#why were these at the bottom of the page?

[fawninthesnow]

𝐍𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞: One Shot

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Empress Fem Reader! 𐙚 18+

Summary: Married to Emperor Geta, you decide to lift his spirits. (No plot smut.)

Warnings/contains: smut, fluff, mentions of violence, f4m, (somewhat) dom fem(?), male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), no aftercare, not proof read

Word Count: 1.3k

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The winds were strong on this day in the arena, the aim of the arrows shot by savage men were skewed. With every miss, the emperors groaned, and with every bloody wound, they cheered. From the large pits of fire beside the royal box, heat blew and fire blazed. A fighter, after a long duel, was put to death with a blade inside of his intestines. From your seat behind emperor Geta, you stood, holding your shawl over your arms.

**

You recall it like yesterday when you were informed by your parents that you would be the wife of a prince. Not just any prince, one of Rome.  “Father, he is younger than me. He will be irresponsible! Immature!” However, you knew what your job was. Marry him and they will spare your country. At the age of twenty-three, there was only one task left in this world for a royal daughter.

Along the long travel, you would bite into your bottom lip until it bled then healed. Repeatedly. The prince was described to you as immature and unruly by some. Deceitful and rough by others. However, that was every man at that age.

**

Later that evening.

Inside of the palace, you two sat across from each other. You read through a scroll as you were fanned. The emperor impatiently bounced his knee and his eyes on the door to his chambers. “He should be here by now.”

“Who?” You asked.

“You are not listening to me. My brother.” Your eyes lifted from the page, “What a nuisance!” As you tilted, your hair fell to the side.

You made your way to him, massaging his shoulders. “Why are you so tense? I am sure he meant no harm. He must be preoccupied.”

“You…have not touched me in a long time. A- and, now you mistaken my brother for an intentional man.” A soft chuckle left your lips as he whined, “Some days, I barely see you. Do you hide from me?”

“No, my love.”

“You do! I see you in the garden with the ladies of the court! I see you…everywhere it seems but not beside me.” Your fingers caressed his throat, his head tilted back.

“Have you shaven?” he shook his head; his red hair covered his eyes.

You sat by his side and held onto his neck with one hand. The other gently shaved down his face, taking the shaving soap along with it. When you were done, he wiped his face warm towel and tossed it elsewhere. Your fingers ran through his hair and moved his curls from his eyes. “Why did you leave during the games?”

“You know I do not like that violence. It is a masculine manner of expression. I am glad you enjoy it but…”

His smile was enough to make you content, “I guess. But when you leave,” Your hand reached around to his side, gently squeezing. Your lips pressed onto his ear as he settled into your hands. “It saddens me.”

“You cannot go everywhere I go, my love. I have duties and you have yours.” You hugged him, and he leaned his head against your bosom. “Please leave us.” You say to the servants as he nuzzled against your breasts. “Geta?” You asked as he pumped his cock beneath his clothes. He squeezed his shaft as he buried his face between. “Would you like help?” Your voice was sultry, and soft; his cheeks grew pink as the seconds passed.

Geta’s face scrunches as he was overwhelmed with sensation, biting his lower lip slightly as he fought for a hold of his breath. His mind goes elsewhere, as if he was reliving the experience.

Although his brother suggested concubines, you're the only one he wanted in this damn palace. The only woman that truly got to him.

When you both met, he was pleasantly surprised. You seemed to have such a kind, caring and nurturing side to you. Not many women would just say that she’ll be patient and understanding to a young man who has never experienced any kind of romance or intimacy. It was a dream come true for him.

Geta kept his chin to your chest when he spoke again. “T- thank you.”

“I love you, Geta.” He smiled and looked into your eyes. His expression was soft, his usual puppy eyes returning. He could sense how much you cared for him, just in the way you spoke to him. “I never want you to feel unwanted.”

“[Y/n]…” The feeling of your body pressed up against his was so euphoric, he'd missed feeling you like this.

You gently kiss his forehead and press your lips against the top of his head. He started to pump his fist around his cock again as you watched. He gently presses his lips along your jaw and neck, leaving several soft kisses along the flesh as he holds you close. His mouth wanders your neck for a few moments before planting another deep kiss on your lips. He held your face and pulled his close, moaning softly as you two shared a passionate kiss that grew heated in a matter of seconds.

He gently wraps his hand around your body, pulling you in closer and giving you a deep and passionate kiss, full of desire and need. He moaned as he felt your body pressed up against his, his skin heating up from the contact. “Make love to me, [Y/n].” He pants softly against your neck, his voice slightly breathy as he places more kisses along the sensitive flesh. He gently grabs your hips and pulls you in closer, so that your body was pressed up tightly against his own. He moans into your skin, desperately craving the feel of you. You tore the clothes from his body, panting into his mouth.

He pulls you close against him; a hand on the back of your knee as he positions himself between your hips.

When he sunk inside of your tight cunt, his eyelids twitched with need. Your hands held onto his face; you enjoyed the looks on his face when you both were intimate.

You kept your legs frayed as Geta fucked you into the pillows; Your thighs twitched, and you scratched the soft pillows behind you. ���M- my love.” He gripped your wrists, feeling the strain of your pussy around his cock with every stroke and buck of his hips. He continued to hold himself up, sweat ran down his face; the sight of you beneath him. Your head fell back into the pillows; that expression was one that was earned. He was lost in the way your chest bounce and your eyes roll back. He stroked deeper, slowing the movement. You trembled at his actions; your fingertips drew him close against you. He grinds against your body as your moans echoed throughout the chamber. “Stay right there,” you said through breathless pants, a desperate need in your eyes.

He groaned; wetness seemed to coat his cock and, on his balls, the longer they fucked. “Dammit.” You stiffened, orgasming on his cock. Your hand gripped his throat as your back raised and arched. He lovingly suckled on your neck before continuing his deep strokes inside your snatch. “I- I cannot…last very much longer.” He whimpered into your ear. You caressed his head as he came inside of your pussy. He moaned, his arms gave up from under him and he lay on you; You kissed his lips as he pulled out of your cunt.

 You guide his head lower. He buried his face between your thighs. Geta slowly spreads your pussy with his fingers, dragging his middle finger down your labia. He admired his cum as it slid down to your asshole. “Fuck. I’m so lucky.” He kissed your inner thighs, taking his time. “I want you to ride my face after this.” You weakly moaned, closing your thighs around his head. He suckles on your sensitive clitoris as his middle fingers circled your opening. Your eyelids fluttered as your hips bucked on his face. He kissed your pussy a few times, gently stroking the clitoris.

Something quick while I finish up some requests!! <3

Thank you for everyone who have requested up to this point!

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[cosmicalily]

"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer. 

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless. 

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling? 

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand. 

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin.  “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

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[mrprettywhenhecries]

o, christmas tree [g.t.]

Part Two of 𝑨 𝑻𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒏–𝑳𝒆𝒘𝒊𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠

Gator Tillman ✗ Win Lewis

➼ w.c. 2.9k ➼ warnings/tags. hurt/comfort, fluff, mention of roy, spiders ➼ a/n. This series takes place about a year after the events of Don’t Waste Your Time (on Me), and while technically the main series is still being written, I wanted to take a small break to write some fluff for Win and Gator for Christmas. ➼ divider credits. truck divider @/strangergraphics, bottom divider @/saradika

Gator finds out Win’s never had a real tree before, and inspired by fond memories of cutting down a yearly Christmas tree with his father, gone sour, he decides to take Win to pick one, wanting to replace his old memories with new.

Win flipped the glossy page of the catalogue in her hand as Gator walked into the living room, shoving another cookie into his mouth.

“If you keep eating them at that rate, there’s not gunna be any left by Christmas,” she chastised, glancing up at him over the top of the catalogue as he flopped down next to her and she lifted her stockinged feet to rest in his lap.

“I can’t help it, they’re so fuckin’ good,” Gator groaned around his mouthful of cookie before dusting the crumbs from his chest.  “Dealing with your dad was definitely worth it,” he murmured and Win smiled softly, still touched by the gesture.

“We should think about putting up a tree soon.  There’s some nice ones on sale,” she mused, glancing back down at the catalogue.

“What, already?  It’s a bit early for that,” Gator scoffed and Win frowned, her head snapping back up.

“What do you mean too early?  When I was a kid we’d have it up the day after Thanksgiving,” she snorted.

“If we get one now, it’ll be dead before Christmas,” Gator exclaimed, as if it were obvious.

“Ohhhh,” Win breathed, dropping the catalogue to her stomach and pushing herself up.  “You’re talking about a real tree.”

“Yeah duh,” Gator huffed in amusement, until a thought occurred to him.  “Wait, have you never had a real Christmas tree before?” he asked in disbelief and Win shook her head.

“No, only fake ones.”

“I’ve only ever had real Christmas trees,” he murmured, a far away look crossing his face.  “My dad would always take me with him to—“ he cut off, shaking his head as his lips twisted in distaste.

Win shifted, tucking her legs under herself to crawl closer, pressing into Gator’s side.  “It’s okay to miss certain things about him,” she whispered, slipping her hand in his.  “You’re allowed to have some good memories.”

Gator frowned, his brows furrowing briefly before he gave a curt nod.  Softening, he gave Win’s hand a squeeze.  “I’d rather make new memories.  With you.”

Win smiled, lifting his hand to press a kiss to the back of it.  “Let’s do it.”

A dazed grin tugged at Gator’s lips as his eyes found hers.  “You, me, a real tree.  It’s on,” he chuckled.

“So what all does picking out a tree entail?” Win asked, matching his grin.

“Well, we gotta drive a ways, and there’ll be a bit of a hike, then the actual cutting down part, and then you have to drag the tree back to the truck—think you can handle that?”

“Psh, can I handle that?” Win scoffed, wrinkling her nose at him.  “You of all people should know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, Tillman,” she teased.

Gator laughed, holding his hands up.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Oh my God, why is it so far?” Win exclaimed, already starting to shiver as the icy wind whipped past them, cutting through her fleece lined leggings.

