly.

you take the safest route, “chanel, with one N.”

geto clicks his tongue and sucks in a breathe, “so close, miss (y/n), but it’s because i cheated a little on my part.” you can feel your blood boil and the grimaces of other students when he switches to the next slide and there’s a little grin on his face. it says — ‘there is no distinction between capital and small runes, nor can you use the same rune twice continually.’

“you are right, partially, but i did want to drive home the point,” which he’s sure you already know. “that words with two N’s or L’s or whatever, would only show up in the runic language as only one character.” your face morphs into something of annoyance and the grin on professor geto’s face only widens — that defiant, headstrong nature is something he loved, but the grin drops a little when he imagines something . . out of the classroom. his pants tighten.

you mirror him, clicking your tongue and reluctantly taking down the note in your documents before sinking into your chair — not even chō, you friend, could find the proper words to comfort you. you spend the rest of the lecture, sulking, unwillingly answering his incessant questions with a scowl on your face and a headache forming.

this never stops—

“miss (y/n)?” one-on-one meetings were the bane of your existence, but it was the only way to connect with your professors properly — here, geto calls you to talk about your latest essay where you were the last on the roster. by then, everyone has filed out with nobara waiting for you just outside the classroom.

“don’t have to call my name, i’m the only one here.” you mutter under your breath, and geto feels a little annoying today.

“what was that?”

“nothing—”

he hums, scooting his chair closer once you sit, and while you find the gesture a little weird, you’re overcome with just how good he smells and it only fuels your hatred more. it’s no fair that he’s so . .

“miss (y/n).” you sigh with an apology, frankly not ready to hear how he’d be attacking your essay. it was written on a rushed timeline, you didn’t cite your sources properly, you knew some criticism was warranted as much as you didn’t like to hear it from your professor’s mouth.

“. . you do know you can’t just rely on your brain, right?” geto speaks softly and you feel your heart flutter at his tone. he points to the places where you forget your in-text citations.

“but professor, information about syntax and phonetics just comes like second nature . .” you mumble, ignoring how he closes his eyes and hisses, “and all the sources on the internet say different things.”

“then just find a reliable one.”

you tsk, taking the paper from him and flipping to the next page, “well, i did one here.” the paper makes a sound when you press your finger into it, aware of how close you are. from here you can feel the heat radiating off his body, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together.

“too long ago, needs to be within five years.” geto’s lying through his teeth.

“no, it does not!” you pull back and look at him incredulously. ah, the feeling’s gone, “not in language related papers, at least!”

“but that claim was from the 2000’s, miss (y/n), for all we know it could’ve been resolved by then.”

“then why didn’t you say anything about chō’s scholar article from the 1990’s?” you’re standing up, now, furrowed eyebrows depicting the very thing you feel: confusion, agitation at being treated like this. given you weren’t in the best condition when you wrote this essay, but you still gave it your all.

“her argument was about the interconnectedness between the romance languages — yours,” he punctuates while leaning back in his chair. you don’t like how your eyes flit down to his lap, but you’re forced to look up when he stands up too, “is about the use of ciphers in comparison to an immature language developed on the internet that created in the 2019s. any scholar claim before that would be void.”

your blood boils just like that day. alas, he had a good point, but like always, the gentle slit of his eyes and the all-knowing smile didn’t match the bullying he was laying on you and you despise it.

even! even, as you notice how there’s probably less than a inch between your faces as you puff out your chest to look more intimidating and yet geto suguru towers over you. and even when your heart beats loudly in your ears, feeling his hot breath fan over your own face while you don’t miss how he licks his lips and glances down to yours not-so-secretly.

you swallow at the silence, until there’s the annoying notification of his Outlook cutting the tension and soon you’re snatching the essay from him, walking to where your bag is. although you want to let your anger overflow, all you say is a tame, “noted. thanks, prof” with a glare, eye twitching.

you made sure to slam the classroom door with shaky hands . .

. . but you’re not very good at capping your rage. “i swear to god! he better fucking check his mirror and admire himself because soon i’m going to beat him up so bad that everyone can’t recognise him.” geto’s lips turn up in a small smirk at your flared expression he just witnessed — he just loves your dirty mouth and he finds himself thinking of it more and more often.

chō only can tut, “so you find him attractive?”

“what? how the hell did you infer that from my rant?” you scoff, shoving her to the side, not aware that your whispered outburst is heard as he’s packing up. he simply enjoys looking at you walk away through the glass slit of the door, hips swaying unknowingly.

“bad news, guys,” geto, or rather Uzumaki, sighs on screen, adjusting so the lens of the camera rested just below his collarbones. easily, his chat fills up with a mixture of horny comments and genuine questions, chuckling to himself as he unbuttons his shirt. he feels more like a sinner at this point, suddenly flustered with the confession he’s about to make.

“i think i’ve taken quite a liking to someone,” geto hums, hands going to his trousers to palm his bulge. he had to get home immediately after that, cancelling his meetings for the day. with a single text to gojo, the white-haired man was excited to hear everything about this new person, thankful that his best friend will finally not be alone.

[g_bigdick_s]: TELL US! TELL US!!!! TELL US!

but professor geto is lost instantly, imagining you as he massages his erection. thinking about your anger transforming into pleasure, into obedience for him as he forces your mouth down on his cock. oh . . how’d your mouth and hands feel, how’d your pussy feel.

geto groans, already removing his dick from the constraints, and pumping it to full length. he doesn’t even talk much, only the endless comments and tips reminding him he was still on live. spitting on his hand, he wraps his hand around himself again, thumbing the tip and hoping it’d be your tongue swirling around it.

what would you look like on your knees, taking each inch of his cock down your throat? would he be able to wipe the defiance off your face? would he be able to fuck his smart student, dumb?

“you need a good destress, woman,” chō suggests over the phone, voice a bit uneven due to it being stuck in between her shoulder and ear, “go on camstar or something, i’m sure you’ll find something hot there.”

“chō, i am not going on a porn streaming website! i’ll very much settle for my smut fics, thank you.”

“boo, don’t you get bored? i get that normal adult industry videos are super inaccurate but . . when was the last time you’ve watched an unfiltered, unedited jerk off vid? that’s the hottest.”

you scoff, “yeah, like you would know, miss complain-whenever-you-get-dick-pics.”

