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gojonanami · 9 months

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❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ 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, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,”

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness.

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks.

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there.

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall.

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large.

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture.

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt.

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out.

You got a B.

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88.

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds.

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare.

Academia was truly hell.

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,”

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly.

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—”

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?”

“I am, I wanted to—”

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—”

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?”

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze, “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,”

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—”

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,”

“I wasn’t—”

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,”

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—”

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.”

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease.

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist.

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin.

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?).

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do.

“See you soon.”

Oh, he would.

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours.

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to.

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it.

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?”

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip.

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal.

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside.

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—”

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,”

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,”

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—”

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,”

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle.

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall.

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,”

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,”

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,”

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs.

“You learn fast.”

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism.

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again.

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it.

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top.

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck—

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good.

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought.

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss—

And you clearly needed sleep.

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it).

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’”

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action.

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you.

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you.

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—”

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?”

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—”

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch.

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—”

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?”

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck.

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—”

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,”

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.”

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm.

What the fuck was that?

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up.

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working.

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you—

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you?

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade.

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory—

And then you heard him say your name—

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?”

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together.

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him.

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall.

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream.

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—”

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today — and a deep royal purple one no less, “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here.

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head.

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed.

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,”

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,”

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together.

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment.

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,”

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom.

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves—

What the fuck were you doing?

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor.

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—).

You needed to stop doing that.

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right?

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment.

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he.

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back—

But why did his smile look so strained?

There must be something wrong with him.

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you.

Why had he stopped you?

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands.

But this, this felt different.

You were different.

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism.

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile.

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm — but not the one he was looking for.

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you—

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?”

And it was you.

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips.

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?”

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,”

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease, “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?”

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

“I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,”

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?”

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?”

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,”

“No, but—”

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it.

And he didn’t want to pull away.

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—”

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?”

“But—”

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,”

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire.

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?”

And there’s only one answer — you.

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours—

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there.

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together.

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager?

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you.

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM.

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you.

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him.

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind.

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better.

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face.

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you.

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,”

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip.

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard.

Fuck.

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office.

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms.

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped.

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings.

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to?

It was that time again.

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart.

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board — his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name.

God. Fuck.

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes.

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear?

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes.

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?”

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,”

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips.

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—”

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,”

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high.

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up.

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture.

Double fuck.

Why was this so difficult?

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore.

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting.

But you didn’t know how to go in.

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him.

Or wouldn’t.

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it.

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?”

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?”

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?”

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?”

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword.

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross.

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there.

“But?” You wait for it.

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,”

You pause a moment, “Really?”

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,”

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his?

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,”

Your breath catches, “Really?”

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,”

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take.

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,”

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises.

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—”

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,”

He stares, “What do you—”

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,”

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?”

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—”

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,”

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,”

“I would say it depends,”

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk.

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?”

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—”

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,”

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips.

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more.

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?”

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again.