“Hey, I warned you, remember?” Gator retorted, pulling his boot from the ankle deep snow only to sink through the light crust that capped the wet powder with his next step.  The cold was starting to bother his bad leg, but he wasn’t about to tell Win that, not after giving her a hard time about her own complaints.  Plus the last thing he wanted was to worry her.

“Yeah, yeah, you did,” Win huffed, her breath misting in the air before dissipating, swept away by the wind that stung her face despite the thick scarf wound round her neck.  “Couldn’t we have just gone to a tree farm, though?  Or picked a different day,” she grumbled, huddling closer to Gator’s side as they hiked across the field toward a small grove of snow dusted fir trees.

“I thought you wanted the whole experience,” Gator pointed out, a wry grin stretching his chilled lips.

“I do,” Win whined, throwing him a pout.  “I just wish this wind would die down, it’s blowing right through me.”

Gator sobered, wrapping an arm around Win’s shoulder for a little warmth, wincing slightly at the insistent ache in his leg.  

“Yeah, me too,” he agreed through gritted teeth.  “Once we hit that treeline, it should get better,” he said.  “Not far now.”

Yeah, but then we still have to make the hike back, Win thought, though she didn’t voice it.

Surely enough, once they entered the cluster of trees, the thick branches buffered them from the wind and Gator let out a sigh of relief.

“Told ya,” he quipped and Win gave him a playful shove.

“Now what?  We just pick one?” she asked, raising her eyes toward the tops of the trees, trying to measure them by eye.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Gator said, unzipping his backpack to retrieve the tape measure.

“You measured the spot by the front window before we left, right?” Win questioned and Gator gave her a flat look.

“Course I did.  I know what I’m doin’, Winnie.  I’m the expert here, remember?” he scoffed.

“Alright mister expert, I was just checking,” she laughed, holding her hands up and he rolled his eyes fondly.

“See any you like?”

Win slowly walked the row in front of them, assessing each tree carefully before finally stopping in front of one that looked promising.  

“How about this one?” she asked, reaching out a gloved hand to touch one of the snow dusted branches.  “Think it’s small enough to fit in the house?”

Gator extended the yellow measuring tape, circling the tree to measure its height and width.  “Yeah, that’s pretty perfect, actually.”

Win beamed, pleased that she’d found their tree so quickly.  “Is this part usually so easy?” she asked, helping Gator spread out the tarp next to the tree, the blue plastic bright against the snow.

Gator laughed.  “No, not usually,” he admitted.  “Sometimes it would take us nearly an hour to find the right tree.”

“Damn, we’d be frozen by then,” Win chuckled, dusting the snow from her gloves.  “Now what?”

“Now, I’m gunna need you to hold the tree steady while I saw.  Kind of pull it away from me a little to keep it taut and I’ll let you know when I’m through, then I’ll help you get it on the tarp,” he explained, crouching down to get closer to the base of the trunk while Win grasped it higher up, squeezing her eyes shut against the branch pressing to her cheek.

The steady sound of sawing filled the chill air, louder than usual in the silence of the grove and to Win it felt like hours before Gator let out a grunt.

“Okay, I’m through.  Hold it steady while I get out from under here.”

The tree gave a jerk as Gator disentangled himself, wobbling precariously for a moment before Win tightened her grip on it, wrapping her arms around the trunk with a shaky “whoa!”, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Shit, careful!” Gator yelped, grabbing the tree to steady it.  “You okay?” he asked, peering through the branches at his wife.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she breathed, finally opening her eyes.

“Before we lower this sucker to the tarp, we should shake the loose needles off so we don’t have as many when we get it in the house,” Gator said, giving the tree a few sharp shakes, a ring of dark green needles falling to the snow below.

“Will a lot of needles fall off?  Will our tree go bald?” Win exclaimed in alarm and Gator let out a snort.

“It’s not gunna go bald,” he laughed, shifting his grip to start tipping the tree so the branches wouldn’t break as they set it on its side.

“Don’t you make fun of me, Gator Tillman!” Win cried, amusement seeping into her voice.  “This is my first real tree, I don’t know these things!”

“Don’t worry, doll, as long as we keep it well watered, it won’t lose many needles,” he explained, sweetly condescending.

Win stuck her tongue out at him, but bent to grab the edge of the tarp.  “I’m excited to get it home and decorate it.”

“Me too,” Gator agreed, taking hold of the other corner of the tarp and beginning to pull.  “Gunna put those new camo ornaments on it,” he exclaimed, waiting for Win’s reaction, knowing exactly how she felt about them.

As if on cue, she let out a long suffering groan and glanced at him from the corner of her eye as they headed for the field, the tarp leaving a wide swath of flattened snow in its wake.

“Fine, but they’re not going near the front.”

“Aw c’mon, why not?” Gator exclaimed, a knowing grin tugging his lips, and Win rolled her eyes at him.

“Because they’re ugly as fuck,” she scoffed.

“They’ll blend right in, you won’t even notice ‘em,” he teased, enjoying pressing her buttons further.

Win shot him a wry look, bracing for the wind as they moved past the treeline and back out into the open.  They bickered playfully for a while longer as the wind whipped their faces and tugged at the edges of the tarp until Win noticed the pained expression that flashed across her husband’s face.

“Is your leg bothering you?” she asked, definitely clocking the stiff way Gator was moving.

“Just a bit,” he grunted, but Win knew if he was admitting that much, then it was hurting more than just a bit.

“We’re almost there,” she pointed out, mentally measuring the remaining distance to the truck.  “Toss me the keys and I’ll get the cab warm while we load the tree.

Gator nodded, pulling his glove off with his teeth so he could reach into his pocket for his key ring, dragging the tarp alone for the last few feet so Win could jog ahead to start the engine.  By the time they bailed the tree with twine and got it in the truck bed, they were both thoroughly frozen through and the warm truck was a godsend.

“Oh fuck, that was so cold,” Win breathed, holding her frigid fingers to the vent.

“Gimme your hands,” Gator murmured, enveloping them with his own and blowing on them, slowly working warmth back into them as he shivered.  “Maybe next year we’ll just go to a local tree farm,” he relented and Win barked a laugh.

“If I do say so, our tree looks pretty damn good,” Gator announced, planting his hands on his hips as he appreciated his handiwork – the tree all set up and positioned perfectly in the front window.

“It’ll look even better when it's decorated,” Win exclaimed, admiring it for a moment with him.  “At least the hard part’s done,” she said, opening the box of lights. “Speak for yourself, decorating it’s the hardest part,” Gator scoffed, peering over her shoulder at the tangle of lights in the box.

“Maybe if you hadn’t just dumped them in the box like this when we took them off last time,” Win huffed, her eyebrows pinching as she picked the strand up, trying to find the plug.

“That wasn’t me,” Gator insisted, holding his hands up, though they did little to fend off Win’s unimpressed glare.  “Alright, I’ll help,” he grumbled reluctantly, taking a swing from his bottle of Dew before pulling the lights from her hands.

“Okay, what do we have here–” he murmured, trying to detangle the strand.

“Careful!” Win yelped when he yanked at the cord to pull a section loose, the tiny plastic light bulbs catching on each other.

“Why don’t we just buy new lights?” Gator grunted, but Win shook her head.  

“That’s so wasteful.  As long as these ones still light, I think we should use them,” she argued, working the end of the strand free and managing to plug it in, all the coloured lights blinking to life in Gator’s hands.

He grumbled something under his breath, but he kept working at the knot, his brows pinching as his tongue peeked out from between his lips in concentration.  By the time they’d worked the last of the strand free, Gator had almost been ready to throw in the towel, but Win’s hand on his arm had pulled him from his bubble of frustration, keeping him from giving up.

As she began to carefully gather the lights in a neat loop to start stringing around the tree, he realized she always seemed to have that effect on him.  Win was like a soothing balm on an angry rash.  No matter how annoyed he could get about something, her presence alone was usually enough to calm him.

“Need some help?” he asked, reaching around the tree to take the lights from her.

“Oh, yeah, thanks—“ Win exclaimed distractedly, letting out a laugh as Gator pulled the strand around the back of the tree and then wrapped it around her like a lasso, pulling her closer.

“You’re gunna get us all tangled again,” she chastised lightly, biting back a grin.

“Eh, there’s worse places to get tangled,” Gator murmured, smirking down at her as he pulled her flush against him, her arms trapped against his chest.

“I s’pose so,” she agreed, lifting her chin to meet his gaze, his dark eyes lidded as they trailed her face, long lashes brushing his cheek with each slow blink, and then his lips were on hers, soft at first until she returned the kiss, a breathless whine catching in her throat as she parted her lips for him, meeting his probing tongue with her own.

“This is gunna take a lot longer if we keep this up,” she teased, nipping at his full bottom lip when he finally pulled back.

“I’m okay with that,” Gator quipped, arching a brow at her before giving a soft yelp when she poked his stomach.

“We can pick this back up where we left off once we’re finished,” Win insisted, her lips curling in amusement at the pout forming on Gator’s lips.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically, stealing one last peck before releasing her and getting back to work.

“It’ll give you incentive to work fast,” she teased, leaning into the tree to wend the lights around again, handing the bundle to Gator on the far side.

Whatever snarky response he was formulating died on his tongue when Win suddenly yanked her hand from the tree with a shriek, a large black spider crawling up her arm.

“Fuck fuck fuck!  GET OFF!” she screeched, frantically shaking the spider from her hand and leaping up onto the couch with a violent shudder as it landed on the ground at Gator’s feet.

“What the fuck!” he yelped, dropping the strand of lights and dancing backward, nearly tripping over the end table in his rush to get away.

“Get it, quick!  Before it gets back into the tree!  I won’t be able to sleep if I know that thing’s in the house,” Win cried and Gator’s eyes darted to the spider that was already starting to scurry back toward the lowest branches.  

Scrambling upright, he lifted his foot to stomp it, only to stop just as Win let out another cry.

“Wait!  Don’t kill it!”

“What?!  How the fuck am I supposed to get rid of it then?” Gator snapped and Win hastily searched the room for something to trap the spider with, her eyes landing on the empty plastic pitcher they’d used to fill the tree stand with.