“that’s because it’s unsolicited! plus all the men who send me pics have ugly dicks. if anything i’m more open to get unsolicited pussy pics rather than consensual dick pics at this point.” your friend nonchalantly says, spreading her fingers to look at her manicured nails, “but anyway, prof geto is on your ass too much lately. maybe he wants to get in your pants?”

you don’t recoil at the suggestion as much as you expect to and you’re puzzled at that — “please never say that again.” just as you’re saying this, you’re typing in camstar.org even though you told yourself not to but deep down, you know that you’ve been craving more than just twitter links and porn with plot stories. on the front page, you’re seeing a video thumbnail of a guy with a fairly big . . feature, countless tattoos lining his body while you can catch a faint glimpse of his long hair in the dark room — it’s the only one that draws you in, other streams merging into a blur.

chō’s voice fades off when you notice just how popular the stream is, cursor hovering over the title (“just a ramblefap, need to release some tension”) almost tempting you to click.

“okay, will get back to you,” succumbing to your needs, you shamelessly grab your vibrator just as she cheers into the phone. you can hear that’s my girl! on the other side as you stifle a smile, bidding a goodbye before you settle into bed. from there, you do what you always do: relax for a few, slow your breathing, get yourself wet a little—

click.

The stream you have attempted to view has ended a minute ago. We apologise for the inconvenience caused. View more livestreams below:

you shove the vibrator under your pillow and bury your head into it, screaming.

“i mentioned in yesterday’s lecture that Latin evolved from the dialects of the Italic peoples of ancient Italy, or Latium, a region in central western Italy. over time, Latin absorbed elements from other languages, such as Etruscan and Greek, and it became the main language of the western Mediterranean.” professor geto rambled on in classic geto fashion — it was his passion that made him so easy to listen to, as with the many enamoured girls with googly eyes and the guys who wish they could carry themselves the way geto did.

you’d say the same thing: his love for his subject of study made him attractive — charming even — as much as you didn’t want to admit to your friend, but you’d be more open with your attraction like everyone is if he wasn’t—

[9:52am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] so fucking annoying and cocky and picking on me all the time!!!!!! im soooo sick of him im so serious omfg ....

but today, he’s looking less at you and more at other students, or even marvelling at the terrible paint job of the classroom as he goes from slide to slide. he talks about the derivation in which French separates from Latin, borrowing similar spellings and meanings from the old language while separating the way they are spoken.

“French is the most divergent of the romance languages because of strong Gallic and Frankish influences. The Celtic Gauls spoke a language similar to Old Dutch but adopted Latin as the Romans invaded Gaul.” you don’t even have to look at him to get him thinking of lewd things, spiralling into his fantasies ever since last night. geto is a little fatigued, too, having lost sleep over his fucking student which he just can’t help bothering. excitement at having you in class before is now turning into dread with every week that passes, and this week is just one instance.

“uh— i-i know you guys aren’t well-versed in either, but with your knowledge of both languages,” geto pulls at his tie. he feels hot, “discuss with your tutorial groups, the differences between the two and list down examples. just come up with one difference, but preferably name a few instances.”

[10:01am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] wish u were here im so bored 😭😭 profs acting so weird today tho

[10:01am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] is he looking hot and bothered, nervous ??? like he wants to cry? im tellin you he wants you fr

of course she’d come out of her sickness-induced sleep just to bother you about him having the hots for you.

[10:02am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] you’re so ... i swear pls shut up he may want me but i do NOT want him

[10:03am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] not even while you were just ranting about how his side profile looked a little too good in lecture yesterday?? anyway i hope you’ll be able to get that nut tn 🙏🏼 that guy on camstar sounded hot asf

[10:04am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] ikr i cant believe i got cockblocked by a fuckin livestream ending 💀 thank you fr i need it atp

“any progress here?” he comes out behind you and you slam the phone so hard you give the both of you a scare while your other friends exchange giggles with each other. what you don’t know, is how his arm is positioned upon the back of your chair and his whole body hovers just beside yours. you’re threatened to look, but you know if you do, you’d be falling deeper into the pit that you promised yourself not to fall into.

“yup, we’re just discussing things about how in terms of grammar, French has conjugation but almost no declension. but— uh, it rather uses word order to express some of the intricacies that Latin expresses through word endings.”

you can see geto nod from your peripheral, “good. good answer, any examples to show me?”

your friends nod towards you since you’re usually the one with all the information about different languages. they aren’t foreign to the way geto keeps calling on you to answer him, too, so you shouldn’t have any problem with this, right?

wrong. you’re stuttering through your answer, turning your head finally and being met with the sight of prof geto looking down on you like a deer caught in headlights. you think that being in lecture theatres, sitting near to the back and your hatred in general has desensitised you to the beauty of your professor, because being under him like this makes your core pulse uncomfortably and your voice shaky.

“. . hm? what was that?”

“i was uhm— saying how— uh,” the way geto nods at you makes you more nervous, painting you as someone who someone who had all bark and no bite, but the other knows very well that you had a nasty bite. you’re smart and witty, pretty, hot as fuck, and if anything, it’s taking everything in geto not to bend you over and show you your place in this very classroom in front of everyone, too.

“little lady got nothin’ for me today?” geto purses his lips and lets his teasing side take over, an easy-going smile taking over his features that you just want to kiss and slap off at the same time. wait.

“i didn’t get enough sleep because i was too busy trying to rewrite the damn essay you said i had outdated and missing sources for,” you speak through gritted teeth, feeling a mixture of arousal and pure rage for the man hovering over you.

geto juts his lip out in a pout, face getting dangerously close to yours and challenging you. he just hopes your two friends won’t say anything, “well, darling, if you picked an easier topic to argue about, you wouldn’t be doing that, would you?”

“well, sorry i’m always trying to outdo myself. are you, professor geto? what with your boring suits and black and white slide designs?”

you click your tongue and turn back to your phone to pull up your chat with chō while geto takes a deep breath, desperately hoping the hard-on wouldn’t show through his slacks. your other two friends only giggle even more at the exchange, because for the rest of the class, professor geto is on edge, unable to teach coherently.