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.”

~~~~

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore.

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks?

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations.

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head.

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you.

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.”

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples.

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave.

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good.

Maybe it was for the best.

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with.

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all?

Oh, great, you were becoming existential.

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best.

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike.

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile.

“I prefer fashionably late,�� and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn.

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?”

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?”

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’”

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,”

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,”

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?”

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page:

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this.

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction.

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?”

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,”

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin.

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow.

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,”

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,”

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again.

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,”

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly.

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,”

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips.

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,”

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?”

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?”

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned.

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—”

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested —

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in.

Fuck, indeed.

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru imagines #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dividers by @/saradika

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opens-up-4-nobody · 1 year

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...

#sigh... i just feel i could learn so much easier if i didnt get distracted by my thoughts every 5min #i dont even kno how it happens. i kno that i do it and so im like ok im gonna pay attention and not think things at the same time #but then my brain starts talking and my attention gets divided and then suddenly i blink and realized i dont kno the context for whatever #was being said. how? how does that happen? and whats worse is that im not even thinking anything interesting bc my thoughts tend to b #cyclical and dont tend to progress unless i write things down. which is frustrating and makes me feel stupid #bc its like is ur brain so tiny that u can only carry out one conversation with yourself over and over and over?#it just makes me think of that b0 burnh4m monolog abt shutting the fuck up. can anyone? any single one? any single person? shut thr fuck up?#shut the fuck up. just shut the fuck up. about anything. any single thing? but its me @ my own brain #i dunno. my short term working memory is just fucked. today i opened google earth to plot something and opened my phone to pull of thr #points and forgot what i was doing like 3 times while i was sitting there. i open documents and scripts and i flip back and forth between #tasks bc theres too much to do and i cant triage. i just need someone to lock me in an empty room not let me out until i finish things #i dunno. i cant control my attention. weirdly im not that distractable tho. like i get internally distracted by the thoughts in my head #but if im having a conversation and something happens thst its distracting to any normal person im like. i have to let it go knowing the #other person is likely to get distracted and thr Subject will change. and ill hold onto distracted threads of conversation. bc it really #bothers me for conversations to be flexible and flowing i guess. i dunno its weird. i was the freak who would b extremely focused on getting #school work done while ppl i was working with were chatting away. like if i have a focused goal ill sit there until its done #ill sit there doing something until its finished but if u give me options i flail #options r the enemy. that perhaps contributes to my control issues. i say i dont like a lot of things just so i have less things to make #choices abt. bleh. this is y i wanna go to somewhere like antarctic to a research station where i would just do science all the time #force my focus onto research only. except id probably lose my mind bc i cant b around ppl that much #whatever. i dont even feel that bad. its just a thing ive noticed on top of my control problems being rather bad rn. and as i said ive got a #tiny goldfish brain so it helps to write things down so i can understand what's happen bc im not stupid the information is in there but its #hidden from me bc my neurobiology is fucking annoying. whatever.#unrelated

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taeyongdoyoung · 26 days

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hide and seek

summary: your best friend chan finds you've been fantasizing about him and decides to turn those ideas into reality... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to ??? warnings: *cracks knuckles* cnc/primal play, wolf/bunny roleplay, mention of safewords, traffic lights system (yellow used), hide and seek, mentions of pee, chasing scenario, blowjob mouthfucking, hair-grabbing, degradation, leg cramping, knees hurting, kinda realistic, unprotected sex, missionary but he holds reader down, pet names, daddy kink (like once), breeding kink, creampie, aftercare, discussion of future scenario 👀 author's note: this will be the first part in a series, i haven't decided yet how many parts, maybe three? stay tuned if you're interested 🤍 part two & part three word count: 2.5k

Chan simply asks you if he can use your laptop while you’re having a shower since his battery died and he really needs to check something work-related real quick. After doing so, he can’t help but notice the recently opened pages. He doesn’t mean to pry, really. But it’s right there. And a quick look into his best friend’s mind couldn’t hurt…could it?

He is immediately captivated by this story you’ve apparently written and keep hidden in the drafts of your blog. It’s so…sexy and unlike anything you’ve ever talked to him about.

“Dumb little bunny, thinking you can get away from me,” the big bad wolf growls in the bunny’s ear.

The bunny whimpers helplessly, trying to escape the wolf’s strong grasp but to no avail.

The wolf takes the bunny from behind mercilessly, biting her neck and using her to please his needs...

What comes at the end of the story is what shocks him the most.

“Chris, please…”

Huh? Which Chris? Chris Evans? Or maybe Hemsworth? As far as he remembers, you have always been more of a Sebastian Stan and Tom Hiddleston kinda girl but…people change, he supposes.

Until it hit him. His name is also Chris! And people do compare him to a wolf…But no, it couldn’t be…There is no way his best friend is writing stories fantasizing about him.

Unless…

He can’t imagine going on with his life without knowing the answer. So, Chan waits impatiently until you are done with your shower.

“Everything good with your work thing?” you ask him calmly once you return to your room.

“Yeah, all is good. But I found something way more interesting on your laptop,” Chan blurts out meaningfully.

The expression on your face is enough of an answer. You look completely mortified, like a true bunny that is waiting to be devoured.

“I forgot to clear my history, didn’t I?” you murmur even though you already know what Chan has seen.

“That story wasn’t about Chris Evans, was it?” Chan wants to know though he suspects what the truth is.

You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, which takes him by surprise. Gripping his hand tightly, you look so cute and pitiful. He wants to ruin you. Wait, when did those feelings show up?

“I know it was wrong, Channie, believe me. But I just couldn’t help myself, okay? Nothing else helps me get off but this fantasy. I promise I won’t do it again, please don’t end our friendship! You mean the world to me, I’m so so sorry!”

“End our friendship?” he is completely stunned by your train of thought. “Why would I? I mean, you never meant for me to see it, so I think it’s okay to have certain…fantasies. But now that I did see it, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it, if it makes you uncomfortable,” you suggest.

“You’re right, we don’t have to talk about it. But how about I make those scenarios come to life?”

“Huh? You want to what now?” you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“It can’t be satisfying, dealing with all these frustrations by yourself.”

“It really isn’t…” you confess.

“Then, let me take care of you. That’s what friends are for, right?” Chan chuckles.

“Let me get this straight, you wanna re-enact my freaky fantasies while still staying friends?”

“Um, sure, why not?”

You would be a fool to agree. This could mess up everything. But you would be an even bigger fool to reject his tempting offer.

“I’m in.”

“Great! Then, should we discuss boundaries and safewords and stuff?”

“No boundaries, no safewords, you can do whatever you like to me, I don’t care.”

“This isn’t right. What if I want to use a safeword?”

Oh. That thought never crossed your mind but perhaps it should have.

“How about this…if I want a scene to end, I’ll say red. I know you said you don’t need one, but just in case, feel free to use it. If we want to just pause for a bit, then yellow. Green is good to go. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, Chan. I mean, uhhh…do you want me call you something specific?”

“Whatever you like, babygirl,” he reassures you and pats your cheek. “Do you want to give this a try rightaway? Unless you’ve got other plans…”

“No way, let’s do this!” you practically jump at the opportunity.

“Alright. I’ll give you one minute to hide anywhere in this house. After that, I can do whatever I like to you.”

His words make you so thrilled that your heart threatens to escape from your chest because it’s beating louder than ever.

“If you find me,” you tease.

“Oh, I will,” Chan swears. “Now, run.”

You sprint out of your room and down the stairs, as he starts the countdown.

“Sixty…fifty-nine…”

Where should you hide? The living room doesn’t have any good hiding spots and neither does the kitchen. Under the table is too obvious. Your room would have been a good option but Chan is currently there, so it’s out of the question. The bathroom is right next to it, so once again, not a great idea. Then, it hits you. The basement! You don’t remember ever showing it to Chan so it will take him more time to think of it. You go through the door and run down another set of stairs leading to the basement. You see the perfect spot. A vintage wooden chest that just happens to be empty and is big enough to fit you if you squeeze in.

Okay, maybe not comfortable but you can survive in there for a couple of minutes. Once you’ve tucked yourself inside and closed the lid, you are suddenly hoping that Chan finds you quickly. Whatever he does to you can’t be worse than this tiny space. You didn’t know you had claustrophobia but in this very moment, you do. You can’t hear him from down here so you imagine he is looking through the other rooms first. After what feels like eternity, you finally hear steps. You are grateful that you recently peed before getting in the shower because the current situation would have undoubtedly made you wet your pants. As the steps approach, you begin to worry. What if it isn’t Chan? What if you’d forgotten to lock the door and now a complete stranger comes in to take advantage of you? No, these thoughts are irrational and make you want to use the bathroom. Ugh.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to come out and I’ll go easy on you.”

Chan’s voice both comforts you and freaks you out even more. You’re not coming out, alright. This spot was great! He can do whatever he wants to you.

“Three…two…one,” Chan finishes counting and opens the chest’s lid.

You look up at him, eyes blinking to adjust to the light. He pulls you out of it roughly.

“Last chance. Run.”

But then, you realize you were squeezed into that tiny space for so long that your leg had cramped up. You can’t possibly run right now.