“Use this!” she exclaimed, tossing him the pitcher, and letting out a cheer as he dropped it over the spider before it could get any farther.

“Got it!” he cried, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. “You’re safe now, mama,” he drawled, smirking at her as he straightened, trying to act like he hadn’t freaked out at all.

“My hero!” Win laughed, throwing her arms around Gator’s neck as he lifted her from the couch to set her back on the floor.  “Thank you for not killing it,” she murmured a little sheepishly, handing him a piece of cardboard to slip under the pitcher to carry the spider outside.  “I read this thing a while ago about not wanting someone to kill you just for being small and it stuck with me.  Makes me feel guilty for killing bugs now,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she followed him to the door to release the spider.

“You’re such a fuckin’ softie,” he muttered, shaking his head ruefully as he shut the door, hoping the spider wouldn’t find a way to just come back inside.

“As if you’re not,” Win snorted, returning to the living room to pick up where they left off.

“I’m not!” Gator insisted, though his words held little conviction as he trailed behind her.

Once they’d finally finished stringing the lights and getting the decorations on the tree – Win even relented on her threat of keeping Gator’s ornaments out of sight – they stood side by side to marvel at the finished product, bathed in the soft glow of the multicoloured lights as the sun sank below the horizon.

“It smells so good in here,” Win exclaimed, leaning into Gator’s side, smiling softly as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.  “I’m really glad we did this.  It’s perfect,” she breathed, her eyes shimmering in the dim room as she gazed at the tree in wonder.

“Yeah, it really is,” Gator murmured, though he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from her.

➼ taglist. @super-unpredictable98 @heartbreak-sandwich @sailorskunk @hickeysgodcomplex @thecreelhouse

@girlwiththerubyslippers @mayhem24-7forever

[rebkys]

Deceitful Hearts

Oikawa x Reader

TW: Mafia, Betrayal, Obsessive Behavior, Emotional Manipulation, Violence, Death, Pregnancy, Trauma, Forced Bondage, Angst

The mafia was the reason you became a detective. They were the ones who ruined your life, who stole your family, and left you with nothing but a thirst for revenge.

You worked your way up to this moment. Years of pain and anger had prepared you for this mission: infiltrate the infamous Tooru Clan, a mafia group known for their brutality. And at the center of it all was Oikawa Tooru, the heir to the empire.

The opportunity came when Sienna’s brother approached you. Sienna

Oikawa’s long-lost childhood fiancé , the girl he’d once loved and lost. Her brother had seen you and couldn’t deny the resemblance. “You look like her,” he said, his eyes sharp. “But you’re better. Smarter, more capable. You can finish what she couldn’t.”

Sienna’s family had despised the Tooru Clan, just like you did. Her brother had been waiting for someone like you, someone who could play the role of Sienna and bring Oikawa’s world crashing down.

You accepted the mission, not just for revenge, but because it was your chance to destroy the people who took everything from you.

You met Oikawa through Sienna’s brother, who staged a reunion between you and Oikawa. The moment Oikawa saw you, his carefree mask slipped. His eyes widened, his body stiffened, and for the first time, you saw the man beneath the arrogance.

“Sienna?” he whispered, his voice raw with disbelief.

You forced a soft, hesitant smile. “Tooru… is that you?”

From that moment on, Oikawa was captivated. He couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t believe you were real. He pulled you into his life, spoiling you with expensive dates, gifts, and whispered promises.

You played your part perfectly, letting him think he was falling in love with the girl he thought he’d lost. But in truth, you were using every moment to gather information about his family. Every secret you uncovered was sent back to your boss, inching you closer to your goal.

But Oikawa wasn’t a fool.

One night, he caught you off guard. “You’re not her,” he said, his voice calm but cold.

For a moment, your heart stopped. But you quickly recovered, stepping closer to him with a soft smile.

“Does it matter, Tooru?” you whispered, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You love me, don’t you? Isn’t that enough?”

He hesitated, his emotions warring behind his eyes. Then, to your relief, he exhaled shakily and pulled you into his arms. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “I love you. That’s all I need.”

You felt a flicker of guilt, but you buried it. This was a mission, nothing more. You needed to stay focused.

From then on, you manipulated him carefully, keeping him under your control while continuing to send information back to your boss. But every now and then, his touch lingered too long, his words felt too genuine, and you found yourself questioning your own emotions.

One night, while searching through files in the Tooru Clan’s archive, you found something that shattered everything. A report detailing a massacre your family’s massacre. Every detail was outlined: the names, the orders, the aftermath. And at the bottom of the page was the Tooru Clan’s signature.

Your hands trembled as you read the words, bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t believe it. Oikawa’s family had planned it all. They were the reason you were alone.

You decided to leave immediately. You had to report this to your boss in person. But as you turned, you froze.

Oikawa was standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.

“I knew something was off,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “My gut told me you weren’t who you said you were. And now I know why.”

You tried to keep calm. “Tooru, it’s not what you think—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “You’re a spy. You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

Your anger finally broke through. “Your family killed mine, Tooru! They destroyed everything I had. What did you expect me to do?!”

His expression darkened, his usual charm replaced by something dangerous. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice low. “But it doesn’t matter now. You think I’m going to let you go after this?”

He moved faster than you expected, grabbing your wrist and pulling you close. “You’re mine, y/n,” he whispered, his voice both tender and chilling. “And I’ll make sure you never leave me.”

From that moment on, your life spiraled into a nightmare. Oikawa kept you under constant watch, his obsession growing stronger with every passing day. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight, and when you discovered you were pregnant weeks later, you realized there was no escape.

You were trapped in his world, bound by his love and his madness. No matter how much you hated him, no matter how much you wanted to fight back, one thing was certain: Oikawa Tooru would never let you go.

At first, you thought it was a lie, another way for Oikawa to trap you. But when the doctor confirmed it, there was no denying it. Oikawa was overjoyed. You, however, were suffocating under the weight of it all.

During the first month, Oikawa clung to you like a lifeline. His hands were always on your stomach, his voice soft as he whispered about the family you would have together. But while he was looking at you, you stared out the window, your mind consumed by thoughts of escape.

You didn’t want this baby. You didn’t want to bring a child into the world when its father was part of the family that had killed yours.

At first, you considered abortion. You even tried to leave the house to arrange it, but Oikawa wouldn’t let you out of his sight.

“This baby is ours,” he said firmly, his eyes dark with obsession. “And you’re not going anywhere.”

Desperate, you turned to more reckless methods. You pushed yourself to the brink, lifting heavy objects, taking dangerous falls, anything to trigger a miscarriage. But no matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t get rid of it. And Oikawa always found out.

One night, after another failed attempt, he cornered you in the bedroom. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” he hissed, his grip tight on your wrist. “You’re mine, y/n. And so is this baby. I won’t let you destroy us.”

You glared at him, your voice shaking with fury. “This baby is yours, Oikawa. Not mine. I don’t want it. I don’t want any part of you.”

His expression twisted, but instead of letting go, he pulled you into his arms, forcing you to stay. “You’ll change your mind,” he whispered, his voice dangerously calm. “You’ll see. This baby will make you love me.”

At your next doctor’s appointment, the news only made things worse.

“Twins. You’re having twins. Congratulations!” the doctor said with a bright smile.

You stared at the screen, your face blank as the words sank in. Twins.

Oikawa’s grin stretched wide as he kissed your temple, his excitement overflowing. “Did you hear that, y/n? Twins. We’re going to have a big family.”

But you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, your hands clammy. You’d already been trying to figure out how to escape with one baby. Now, two? It felt impossible.

Every day after that, Oikawa became more protective. He refused to let you leave the house, even with guards. Every meal was monitored, every step you took watched. The more you tried to distance yourself, the closer he held you.

Your mind raced with plans. Once you gave birth, you would escape with the twins. You didn’t know how, but you had to try. You refused to let your children grow up in the same darkness that had destroyed your family.

But the weight of your mission still hung over you. Oikawa’s family had to pay for what they did. You couldn’t let them win.

And as the days passed, you realized the greatest battle wasn’t with Oikawa or his family. It was with your own heart, torn between your hatred for him and the twisted, dangerous love he had forced you to confront.

The only way to survive was to pretend. Pretend that you loved him. Pretend that you didn’t despise the man who had taken everything from you.

Months turned into years, and somehow, you were still alive. But the cost of that survival weighed on you every single day. The twins Ren and Haru were now four years old, and while their sweet smiles reminded you of their innocence, they were also constant reminders of Oikawa’s control over your life.

Oikawa had molded them into his little shadows, brainwashing them to be his spies. They loved you, yes, but their loyalty to their father was absolute. If you so much as stepped into another room, they would cling to you, begging you not to leave. It wasn’t because they feared for themselves—it was because Oikawa had convinced them that you might leave him behind.

You couldn’t breathe. The walls of the house felt like they were closing in on you. Every time you tried to gather the strength to leave, you hesitated. They were his sons, too, and no matter how much you hated Oikawa, you couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning Ren and Haru.

But some days, the regret was overwhelming. You often thought about the early days of their infancy, when they were too young to speak, too small to stop you. If only you’d escaped then. If only you’d done more.

One night, the weight of it all felt unbearable. You were cleaning up after dinner when Ren tugged at your leg.

“Mommy, where are you going?” he asked, his wide brown eyes filled with worry.

“I’m just going to put the dishes away,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm.

“No, Mommy, don’t leave us!” Haru chimed in, rushing to cling to your other leg.

You sighed, looking down at their tear-streaked faces. “I’m not leaving,” you said quietly, though the words felt hollow.

Still, they clung to you tighter, their small bodies shaking with sobs.

“Mommy is leaving! Mommy is leaving!”

You stood frozen, the plates in your hands trembling as you stared blankly at the wall. Their cries filled the room, each word cutting deeper into the hollow space where your heart used to be.

“What is happening here?” Oikawa’s voice echoed from the doorway.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“Mommy is leaving! Mommy is leaving us, Daddy!” Ren cried.

“Mommy’s going to marry another man!” Haru added, his voice shaking.

“I’m not leaving,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just putting the dishes away.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Oikawa said, his tone light as he walked over to the boys. “Mommy isn’t leaving. As if she could.”