[11:17pm, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] YOU DID WHAAAAATTTTT...???? GIRL YOU SAID THAT???!!!!!!

[11:18pm, (y/n) -> chō 💟] bro what if i get expelled.. i shouldnt have but he was pissing me off so much... i did put an apology in the end tho

by then, you’ve already submitted your rewritten essay, putting in a short note at the end for your behaviour in class. although you don’t take it back, you’re still trying to play it safe especially with how much you paid to get into university. you scroll along camstar, bored out of your mind and hoping to find something as compelling as the inked guy from last week, but nothing really draws you in. until you’re refreshing the page, and just like the previous time, the popularity of that same bulking guy seems to push his video to the top.

and finally, before you’re clicking into the video, you check out his profile: in his early thirties, started this account when he was 24 and in university. you smack your lips at that — he’s been doing this for almost ten years? that’s dedication. in curiosity, you scroll down his account, seeing the progression of which this guy built up his figure and tattoos that litter his body. he’s kept the same format, camera showing his body chest down until you’re lazy to scroll more, a little disappointed in not being able to find any indication of his face.

you think that maybe you saw a glimpse of that wrist tattoo that matched the tattoo on your professor’s wrist, but you could just be imagining things.

“alright guys . .” the man on the screen huffs, clothes already discarded to get straight to the point, and you’re recording a small snippet of the same guy you told chō about. “had a rough day today.”

the onslaught of comments going i can make u feel better!!! Take ur anger out on me Uzumaki-san makes you sputter and laugh, sending that video first before you’re taking another. your attention is stolen for a moment, seeing chō react with emojis to your video message (“let’s see what emails i got today, huh?”), but the structure of sentences that the man speaks soon brings you out of jollity and into shock.

“how cute, an essay sent straight to my email.” geto wants to do anything but look at emails right now, but ever since he’s gotten your rewritten assignment, it’s all he’s wanted to check out if it wasn’t for the many meetings and errands he had to run today. “yadda yadda . . oh?”

“i’m sorry for today’s lesson,” purposely pausing to leave out his name, geto continues on, “i shouldn’t have reacted in that way no matter the situation.” a smirk forms on his face while your body fills with dread. in your panic, you pull up your own document whilst catching all of this on camera, tracking each word as the man on camstar.org continues to say out your apology word by word.

and then bit by bit, you’re making out how the man behind the camera might, just might be your linguistics professor. the broad shoulders, the jawline, the long hair, the manspread . .

but even with your heightened combination of excitement and revelation, you don’t click away, blindly sending the video to your friend and then shamefully digging under your pillow to grab your vibrator.

“teaching people is so difficult sometimes, guys,” he grunts, pulling down his underwear and revealing his already hard cock. he lets out a shaky sigh as he wraps a hand around his shaft, “you usually get the people who won’t do any work, the ones who are absent half the time — usually they go hand in hand.”

professor geto laughs and you twitch at the lovely sound. “but . . there’s this one girl . . in my classes— f-fuck.”

you’re entranced, watching your professor masturbate in front of thousands of people who possibly didn’t know a thing about this man while you try to get your jaw off the floor, “who is entirely different from these categories.”

“she’s smart,” geto groans out and you watch transfixed as he starts to pump himself, hips grinding up into his palm, “she’s so smart that i’d want to get to know her one day and just talk about anything.”

“s-she’s so fucking attractive, too, you guys won’t even— oh goddd . .” you feel like you’re being watched, so you’re careful with how you’re putting your vibrator to your core and once you start it, the moan that leaves you lines up with geto’s deeper groans. it turns you on so damn much.

with his head tilted back, he’s long gone as he moves his hands faster and faster, the slick noises of his pre-cum and spit mixing in together — geto only wishes he could act on his desires once the course was over, but knows you’ll probably be mortified at the prospect. at least here, he can imagine that it’s your mouth or cunt doing all the work.

“s-shitttt . .” the professor sounds out, hissing when he thumbs his tip and even more pre comes spilling out and while you watch, you’re hypnotised by the beautiful moans in its perfect cadence and the thickness of his cock. by now his chest is heaving and he’s holding onto his bedsheets so tight you wish it was your thighs.

“i want to fuck her silly, fuck all of those stupid facts out of her head and get her dumb on my cock,” geto whines, hips fully bucking up now while you press your vibrator deeper into your clit. you’re left wondering how his mouth would feel, to shut him up by pressing him into your cunt until he can’t breathe, soak his stupid fucking suits, “want to hear her moan my name.”

you whimper at all the things professor geto swears he wants to do to you, grinding into your hand while he speeds up as well. he doesn’t speak, simply stroking himself as he thighs tense up and he squeezes his shaft with head full of visions of you in terribly lewd positions, making disgusting sounds, and all for him. it isn’t long before geto cums with a loud drawn out moan, shooting his cum onto his torso with a sigh before taking a sticky hand to his lips, licking it off — “i’d want to see my cum dripping out of her one day.”

that sends a chill down to your core, biting your pillow before you release softly all over your hand and vibrator; you spend the rest of the night watching professor geto’s other videos.

[12:32am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] oh. OH..........

“i should’ve just taken an off-day today, i do not want to get back our results.” chō rubs at her eyes and temples, wanting anything to do with the return of test marks, but unfortunately it was the week after midterms and it was inevitable, “don’t need to ask you though, you’re probably not worried at all.”

“trust me, i am,” you bite the inside of your cheek. it’s been at least . . two weeks after that whole debacle, and despite your intense vents with your friend and the continuous picking on by prof. geto, nothing out of the blue was happening. except, maybe, your growing physical need for your professor and your simultaneous, increasing hatred for him.

“it’s only midterms — you don’t need to worry too much since it doesn’t contain a high percentage. what you should be focusing on are your finals. we’ll work on your shortcomings and mistakes here so you guys will do the best when the time comes.”

and when professor geto comes around to hand you your test, all you do is glare up through your lids, taking it from him before feeling your whole world crumble.