“Um, sorry but yellow,” you feel like an idiot. You had said you don’t need a safeword and yet…

“What’s wrong?” Chan’s threatening gaze immediately softens and he rubs your elbow gently.

“I didn’t think I’d get a leg cramp in this freaking box,” you admit, ashamed of yourself as you shake your legs in an attempt to relax muscles.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Chan coos at you and helps you massage your leg. “Wanna call it a day?”

“Hell nah. Just, no more running, please.”

“Sure, that’s fine by me.”

“Sorry for ruining the mood.”

Chan shakes his head.

“You could never.”

“Okay, I think I’m good now,” you assure him.

“Scene?”

“Scene.”

“Did you really think you can escape me? Dumb little bunny…” Chan tsks at you and you feel your knees giving out. You need him so bad it’s not even funny anymore.

“Please, don’t hurt me, Mr. Wolf,” you plead with him even though every cell in your being would be glad to be on the receiving end of his anger.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? You should’ve locked your door to keep me out.”

If you tell him that you want him inside would it be too out of character for a scared bunny?

“I’ll do anything,” you promise crying. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“You’ll do anything regardless,” Chan smirks devilishly and grabs your hair harshly, pushing you to your knees. With his free hand, he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, wasting no time in pulling his cock out of his confines and stuffing your mouth full.

Fuck, your knees already hurt, probably because of that stupid chest but you choose to ignore the discomfort for now because this feeling of being dominated like that is too good to let go of.

“That’s it, take it like the useless cumslut you are,” Chan speaks degradingly but you’ve never been wetter before.

You wish you could say you are doing your best to give him a blowjob but the truth is you are not doing much, his hips thrusting forward aggressively, his hands gripping your hair. Your mouth is nothing but a cumdump for him. Your eyes are watering, vision is blurred. Your throat hurts too but it is nothing compared to the burning feeling in your knee. It is in that moment you realize that you didn’t discuss a signal for a situation where you can’t speak. You rack your brain for an alternative and remember that some subs opt for pinching their dom’s skin in an attempt to communicate discomfort. You really don’t want this to end but…

As you are overthinking this, you realize Chan’s already released his seed inside of your mouth and you are left with no choice but to swallow it up like the greedy cumwhore you are. Only for him, though.

His cock softens in his mouth but he doesn’t immediately pull out and only then, do you remember what you’ve been about to do.

You pinch his thigh lightly, looking up with moist, pleading eyes.

“What is it, darling?” Chan needs to know, taking a step back.

“Help me stand, please,” your voice is hoarse.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks as he grips your hands and leads you to sit for a while on the stupid chest responsible for your current pain. Okay, maybe, you brought this upon yourself but whatever.

“No, you were perfect, it’s just that my knees hurt. Fucking dumb wooden thing,” you grunt in frustration, punching it with your tiny fist.

Chan chuckles and strokes your hair comfortingly in complete contrast to how he was pulling it mere seconds ago. Then, he pulls you into his arms for a sweet hug.

“Sorry…I’m killing the mood again, aren’t I?” you pout.

“Not at all. Remember you’re in charge of whatever happens between us. You wanna pause, we pause. You wanna stop, we stop. I would hate myself if this doesn’t feel as good for you as it does for me.

“You feel good?”

“Are you kidding? Do you think I’d offer just anyone to fulfil their fantasies hidden in their drafts?” Chan laughs fondly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you smile at him gratefully. “I’m better now so if you’re still on board, we can continue.”

“I’m on board but let me come up with a new plan. I was thinking of fucking you doggy style but now that’s out of the question with your knee situation.”

Hearing him speak out loud what he was planning to do to you sends shivers down your spine. Damn it, maybe you should have just hidden under the table.

“How do you feel about missionary?” Chan inquires.

“Wouldn’t it be too intimate for the kind of scenario we’re doing?” you are doubtful.

“Not if I hold you down,” Chan murmurs smugly.

“Oh. Well, then…like I said, you can do whatever you like.”

“Action?”

“Action,” you confirm.

Chan wastes no time in pulling you up from your sitting position and pushing you down on the cold floor. He’s holding your wrists with one hand and undressing you with the other. Scratch that. He’s tearing your dress apart. It was never one of your faves.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you mewl at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Chan commands.

He doesn’t bother with stretching you out because he sees you’re already soaking wet for him. Instead, he forces his thick cock inside of your tiny pussy.

Only this time, your screams are real and you’re not at all pretending.

“T-too b-big, it h-hurts,” you cry out.

“You can take it, bunny,” Chan says confidently.

You know that you can put an end to this with one simple word but damn, does it feel incredible to be stuffed full by your best friend’s large manhood.

“Shh,” he whispers in your ear. “This’ll feel so much better if you relax f’me.”

You’re trying, really. But it’s too much you feel like he’ll split you in half. Okay, maybe not a bad way to go but still.

“D-daddy, it h-hurts so m-much,” you slur mindlessly.

Wait, what did you just say?

“Daddy, huh? Easy, babybun, your wolf dad’s gonna take good care of you, I promise,” Chan’s words send you into overdrive and you come around his cock, your thighs are shaking and you’re arching your back. You can’t think anymore, you just need to be with him stuck in this moment forever. Soon enough, he releases his cum inside of your pussy.

You want to beg him to stay there for a while but you are too weak to speak.

Instead, Chan uses his fingers to push back the cum inside of your tiny pussy.

“Gotta make it stick. Will my bunny have my wolf puppies, huh?”

Oh? So, he’s that kind of guy. Well, you can’t say you mind...Besides, you’ve talked about this before and you’re on the pill so whatever he says is just for the sake of the scenario. Right?

“Was this okay?” Chan intends to find out and judging by his soft tone that is just begging to be praised you can tell that the scene is over.

“You did amazing, Chris,” you sigh wistfully and kiss his cheek.

“Better than your fantasies?”

“You have no idea.”

“So…when can we do something like this again?”

“Gee, let me have some water, at least,” you joke but your best friend (?) takes it literally and scoops you up in his arms, heading towards the stairs.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“To get you water, of course. And have a bath. And then to bed.”

Fuck. Maybe staying friends will be more complicated than you initially thought.

Once you’ve both been hydrated, washed up and dried out, you are cuddled in your bed, sharing snacks.

“Do you want to try something more extreme next week?” Chan asks casually. As if what you just did wasn’t already pretty intense.

“Um, sure? What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Kind of an outside setting. It will take some planning to make sure there aren’t other people but…it just came to mind while we were in the basement.”

“Tell me more about it,” you blink curioisly and put your hand on top of his.”

“So…how do you feel about being chased in a forest?”

To be continued…

#bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan x reader #chan smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #stray kids #chan #writing

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b4ddprincess · 19 days

Text

i wasted almost a year, i don't want y'all to waste more time too! — my void state journey so far

when you see, "the void state is as easy as breathing!" trust me when i tell you. it is.

last year, i was reading a bunch of void state explanations from different bloggers with different beliefs and it made me confused on whose to believe. sum were talking based on beliefs and theories, while others were talking based on facts. i never wanted to believe the facts, cuz it seemed so difficult to grasp an understanding of how it can be so... anxiously easy.

i definitely used to put the void state on a pedestal, thinking that it was an escape out of my old life into a new one, but it actually isn't. the first time i read about the induction of the void state was actually the basic way of inducing pure consciousness. i played a subliminal, tried it for the first time, got intense "pre-void symptoms" and bailed cuz i was suffocating under my blanket. i tried to induce pure consciousness again, but got no symptoms, focused on my body a lot, got impatient and bailed again. i tried waking up in the void state, and i woke up in the void state once last year, and i assumed it was the last time i cld ever wake up in the void state, even if affirming for days after was in vain.

i was just tht typa person.

i didn't mind doing a method over and over even if it was in vain. really, i was just wasting time.

i created a blog and began writing "void epiphanies" which, to me after thinking about it, were a bunch of misinformation, and many people believed them! i saw the term "pure consciousness", and never acknowledged its meaning. i always thought it was just another name for the void state, but the void state is another name for pure consciousness. not acknowledging it, definitely costed me 10 months.

i tried a bunch of different methods: affirming, states, psych-k, alpha state, silva method, dmt frequency, robotic affirming, affirmation tapes, subliminals, hypnosis, self-hypnosis.... all of this while viewing the void state as a magical escape plan.

i thought entering the void state meant tht my soul was leaving my body. i thought i was entering an empty dimension. yes. i did thought those thoughts. not realising tht i was just wasting my time.

seeing all those void state success stories with people "entering the void state by falling asleep listening to dmt waves" or "i robotically-affirmed for 2 days and i woke up in the void state!".... and all i was doing was overconsuming the wrong information and trying to think of a cheat code to "enter the magical escapee dimension." i was wasting time. i had the instructions i needed without a reasoning last year, and i managed to only use common sense this year, after going back to the same "method" i was running away from.

i wasted so many months running away from the traditional way of inducing pure consciousness, just to end up becoming the person encouraging it. i'm not saying not to do other methods, but with the mindset i had, i definitely wasn't able to induce the void state with other methods unless i detached. i did alpha state meditation many times, and i did induced pure consciousness many times in july and early august with it, but i still felt the need to change, cuz i was procrastinatin here and there, and i was fed up with waking up as pure consciousness and forgetting to affirm.

should i have persisted? well yea 😭

but i also don't regret knowing the truth about pure consciousness, and how easyyyy it is to induce. and i will keep advocating the traditional way more than any other method!

when i unintentionally induced the void state about 10 times inna row in june, tht was when it all clicked for me, but i still ran away from the traditional method after trying to induce pure consciousness. i played hfg's vid in the bg, focused on my body a lot, got impatient, then decided to just sleep with the vid looped in the bg.

it was only last week when i decided tht i was fed up. i decided to relax my body, take slow deep breaths, focus on the darkness behind my eyelids, affirm/daydream and then i induced the void state. i placed my awareness on my body and tapped out. but it was also at tht moment, when i realised the amount of time i'd wasted. i've took note of wht i shouldn't do, and ever since then i've been inducing the void state effortlessly. the only thing for me rn is to sustain it, to then affirm for my dream life, but at least i'm not struggling anymore

so guys! PLEASEEEE read my posts 😐

#b4ddprincess #void state #i am state #pure consciousness #true story #my void state journey

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ashlynlovestlou · 6 months

Note

I haven’t seen or read any sleeping with Ellie or Abby headcons and you’re such a lovely writer!!! I wanted to ask if you can write something like that maybe?

i'm gonna give you both because i'm in a good mood today!!! also thank you for the compliment i love you

masterlist nsfw!!

having sex with abby!!!