He chuckled softly, and you finally glanced up at him. His smile was charming, but the darkness in his eyes made your stomach twist.

He crouched down to the boys’ level, brushing their tears away with practiced ease. “Mommy isn’t going anywhere. She loves us too much to leave, right, y/n?”

You nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Right.”

“See?” Oikawa said, ruffling Ren’s hair. “Now, go play while Mommy finishes cleaning up.”

The boys reluctantly let go of your legs, sniffling as they shuffled off. Oikawa straightened, watching them leave before turning his gaze back to you.

“You should be more careful,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of warning. “They’re sensitive, you know. They love you so much… but they’re scared you’ll leave. And honestly, I can’t blame them.”

You set the plates down on the counter, your hands trembling. “I told you, I’m not leaving.”

He stepped closer, trapping you against the counter. His hand brushed your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You better not,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Because if you ever try, y/n… I’ll find you. And I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The days dragged on, each one more suffocating than the last. You played your part, smiling when necessary, pretending to be the perfect wife and mother. But inside, you were breaking.

It was late, and the house was eerily quiet. Oikawa had been out for days, taking on his new responsibilities as the leader of the Mafia. You knew this was your chance the only chance you might ever have.

You waited for the perfect moment, and when it finally came, you lied to the twins once again.

“We’re going to visit Daddy at his work,” you said, forcing a smile.

Their faces lit up. “Really? Can we see Daddy?”

“Yes, but we have to go right now. So be good for Mommy, okay?”

Excitement bubbled in their small voices as they climbed into the car. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, your heart pounding. This time, you wouldn’t fail. You couldn’t fail.

The drive was long, and the twins eventually fell asleep in the backseat. When you reached the safe house your boss had arranged, you carried their small bodies inside, setting them down on the makeshift bed. You collapsed into a chair, finally allowing yourself to breathe.

But the peace didn’t last. The twins became restless the next day, their innocence and love for their father making your plan feel like walking on a knife’s edge.

“Where’s Daddy? You said we were going to see him!” one whined, his little fists pounding on the door.

“We’ll see him soon,” you muttered, your voice strained.

“No! We want Daddy now!”

They cried louder, their tantrums growing unbearable. You clenched your fists, trying to keep calm, but the sound of their screams rattled you.

“Mommy, why did you lie? We want Daddy!”

“Because we can’t go back!” you snapped, your voice cracking.

Their cries turned into sobs, and they huddled together, clinging to each other. Guilt clawed at you, but you knew you couldn’t give in. This was the only way to keep them safe.

But the next morning, the world you had tried to rebuild crumbled.

You stepped out of the small room, expecting to see your boss or your allies, but the metallic scent hit you first. Then, the sight of bloodstained walls and bodies sprawled across the floor.

Everywhere you looked, there was carnage—lifeless bodies of those who had tried to protect you. Your boss, your closest friends… all of them were dead.

Your knees buckled, and you staggered back, covering your mouth to muffle your scream.

“No… no, no, no,” you whispered, trembling. “This can’t be happening.”

The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. You froze.

“Did you really think you could run from me?” Oikawa’s voice was chillingly calm.

You spun around, your heart sinking into your stomach. There he was, standing in the doorway, his white shirt pristine despite the massacre surrounding him.

“Daddy!” the twins shrieked, running to him with tear-streaked faces.

“No!” you cried, reaching out to stop them, but your body refused to move.

Oikawa crouched down, scooping the twins into his arms with a warm smile that didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. “Did you miss me, boys?”

“Mommy said we were going to see you, but she lied!” one of them wailed.

“She did, didn’t she?” Oikawa cooed, brushing a hand through the boy’s hair. “That’s not very nice of Mommy.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your mind raced as you stared at the twins clinging to him. How? How did he find you?

“I taught them well, didn’t I?” Oikawa smirked, his gaze locking onto yours. “It was so easy. They just had to memorize my number, split between the two of them. All it took was one phone, one call, and I knew exactly where to find you.”

Your stomach churned as realization set in. “You—”

He cut you off, his smile widening. “You underestimated me, love. And now, look at what you’ve done.” He gestured around the room, at the bodies littering the floor.

“You didn’t have to kill them!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face.

“Oh, but I did,” he said, setting the twins down. “They tried to take you away from me. That’s unforgivable.”

The twins hugged his legs, oblivious to the horror surrounding them.

“Daddy, can we go home now?”

“Of course, boys,” Oikawa said, patting their heads. He stepped closer to you, his expression softening into something that made your skin crawl.

“You look so scared,” he whispered, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “But don’t worry, y/n. I’ll forgive you… this time.”

His voice dropped, dark and venomous. “But try something like this again, and I’ll make sure you never leave me. Even if I have to break you.”

Your hands shook as he pulled you to your feet, his touch both possessive and gentle.

“Let’s go home,” he said, his tone light as if nothing had happened. The twins cheered, running ahead toward the car.

But as he led you out, his grip tightened, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re mine, y/n. Always.”

The corpses of your allies were a grim reminder that there was no escaping Oikawa. Not now. Not ever.

And as the twins called out for you, their laughter cutting through the suffocating silence, you realized the most horrifying truth of all you’d never be free again.

merryxmas guys :pp

[bellflowerpuddle]

every time I turn a page in tsc nora kicks me in the stomach and shoots me in the face. when will enough be enough

[screwpinecaprice]

She probably wears men's pants.

[fisheito]

Probably what will happen if u put me in a room with another yakumo fan

[hirookouji]

it's kuroko and he's in the nba!!!!

[id in alt]

[deerest-me]

should i make a newgrounds account just to let someone know that their art of an anthropomorphic rat eating a cobalt-60 rod was seen by a small group of engineers and scientists at a government laboratory this afternoon

[blujayonthewing]

I have six pages left in my current sketchbook and I'm physically restraining myself from getting out the new one instead of just filling all of the pages, Jay, what is wrong with you

[gojonanami]

❝ 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,

[softbabybelle]

corruption 001. 𓍯𓂃 rֶָ֢ cameron

rafe cameron x shy!reader

𝜗𝜚 Summary : rafe finds sarah's best friend sitting in her room after she sneaks out to see her boyfriend, topper, and offers to keep her busy while teaching her something new.

𝜗𝜚 words : 2.5k

𝜗𝜚 c!w : weed, smoking, drvgs, suggestive.

part 2. part 3.

by the time sarah had re-entered her own bedroom, you were laying on your back across her bed, twisting your hair above your face, absentmindedly playing with the strands.

"i have a favour to ask." upon hearing your best friend's voice, you turned so you were laying on your stomach.

you liked having sleepover's with sarah but sometimes, she wasn't all that reliable. "m'kay." though you already had an idea what following words would pass her lips.

"i just got off the phone with topper and he wants me to go meet him." she settled herself against her drawers. "but my dad'll kill me if i stay out past curfew. think you could cover for me?"

you batted your lids at the girl, frowning for various reasons. you'd brought all your stuff so you and sarah could hang out, you were getting a little tired of her using you as an excuse to see her boyfriend and you were downright petrified of ward cameron. there was something awfully frightening about your friends' parents.

but you didn't like to be troublesome. so a small "okay." passed your lips with a thin smile.

it took sarah less than twenty minutes to get ready and before you knew it, you were waving goodbye as she snuck out the window.

she left the tv on so you could watch one of your shows but you were much more inclined to reading the book in your bag. at this point, you'd grown accustomed to sarah leaving you during the middle of your sleepover's, you had to come prepared.

the reason she invited you over and snuck out was because she knew ward wouldn't dare go near her room when she had a friend over. none of her family did.

well, none aside from one.

"sarah!" you heard a familiar voice from behind the door followed by a bang against it that rafe cameron would later excuse as a 'knock'. "listen, i know you took my fuckin' charger, so give it ba―oh."

rafe was sarah's older brother, you'd seen him around plenty of times and he'd surely seen you. at this point, you practically lived in the house. many times you'd sat across from him at the dinner table or sat on the beach chairs with sarah while he was in the pool. though you didn't often speak to him.

perhaps that was your fault more than it was his, though.

"you're here." he stated, glancing around the room for the white charger he was missing.

rafe often initiated conversation with you but it was only in your shy nature to nod after he said something and use less than two words to communicate before scurrying down the hall after sarah.

this time, she wasn't here to be your human shield.

"uhm, yeah." you sort of just squirmed, hoping he didn't ask about why you were in here alone.

but you didn't often get what you hoped for. "where's sarah?" snatching up the charger. upon his question, you blinked at him, a stretch of panic flashed across your face. you didn't even need to say anything, your look gave it all away. "snuck out with topper, huh?"

your top lip snuck your bottom teeth in. "please don't tell." you weren't used to being so confined with rafe. sure, you'd been in a hallway with him before but come to think of it, you weren't sure you'd ever been in a small room like sarah's, alone, with the door shut.

"wasn't going to." he counters. his eyes pass over the room, raking down to you. you were sitting on the bed with a little book in your hands, pink bookmark sticking out from the page you left it on. "you don't need to be sittin' pretty in here all alone, though." he approached the door before turning to face you. "you comin'?"

it was as if he'd expected you to follow. you hastily stood, pink blush across your cheeks. "where are we going?"

he shrugged. "my room." as if it'd been obvious.

a nervous pit swirled in your stomach. you hadn't spent enough alone time with rafe to be invited into his bedroom. sarah was the one out of the two of you who talked to many guys. you kind of just stood idly by, a nervous look on your face as you bit your bottom lip and angled your head to look at the ground. you supposed rafe wasn't so bad, though.

after all, you practically grew up with the boy.

but that didn't make it any easier.

"so, uh, how's school?" he sniffed, inviting you into the room before shutting the door closed.

you'd been around sarah and her friends long enough to know that the smell swirling the room was weed. something you'd never so much as touched. the room also had a smell of some expensive cologne, the same one you often detected from rafe.

"it's okay." you offered, standing idly near his dresser, hands messing with the hem of your shirt. "what about you?"

a soft sort of smirk fell across his face. "i'm not in school anymore." he reminded you before taking a seat on the bed, taking something out from the beside table's drawer.