“a B+?!” your mouth gapes open at the blatant 65/100 mark that glares back at you. you know that you would’ve gotten anything but a 65, willing yourself to study harder and harder just to rub it in his pretty little face that you weren’t falling behind in his class. at this point it’s got to be personal, so soon, you’re packing up your things angrily with the intent to storm his office after your other classes.

it’s late in the afternoon when you finally finish your other tutorials on a short fuse, him clearly getting ready to head home by the darkness of his office when you shove your way through the door.

professor geto is sat in a laid-back position, tie hung on the hooks installed in the office and a few buttons are unbuttoned, revealing the very familiar tattoos you’ve become acquainted with.

“to who do i owe the pleasure?”

“cut the crap, prof.,” you scowl, using your foot to slam the office door close. despite the late nights being buried in your sheets, you won’t let yourself be treated like this, “i deserved anything but a 65 on midterms.”

geto tilts his head, sitting up and gesturing out to you; you realise he wants to see your test paper.

“ah!” with a finger, he makes a show of finding for your obvious mistakes which was minimal — but the way he marks obnoxiously tells you everything you need to know, “here. your comprehension of the similarities between Latin and Ancient Greek was too surface level, you didn’t explain why—”

“i. did!” you press down into the paper like the first time, leaning over his table and reading out the exact answer you wrote just a few days ago, “here, since your blind ass wants to act like i wasn’t answering the question.” you push yourself into his desk more, eyes levelled with his. you dare him to say something smart.

“well, your explanation of the six cases in Latin left out the locative, the last one, and there were some problems in the conjugation that the test asked of you.”

“bullshit. show me, if you’re so confident.”

professor geto knows he’s hit a dead-end. he was telling lies, full of it, but he’s enjoying every second of the anger that translates into your features, of the growl in your voice. he leans back further the more you close in on him.

“nothing, right? so tell me, do you hate me that much?”

geto simply laughs, crossing his arms and reminiscing on the many nights he’s spent doing anything but.

“quite the opposite, sweetheart.” the name catches you off-guard for a moment, but your sour face returns soon enough.

“then what the fuck do you think you’re doing, picking endlessly on a student?”

your professor sits forward, prompting you to cower back. you think it’d be good to bring up whatever he’s got going on on camstar.org but you’ll wait to a good moment before you say anything about your trump card, until geto snaps you out of your stupor by towering over you. the sheer difference makes you swallow.

“because i like seeing you flared up and angry and mad.” professor geto surprises you with each second, the nonchalance in which he said it, the stupid, attractive smirk on his face. now’s the time.

you compose yourself, thinking of the best way to phrase this, “you know you’re not entirely safe, either, you know. i could report you with the frequency in which you’re picking on me.”

you point a finger to his chest, thinking you could get him to lay off immediately with this as much as you were hoping he wouldn’t. the attention was unwarranted but not entirely . . terrible, “that wouldn’t look so good on your record, right, Uzumaki-san?”

you relish in the surprise that seeps into geto’s pretty features but it’s a short-lived victory when he goes back into a relaxed state, expression neutral — “so you know.”

“know . . what?” your professor pulls away and walks around his desk, finally in close proximity to you like he’s always wished.

“how badly i want you.” he whispers, but doesn’t go past that, rather letting you figure everything out for yourself.

“‘. . fuck her silly, fuck all of those stupid facts out of her head’, right?” you mumble softly, not admitting to even chō that you had watched that livestream over and over enough to memorise the few sentences. geto wraps an arm around your waist to tug you closer, faces so close that you could just shut him up.

“go on.”

“you want me to go dumb on your cock,” professor geto mutters a correct which undeniably sends a thrill to your core.

“you want to hear me to moan your name.” “—want to hear her moan my name.”

a small smile spreads across his face (even if you left out the most important thing) as he finishes his own sentence with you, eyes clouded over with lust and your scent and he’s positive he can smell your soaked panties from here if he tries hard enough.

“that’s right.”

“sooo . .” by god, you fucking hated the man, but seeing someone stroke their cock to just the thought of you — how could you pass off such a good opportunity? “do you prefer professor geto, or suguru?”

geto groans at his first name usage, setting you on his desk and presses himself into you at the sound of papers flying to the floor, stationary falling to the ground. he can only hope no one walks in. he’s fully hard, loving how your legs naturally spread for him.

“whatever you want, baby.” and after, it’s all history with the way geto crashes his lips into yours, letting you pull at his jacket and shirt, practically ripping open the buttons to see his tattoos that you’re begging to see. slowly, he lets you trace them while he kisses down your neck, roughly pulling your sweater off of you. you have the cutest tits, packaged nicely in your bra which he has no trouble taking off. there’s a small sound that escapes his mouth when he unclasps your bra and your breasts come falling out.

“didn’t tell me you had such a nice pair . .” you giggle.

“yeah, like i would straight up tell my professor that.” with a hand, your hand follows the ink of his dragon that wraps around his body and torso, right down to his happy trail, “but i mean, you get the honour of seeing it now.”

with a squeeze to his bulge, you whisper, “maybe i’ll let you fuck them next time.”

geto lets out a little moan, “fucking minx,” before he latches his mouth onto your nipple, kneading the other greedily. a soft moan leaves your mouth as you knead his erection, a culmination of your combined groans in the quiet office. soon he’s giving attention to the other, a hand trailing down into your panties where he rubs your clit to test the waters, and he smiles into your skin at the way your hand falters and your head hangs forward.

“p-professor . .” it’s clear geto can’t wait, because he pushes a finger into you easily with how dripping wet you are, panties showing a dark patch of your juices. “s— so thick—”

“i know, baby, gotta stretch you out,” a soft pop! is heard as he comes off your nipple before he meets your lips in a sloppy kiss. he shoves his tongue into your mouth the moment he pushes a second finger in and he swallows your moans, letting you feel around his body to dig your nails in — it was just too damn much.

“so— suguru, your f-fingers, they’re so—” even with your protests, your hips grind up against his thick fingers that are pumping in and out of you, taking every last piece of fire in you as you succumb completely.

“what, miss (y/n)?” geto memorises the exact way all your previous blazing words are reduced to mere mewls and whimpers, alongside your pleas for more, more, more.

“i need something—” you whine when he pushes all the way inside, stretching your cunt so well as you clench around him like a vice and sucking him in, “i wanna make you feel good—”

you get at least a little resolve in the time it took you to say that, drunkenly unbuckling his belt before pulling his cock out. his tip is positively leaking, fingers curling instinctively in your pussy and your moans mingle together again.