ꕤ₊˚ i've said this in sooo many of my fanfics, but abby is the most gentle person ever. in contrast to her large build and huge muscles (and ability to manhandle you however she pleases) she's such a softie. she's such a soft!dom and nobody can change my mind on this. she's never rough with you unless you blatantly ask her to be, but she much rather prefers slow and gentle sex and just taking her time with you.

ꕤ₊˚ abby is also big on toys!!! there, i said it. she buys/finds all these weird things to use on you in bed because it's such a turn on for her. yes, she does like seeing you get off on her fingers or her mouth or anything else, but she much rather prefers to use a strap or a dildo or a vibrator or something because she thinks you're just so damn pretty like that.

ꕤ₊˚ abby is definitely a whimperer. like, this girl is quiet because she much rather would like to hear you instead of herself. so she'll muffle her pretty moans s just so she can hear yours.

ꕤ₊˚ abby is big on kissing during sex (unlike ellie, but i'll get to that in a second) she likes kissing your lips, your cheek, your forehead, your hairline, your neck, behind your ear, your collarbone, your titties (and when you choose doggy, she'd kiss your bum cheeks every once in a while)

ꕤ₊˚ that's another thing. abby is an ass girl! even when you're not having sex, her hand will be in your back pocket. she'll pinch your booty as you walk by her sometimes, and she can't resist spanking you when she sees you bent over getting clothes out of the dryer or taking food out of the oven.

ꕤ₊˚ abby likes to put you in a ton of crazy positions. she likes doggy, when you're bouncing on her lap, literally anything but basic ol' missonary

having sex with ellie!!!

ꕤ₊˚ unlike abby, ellie prefers skin-on-skin. it's way more intimate to her, and she can feel you better when you're coming on her hand, her mouth, or even her thigh. that's why she loves taking baths or showers with you, so she can feel every curve and every inch of your body. she'll use her strap SOMETIMES but she prefers to be able to feel you on herself and not on some plastic dick. she loves tribbing with you, for this exact reason.

ꕤ₊˚ even though she likes the intimacy of being skin-on-skin with you, she likes to pound tf out of you. she'd never hurt you intentionally, obviously, but she loves hearing your moans grow loud. plus, ellie has a thing for making you squirt. she was slam into you until the sheets are soaked or you pass out. she's not aggressive, but she definitely likes it rough at least a little bit.

ꕤ₊˚ unlike abby, ellie likes to use names on you during sex. like "whore" or "slut", but she'll apologize once it's all over to tell you she doesn't really mean it. when you ask her to go more gentle, she'll call you things like "honey" "baby" or "beautiful." depending on the way that y'all are fucking, she'll use different names.

ꕤ₊˚ ellie doesn't like kissing you during sex!!! it's not that she's opposed to it, per se, but she would much rather take eye contact with you over kissing you. she likes the idea of watching your face as she fucks you so good, knowing that nobody compares to her. she'll cradle your head, her elbows propped up on the bed on both sides of your ears. your legs are wrapped around her hips as her pelvis snaps into yours, and she's just holding your face, pressing and occasional kiss to your hairline. ugh, i need her so bad.

ꕤ₊˚ tbh i dont think ellie has that many kinks, but she definitely likes to get high before a nice fuck. the two of you will spend half and hour or so just rolling joints and smoking, etc. until eventually she beckons you to sit on her lap and you'll grind on her thigh n everything. until eventually you both just give in and she'll fuck the life out of you.

ꕤ₊˚ ellie is the queen of aftercare. even though abby is also very good at it, ellie takes it very seriously. she'll clean you up and shower you with kisses. and then she'll put some of your clothes in the dryer to warm them up a little bit before dressing you herself. she's so sweet :').

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roosterforme · 8 days

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 23 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was bruised, hungry and worn out, but as soon as he was with you again, nothing else mattered. You welcomed him home with so much love, like nobody else ever had before or ever would again.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, smut, very hands-on Bradley, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You were already at work, trying your best to teach your math class with your phone gripped in your hand, when Bradley texted to let you know he was boarding a flight that would land in San Diego just before six o'clock. Tears stung your eyes as you scribbled some problems on the board for your kids to work on while you walked briskly to the back of the room to write back.

I'll be there to pick you up! I can't wait!

Truthfully, you didn't know if you could have gone another day without hearing from him. Your heart felt full now after the brief conversation you had. He was safely back on dry land! He was coming back to San Diego! He missed you as much as you missed him!

It was Valentine's Day, and more importantly, Career Day was later this week on Friday. You couldn't contain your excitement, especially when he wrote back with his flight number along with a short message

I'll see you in a few hours, Gorgeous. Tell your kiddos I'll see them in a few days.

You watched as your students wrote down some final answers, then you checked them together while butterflies soared around in your belly. You couldn't hold it back any longer after that. You felt flustered as you placed your hand on your forehead and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw wanted me to tell you that he'll be here on Friday for Career Day."

Jayden jumped out of his chair as Oliver pumped his fists in the air. "Can we work on another list of questions for him?" Nia asked as Violet clapped in excitement.

Since that very first package you sent, he had been making this school year even better than you ever expected. "Yes. We can work on more questions for him. Some of our other friends from the Navy will be joining us as well."

"Who?" asked Jackie, eyes wide behind her glasses.

"I guess you'll find out on Friday. Now who wants to write our list of questions?"

When you left your school that afternoon, traffic back to Coronado was heavy, but you didn't mind one bit. You couldn't stop smiling as you made a phone call, ready to beg if needed to so you could get what you wanted. Then you changed into the dress Natasha helped you pick out. It was tight and black with long sleeves and a short hem. And suddenly it was time to pick Bradley up.

You were giddy as you stood on the driveway, unsure if you should take your car or his Bronco. Ultimately you decided to take his so he'd have a chance to drive it if he wanted to. Unless he was exhausted. If he was too tired, you would have no problem driving it back so he could rest. Then you started to feel like maybe you shouldn't have made the dinner reservation. He probably wasn't going to want to go out to eat two hours after getting home from deployment.

How many times had he told you that he liked the way you didn't mind when he wanted to just relax on the couch and unwind? You groaned as you got in the Bronco and started the engine. When you got to the airport, you'd call and cancel it. Taking him home to a long, hot shower was a better option. Plus you already stocked the refrigerator with so much food, he could eat whatever he wanted for the next week.

There was a ton of traffic getting into the airport short-term parking lot, and you were just pulling into a spot when Bradley texted you to let you know his flight landed early. "Oh, shit," you muttered, heart hammering into overdrive as you pulled the key from the ignition and straightened your dress as you climbed out of the Bronco.

You rushed through the throngs of people as quickly as you could, looking for the correct baggage claim number. When you located it, you spun around looking for him, but you heard his voice before you saw him.

"Gorgeous!"

So many people were looking at your boyfriend with his booming voice and khaki uniform, but he was staring right at you with a bright smile on his face. You were off and running for his arms, and he scooped you up against him, feet lifting from the floor.

"Bradley," you moaned, and his lips crashed against yours. His heart was thudding against your chest as you tasted his mouth and grabbed at his hair. Everything about him was so familiar, and it seemed like it had been forever since you got to touch him.

His mustache was rough against your lips and then your cheek and ear. His voice was deep and sweet as his lips skimmed your earlobe when he whispered, "I love you."

Then his lips found yours again as you clung to him. This is what you'd missed so much. Just simply knowing he adored you by the way he kissed you. Any doubts you had while he was gone started to ease away. Big hands held you in place as you broke the kiss to say, "I missed you," voice coming out like a sob.

His brown eyes were soft as he smiled at you. "I couldn't go another minute without you, Gorgeous. I was miserable."

"Me, too," you whispered, kissing him once more as your feet touched the ground again. But you still felt lighter than air as his adoring gaze stayed fixed on your face when you said, "That box of notes you sent me was so romantic, Bradley, but nothing compares to the real thing."

You dragged your thumb along his scars, body still pressed against his. He grunted as his hand slid down your back to your butt. "Let's go home. So I can give you the real thing." Your cheeks were blazing with heat as you buried your face against his chest. "I wrote you so many notes, Baby. They're in my duffle, just waiting for you to read them, but you'll notice a theme. I missed you like crazy. And all I want to do for the foreseeable future is eat food that doesn't suck, sleep in my own bed, and fuck my girlfriend."

"Bradley," you laughed, letting him walk you backwards so he could pick up his duffle bag. You had one hand around his neck and one on his firm abs as you whispered, "Let's go home."

-------------------------------

It was indescribable how much better Bradley felt as soon as he saw you inside the airport. And now he couldn't stop touching you. Your voice eased the tension out of his body like nothing else could, and your skin was silky soft beneath his fingers. He had one hand on the wheel of his Bronco and one tucked up inside your dress, resting on your thigh while he drove.

It was Valentine's Day, and he showed up empty handed which just felt wrong. He would try to make it up to you all week and all month. He'd make it up to you in the form of an engagement ring. How could he not? The deployment without communication was the most miserable he'd been since his mom died. Probably because he hadn't felt so loved since then.

"I reached for my phone so many times to call you before I remembered I couldn't," you said softly, running your fingers up his forearm and back down. "It broke my heart a little bit each time."

"God, Gorgeous," he moaned, squeezing your thigh as he drove into the sunset toward Coronado. He had an actual partner who was invested in him, and he wasn't about to give this up. "It killed me to go so long without hearing your voice. Keep talking. Please."

Your laughter filled the space as he sped up a little bit. "I have all of the letters from the box stacked up in the kitchen. I read them over and over again. And I moved all of my things into your house."

"Our house."

"Our house," you repeated, and he fell in love with the words even more. "I was too afraid to unpack all of it in case you told me Norfolk was going to be your permanent station, but maybe you can help me with that this week while I feed you everything in the refrigerator. Oh, and I made a reservation for Salvatore's for later tonight, but we can cancel it since you're probably exhausted."

Bradley parked in the driveway, yanking the keys from the ignition while you unbuckled your seatbelt. He took your chin in his hand, and you came willingly across the seat so he was kissing you again, rougher this time than in the airport.

"Are you telling me there's a chance I get to fuck you and then eat ravioli?"

You whimpered as you crawled onto his lap, that little dress leaving nothing to the imagination as it bunched up to your hips. "If that's what you want," you whispered, looking like everything he would ever need.

His cock throbbed as your body rubbed against his. "That's what I want," he grunted as you sucked on his neck. "I want you to be my Valentine. I want to show you how much I missed you. Then I want us to go out to dinner."

He opened the door and carried you toward the house, not stopping until he had you in the bedroom, fading rays of sunlight filling the space. Bradley watched you pull your dress over your head, revealing that little black bra and panty set you wore for him at Christmas. You kicked off your shoes, and he got to watch you crawl across the bed before yanking off his own boots and following you.

"Bradley," you giggled once he had you on your back, pinned beneath him.

"Say it again. I need to hear you say it again."