"i knew that, sorry." you felt your face flush. you hated this, always making yourself look silly when you spoke to rafe. it was why you avoided him in the first place. you wanted nothing more than to run out of the room to where you came from. but sarah was gone, meaning you had nobody to use as an excuse or a getaway.

you'd merely have to endure.

he didn't say anything, only offering a humorous huff from his lips.

"you mind?" your eyes trailed down to what was in his hands, the source of the smell you'd detected earlier. "asked you a question, sweetheart."

"oh, uhm." your eyes snapped up to meet his, head feeling floaty at the name. "i don't mind if you smoke. it's you're room."

again, he offered no response but continued to take out his pieces. he was currently in search of a lighter. "what are you standin' all the way over there for? sit down. i don't bite." but there was a quirk to his lips when he said it that made you think he did bite.

"sorry." you mumbled before shuffling to the bed to sit on the furthest edge you could.

you didn't miss the way rafe rolled his eyes. he looked back at you, studying your features. "split one with me?" he was testing the waters. he knew you enough to gauge assumptions about you. asking him? you didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't have sex. you were the type of girl who stayed in your friends bedroom reading a book while they snuck out to meet their boyfriend.

he wanted to see if you'd give in.

your eyes were watching his hands, the way he rolled paper between his fingers. "uhm, 've never smoked."

ding ding ding.

he cocked his head. "want to try?" he could see immediate panic flash across your features. in a way, it was exactly what he wanted. he wanted to soothe you into this, not for you to instantly kneel at his every command. he knew you weren't easy. "c'mon, baby, 's just me. promise i won't let anything happen to you."

"i don't know." you shook your head slightly.

you were no stranger to the names he used on you. he often spoke them in a soft yet playful voice, especially around sarah. you just thought he liked seeing his sister get angry, tossing a pillow his way and telling him to stop treating you like one of his 'notches on his belt' but if he was only keen on making sarah angry, then why was he calling you such things while you were alone, sarah nowhere in sight?

"how long have you known me?" since you were very, very young. "one can't hurt. you trust me?" you slowly nodded, eyes still wavering to his hands. "so what'do you say?"

you knew you shouldn't. if your parents ever found out, they'd kill you with their bare hands and rafe would be next in their death note journal.

but there was something about the way he was looking at you that had your stomach folding in two.

besides, you never did like upsetting people.

if you didn't say yes, rafe would think that you didn't like him. he would be upset that you'd be so mean to refuse such a kind offer.

so nonetheless, a small squeak of an "okay." left your lips.

"atta girl. c'mere." he gestured down and you blinked at him confusedly. was he asking you to sit in his lap? you swallowed thickly. "c'mere." he repeated, this time between a soft chuckle. he reached out for you, helping you to sit flush against his lap.

instantly, you swore you had never been so red in your life.

your eyes were all wide and embarrassed, cheeks flaming red hot while you tucked your bottom lip under your top one again. a habit you supposed you'd die with. to say you were shocked to feel his hand against your face was an understatement. his thumb pulled at your lip from between your teeth, securing it away from harm. "don't do that." he mumbled. "you know how to take a pull?"

awkward and embarrassed were two words you swore were forgetting their meaning. this was above and beyond that. "you just... suck, right?" you squirmed in his lap at your own words.

"inhale, sweetheart." he moved the rolled blunt up to your lips. "open." you complied and he stuck it between the two, lifting the lighter to set the top to a low burn. "don't try to keep it in, 'kay?"

you nodded, inhaling the blunt and finding a strange sensation fill your mouth.

you'd never smoked a cigarette before, much less a blunt.

it was a weird feeling but you did what he said, you didn't try to keep it in. you moved the blunt from your lips with your fingers and didn't feel the need to couch heavily. you just blew the smokey air back out.

"good girl." the soft pads of his fingers trailed softly against your bare thighs below your sleep shorts. you felt your stomach do flips at the praise. "did so well. you sure you haven't done this before?"

you nodded with a slight giggle. "'m sure."

you watched as he lifted the blunt to his lips, taking a drag, then another. he didn't seem as phased as he did. "mm, don' know if i believe you on that one, princess."

"i haven't!" your hips gently reached up against his own. "swear." before simmering back down.

he lifted the blunt to your lips. this time, he didn't need to tell you to part your mouth, you just did it. "cross your heart 'n hope to die?"

he was staring at you so intently that you swore you'd never seen anyone's eyes so vividly, never been more interested in the squiggles of blue in someone's iris or the way his pupils slowly began expanding.

all you could offer was a slow nod as he watched you take another inhale of the blunt, eyes suddenly now steady on your lips, watching you stain the end of the paper pink with lipgloss.

a smirk fell on his lips as he leaned back onto the headboard. one minute, you were too shy to leave sarah's room, now you were sitting on his lap, smoking a blunt with him.

rafe merely had a way with women.

"so what, you feel like 'm corrupting you yet?" his steady smirk and sly hand trailing up your thigh.

a giggle passed your lips as you shook your head. "no."

he hummed. "plenty of time for that." you weren't too sure what he'd meant, though you hadn't actually asked him either.

it didn't take long for you to get high. rafe realised this within less than a few minutes. your pupils had turned wide, eyes gone glassy and suddenly you couldn't stop licking your already wet lips. you were staring at him, a little too much, not that he was complaining. he'd spent too long waiting for you to shyly meet his eye. with the weed in your system, you couldn't seem to look away.

"can i ask you something?" his voice was low, hardly a whisper as he spoke now, as if afraid he'd awake something and the room would turn to dust, the moment would fade from his memory and this moment would dissappear.

"uh-huh." you were busy looking at him, downright gawking. your eyes were shamelessly staring right at his lips.

he wasn't as buzzed as you. but to be honest, he'd been doing this a long time before you. "have you ever been kissed?"

it was his turn for his eyes to advert to your lips. all glossy and wet. for the thousandth time, your tongue peaked out, wetting them again before biting your bottom lip.

he couldn't get you to stop biting it, no matter how hard he tried.

he'd merely have to train you, when the time came.

"mm-mm." you shook your head at him. finally, your eyes broke from his lips and looked up at his eyes. he could see now, how truly buzzed you were. your eyes were all red and glassy, it was almost as if he could feel you floating. you tilted your head at him. "are you gonna kiss me?"

his hands ran up and down against your skin. "do you want me to?" a hesitant nod followed his question. "say please." pulling the blunt up to his lips for another drag. it was almost out now.

it was a mindless tease but he felt you squirm in his lap again. "please, rafe." voice but a whiney murmur.

he blew the smoke out from his lips and watched it fall into your own parted mouth.

your eyes fluttered shut and he didn't give you a chance to think, his lips replacing the smoke. his were hungry, your's were soft, inviting. and he took the invite as soon as it'd been handed to him. his hand ran up your back, shoving your body as close to his own as he could. he wanted the heat to envelope him, wanted your skin against his own. wanted so badly to rip off every piece of clothing that tainted you. wanted you to be his for the taking.

but the way you suddenly pulled back, those doey, bloodshot eyes and fearful voice murmuring the words, "you're not gonna tell sarah, are you?" told rafe exactly what he already knew.

he need to be patient with you. take his time unravelling you until there was nothing left.

he shook his head, fingers soft against your face, running across your cheek.

"don't worry, sweetheart, your dirty secret's safe with me."

[wewontbesleeping]

this journal entry from 2014 where I talk about how badly I want Taylor to re-record all of her old music …….

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Male Harem of Bullies

Kinktober Day 9: Bullies/Gang Bang

Four Male Animal-Human Hybrid Yanderes x Feminized Male Ferret-Hybrid Reader CW: Noncon, ass eaten like it's groceries, bullying, fivesome, gang bang, double penetration, triple penetration, more double penetration, forced feminization, crossdressing, kidnapping, non-human genitalia, massive horse dick, colossal rhino cock, slimy reptilian dicks, rhino-man, horse-man, lizard-man, bull-man, male harem, oral sex, anal sex, bottom reader, general yandere behavior Word Count: 2k (Slightly different from my initial vision but much better imho, made to be expanded on with drabbles involving each man, possibly multiple drabbles with each exploring different situations.)

Baryn the Bully. A brash, arrogant, cocky, oversexed rhino hybrid jock who thought more with his dick than his brain. He was the star of the college's football team, so of course, he was extremely popular.

You were the complete opposite. A small, intelligent, and soft spoken male ferret hybrid. A total nerd. Always kept your head down, and often between the pages of a book.

While he was a bit rude to the other geeks, he reserved his worst behavior for you. Trapping you in your locker, pantsing you, making fun of you.

There wasn't any recourse. There was no way the college was going to punish their most talented football player. And you weren't made of money, you couldn't just transfer to another school.

And you didn't want to leave anyway! Why should you? You liked your classes, you had friends in your dorm, and you only lived one town away from family. You could handle a little bullying if it meant keeping all those perks. Not to mention the campus library. It was colossal. And where you spent the vast majority of your spare time.

That's where you were on the night of the big football game, in the library studying with your friend, and roommate, Nat. With the vast majority of students preparing to watch the game with their friends from their dorms or attend live, the library was nearly empty.

"I have to use the restroom, I'll be right back."

Nat made a sound of acknowledgment as he continued his studies.

On your way out of the restroom, you smacked right into Baryn. A wall of thick grey muscle. What the hell was he doing in the library at all, let alone before a big game? You flicked your tail nervously as he smirked at you wickedly. You only saw that expression on him before he bullied you in some way. You noticed he was carrying a large gym bag.

"Just who I was looking for!"

Baryn gave you no time to complain as he quickly stuffed you into the duffel bag and left. It stank heavily of the rhino's heady musk, the smell making you quite a bit dizzy. You had no idea where he was taking you. Despite your shouts and thrashing, no one stopped to help. Either they were too scared of the big rhino-man, or they recognized him and figured it was just a silly jock or frat prank.

And you had thought it was some fucked up joke too. Maybe he was going to keep you in this bag during the game or put you in a locker, but it was far worse than that.