“c’mon, prof, please?” geto tuts, reluctantly removing his fingers from your cunt which he wish he could spend more of his time in, but gives in to you as you switch positions, pushing him against his own desk. from there you’re going to your knees, marvelling at the cock you’ve watched on your very own screen.

“better than you imagined?”

you roll your eyes, “shut up or i’m blue-balling you.”

geto exhales forcefully, cut off when you put your mouth gently over his tip. you suckle on it like a pacifier, swirling your tongue around the mushroom head and looking up at him through your lashes; the sight is heavenly. the hair from his bun had fallen out, framing his pleasure-filled face, and the veins on his arms pop out so much from how harshly he’s grabbing the wood.

“f-fuck, baby . .” his words are lost once you start bobbing your head, encasing his shaft deep in your mouth as you suck and lick and slobber over his thick cock, using your hands to stroke the places you can’t reach. a choked moan weasels itself out of geto when one of your hands deviate to play with his balls, squeezing lightly at the sack while you continue to lick the underside of his length.

“take me like a slut, don’t you?” geto says breathlessly, fingers going through your hair to gather the strands into a makeshift ponytail, cradling your head to guide your mouth, but he soon starts to thrust into your waiting mouth.

“want me to fuck your dirty whore mouth?” your professor asks and you hate how much it turns you on as he brings you off to let you breathe for a moment. you stick out your tongue, big doe eyes just pleading to be used as your hands anchor themselves down to his belt loops.

“y—yes, prof., give me everything you got,” geto hums, seemingly satisfied with your answer as he taps your tongue with his tip, cock so heavy and thick it makes you whine a little before he shoves it in without warning. the moan that rumbles deep in your throat sends vibrations up his body and he starts a pace immediately.

“that’s it, that’s it—” you breathe through your nose as geto face fucks you, two hands covering the back of your head as he thrusts into your throat. your mouth’s just so damn warm and tight it has geto groaning non-stop while your eyes start to well up with tears. he uses you like a cocksleeve, abusing your throat each time his tip meets with it.

“fuuuckk— yes, yes, your throat’s so—” geto tilts his head back when he buries his cock in you, the deepest he’s ever been and your nose meets with his pubes, the smell of his musk and sweat making your eyes roll back in pleasure. suguru is all grunts before moving again, the gagging, gawking noises filling the small space.

“mmhm— mmf!” you moan around his length, trying your best to move your tongue along the underside of his cock. a hand goes down to quell the growing need of your cunt, slipping a finger or two in.

“dirty girl just can’t think straight when she has a— s-shit— cock in her, huh?”

you hum in agreement, eyes fluttering when you feel his tip twitch in your mouth and geto spills right into your throat with a long moan. your lids flutter close, taking as much cum as you can before coming off with a deep breath. strings of his cum and your saliva connect you to his cock, the lewdness of it all showing clearly in how sloppily you sucked your professor off.

“open.” and you show your tongue still full of his cum, taking the opportunity to lean down to let a ball of spit fall from his mouth. it drops painfully slow to your tongue, closing it only when you hear the rasp of swallow, “good girl.”

“think i’ve kept you waiting for too long, need to be in you,” geto brings you up by your upper arms, propping you up nicely onto his desk where you already start to leak into the wood, “do you want me to be in you?”

“only if you promise to stop picking on me, prof.,” you pout. really, a changed girl once you get some cock, huh?

“but you’re too cute not to bother, baby.” your pout deepens and geto feels a tug on his heart. oh, you were too adorable, knowing you’d kill him the next time he mentions this. he hopes they’ll be a next time.

“i mean it, suguru,” you murmur as he uses his tip to play with your juices, smearing it around your cunt. “treat me like a proper person.”

“can i at least treat you like a slut behind closed doors?”

you bit your lip, he’s asking for a next time, and who are you to reject him?

“whatever you want, professor,” you wiggle your hips along his cock, hoping for some friction which he grants to you with no problem, “use me. treat me like your cum dump.”

geto hisses at your tightness and your words as he bottoms out in you. he’s had your pussy once and already cannot get enough of you, moaning each time he moves in and out of your cunt. your walls hug him so snugly, sucking his cock in endlessly.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . your pussy’s so fuckin’— good—” he grunts into your ears, hips starting to thrust slowly into you. he swears he can see you in your tummy, asking you to look down, “look at how deep i am in you, sweetheart.”

you moan at just how big he was as you glance down, but you’re more focused on the way your pussy spreads for him, the cute veins on his length as he moves in you. you’re leaking so much that it’s effortlessly, the way he rams into you.

“sugu— suguru . . mmfuck—” geto groans upon feeling you rub your clit, your own hips bucking needily into his own as your juices start to drip down his balls. this was everything that he hoped would happen; your features morphed into pleasure, you descending into stupidity just from some dick, feeling your pussy, finally.

“hear yourself?” your professor proposes the question and you’re confused for a moment until he slows down and you whine at the sudden change, brought to attention just how soaking you were. the soft shlick, shlick, shlick sounds take your breath away, as with the translucent sheen of your juices coating his cock.

there, your professor resumes his pace, “hear how fuckin’ sloppy this pussy is for me. listen to her,” your senses are all overwhelmed: by how he hits all your sweet spots, the sweat on your back, your fast-beating heart and you let out a mangled whimper, “yesss . . that’s what i like to hear.”

geto smirks at how you can’t even answer, picking up his pace into a regular one. with his cock buried deep in you, you have no choice but to let your body move with his thrusts, jerking each time his balls meet your ass noisily.

“is this what the little lady needed? just some professor cock to get her to not be so damn uptight!”

“y—yessss . .” you’re delirious, “yesyesyes, suguru!” you squeal when he holds your legs up and pushes your legs into your chest, tongue lolling out at the deepness that he was in you.