You guided your legs apart, letting him rest against your core as his lips skimmed along your jaw. Your voice was soft and perfect as you said his name. "Bradley. Show me how much you missed me."

He could feel your hands on his belt, the buckle clinking softly as you slid it open. You got his zipper open as he continued to run his lips along your soft skin, pausing to lick and taste you, making you moan for him. Your hand was too small to wrap around his cock, but you tugged him free from his underwear and gave him a squeeze that left him seeing stars.

"Baby," he whined, bucking against your palm as you slid your lace thong to the side and treated him to your welcoming pussy.

"It feels like you missed me a lot," you gasped, eyes going wide as he pushed himself into your perfect body.

He could only groan in response until he was fully seated, forehead resting on your shoulder. "It felt like hell being away from you. Can't live without my Gorgeous pen pal."

Bradley eased his hips back, listening to you whimper before he pushed himself deep again. His neck and shoulders were sore, and his bruises were tender beneath your eager fingers, but he didn't stop you from touching him everywhere. He needed you to. He'd been craving all of this for almost two months. You welcomed him back home with your kisses, fingers in his hair as he fell even more in love with the way you loved him. You whispered his name as he fucked you until you were shaking, and you let him fill you with his cum.

"Gorgeous," was all he could mutter as he was sprawled halfway on top of you, still buried deep as your pussy pulsed gently around him.

Your fingers trailed through his hair and down his neck as you whispered, "Let's take a shower together." He would have followed you anywhere you wanted to go, but a hot shower with your hands all over him sounded so good, he pulled himself free from your body and started to finally undress.

As his uniform shirt fell to the floor, you sat up in bed. When his undershirt was discarded as well, you gasped.

"What's the matter?" he asked as you got to your feet and ran your hand along his shoulder.

"You're bruised!"

"I'm fine," he muttered quickly, but you were already inspecting every inch of him.

"What happened?" you asked, voice sharp. "And why didn't you tell me about this right away? Before I started grabbing you."

He took your hands in his and kissed your fingertips. "I really am fine, Gorgeous. A doctor checked me out this morning. I just had a rough landing a few days ago."

"Why didn't you say something?"

Your words sounded sharp, but they felt so soft when he let his mind absorb them. "Because the only thing that's going to make me feel better is your body all over mine and your voice saying my name."

You bit your lip and very gingerly draped your arms around his neck. "Oh, Bradley. I'm going to spoil you for the rest of the week."

--------------------------------

Bradley yawned when he kept you tucked against his bruised chest in the shower, but he was resolute in saying he wanted to go out for dinner.

"We don't have to," you reassured him, placing kiss after soft kiss to his collar bones as you washed his hair for him. "You've been through so much."

"I want to eat real food with my beautiful girlfriend on Valentine's Day," he insisted. "And I promise you, this is the best I've felt since Christmas. Because I'm with you. Besides, you should have seen the shit they served for meals on that aircraft carrier. It was criminal, Baby." His musings were punctuated by his loudly growling stomach as he ran his hand up and down your back.

Truthfully, he did look a little thinner to you, which was awful considering how much he was used to eating. You just wanted to take care of him right now, and he clearly needed a solid meal and some sleep. So you helped him dry off and led him back to the bedroom with his hand wrapped around yours.

"Since you promised to spoil me... will you put that black dress back on again?" he whispered next to your ear, making you shiver.

"I could do that for you." Bradley picked it up off the floor with a smile, and you took it from him as you said, "But you made a mess of my underwear, so I'll have to skip it."

He made a deep sound at the back of his throat that had you excited to go to Salvatore's all over again. You helped him dress in a button down shirt and some black pants, careful about how you touched his bruises, and then the two of you were off. On the drive to the restaurant, his hand seemed to be glued to your thigh once again, but you didn't mind. It felt like you'd gone a year without him, and this was just your reward, getting to listen to him tell you all about how Admiral Simpson showed up in Norfolk and about how lonely he was on the carrier.

"I'm not doing that again," he murmured, parallel parking with one hand. He smiled at you as he checked his blind spot. "I'll just retire from the Navy before I spend that amount of time without my pen pals ever again."

You kissed him as he shifted into park. "You might have a career as a smut writer. I read that one note you left for me, and it was hot."

"Oh yeah?" he crooned, dark eyes sparking with mischief as his hand tightened on your leg. "You liked that one?"

Instead of a verbal response, you just guided his hand up a few inches further until his fingers grazed your bare pussy, and then you climbed out onto the sidewalk like it was nothing. Bradley was right behind you in an instant as you strolled inside Salvatore's as if you hadn't a care in the world, meanwhile your heart was pounding at the way his hand wrapped around you as the host greeted you both.

"Please enjoy the lounge for a few minutes, and I'll find you when your table is ready," he said smoothly while Bradley kissed the side of your neck with his body pressed against yours like the two of you were all alone.

"Let's go," you whispered, voice shaking a bit as you wiggled out of his grasp and headed for the bar. But the room was crowded, and he ended up right where he had been a second ago, leaving you a little dizzy as his hand settled low on your belly.

"You're gonna tease me for the rest of the night then?" he asked, broad chest rumbling against your shoulders and the top of your back.

"Maybe," you replied, trying to play coy even though you wanted nothing more than to feel him touching you just how he was right now.

He kissed the spot behind your ear, and your whole body clenched with need as he asked, "Let's get that expensive as hell wine again." Before you could stop him, he was signaling for the bartender and asking for the bottle by name. "It's my girlfriend's favorite," he said with a chuckle as he magically procured his credit card and handed it over.

You and he drank half the bottle right there in the lounge before the table was ready, and then you finished it in the dining room. It was Valentine's Day, sure, but this restaurant already held memories for you, and this was just adding to it. It was the same wine as last time, but you'd fallen even more in love with this man since then. Your feet were tangled with his under the table while you shared several pasta dishes, and you were so happy he was no longer self conscious about how much he ate around you. He touched you freely, reaching for your hand or letting his palm rest on your leg, and he kissed you sporadically as the meal progressed, knowing you wanted him to.

"I love you so much," you blurted out in the middle of telling him a story about how your class got locked out of the school after a fire drill. "And I'm happy you're home. And I don't want to ever do that again."

Bradley finished chewing his pasta before saying, "Well now you're just teasing me in a different way."

"I am?"

He nodded and set down his fork, signaling for the waiter. Bradley asked for the check and some containers to take the rest of the food home. Then he looked at you and asked, "How do you turn me on and make my heart melt at the same time, Gorgeous?"

The butterflies were back again. "You do it to me, too." You watched him pay the check like it was nothing, and he handed you the takeout containers. "Did you eat enough?" you asked as he led you toward the door and back to the Bronco with one hand resting on your hip and your body tucked against his.

"I can eat more later if I need to. Thank you for making the dinner reservation. It was perfect. But right now, I just want to be alone with you."

------------------------------

"Oh, god," Bradley groaned, getting to feel your body gripping him for the second time tonight. It was so late now, but he was full of wine and red sauce and still riding high on the excitement of being back home with you. He felt so loved up and emotional as he held you in front of him in bed and thrust slowly in and out of your pussy as you moaned. He missed being your big spoon.

"I can't wait until you read all the notes I wrote for you, Baby," he whispered, lips brushing the side of your neck as his fingers dug into your flesh.

"I'll take some of them to work tomorrow," you gasped. Bradley didn't even feel bad for keeping you up past your bedtime as he nipped along your skin and fucked you slowly, just like he promised he would in that dirty note he put in the box. He was savoring you now; he planned on having you a dozen times just like this, all week long.

He slid his hand down to your clit and licked your ear. "I'll pack your lunch and drive you to work and get you coffee every day this week. I'm using vacation time to take care of some things." He wasn't about to tell you what those things were. But you were coming undone at his touch, so there was a chance he could tell you anything at the moment, and you wouldn't even remember. "You gonna cum for me?" he crooned, a smile curling along his lips as you arched your back and whined. "Good girl."

It didn't take long before he was following your lead, and after that it wasn't long before he was falling asleep with his body wrapped around yours, right where he belonged. "I love you."

------------------------------

I need them to be cuddly and snuggly and together forever. We've got a few more chapters left of these lovebirds. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 3 months

Text

(Genshin Impact) Beidou, Dehya, Arlecchino, Chiori, Lynette, Furina, Navia, Clorinde, Jean, Eula, Lisa, Noelle, Ayaka, Sara, Ei, Yae, Shenhe, Yelan Xianyun, and Xinyan seeing their S/O in a swimsuit

Now, I hear you asking dear followers: "Chris, why the hell are you writing a non-request for 20 characters when you have 628 asks in your inbox?" And uh... ...

Beidou can't resist a wolf-whistle the moment her S/O steps into view wearing their swimsuit.

Notably, Beidou doesn't appear to have changed out of her usual attire, something that makes S/O pout.

She smirks while her eye glances them up and down.

(Beidou) "Nice.~"

(S/O) "The least you can do is at least join me instead of ogling..."

Seeing their expression makes her laugh immediately and wrap an arm around them and bringing S/O closer.

(Beidou) "Nothing wrong with me enjoying how pretty you are. Plus, I don't really own a swimsuit. Unless you want me to skinny dip with you-"

(S/O) "Gods- Not where everyone can see!"

(Beidou) "So what I'm hearing is that you aren't opposed to that?"

S/O sighs, with Beidou playfully punching their arm.

(Beidou) "Lighten up, already! We're at the beach, let's go enjoy ourselves!"

She at the very least throws off her boots and coat before joining S/O in the water.

(Beidou) "I can throw you into the water if you want me to."

(S/O) "I might do that myself-"

(Beidou) "Hah, I'd like yo see you try!"

Dehya doesn't swim often, being in a desert tends to make that chance very rare.

Plus, working as a mercenary group that primarily consisted of males compounded onto that fact.

So, the first time she got to go to a beach with S/O alone was a jarring one.

The sand underneath her feet was familiar, yet alien at the same time.

(Dehya) "Wow, this sand is super rough..."

She quickly snaps out of her fixation when S/O stands next to her, wearing as much clothes as she was.

(S/O) "But the breeze feels nice, right?"

Dehya's eyes quickly wander before shooting back up to their face, awkwardly coughing into their hand, flustered from that blunder.

(Dehya) "Y-Yeah. Sights aren't too bad either."

(S/O) "Hah, smooth...A-And, I don't really mind you looking. It's not like I haven't done the same myself."

(Dehya) "Hm, maybe I should let you choose a swimsuit for me then?"

She smiles back at S/O before her hand is getting dragged towards the water.

(S/O) "Before that, let's go to the waters first! We'll be here for a few days anyway!"

Dehya throws off her equipment and eagerly joining them.

Arlecchino isn't that big on swimming, but she knows that her children enjoy doing so.

Plus, she doesn't exactly get a "vacation" in the traditional sense.

But at the very least, she can put aside some time to spend with S/O once her obligations were taken care of.

And if they wanted to swim, then who is she to stop them?

She's sitting underneath an umbrella in her chair when she hears footsteps approach.

(S/O) "Not joining me in the waters?"