You felt the bag being set down gently. It was opened soon after that. You immediately leapt out, claws at the ready. You scratched and bit at Baryn's tough skin. You didn't even register that he was naked. He chuckled as the most you managed to do was cause a stray trickle of blood here and there.

"Love it when ya start throwin' a hissy fit."

He smacked your ass playfully before  he started removing your clothing. By then, tears were running down your face as you cried in frustration.

"F-fuck off! Give me m-my clothes!"

He sat on the sofa and pulled you into his lap. A strong hand was over your mouth, and he held you close, forcing you to lean back into his chest. He nuzzled your neck, careful not to poke you with the horn that tipped his nose.

"Just relax, darlin." You're gonna help me and the bros with a lil' pre-game tradition we have."

He took his free hand and fondled your cock and balls.

"We always have a good fuck before a big game! The gals we normally use weren't available for the job. It's super easy, y'all ain't even gotta do any work. Just be a good fleshlight for us."

At that, you thrashed and let out muffled screams, you didn't want this fucker's dick in you. Just then, the door burst open, and the other top three football players who were members of Baryn's frat barged in.

Mikael, the part horse hybrid. He was really tall but still pretty muscular. His ears and tail were the only visible horse traits, but there were rumors his dick was horse-like, too.

Alvaro, the lizard hybrid. He was a bit short but extremely strong. Eyes like a snake, with scales framing his face and covering his arms, legs, and tail.

The final one inside was Krash, at least that's what everyone called him. He was a bull man. He was as tall and muscled as Baryn, but fur covered his entire body with the exception of his face. He was also equipped with two large curved horns.

All of your bullies were assembled to make your life worse.

"Yo, you already started without us?" Inquired Alvaro.

"Nah, I was just explaining the job to our new girlfriend. About how she just has to stay still and let it happen. I hadn't gotten to the part about how we decided that she would be our girlfriend permanently, though," explained Baryn.

You were trembling. The way that they were staring at you. The way they were talking. They were insane.

Mikael leaned down and licked up your tears before chuckling.

"Aww, don't be scared. We won't hurt you, cutie. You're lucky. We all wanted to share a girlfriend for our pre-game tradition, and we all had a crush on you! Don't you feel lucky?" he said in a mocking tone.

"Course we're all bi, but kinda prefer women. More acceptable for my family, too. So we've decided that you're a lady now. And none of us gentlemen would bully a lady, so if you cooperate, we'll treat ya a lot better," the rhino cooed into your ear while rubbing your thighs.

"N-no! Just let me go! You aren't treating me b-better, j-just trading one torture for a-a-another!!" You began sobbing and shaking inconsolably.

Not to worry though, you're four new boyfriends knew just how to cheer up their little lady friend. You were clearly just moody and upset by a lack of proper attention. You obviously needed their seed in your belly.

Krash wordlessly kneeled between your legs and held your legs still with his strong hands. He used his broad tongue to apply thick drool to your hole, slipping it into you and massaging it as well as he could. You had to be as stretched, lubed, and relaxed as possible if you were going to take all of them.

You twitched and shuddered as the unwelcome intrusion made your cock stand up.

"Pl-please sto-," you whined pitifully before being cut off by Mikael.

"Stop? You clearly like it!" He leaned over Krash and rubbed a finger up and down your cock to tease you.

Baryn bit and sucked on your neck before you could reply, causing your mind to go a bit blank with how good it felt in conjunction with Krash's sloppy tongue tending to your ass.

"I think that means she's ready," someone chuckled. You couldn't tell who, though. Your brain was soup. It must have been Baryn because he was the first to slip his cock into you once Krash stopped licking.

It must have been more rhino like than human because the ridges and folds made you drool when you felt them slowly move back and forth against your inner walls. While Baryn continued fucking into you slowly Krash decided to suck on your leaking dick.

"Damn, she really does like it," Alvaro mused as you bucked instinctively into Krash's warm, inviting mouth.

You moaned as you came and then relaxed quite a bit. Since you were so well stretched and much more compliant now, Krash got up and positioned himself in front of you and slipped his dick in beside Baryn's. The stretch was uncomfortable but not painful. They were careful to go at a slow pace that their previously virgin girlfriend could handle.

Krash didn't last too terribly long. He had forgotten to jerk off several times so that he could last a long time like the others had told him to. With a grunt, he emptied his large furry nuts into you, then pulled out and let Alvaro take his place.

Alvaro, being reptilian, had two hard cocks ready to sink into you. And he did so eagerly. Both of them were slimy and tapered and had no issue fitting into you, especially with Krash's cum having lubed you up so well. He went at a faster pace than Krash had or Baryn was.

Luckily, you were ready by that point. Baryn matches his pace since you were taking them so well. Both men whispered praises into your ear since you were taking them all just so perfectly. Alvaro claimed your mouth with his and snaked his long tongue into your mouth.

Your whole body shuddered around their dicks as you came again, this time from their cocks battering a special spot inside of you.

"So sex hungry, this one. Can't wait for my turn."

Mikael didn't have a long wait. Baryn and Alvaro finally unloaded into you simultaneously, a vast torrent of cum that started to bulge out your belly.

"Fuck, you're the best hole I've ever had!"

Alvaro pulled out after making sure he finished loading you with his semen.

"Yeah, darlin' we're gonna have to do this a lot."

With a loud squelch, Baryn lifted you up and swapped places with Mikael, who quickly settled you on his dick. The flared tip went in easily with how "well-loved" your hole was from your other three boyfriends. He had you facing him so he could kiss your fucked out face.

Your stare was blank, your face flushed, and the only sounds you could make was feeble mewling as hid large equine prick made an outline in your belly. He pressed your face into his armpit so that you could get a nose full of his pheromone laden musk. He needed you to reek of him.

After that, the horse hybrid bit at your neck, all while he pounded into you tirelessly. When he eventually came, it made your belly bulge further. When he pulled out an incredible amount of cum dribbled down his cock and onto his balls.

You were tired but remained conscious, your brain struggling to comprehend the violation that just occurred. Your body was limp. At least it made you easy to clean up.

"Girls just need dick to calm them down, I guess," mumbled Arvalo.

"Well, I reckon we know what to do when she gets bratty," Baryn replied.

They took you gently and cleaned you up in the tub, all of them praising you for doing so well. Once they had you clean, they dressed up in a cheerleader outfit. It was the cutest thing they had ever seen. It had been a wise decision to bribe your roommate Nat to get your measurements for them while you slept. You were embarrassed but didn't complain. You knew it wouldn't do any good. The will to fight had been thoroughly fucked out of you.

They each scented you and your clothing to make sure their combined smell clung to you. No one would dare touch their precious nerdy girlfriend.

When it was time for the game, they had you sit beside the benched players, right between some players they trusted. You looked down awkwardly the majority of the time with your tail curled closely around you. They won that game by a wider margin than they had won any game before! They chalked it up to their newly enhanced tradition of bedding you combined with your presence at the game.

It was certainly something they'd have to do every single time!

[smokycinnamonroll]

Updated my site a little! Now theres (1) a music player embedded so you can listen on-site and (2) a no-longer-as-wonky fake taskbar! I think i was trying to mess with the iframes for the lyrics and such but theyre still hopeless... someday I'll find the right solution, but today is not that day. Oh well! Who cares about that when i can have inactive title bars???

[ririkookiemonster]

no textbooks here — JJK

Summary: being a model in the art class was common for you, but this time, you gave a chance to be the female model in biology class. it was for educational purposes anyway, how far could it go?

Pairing: male model jungkook x female model oc

Genre: Smut

Warnings: human sexuality/ biology class au, university au, voyeurism, unprotected sex (DO NOTTT unless you wanna be a mama) public sex, sex ed au, nipple stimulation, cock stimulation, kissing, multiple orgasm f, missionary, riding, cumming inside, no use of contraceptives specified, shy jk at first, they both are so cute at the end.

Word count: 5k+

Writer: riri🪵

Writer’s note: omg its finally here! i was thinking to write smth ab this ever since i read a voyeurism smut ab sex ed and i hadddd to write one. i love how cute jk is. i love the scenes where they well… get passionate. too cute ahhh. lemme know if you liked it. to be added in the taglist, fill the google form given below or leave a comment!

MASTERLIST

🖇️click here to be added in the taglist🖇️

You paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before nervously pushing open the classroom door. The soft creak of the hinges seemed louder in the stillness, amplifying your unease. As you stepped inside, your eyes immediately scanned the room. It was as you expected—empty, save for one person seated at the front: Mr. Jung, the lecturer you had been told about. His presence was commanding but gentle, his smile warm and welcoming, like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise dreary day.

“Come in, come in!” he called out with a bright tone, his gaze locking onto you as you hovered awkwardly in the doorway. His voice had a way of cutting through the silence, easing some of the tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying. You stepped forward, your footsteps quiet but deliberate as you made your way to his desk, each step a small victory over your nerves.

“It’s great to meet you,” Mr. Jung said with a friendly nod, his voice smooth and calm. His smile lingered, putting you at ease, if only slightly. He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk in your direction, his movements unhurried. “I just need you to fill out this liability waiver.”

The words were said so casually, but the simple task still felt like a small hurdle. You stood across from him, fingers lightly brushing the paper as you picked it up, your heart still racing just a bit, though his calm demeanor had begun to settle the unease that had gripped you since you walked in.

“Just the standard agreement,” Mr. Jung continued with a calm, practiced tone. “You’ll be paid at the end of the class. And... you’re aware that this is a practical demonstration, meaning you’ll be fully naked?”

“Yes... Of c-course,” you stammered, the words tumbling out awkwardly. You reached for a pen from the stand, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nervousness. Your eyes skimmed over the document—standard terms, conditions, rules, payment details, and all that. You’d done this sort of thing before for life drawing classes in the art department, so the nudity didn’t bother you as much as it used to. Still, this was the biology department, and that made it feel... different. Without much thought, you roughly scribbled ‘Y/N’ at the bottom of the page, the pen shaking just a little in your hand.