“fucking slut,” geto mumbled, hips turning sloppy with fatigue taking over, but your cunt was just too good to stop, “where d’you want me to cum, baby?” he knows you’ll answer how he wants you to, especially after watching his livestream—

“i-inside— inside, pleaseplease,” the circles on your clit are messy, now, chasing your high more than ever, but your pussy is grasping onto him like a vice, prompting groans deep from his throat. “want your cum dripping out of me, prof—”

those words alone has geto shooting his load with a strangled grunt, switching to shallow, quick thrusts to pump you full of his cum. it comes out in hot, thick spurts, filling your insides more and more until it spills out the sides and you follow soon after, whole body convulsing from the intense orgasm you can’t stop shaking violently.

“take it— that’s it, attagirl,” he whines out, stroking his length to make sure you’re getting every last drop out of him, “take all my cum . .”

geto is sure he’s getting old by the way he feels lightheaded, having had to hold onto the edge of the table for a minute — but in that 60 seconds you’ve stumbled off the table and laid your chest over it, perking your ass up where your pussy continues to leak hot, white cum.

your professor takes one good look at your ass, hands going up to knead at them and spreads your cheeks. with his tongue, he eats his cum out of you, making your jerk at the sensitivity.

“oops, i’ve cleaned you up of my cum — guess i gotta give you a couple more loads,” geto props a leg up, eating you out, “it’s only right since my brightest student has suffered so much at my hands . .”

tagging @arminsumi @shidouryusm @suguruplsr @crysugu @slttygeto @suget @sonarspace @marimogf @hannzai <3 ok gn

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solavita · 1 month ago

Text

ultraviolence — sylus (l&d)

pairing ; sylus x fem!reader

words ; 4.0k

synopsis ; you were married to sylus because of an arranged pact he had with your father. and it seemed as if there was nothing you could do to get his attention.

warning(s) ; smut (18+), darkish themes, mentions of crime, mentions of sex, power play, manipulation/power dynamics, THIGH RIDING, themes of voyeurism and mild exhibitionism, fake relationship (basically), arranged marriage.

chapter ; 1/? (i might write more if ppl want it)

a/n ; i'm new to this fandom . . . . sorry if my lore isn't correct but also um. yeah! hi. sylus brainworms.

You were convinced that you were going to be in this golden cage forever.

Ever since you had been married off to the leader of Onlychinus for your family to exchange your life for a significant amount of money for their access to exclusive protocores, you hadn’t had much of a life of your own besides the four walls of the huge mansion where you now resided. Sure, you were given a life of luxury that almost no one in the N109 would even dream of having, and you had more money than you would ever need, but the one thing that you wanted seemed so abysmal for a person like you. You’d always been primed to be sold off to the highest bidder and yet for some reason you thought the man you would’ve married would at least be there.

But the only time you saw your husband was the meal in the morning and the meal at night, sometimes not even then. It was like he was keen on pretending that you didn’t exist, and it was beginning to drive you insane. This was not how you wanted your life to be for the future, no matter how many ‘gifts’ he seemed to give you while he was courting you, or how the servants were forever indebted to you. Was he seeing someone else? He was gone for long hours, sometimes into the night . . . Was he truly just not interested in you?

It made your blood boil. Your blood pressure was at an all time high whenever you even began to think about it.

You were friends with multiple women that you had known since birth, all daughters of the N109 zone’s elite — another name for the most influential criminals. They had all been married for longer than you, fawning over the praise and the love and attention they got from their husbands. What made you even more rageful was when they would talk about what their husbands were like in bed, always asking you what Sylus was like. After all, your wedding to him was something that made history and the gossip that surrounded you for being the woman who would get to share his bed was at an all time high. It had been two weeks since you had been married, they were itching to get even an ounce of gossip to go back and tell their families about.

You sipped on your glass of wine, flicking at a feather that had fallen out of the intricate laces of your bodice, trying to come up with some type of deflection to get them to stop asking so many questions. “Oh, you know Sylus, he doesn’t like to have his personal life talked about,” you chided, hoping that the threat of being in his bad favor would get them to cease. Instead, it made them lean in closer, one of the younger girls giggling.

“Come on. We won’t tell. Tell us, Y/N, what’s going on under all that black clothing? I just know he’s given you a good time,” She said in a hushed whisper. “We were surprised you could even walk when you came to the club today. The honeymoon phase is the most intense, you know.”

You were fucked.

How were you supposed to tell your closest friends that your wonderful husband has probably looked at you a total of five times (twice at your wedding) since you had been married? How he seems to act as if you are just another person that he can use for his whim whenever he wants to? You were certain that you didn’t even know anything about him. And he was the person you were supposed to be sharing the rest of your life with? It was infuriating. So infuriating that you eventually came up with a reason why you had to come home, having your driver come to pick you up and take you back to your shared mansion, your insufferable golden cage.

You huffed, opening the door and shutting it with a ferocity you were not even aware you had, slamming down your handbag onto the grand table in the middle of the hall. You began to fiddle with the clasps of one of your golden bracelets. It was dark inside the house, as there was no need for all the lights to be on when there were never any guests here besides your husband's workers anyways.

“Touchy.”

You turned on your heel to the source of the voice, being met with the figure of your husband leaning against the doorframe. He was still wearing his outside clothing, like he just got back home himself. Dark black leathers with maroon tinged undertones colliding with the paleness of his skin, silver hair neatly pushed back. Sylus stood there, his presence commanding even in the dimly lit hallway. His unreadable eyes — piercing and cold — scanned you briefly before a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t inviting. It was something else entirely. Something that made your stomach tighten with a mix of frustration and unease.

“You’re home,” you said curly, your voice laced with the irritation you didn’t bother to hide. “What a rare occurrence.”

Sylus arched an eyebrow. He cocked his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I could say the same about you. Didn’t expect you back so soon from your little gathering." Your heart skipped a beat at the way his words lingered, his tone deceptively casual. He knew. He always knew. You hated how he could so easily pull the ground out from under you.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” you lied smoothly, resuming your struggle with the clasp. Thought it better to come home early.”

“Ah,” he said, stepping closer, invading your personal space that you were unsure was even yours anymore. “Funny, though. Your friends seemed to be having a . . . lively discussion about me. Or should I say, us?”

Your hands stilled entirely, the bracelet slipping from your fingers, clinking loudly onto the table. “What are you talking about?” You asked as you shot him a glare. You assumed that he would know where you were at all times — being as controlling as he was over his assets — but there was no inclination that he would know what you were talking about. Did he always know what you were talking about with your friends? Or an even better question, how did he know?