(Arlecchino) "I will decline the offer. Well, for swimming at least. If you wish to walk alongside the coast, I can at least oblige you in that."

Her eyes glance over to S/O, noting the swimsuit choice of S/O.

They couldn't help but be a little flustered, having her unflinching gaze stare at them.

(S/O) "Um...S-Something on my face?"

Her expression remains the same as she gives a reply that flustered them even more.

(Arlecchino) "I admit, you are rather eyecatching when nothing is left to the imagination."

(S/O) a-ahem! "Would you like to take a walk right now?"

S/O offers their hand to her, which she gladly accepts as Arlecchino lifts herself up.

Chiori, of course, chose both their swimwear for this trip.

And since there was going to be no one around to bother them, she could get a little...creative with her choices.

When she finished changing, she waited for S/O to do the same.

(Chiori) "Well, what do you think?"

S/O's eyes widened as they studied their girlfriend's swimsuit, taking their sweet time in doing so.

(S/O) "You...! You look beautiful!"

Chiori smirks before flicking their forehead, then crossing her arms.

(Chiori) "I meant yours."

(S/O) "O-OH! Um, right! It fits really well, plenty of room to breathe and is stylish to boot!"

Chiori laughs as she wraps one arm around S/O and both walk to the water.

(Chiori) "Good answer. And I'm glad you seem to appreciate mine just as much. I did put a lot of effort into it, since I know what you like."

She doesn't have much opportunities to try making swimwear for people, so this was both an enjoyable experiment, and a nice way to enjoy quality time with someone she loved.

The eye candy was definitely a great bonus.

Lynette doesn't get a full on swimsuit, instead she just wears a one-piece that is very modest.

Big surprise, she doesn't like water too much so she opts to sit by the sand and space out.

Which seeing S/O wearing a swimsuit is enough to snap her attention back to reality.

(Lynette) "You look good."

(S/O) "Thanks, you look really cute too!"

Lynette's ears twitches at the compliment and she averts her gaze from meeting their eyes directly.

(Lynette) "...Mhm."

S/O sits beside Lynette, just enjoying the sound of the waves gently brushing against the sand.

With the right temperature and shade they're underneath, it doesn't take long for Lynette to doze off, leaning into S/O.

Feeling the warmth of the sun combined with their body has her become very comfortable.

Furina would have brought something extra, something eyecatching that would make S/O's eyes bulge out their head!

A daring and revealing outfit? A sexy yet elegant one-piece?

Any one of the outlandish outfits she would have chosen.

...If she actually had access to it nowadays.

Instead, Furina is in a comically large plain white shirt, with a similarly boring pair of trunks as well.

Something that is making her very self-conscious as S/O shows up with proper swimwear.

She struggles to make eye contact, both out of embarrassment of her own outfit, and seeing S/O like this.

(Furina) "Y-You um...that's...really good on you!"

(S/O) "You can at least compliment my swimsuit if you're looking at it, Furina."

(Furina) "BUT THERE'S BARELY ANYTHING ON Y-...You that's noteworthy! I-It's just almost laughable, really!"

She scoffs, and still isn't meeting their eyes directly.

(S/O) "Well, thank you."~

With a small peck to her cheeks, she becomes even more flustered before S/O picks her up and carries her to the water, all the while she is squeaking adorably, failing to stammer out a retort.

Navia's yellow bikini is complemented by her shades as she lays on a inflatable pool lounge, drifting in the waters casually.

And seeing S/O approach from the distance makes her lower her sunglasses with a smile.

(Navia) "Ooooh! Looking good, S/O! Come on and join me in the water, plenty of room in here!"

(S/O) "Coming, just give me a second to catch up!"

Navia giggles as she watches them approach, making her quickly take off her glasses before hopping into the water, swimming towards them.

She grabs them by the waist making them yelp, and brings them in closer.

(Navia) "Gotcha! Now let me just-"

She puts her sunglasses on them and gives a cheeky smile.

(Navia) "Now you're looking smoking hot!"

(S/O) "Hah, all I'm missing is your hat now."

(Navia) "Won't need it for this, let's see how long we can hold our breaths for!"

Before S/O can even protest the idea, she immediately dunks her head underwater, making them roll their eyes playfully and join Navia.

Clorinde wasn't that keen on the idea of swimming considering how many media vultures were after her on a daily basis.

The last thing she needed was pictures of her in a revealing outfit.

But after thankfully shaking off every one of them, she joins S/O in swimming in a private area.

She feels a little exposed, showing this much skin, even to her lover.

But it's an intimacy she's glad to experience, truthfully. Even if It especially makes her self aware of her…upper torso area, to put it gently.

Both her and S/O struggle to maintain a level of looking respectfully without getting flustered from the ordeal.

(Clorinde) "A-Ah...Please, pardon where my eyes are wandering."

(S/O) "Long as you don't mind where mine are going..."

A moment of silence passes before a soft laughter erupts from the both of them, the slight anxiety melting away in the waters.

(S/O) "You look beautiful by the way, Clorinde."

A hum of content is her response, swimming a little closer to embrace them.

(Clorinde) "As do you."

She commits the sight of S/O's swimwear to memory, as they were no doubt doing the same.

(S/O) "Say, may I challenge you to a swimming duel?"

Their playful question gets her to ease up and smile.

(Clorinde) "I accept, let's start over there and begin on a count of three."

Jean's in her swimsuit that Barbara and Lisa chose for her. It was cute and comfortable, while not exposing too much skin.

Perfect for the Acting Grandmaster.

With this kind of environment, her usual rigidness melts away, especially when S/O takes her hand into theirs.

Seeing their swimwear gets her to blush, but she doesn't look away.

(S/O) "No matter how many times I see that outfit, it takes my breath away."

(Jean) "Hah, thank you, my love."

She kisses the top of their hand before blushing a little harder, examining S/O.

(Jean) "I could say much of the same for you."

The couple take their time strolling by the ocean's edge before finally deciding to swim together.

Though if anything, they were more distracted by each other than anything the beach offered.

Eula was used to the freezing waters of Dragonspine, but it was very clear S/O wasn't.

They had a full on bodysuit to keep them warm, but they were still shivering.

Eula effortlessly swam over to them, admiring how much of their body was outlined in the suit before wrapping her arms around them in an attempt to warm them.

If anything, it at least heated up their faces immediately.

(S/O) "E-Eula?!"

(Eula) "If I wanted you to freeze to death, I would not have bothered with swimming."

(S/O) "Y-You sure?! This actually does feel like revenge for something I did!"

Eula chuckled, getting bolder despite she was just as nervous as them, swimming with so little on together.

(Eula) "Oh, you did do something alright, S/O."

She put a finger to their lips, the freezing temperatures of the water disappearing from their minds.

(Eula) "You stole the heart of a Lawrence. And that is something I will personally pay you back for."

The vengeful kiss she gave them certainly made them warmer.

...Among other things.

Lisa isn't that easy to get into a revealing outfit, even if it was for her S/O.

She's in more casual clothing, but nothing too crazy.

Most people would have been disappointed, but S/O knew she didn't like to splash around on the beach, instead deciding to enjoy the breeze and lazing about.

...Even if lazing about was what she did about 90% of the time.

Lisa lets an "Ooooh~" escape her lips when her eyes land on her lover.

(Lisa) "My, you are quite fetching today, S/O."

(S/O) "Aren't I always?"

Lisa giggles as her head lays on S/O's lap, flustering them.

(Lisa) "When you're like that, even more so."

She may detest the heat, but at least it did things like put S/O into a swimsuit.

So maybe the Summers weren't all that bad.

Noelle has not even changed out of her maid attire as she's sweating up a storm, setting up a perfect table, towel resting spot, and everything else she brought for the trip!

Food, check! Drinks, in the a cooler with a Cryo Slime!

S/O had no idea where she kept all this, and decided that it's probably better if they didn't ask.

(S/O) "Noelle, you're supposed to be on vacation, how about you settle down for a second and relax?"

Noelle turns around from focusing on setting the tables up just right before stopping midsentence.

(Noelle) "Don't worry! I'll relax as soon as I-"

Her eyes go wide, seeing S/O's swimsuit, turning her face into a hue similar to the roses in her hair.

(Noelle) "...OH! Please, forgive my staring! I was just not ready to see you so...-Um!-"

(S/O) "Hah, you're alright, Noelle. If anything, I'm more surprised how you can wear your maid uniform in this weather."

(Noelle) "A maid must be prepared for anything!"

(S/O) "...Even at a beach?"

(Noelle) "Especially at a beach! What happens if someone needs assistance?"

(S/O) "And if they're in the water? You'd drown with that armor!"

(Noelle) "...G-Good point."

Ayaka was so excited to go to the beach!

She had gone swimming before once or twice, but this was the first time she got to do so with a loved one.

Ayaka was both embarrassed yet excited to show S/O the swimwear she had acquired.

And when the moment came, both of them were at a loss for words.

Ayaka fidgeted under the attention as she gave a shy smile.

(Ayaka) "Um...do you like it?"

(S/O) "I love it. Judging by your face, I can assume you feel the same about mine?"

Ayaka covered her mouth with one hand as she failed to contain a beautiful giggle.

(Ayaka) "Very much so...If you do not mind me asking, could you teach me how to swim? I am still relatively new at this."

While she was kind of telling the truth, she already did know how to mostly swim.

If anything, it was just an excuse for S/O to hold her close in the waters.

Sara was very nervous when she took off most of her usual attire in exchange for swimwear.

She felt too exposed, but that was due to her always fighting or being with her soldiers.

Now, she was just with S/O.

Sara didn't really choose anything that would stand out, in fact it looked like her undersuit more than anything.

But it still made her cheeks flush with a burning fury.

She admittedly wouldn't be in the waters too long, since her wings would get wet, but she could at least be there for a few minutes.

But those minutes would feel like hours with S/O staring at her the way they were.

(S/O) "Hi, Sara...You alright?"

(Sara)" J-Just fine, thank you. Please keep in mind where your eyes are wandering."

Hearing them laugh made her pout, especially when they hugged her from behind.

(S/O) "My eyes are only on you, Sara..."

(Sara) "Then don't you dare look anywhere else beside my face!"

(S/O) "Yes ma'am.~"

Ei didn't really understand the appeal of swimsuits. They were just something people wore, why make a big deal out of it?

If it was an attraction thing, wouldn't wearing nothing be far more enticing?

Regardless, she joins S/O at the beach, if at the very least it gives them the excuse to drink something sweet together.

Ei is in her usual attire, while S/O was in a swimsuit.

Seeing her lover in such wear made her slightly reconsider her stance. There certainly wasn't a lot to the imagination anymore.

(Ei) "Interesting choice of clothing S/O."

(S/O) "I could say the same about yours, Ei. You're not even changing?"

(Ei) "I do not plan on swimming, so I saw no need."

(S/O) "Huh...I don't know if I should be glad or disappointed."

(Ei) "If it would make you feel better, I could change into something you find more appealing for the beach."

(S/O) "W-Well..."

They seriously considered her proposition, but seeing the genuine look of curiosity in their eyes, they decided to shelve that idea for now.

That wasn't exactly something you talked about in the open.

(S/O) "I'll...ask something like that later. Let's just enjoy the beach for now."

(Ei) "I have no objections."

She smiled and joined S/O, relaxing near the waters in a blissful silence.

Yae was heavily considering on wearing something that would make S/O choke on their own spit at first sight.

But she shows some restraint. She has class after all.

Plus, the thing she had in mind was reserved for the bedroom, not a beach.

She has an outfit imported from Fontaine, and waits to see S/O's choice.

(Yae) "Hello, little one...Hm, I can certainly say that I like what I'm seeing."

(S/O) "M-Miko! Um...I think I would agree with you."

She laughs at S/O's flustered reaction, moving closer as she leans toward them.

(Yae) "Awww? Getting embarrassed already? You really would not have survived my original choice."

(S/O) "Should I be thanking you?"

(Yae) "More than likely. Your skin would have changed completely into the color of a cute little tomato."