As you set the pen down, your gaze drifted around the room once more, and that’s when you noticed something or rather, someone you hadn’t before. Sitting off to the side, near the blackboard, was a guy you hadn’t seen when you first walked in. He was quiet, almost too still, which explained why he had escaped your attention earlier.

He looked up, and your breath hitched for a moment. His piercings were the first thing you noticed. his lips, eyebrow, and ears all adorned with silver hoops and studs that caught the light. Despite his edgy appearance, his eyes were surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his sharp jawline and the strength in his build. Even beneath the loose, black T-shirt he wore, you could tell he was well-muscled, his broad shoulders and solid frame evident.

Your gaze continued downward, noticing his dark blue jeans tucked into chunky, black combat boots. His medium-length curly hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame his face. Everything about him radiated a kind of effortless cool. And, if you were being honest, this man was HOT.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you realized just how much this guy's presence added to the tension simmering beneath the surface.

He glanced at you for just a fraction of a second, barely acknowledging your presence before averting his gaze, his expression unreadable. It was almost as if he didn’t want to make eye contact. “This is Jungkook, third-year, and the male model for today’s demonstration,” Mr. Jung explained, nodding toward the guy. “Please, take a seat next to him.”

You gave a quick nod and made your way over, sitting down in the chair beside him. Jungkook’s hands rested in his lap, fingers nervously intertwined. It surprised you to see that, beneath his tough, bad-boy exterior, he seemed just as anxious as you were. Sure, he was undeniably attractive—more than that, really. but the way he fidgeted made him look kind of... cute. You couldn't help but wonder how someone who appeared so effortlessly cool could be just as nervous about this as you were.

And then it hit you: you were both about to be naked. Fully.

But, of course, it was purely for educational purposes—nothing more than a biology lesson where the two of you were simply models helping students learn. Still, the thought had your stomach doing somersaults.

You cleared your throat, hoping to ease the tension between you two. “Hey…are you nervous?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, trying to break the ice.

Before Jungkook could respond, the door swung open with a loud bang, and a flood of students poured in, filling the once-quiet room with laughter and chatter. You watched as they settled into their individual seats, each equipped with small, built-in desks, their attention mostly focused on their own conversations rather than the two of you.

Whatever nervous conversation you had hoped to start was quickly drowned out by the buzz of the classroom coming to life. You stole another glance at Jungkook, catching him briefly biting his lip before his gaze returned to his lap. It was clear neither of you was prepared for what was about to happen, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on that now.

Once the room settled and Mr. Jung began the lesson, you couldn't help but scan the students seated before you. Their eyes were on you-curious, almost probing. You were relieved that they were all first years, strangers whose names and faces you didn't know. It made things a little easier. Still, a few boys in the crowd kept sneaking glances in your direction, and you swore you caught some of them smirking, making your nerves spike even more.

After about five minutes of introductory remarks, Professor Jung's voice called both you and Jungkook to the front of the room. Your stomach twisted as you slowly stood up, feeling Jungkook rise just behind you. The two of you walked forward in unison, the students' gazes growing heavier with every step.

"Good morning, everyone," Mr. Jung addressed the class. "Meet Y/N Y/L/N and Jeon Jungkook. They'll be the models for today's lesson." His voice carried easily through the room, formal yet calm, as though what was about to happen was routine.

Then he turned to face both of you. "If you could both remove your clothes, please," he said, his tone polite but firm. You felt a sharp wave of mixture of excitement and anxiety rise within you, knowing the moment had finally come. and you two began two began to undress in front of the class.

You always enjoyed the thrill you got from being naked in front of the art classes you had modeled in. You like being a muse. You liked the feeling of all their eyes on your body and you expected this to be no different. You pulled off your white sweater over your head, followed by your tank top. You slowly began to unbutton your baggy jeans and slipped them down to the floor, pulling off each leg in turn until you were just in the simple baby pink underwear you had chosen to wear today.

You glanced next to you, where Jungkook was also down to his Calvin Klein underpants. You glanced over as he pulled them down and almost gasped out loud. His cock, although soft, was massive. You could see its outline from the white underwear he was wearing. It hung down limply between his legs, framed by a thin patch of newly grown hair, as if shaved recently.

You hastily turned your eyes back to the class and unhooked your bra, exposing your firm breasts. Then you removed the final item of your clothing, your panties, slipping them down your knees, revealing your own trimmed bush to the watching eyes. Not gonna lie, you were kinda embarrassed. You could have shaved or waxed. But you were here as a model anyway. You just wanted your paycheck for the day.

Your eyes scanned through the crowd. Some of the students looked embarrassed, red in the face, others looked excited. One boy right at the front was watching both of you with curious eyes, a big grin on his mouth. You and Jungkook stood there, upright and completely naked, as Professor Jung walked back and forth in front of you both, talking about various parts of anatomy and pointing at them by his telescopic pointer.

"Here we see,the female nipples are not yet aroused. The areola are widened and flat and the nipples themselves are not yet hard." Mr Jung explained, the end of the pointer hovering an inch from one of your nipples.

"And below," he continued, moving the pointer to indicate the area between your legs, "Is the Vulva. Not to be confused with the Vagina, of course, which is the interior part we can't see at the moment. In this, as you can see, the subject has chosen only to trim and not remove her pubic hair."

Some of the students nodded, while others just kept gaping at you. You were enjoying them all looking yourself naked, especially the guy in the front with a strange twinkle in his eyes. You felt yourself getting a bit aroused, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

Mr Jung then moved on to Jungkook, pointing out at his much smaller nipples than his penis and testicles. The pointer then moved to his dick and balls, as the professor went on about the anatomy of a male’s cock. It was unusual that he made no mention of the fact that Jungkook’s cock was well…. big.

"Okay," Mr Jung said, striding back in front of you. "Y/N, if you could lie on the desk please? Yes, like that, lift your legs up. Perfect.”

You followed Mr Jung’s instructions and laid on the desk, your feet facing the students. Under his direction, you opened your legs up and put your feet on the desk so that your opening was all on display of the students now. You felt a strange feeling of thrill arising in your chest yet again, but you couldn’t see the reactions of the crowd, as you were looking up at the ceiling.

Soon after, Professor Jung began indicating parts of your vulva with his pointer.

"This outer area here is the labia majora," he explained, the cold metal of the pointer touching your lower petals, making your lips slightly open because of the sensation.

"The vaginal opening, and above the labia minora. This subject has fairly small labia minora but it's not uncommon for them to be much bigger and extend beyond the labia majora." Mr Jung continued, the pointer gently kept touching you, as if almost being teased. You felt yourself getting wet from the sensation and kept praying that it wouldn’t be visible.

"This is the urethral opening where urine is excreted from and also female ejaculate, we'll cover that in week five. And finally, the clitoris, also called the clit. Boys take careful note exactly where that is." He joked as the pointer came to rest on my clit, nestled under its hood. The class tittered dutifully.

"Thank you Y/N, you can stand up again," Mr Jung asked. Once again, You both stood naked and motionless before the class as he continued to drone on about the concept, that was arousal now. Soon again, Mr Jung turned to both of you again.

"Now, remember how we saw that the subject was not showing any signs of arousal…?"

There were a few nods from the class, and Mr Jung smiled. "Jungkook, can you rub or suck Y/N’s nipples please? We need you to stimulate them, and we’ll see what outcome we get from that.”

Jungkook glanced at you nervously, and then made his way to you until he was facing you. He lifted one hand up to your breast and cupped it gently, then very carefully he rubbed your nipple with his thumb. It felt nice and you felt a burst of pleasure rush through you.

"Look!" Professor Jung said, his voice was getting excited. “as we expect, the areola has tightened and contracted and the nipple has hardened as blood has rushed into it..”You were enjoying the stimulation Jungkook was providing you by using your tits as stress balls that you felt your breathing was getting deeper. Thats when you heard Mr Jung’s voice again.

"See how the subject's breathing has also changed. Jungkook, give the other one a suck, see how much you can stimulate it."

Jungkook bent down and took your other sensitive peak into his mouth, his tongue, warm and wet, lapping against your skin as if trying to explore the most of it. He started sucking more effectively, his teeth gently grazing on your nub, making you feel hot and bothered. You let out an involuntary gasp, which seemed to please the professor to heights as he gestured excitedly to the class.

"Okay, that's enough," He said as Jungkook returned to his original position beside you. The professor indicated your saliva glistened nipple with the pointer, and flicked it back and forth with the end, making you gasp again.

"Look, it's very hard and so much larger now. That's the result of the extra stimulation we saw. There are other signs of arousal we can look at on the female in a moment, but first let's have a look at arousal on the male. Is there anyone who can tell me the most obvious signs of arousal in the male of the species?"

There was a slight hesitation evident in the class which was quite expected and understandable. After a few seconds, a girl in the left wearing yellow shirt cautiously put hand up.

"Erection?" she asked, biting her lip in nervousness and embarrassment.

"Exactly!"Mr Jung chirped. "Increased heart rate, change in breathing, even hardened nipples are some signs when a male is sexually aroused, but the most obvious sign will be the enlargement in penis size as the blood rushes through the Male genitalia, also called erection."

Mr Jung turned back to you, "Y/N, can you get on your knees and stimulate Jungkook’s penis with your mouth please?”

You almost got a heart attack as you heard that. Yes, you were here just for a biology lesson but the thought of sucking Jungkook’s huge cock in front of the whole class sent a bolt of lightning straight to your cunt. The professor reached behind the desk and handed you a cushion, that you put on the floor in front of Jungkook’s feet and knelt on it, your knees buried in it for support. Jungkook’s cock was inches from your face. It was still soft, but long. You gingerly reached up and held it, your hand surrounding all the way round his girth.

You felt the warm member twitch in your hand, as you wrapped your other hand around it too. Its bulbous head was red and there were three prominent veins visible on it. You took a dee breath before leaning in and putting his thick shaft in your mouth and you knew that now, it was Jungkook’s turn to start breathing heavily.

As your tongue played with the head of his cock, you swore you heard an ‘ah’ leave his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you felt it pulsing and swelling. You bobbed your head back and forth, only getting a couple of inches in your mouth, but using your hands to jerk his shaft too.