"They’re quite the curious little group, aren’t they? Asking all sorts of... intimate questions."

Heat crept up your neck, a mix of anger and humiliation. You couldn’t believe that you were being cornered over something that wasn’t even your idea to bring up in the first place. And furthermore you couldn’t believe that he was willing to bring it up in the first place. It wasn’t as though he seemed to care about intimacy anyways. “It’s none of their business,” you snapped, meeting his gaze despite the flush blooming in your cheeks. “And it’s certainly none of yours.”

“Oh, but it is my business,” he countered smoothly, his tone almost teasing. “After all, they’re speculating about me, aren’t they? Wondering what kind of husband I am. Whether I’ve been . . .” He paused, allowing for the words to simmer. “. . . attentive.”

Your jaw clenched. He was enjoying this. Watching you squirm under his scrutiny. “If you’re so worried about appearances, maybe you should try actually being here once in a while,” you shot back, though your voice betrayed the faintest tremor. “Then people wouldn’t have to wonder.”

He chuckled. “Oh, Y/N,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You’re fiery tonight. I almost prefer you like this.” He leaned in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “But let’s not pretend you’re worried about appearances. You’re angry because you don’t know. Isn’t that right?”

You hated how his words cut so intricately through you, like he knew exactly what to say to make you even more irritated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, though your voice betrayed you as it was barely above a whisper.

“No?” His gaze dipped to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to your eyes, his smirk softening into something more . . . calculated. “Then why are you blushing?”

You took a step back, desperate to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation. “You’re insufferable,” you snapped, crossing your arms across the bodice of your dress in an attempt to shield yourself from his penetrating gaze. The anger in your chest burned hotter, fueled by his smugness, his cryptic remarks, and the undeniable pull he seemed to have over you. You stormed upstairs to your room, your heels clicking angrily against the polished floor.

The nerve of him. He’d come home, cornered you with your own frustrations, teased you to the point of boiling over, and acted as if none of it mattered. As though you didn’t matter. The gall of the man was enough to make your blood boil — and yet, you couldn’t stop the way your heart was pounding or the heat that lingered on your skin from his proximity.

You hated him for that.

You hated him for making you feel anything at all.

—

You barely got any sleep last night. It was partially because of your encounter with your husband, but also because you decided it was time to devise a plan. You would make him cave into desperation for you. You would wear your most frilliest, most revealing nightgowns to breakfast in the mornings. You’d make yourself look more appealing than ever, makeup done every day, hair perfect. Anything to make him cave first.

You woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. But it was no matter, you had a plan now, and you weren’t going to back down. If Sylus wanted to play games, you were going to make sure you played to win. Your reflection stared back at you, confident and calculated, a far cry from the simmering frustration of the night before. Your nightgown was a delicate thing, soft and sheer, with intricate lace that hinted at everything underneath but revealed just enough to spark curiosity. It was utterly impractical, especially for breakfast, but that was precisely the point.

You smoothed a hand over the silky fabric and inspected your work one last time. Hair perfectly styled, lips painted a tempting shade, and just the faintest touch of perfume — enough to linger without overwhelming your target.

Sylus was already there, seated at the head of the table, his posture relaxed as he sipped his morning coffee. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, his red eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked over you. For a fraction of a second, his gaze lingered on your nightgown, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. It was small enough that perhaps he thought you wouldn’t notice. But you had a long history of deciphering men’s faces. You suppressed a smile.

Got him.

“Good morning,” you greeted, your tone light and airy as you took your seat across the table at the other head, like it was a normal morning. Except this time, you made a point to adjust your nightgown enough to reveal the expanse of your collarbone.

“Good morning,” he replied, his voice steady, though his gaze was sharpened. He set his coffee down and leaned back in his chair, studying you with a look that was equal parts amused and intrigued. “You’re up early.”

You sighed, like it was something trivial. “Couldn’t sleep,” you said breezily, reaching for a piece of fruit. You took a small bite, ensuring your movements were slow and deliberate, before glancing at him through your lashes. “Thought I’d make the most of the morning.”

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your pulse quicken. “I see,” he said finally. He picked up his fork, his movements as calm and deliberate as ever, but there was a tension in his shoulders that definitely hadn’t been there before.

Checkmate.

He could act indifferent all he wanted, but the flicker of tension in his demeanor told you everything you needed to know. This was only the beginning.

You’d make him cave. You’d make him desperate. And you wouldn’t stop until you had the upper hand.

—

Two weeks passed, and your efforts to make Sylus cave felt like a maddening exercise in futility. Despite your nightgowns, your perfectly styled hair, and your flawlessly applied makeup, Sylus remained infuriatingly stoic. He seemed to notice, oh yes—his lingering glances and occasional tightening of his jaw betrayed that much—but he never faltered. Never gave you the satisfaction of knowing you’d cracked his facade.

You were at your wit’s end.

That’s when the idea struck you: if he refused to react in private, you’d force his hand in public. You didn’t hesitate. Tonight, you’d wear the most scandalous dress you owned and make your presence impossible to ignore. Sylus had mentioned during breakfast that he had a meeting with some of his “business partners” in the main study. You knew what that meant: the criminals who operated under his shadow, men who thrived on power and weren’t subtle about their vices. If Sylus wasn’t going to crack under your teasing in private, maybe he’d crack in public — especially with prying eyes.

The dress you chose was bold, scandalous even. The deep red fabric hugged your curves in a way that felt almost indecent, with a neckline that plunged daringly low and a slit up the side that revealed more than enough leg. You paired it with high heels that clicked against the polished floors as you made your way to the study, your heart pounding in anticipation.

The room fell silent the moment you stepped inside.

Sylus was seated at the head of the table, his silver eyes snapping to you instantly. The men seated around him — a motley crew of hardened faces and expensive suits — turned as one to look at you, their gazes lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. But you didn’t falter. You walked in as if you owned the room, pretending not to notice the way their stares burned into you.