(S/O) "Well, I know that I'll be seeing it at some point, so I won't say thanks just yet."

(Yae) "My my, aren't we getting confident? You already get to see me like this, you've used up years of good luck just to see my beautiful form alone!"

(S/O) "Then what does that make seeing me right now?"

(Yae) "Do you want the answer to that?"

(S/O) "Probably not."

Shenhe almost went to the beach completely naked, had S/O not stopped her.

This was the first time she went swimming for recreation instead of training, and deciding an outfit was an odd experience.

So many people had suggested different things.

Her Master wanted to personally tailor an outfit just for her, only to realize it'd be fully mechanical, and that she'd need to make a machine for tailoring, which would nee-

Ganyu suggested something cute, but all of the suits she chose, the waist ended up being too big, something that made Ganyu seemingly die of shame.

And finally, S/O had the best choice. Something that Shenhe would be comfortable in. Which thankfully ended up being a one piece.

S/O couldn't help but stare. It made her happy yet confused.

(S/O) "You look incredible, Shenhe."

Shenhe tilted her head and asked:

(Shenhe) "Is it because I'm not wearing clothes?"

That question got S/O to choke before they corrected themselves.

(S/O) "N-NO! W-Well, I mean...Agh, how do I explain it?!"

(Shenhe) "I think you look incredible too, S/O."

That stunned S/O, but made them eventually smile.

(S/O) "Hah...Maybe I should just enjoy the waters with you instead of worrying about little things like this, huh?"

The corners of her lips faintly resembled a smile.

(Shenhe) "I would like to enjoy them with you."

Yelan had many choices of her swimwear, but rarely got the chance to use them.

Rolling the dice in seeing what to do, she finally had the excuse to bust some of them out.

Yelan's outfit was revealing, but in a classy way.

But she enjoyed S/O's choice more, regardless if it was more flashy or simplistic.

Because it let her see them in a new way, just as much as her outfit did for them.

(Yelan) "So, ready to kick back?"

Blinking away their awe, S/O nodded.

(S/O) "Y-Yeah! Let's enjoy this day off together."

Yelan laughed at their reaction, but decided not to tease them any further.

Though she was curious what would happen if she did.

Putting aside the thought for now, she decided to jump in the waters with S/O.

(Yelan) "Water's looking great today, it's so clear that you can see everything."

She shot S/O a glance.

(Yelan) "...Including some of my more favorite sights."

Xianyun was honestly too busy to notice S/O's change of clothing.

Yes yes, they were attractive wearing virtually nothing, big whoop.

The real big whoop was her new machine!

(S/O) "Xianyun, what the heck is that?!"

(Xianyun) "Behold! One has created a water-horse, purely powered by the engines and propellers, allowing you to feel the wind as you ride it like a terrestrial mount!"

(S/O) "So what's it called?"

Xianyun gave a proud smile to S/O as she adjusted her glasses.

(Xianyun) "I dub it, the water-vehicle!"

(S/O) "...Is that really-"

(Xianyun) "The name is still being workshopped, do not judge One for thinking on the spot! Besides, this was made exclusively for us today to enjoy anyway."

She didn't bother with a change of clothing, as both would immediately ride the jet-ski and forget about anything relating to swmisuits.

Xinyan notices S/O's swimsuit and smiles at them.

(Xinyan) "Yer lookin' mighty fine, a bit more than usual I'd say!"

(S/O) "You're really easy on the eyes too in that oufit...It looks really cute, actually!"

Despite her usual attire, the swimsuit she chose was a bit more on the cutesy side.

Something that S/O would only get to see, despite her increasing fidgeting.

(Xinyan) "A-Aww...Thanks. Thought I'd do something nice and spruce it up a little, y'know?"

Trying her best to regain composure, she hops into the water without a second of hesitation, S/O quickly joining her.

Embarrassment quickly leaves her mind as she enjoys splashing S/O with water, enjoying this day off with them.

(Xinyan) "ACK! W-Water in my dang mouth!"

(S/O) "Hah, you know salt is good for the body!"

(Xinyan) "I'm boutta shove this salt up yer keister if ya wanna be cute with me like that!"

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aestrayla · 3 months

Text

cherries or peaches? pt. 2 ft. obey me! datables

summary: do they prefer ass or boobs? ft. obey me! datables x f!reader

cw: HIGHLY suggestive, mdni, fluff??, pet names (sweetheart), fondling, groping, grinding/humping, semi-public but no sex, licking, stripping, MY HUMOUR..

word count: 1.4k

a/n: thank u so much for the love on the first part, im so happy to be able to write these hcs, they’re such a fun idea. i got a bit carried away and some of these turned into half-ish fics but i hope u enjoy this version just as much as the first ♡

diavolo loves ass. the end.

just kidding.

ever since arriving in the devildom, student council meetings had always been a bore to you. you were never able to understand the complex topics of the “worldly problems” discussed, which often led to you staring out into space.

but ever since you got close to diavolo, things had changed.

“keep it down, y/n,” diavolo whispered through clenched teeth, as he kept a beaming smile glued to his face.

you let out a peeved groan. how the hell were you supposed to keep quiet when he kept rocking you back and forth on his lap like this?

despite your squirming, his hands never left you as he pushed and kneaded at your ass under the table. his hard-on evident as it ground against your clit, eliciting hushed whimpers from your lips.

in many ways, doing this was beyond worse than just zoning out, one wrong move and the whole student council would probably never look you in the eye again.

to make matters worse, diavolo insisted that meetings can’t start unless you were up here, in his lap, at all times.

“dia, i can’t do this anymore,” you whimpered under your breath.

“it’s almost over soon, sweetheart. just a little longer ‘n then i’ll make you feel good, hm?”

it might not be obvious at first, but barbatos loves boobs.

hearing that he was the “greatest pastry chef in all three worlds” has always been something that intrigued you. it wasn’t until you tried them for yourself that you realised that this statement was far from being a lie.

it was only a few weeks ago that you asked him to teach you a few of his recipes, you had never seen so much delight in his eyes. “oh that would be great, y/n! i’ve always been looking forward to the day you’d ask me so.”

as you slam the door to the oven, a gust of the hot air blows against your face, “how long should these be in the oven for, barbs?”

“thirty minutes should be fine. do you mind adding some of that sugar over there into this bowl?” you set the oven timer to thirty minutes before scurrying over with a measured bowl of sugar, pouring it into the bowl of fresh cream.

“perfect, could you whisk up this cream for me while i go find the vanilla?”

“sure.” he hands you the whisk before poking his nose through the cupboards in search of vanilla.

as you were whisking, you let your mind wander. gosh, i can’t wait to try this when it’s done… but dang i lowkey wonder when he’s gonna let me in his pants already… a few wet splatters across your chest had snapped you back to focus, “oh shit— i spilt it on me!”

the clank of the whisk dropping to the countertop had barbatos rushing towards you.

“oh goodness me, you’ve made a mess!”

“i know… fuck i’m sorry. i’ll just get a tea towel and wipe—”

before you could finish your sentence, barbatos had stopped you. his body crowding up against yours as he leaned in. holding you by your waist, you could feel his kitten licks swipe against your chest, even reaching as far down to the cleavage of your boobs.

you started to feel hot and dazed as the sweet aroma drifted through the kitchen, while he started to suck harshly against your skin, fingers creeping up to caress you’re boobs. soft pants began to leave your mouth as his tongue worked across your chest, but before it could escalate any further, he had pulled away.

as he stepped back, wiping the corner of his lips, you were left completely flustered, “oh wow, the cream without the vanilla tastes really good, you might just have a talent for baking y/n!”

“uh-huh…” you muttered, staring at him dumb-found and wide-eyed.

simeon is secretly a big fan of boobs, so today was a big treat for him.

it was the weekend, he had scored a pair of free tickets to the amusement park, and of course decided to bring you along. it was a leisurely day however, the rides and attractions he decided to do were almost too tame for your excitement.

dragging him along, you spot an attraction that seemed to catch your eye. handing two tokens to the employee, you quickly rushed into the tank, simeon freezing, clearly stunned and confused about what was about to happen. “hey y/n, what’s going on?!”

taking a seat on the tiny platform you point to the target beside you, “can you hit a bullseye?” you winked.

the employee hands simeon a ball, “you’ve got three tries, buddy.” after a moment of hesitation, he throws the ball, hitting the center of the target with a loud smack.

you let out a small shriek before getting submerged into the tank of water. “oh my— Y/N!” simeon rushes towards the tank, quickly pulling you out from the water. you let out sharp breaths before giggling, “your aim is amazing!”

“is this your idea of fun?!” his hands reach up to hold both sides of your face, turning it from one side to the other. “you’re not hurt are you?”

you smile sweetly, flattered by his concern, “i’m fine simeon, it was fun, really.”

he sighs, “good, alright.” his eyes travel over your body checking for any scrapes before widening at the sight of your chest. the water had soaked your white shirt completely, revealing that you were wearing nothing underneath. your round nipples were perked up from the cold water while your shirt was clinging onto your wet skin.

gasping even louder than before, in a flimsy last-minute attempt to cover you up, he slaps his hands over each of your boobs and although it works in his favour, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“don’t laugh y/n! we need to get you a new shirt, or at least a sweater!”

you pull him towards you by his collar, your lips mere inches away from touching, “so are you gonna help me take this one off first?” your purr.

his hands race to cover his reddened face, “w-wait that’s not what i—!” upon realising your boobs are on display again, he slams his hands back over them, “y/n!” he whines.

two hours in, and it was blatantly obvious to solomon that this tutoring session was going nowhere.

you weren’t understanding any terms or concepts of the topic at hand and with a week to go before your final, it seemed like solomon was more worried about this than you were. surely it isn’t because you’re too distracted sitting in his lap, right?

he clears his throat, “how about this…” you slowly lift your head up from the palm of your hands, clearly distressed about your upcoming failure. “for every question you get incorrect, you remove a piece of clothing.”

you raise your brows, intrigued, “and for every question i get right, you remove a piece of clothing?” you stare back at him.

“exactly, and for that answer…” he slowly shrugs off his blazer and places it behind his chair, “i’ll remove this.”

in hopes of this becoming a motivation for you, he began to quiz you with a mini questionnaire. “what are the three ingredients used to make the elixir of cerebral stimulation?”

you internally face palm because you knew jack shit about brewing potions, “uhhh… newt legs, unicorn hair, and frog mucus?”

solomon clears his throat ubruptly. “um, no. the correct answer is powdered unicorn hoof, bittergrass root, and caladrius blood.”

you look down in embarrassment before removing three pieces of clothing. only four minutes in and you’re left in nothing but your underwear and bra.

“last and final question, what covered the devildom when it was first created?”

“…darkness?”

“…unfortunately, that is incorrect. the correct answer is a forest.”

you groan. you haven’t gotten a single question correct and embarrassment was evident as your face was flushed. you turn to face solomon, “at this point, why don’t you choose what i take off?”

your pretty face staring up at him, teary and doe-eyed had him swooning. slowly standing up and pushing your back down onto the table, he stared deliriously at you. papers were scattered everywhere and textbooks were crumpled open. your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands gently pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders.

staring at your bare chest he murmurs, “i’m obsessed with these,” before diving straight in.

a/n: haven’t written in about 5 months so excuse how rusty my writing has gotten.. but nonetheless, thank for reading this far, luv you all ♡

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me fanfic #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me x you #obey me imagines #obey me nightbringer #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #obey me solomon #solomon x reader #obey me hcs