The class was absolutely silent and they watched in rapt attention as you continued to work on him. You could feel their stares on both of you. You felt kinda excited and thrilled doing this in front of so many people that the weird pleasure caused your cunt get more wet with your slick, aching with need. You took his cock out of your mouth and looked up at it, still holding it in both hands. It was fully erect now, warm and slick with your saliva.

"Perfect!" Mr Jung exclaimed, "And quite an impressive specimen as you can see. Notice how the veins in the penis have become more prominent and also how the scrotum has become tense and doesn't hang down so low. Thank you Y/N, I think you can let go now." he said, causing a ripple of nervous laughter around the class and lightening the tension.

You stood up and came back to your original position, wiping the wetness around your mouth and chin with the back of your hand. Jungkook meanwhile, turned back to face the front, his big cock still pointing straight upwards in salute.

"Now, I mentioned there were other signs of female arousal. Let's see if any have presented themselves. Y/N, if you could turn around and bend over the desk for us please?”

You did as he asked, soon following his next instruction to spread your lips with your hands.

You were bent over the desk now, your hands on your cheeks spreading them apart to give the audience a view of your asshole and cunt wide open. You felt the cold metal of the telescopic pointer against your ass when you heard professor Jung again.

"So, who can tell me what signs of arousal we can see here?”

You couldn’t see who was talking, but a guy with a deep voice cleared his throat and spoke up, "She's wet professor,"

"Good," said the professor, "The vagina has produced some fluid to aid in lubrication, and you can see it's practically dripping out in this case. The act of stimulating her partner has clearly caused her to become quite aroused. Anything else?"

There was silence from the class. "Come on," he encouraged.

After a few more moments, a nervous female voice said "Labia are engorged?"

"Yes! You can see that is quite obvious here," the pointer touched your lips. "In fact, the whole vulva is slightly swollen and engorged with blood now. Her clitoris also looks a lot bigger and redder now." You just stood there, bent over the desk, your nipples pressed against the cool wood as everyone stared at your swollen hole.

“On to the next part of the demonstration. Y/N, can you come round the side of the desk please, yes bend over the desk again. That's right, so they can see you from the side. And Jeon, come behind her and penetrate her."

You instantly felt your heart racing at thousand miles per hour as soon as you heard the professor say that. This man, with a HUGE dick was going to what, fuck you in front of literally everyone? Considering your state right now, you desperately wanted him to fuck you, as you could feel your pussy throb for him, but in front of the class? It was kinda… interesting but it sure was a turn on for you.

You felt Jungkook approach you from behind, his hands lightly rubbing the flesh of my ass cheeks, his hardness pressed against your opening. You could feel his head teasing your folds when he slid himself inside your pussy in one swift movement. You cried out at the feeling of being stretched and opened by him, even though you were wet as fuck. Being filled up by his cock let pleasure rushed through your body and you felt every part of yourself tingling with energy.

You were bent over the desk, your head turned to the class. You could see their faces watching You as Jungkook started thrust inside you, your cunt gripping him tighter after another thrust.

“Ah fuck, so tight!” Jungkook moaned out, his pace quite rough as his one hand was on your cheek, spreading them apart so he could see your asshole and pussy clenching around him, swallowing every inch of him. Your loud cry with every thrust only fueled his arousal as he fucked you with reckless abandon.

The professor was pacing up and down, still talking to the class, occasionally gesturing towards both as he explained something. Either of you both couldn't understand what he was saying, your whole attention was taken up by the relentless pleasure. You felt a pit in your stomach as you felt a tingling sensation of climax rising inside you, which made you slightly anxious; you felt it would be embarrassing to lose control and orgasm in front of the class.

Suddenly, professor Jung’s voice interrupted, "Stop right there then Jungkook, that's great."

Jungkook breathed out, and pulled out, as you let out a whispered whine and glanced around. He held his hard cock in one hand and it was covered in your essence. You felt empty and open, as if something you needed had been taken away from you and left you incomplete. The professor was pointing out the creamy wetness on Jungkook’s cock.

"Okay, I think it would be interesting to demonstrate a couple of other key sexual positions." Mr Jung continued. "Y/N, would you mind getting on your back on the desk so we can demonstrate the missionary position?”

You nodded and laid on the hard desk before professor Jung passed you the cushion to put under your head. Luckily, it was a sturdy, old fashioned oak desk, and it hardly moved as Jungkook added his weight to it, climbing on top of you between your legs.

"Now, we saw in the previous position that the penis can stimulate the g-spot, but the clitoris would need manual stimulation. In the missionary position however, the male's pubic bone can provide some clitoral stimulation." He then continued to say something about it being the most common position, but at that point, Jungkook’s huge cock entered you again and you completely switched off.

Our gaze locked together, Jungkook began to fuck you hard again, both of you breathing heavily as his one hand groped your right breast. You loved the feeling of him inside you, fucking you as deep as he could go, and you felt the same feeling rising up in you again.”

"Jungkook, please. Can we demonstrate some kissing, let's try to make it slightly realistic for the class." professor Jung told him, before going back to talking to the class about how the vaginal canal lengthens during arousal.

Jungkook leaned over, his lips grazing over yours as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue grazing between them as if seeing permission to enter your mouth, and in the next moment, you felt his tongue inside your mouth as you both let out a shaky moan. He was warm, and tasted of mint. His loosened locks from the ponytail hair hung down over your face.

The combined sensation of the passionate kiss with hard thrusting into your core suddenly spiraled you out of control and you felt myself go over the edge. An intense orgasm washed over you, consuming your whole body. You screamed and dug your fingers into Jungkook’s back as you rode wave after wave of pleasure that coursed through you, your pussy convulsing violently.

“oh my god!” you breathed out, throwing your head back in pleasure.

Jungkook slowed, and kissed you again as you came down from your high. Mr Jung was continuing to talk to the class, "So, we weren't going to do the female orgasm until week three, but never mind. As our subjects have accidentally demonstrated already, it's interesting to note that only around 25% of females can climax from penetration alone."

Jungkook was slowly moving his cock in and out of your soaking cunt now, giving you a break after your orgasm, but it felt amazing. You were already hoping that you’d be able to meet up with him privately for a more intimate sex session. And he was a great kisser.

"Fantastic," said the professor, "But we're running out of time, so let's move on to the male orgasm." You heard a groan, this time from Jungkook almost like a whine as he pulled out from you, and got off from the table, helping you do the same.

Mr Jung fetched a chair and placed it in front of the class. "Jungkook, please on the chair. and Y/N, if you mount him. Let's make sure everyone can see properly." Jungkook followed, sitting on the chair, facing the crowd as you walked over to where Jungkook was sitting on the chair, your legs weak and shaking from the orgasm. You could feel your juices running down your thighs. You glanced at the crowd once and saw they were squirming in their seats looking all hot and bothered.

You turned my back on the class and straddled Jungkook, sinking down onto his cock, feeling him filling you once again. “Oh my god, Y/N.” Jungkook moaned, throwing his head back from the sensation.

Professor Jung was behind you pointing out the details of the penetration and how your lips gripped his penis and-all-that. He pointed to your exposed asshole, "We'll cover anal sex in week four.”

You started to ride Jungkook, wrapping your arms around him as you rode him on the chair. You wanted the sensations to last forever, the thought of thirty pairs of eyes watching your lips wrapped around his cock only spurred you on even more. You started fucking Jungkook as hard as you could, leaning in to thrust your tongue in his mouth.

"Okay Jungkook, when you're ready you can climax inside her." Mr Jung said, folding his arms and stepping back slightly to allow the class a good view. Jungkook hands grabbed your ass and he spread your ass with his fingers as you rode him.

“Oh yes, fuck! yes” You moaned out as you felt yourself coming again. You cried out as your whole body shook and your cunt contracted around his swollen meat. His fingers gripped your ass tightly, and he let out a low groan as you felt him unload his hot ropes of cum inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing.

You held each other tightly as you took heavy breaths. You saw how worn out he was, how his big doe eyes were staring into your, and how his bottom lip twitched slightly as he lets out ragged breaths. You could see his mole under his bottom lip and a scar on his left cheek from the first time up this close.

He was beautiful.

You couldn’t help yourself, as you grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him sensually, to which he immediately responded to, kissing you back gently, as he felt you thumb caressing his scarred cheek. Even the professor was momentarily speechless. There was not a sound from anyone in the class.

Finally, You pulled off, breathing heavily and lifted yourself off his cock and floods of cum poured out of you, covering Jungkook’s cock and thighs with your slick and his release. Both of you were in quite a state, covered in sweat and cum.

Mr Jung quickly regained his composure, his signature smile back in his face. "An excellent demonstration from our two models." he began, "Please give them a round of applause."There was a smattering of clapping from the class for a while before he continued.

"The semen in this position is leaking out of the female. If they were having sex for breeding purposes, the missionary position would be better."

The bell for the end of the lesson rang and he raised his voice over the sounds of the rest of the class getting to their feet and packing up their things. "The homework for this week, please try to engage in the sexual act yourself with as many partners as possible, but please ensure to use protection and get tested for HIV with your partner. Better be safer than sorry. Also, I'd like two thousand words on your experiences, due in before the lesson next week."

The class filed out and Jungkook and you retrieved your clothes and hastily got dressed. The professor came up to us with a smile.

"Not too bad for a first attempt," he said, "Same time next week. you’ll get your pay by 6 in the evening.” He smiled as he exited the classroom, leaving both of you alone in the classroom. You sighed as started you started to walk up to the door to leave before you heard Jungkook’s voice behind you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey… Y/N?” He took some calculated steps towards you, his hand shoved in his pocket as he continued,

“I had well… fun in today’s lesson.”

You bit your lips nervously, nodding slightly, “I did too. You were amazing.”

Your words caused Jungkook to chuckle a little, as he walked close to you, looking down at you. “I’d want to experience everything with you again. Not in lesson’s though….”

You nodded, before he continued.

“You wanna go get coffee to celebrate our demonstration with me after you get cleaned up? I’ll wait for you outside the locker room’s bathroom. You can take as much time as you want.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up, you were definitely flustered.

“I’d love too….”

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-riri🥞