“Y/N,” Sylus said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the thick silence. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” you said sweetly, placing a hand on the back of one of the chairs as you leaned slightly forward. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you, but you kept your focus on Sylus. “I was just looking for a book. Thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

One of the men let out a low whistle, and another chuckled under his breath. “That’s quite the dress for a library run,” one of them remarked, his tone dripping with suggestion. “Sylus, I didn’t know you were keeping such… exquisite company.” The room erupted into muted laughter, and you saw the way Sylus’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white where his hand gripped the armrest of his chair. His gaze flickered to the man who’d spoken, then back to you, and for the first time in weeks, you saw something crack in his composure.

Sylus stood, his movements slow and deliberate as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. “We'll continue this discussion later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. The men exchanged glances but nodded, rising from their seats and filing out of the room. A few cast lingering looks in your direction, but one sharp glare from Sylus sent them hurrying on their way.

When the door finally closed behind them, the silence was deafening.

“Do you have any idea who those men are? What they could’ve said — what they could’ve done — if I wasn’t there?” His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. Finally, he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re trying to provoke me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it’s working.”

The way that he was looking at you, like you were prey, was something that you knew you should cower under. This was when he expected for you to give it up, but with all the frustration that you had over almost a month of being with him, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. He walked up to you, pinning you between the door and himself, ever so imposing, like he was trying to make you cower. Instead, you looked right back up at him, your eyes meeting him, almost begging him to do something. Anything. Sylus’ hand came up in between the two of you, his fingers toying with the expensive fabric of your dress, so close to your chest. And then, in the split of a second, that same hand came to your throat, forcing you to look up at him, showing you that there was no way of getting out of his trap now. Or was it your trap? You weren’t sure.

Sylus pressed his chest to your own, hand on your throat squeezing ever so slightly, fingers clinging against the expanse of your neck. You could feel his wedding ring dig into your skin, a stark reminder that this was the man that you married. You waited for him to say something, to break the imposing silence that immersed the two of you. He slotted his knee in between your legs, pressing right up against the place where you wanted him the most.

You gave him a look, a look of hesitation or confusion, you weren’t sure.

He chuckled.

“Well, you wanted me, didn’t you?” He asked, a condescending tone that made you want to rip your hair out. He pressed his knee even higher up, the friction of your panties and his clothed knee making you almost whine. “Then use me. Since you want to dress like that.”

You stared, much like a deer in headlights.

And then it hit you.

Oh. Oh.

He wanted you to use his thigh.

The realization struck you like lightning, and your breath hitched in your throat. It was his trap. One that you’d walked into oh so willingly, and yet somehow still managed to underestimate. His knee pressed against you again, and you felt your cheeks flush, heat pooling in your core despite the anger and frustration that still simmered beneath the surface.

“Well?” Sylus prompted, his voice low and dangerously calm, his fingers tightening slightly around your throat. “I’m waiting.”

Your pride screamed at you to push him away, to refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this, but your body betrayed you. The closeness, the tension, the weeks of pent-up frustration — all of it coiled inside you, leaving you trembling and unsure whether you wanted to slap him or give in to him completely. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you moved instinctively, your hips shifting ever so slightly, testing the friction against his knee. His smirk deepened, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he watched you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with condescension. His free hand moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he guided you, forcing your hips to rock against him. “That’s it. Don’t be shy now. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, half in resistance and half in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. The sensations were overwhelming, every movement sending sparks through your body. You hated the way he was watching you—like he was completely in control, like he knew exactly how this would end. “You’re insufferable,” you managed to hiss, though your voice lacked the venom you intended.

“And yet,” he said, his tone soft but cutting, “here you are, doing exactly what I tell you to.” The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your frustration melting into something darker, something you couldn’t deny anymore. Your movements became more deliberate, your breath hitching as you gave in, letting the friction build with every slow, grinding motion. You had purposely worn underwear that was barely there under this dress, and now it was your kryptonite, the friction of his clothed knee, the way you were practically bare grinding against him, the way his other hand guided you with such ease. You were beginning to feel dumb, your head lolling against the door as you chased the high that you had been wanting for what seems forever.

You couldn’t even listen to what he was saying, something about you being so good for him, so malleable like this, how he should’ve done this sooner if this is what got you under control. You didn’t care, whimpering and closing your eyes, a conglomerate of his name and swears leaving your mouth. His hand left your throat, where you were sure were bruises, and instead came to join the other on your waist, setting an impossible pace to make you reach that orgasm that you so desperately wanted. It was so much friction it hurt, but you kept chasing it. You dropped your head down to lean against his chest, and sure enough, you saw the embarrassingly large wet patch that you had created on his dress pants. The seam of your panties got wetter as you moved, the pain of the friction all melting into your pleasure.

“Beg me,” he ordered, much like how he commanded any space that he was in.

You shook your head, not willing to give in. Even though you were practically the one who lost this game anyway. “No.” You said as he pulled you back and forth, your hips bucking as your legs began to shake. You were sure that if he wasn’t holding you up, you would’ve fallen to the floor.

“Beg me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll stop.”

“No, don’t — Sylus, don’t stop —”

“You want to cum? Then ask nicely. Just ask me and I’ll make it all better.”

You could feel tears begin to prick in your eyes, the pleasure becoming too much. You were so close, just about to reach that edge, and yet his hands began to slow down. You whined, your hands pushing against his chest, which was to no avail. You were so fucking close, your hair you had perfectly crafted sticking to your face in a hot sweat.

“Fuck, fine. Please, help me cum, please, oh fuck.”

And just like that, he continued the unruly pace, his head bowing into your neck, a mixture of lips and teeth meeting your skin. That was what did it for you, your legs squeezing his as you shook through every single second of your orgasm. You could feel every piece, every ounce of your essence in it. Your hearing went fuzzy, sighing, eyes rolling open as you tried to come back to yourself. Your hand was pressed against his chest, fingers creasing the black fabric of his dress shirt.

When your eyes finally met his, you couldn’t look away. And Sylus? He looked at you as if he had won some type of prize. You were too exhausted to be angry though, your defiance nowhere to be seen.

“I didn’t even touch you,” he spoke, with a tsk. “You’re such a needy wife.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Sylus was pushing away from you, causing you to lean your entire body against the door. His eyes scanned your face and then he was leaving out the door on the other side of the room, leaving you there.

Leaving you to miss his touch.

And it was then that you realized it was his game all along.

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