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yikesmary · 1 year

Text

PREGNANCY CRAVINGS — choi seungcheol x reader

summary: where being pregnant comes with its struggles, and one of them just so happens to be the random pregnancy cravings. so, in the middle of the night, you try to sneak out and go to the convenience store nearby and buy something to satisfy your craving. however, your husband wakes up and insists to accompany you—even if he’s barely awake.

notes: the convenience store i've pictured in mind are like the ones i've seen in korea. but i don't really address where this occurs in, so use your imagination!

disclaimer: i'm not pregnant or have been pregnant so everything i write about pregnancy is most likely not true and therefore shouldn't be taken as fact (unless it's true, but make sure it's validated by an actual medical professional).

join my taglist!

“Oh, Cheol, you absolute asshole,”

You tried using all your strength to push your husband’s sleeping figure away from you, the heat coming from his body was too much for you. Trying to move him away was an obstacle, especially because he was working out more as of lately.

But finally, you had managed to cause enough noise in trying to move him that Seungcheol finally moved himself, scooting more onto his side.

You looked down at your pregnant belly and told your unborn child, “All that effort I put into moving him, and all he has to do is move himself?”

Huffing, you stood up and went to your closet, looking for an appropriate shirt to change into in order to go to the convenience store. In hindsight, you could probably have used your phone to order something, but the problem was you didn’t know what you were craving.

You knew that the baby was craving something, but didn’t know what. So, you decided that you were going to walk to the store and let the baby decide while walking through the aisles.

You rummaged through your clothes before going through Seungcheol’s side of the closet. As the pregnancy goes on, you’ve found yourself wearing more of Seungcheol’s clothes since they seemed to fit you better and were comfier than the maternity clothes that you never wore.

"What are you doing?"

You turned around in surprise to see Seungcheol standing, looking quite comfy in his pajama pants and a random old shirt. Being the one for dramatics (which you probably got from your husband), you put your hand on top of where your heart was. "You scared me! I think I almost gave birth then," you said.

He rolled his eyes and then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What are you doing?" He repeated.

"Oh, I was gonna go to the convenience store. The baby wants to eat something," you told him.

"Can't the baby wait for the morning?"

"The baby wants to eat, now."

"Then why don't you order something?"

"The baby doesn't know what to eat," you sheepishly said.

He looked at you for a moment, before reaching behind you to grab a hoodie. "Fine, let's go," he said, turning to leave yours and his' bedroom.

"I'm fine on my own," you insisted.

"You're pregnant and it's two in the morning. I'm coming with you," Seungcheol said, before yawning.

"Cheol, you're barely awake enough to be coming with me. You need your sleep," you gently said, but he was stubborn.

"I'm suddenly hungry too, so I'll just come with you to buy some food," he said.

Once you and Seungcheol entered the convenience store, you were greeted by the quietness of the place and the single employee that was stood behind the cash register.

You looked around the aisles while your husband followed not too far away from you. "Choose what you want, I'll be paying," he instructed and you didn't bother to argue, considering he always insisted on paying.

Wandering around, you grabbed your favorite snacks, a couple ramen cups, and a few of Seungcheol's favorite foods. Realizing that you should've gotten a basket, you looked at Seungcheol, who seemed to be amused with your current predicament of full hands.

"Don't laugh, it's not funny!" you whined, but he only seemed to amuse further with your comment.

Wordlessly, he left the aisle to grab a basket. When he returned with the basket, you dumped everything in it, and he carried it while you walked around the aisles one last time.

After making sure you didn't want anything else, Seungcheol went to the register, with you waddling behind him.

"Was it worth it to ruin our sleeping schedules for this?" Seungcheol teased, and you nodded with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

He shook his head but opened his mouth and you put a chopstick with ramen noodles on it in his mouth. "Not bad," he said and you beamed at his compliment.

"Is the baby satisfied with the food?"

"Yep, and the baby is finally tired enough to sleep," you said.

Waddling to your bedroom, with Seungcheol not too far from you, you settled into your bed, and closed your eyes.

"Sweetie?"

"Yes, Cheol?"

"I can't sleep now,"

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alexiswritingstuff · 11 days

Text

Everyone can heal.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Gn!reader

Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.

Genre: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.

This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.

A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!

Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!

I hope you enjoy!!

It had been a long few days.

It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.

Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.

But you wanted to learn. Or... did.

The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.

See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.

It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.

Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.

Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.

But you couldn't exactly blame him.

This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.

He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.

It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.

The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.

It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed.

You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer.

It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.

The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.

It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.

Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.

Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.

The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.

Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.

He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.

His eyes were closed.

At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.

Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.

Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.

Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.

Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.

You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.

You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--

And then bam.

Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.

In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.

“Whoa-- hey!”

He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.

They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.

It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.

“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in.

He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.

But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.

Until his gaze lowered.

Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.

So, why did something sound like it was dripping?

“Y/n.”

By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”

You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.

“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.

There was your answer. “Oh.”

Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?

“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”

“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.

“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”

Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”

He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.

“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”

You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.

But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.

~~~

The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.

It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.

You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.

But that was the last thing on your mind.

You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.

Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.

You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.

Until today.

A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.

The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.

It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.

In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.

Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.

Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.

So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.

Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.

More so who.

Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.

Logan.

He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.

There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”

You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”

It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.

“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”

“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”

“Y/n, I'm sorry.”

“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”

You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.

It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.

But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.

“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.”

The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.

“And, I'm still here, Logan.”

You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.

A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”

“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”

You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.

“See?”

Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.

They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.

“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”

“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.

Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.

“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.”

Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles.

It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.

I guess it just slipped your mind.

“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.

“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”

That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”

“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.

He was supposed to be relieved.

“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”

The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.

The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.

You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.

It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss.

Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?

Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired.

Just a different kind.

You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.

Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.

By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.

You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,”

“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”

Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.”

He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”

This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.”

The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it.

But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.”

In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”

Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.

“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.

Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.

He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.

“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.

You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.

You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”

There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.

Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.

By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.

Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further.

His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.

An extra weight that you were glad to carry.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x gn reader #wolverine #wolverine x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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