#I can tolerate you threatening me. but my cat?? I'll kill you with my bare hands

[not-your-lifeline]

I told her to don't do anything with my cat only 4 DAYS AGO and she fed my cat without telling me an hour earlier.

(I can't trust her anymore because she didn't tell me they were having blood diarrhea for over 6 months after volunteering to clean their litter box because she wanted to get closer to my cat. I was furious.

Also she killed her pet hedgehog in the past by neglecting it until it was literally rotting alive slowly with an infected eyeball dangling out of it's skull, with it's cage full of fruit flies.)

HELLO?? the wet food isn't cheap and my cat most likely have chronic digestive problem/eating habit so they should NOT get second meal in a row or they'd just throw up everything they ate.

"They were begging me for it" of course they did. And always will. IT'S A FUCKING CAT. What did you expect?? It doesn't know any better! It's mental age is permanently locked in 2 at MOST. Get a fucking grip.

APPARENTLY it's YOU that have a self-control level of 2 year old toddler. I bet you'll feed a dog chocolate if it begs you to.

[sweettodo]

Professor ⟿ Hisoka Morow x femreader

Includes : smut, student x teacher

Word count : 2,7k

[STUDENT IS AGED, IN COLLEGE]

••

"Please- please sir, I'll do anything, please don't fail me this semester."

Professor Morow sits in his office chair; hand on his chin as he ponders, he did like the sound of you begging.

••

You could cry.

You could drop out right fucking now. Beyond fed up.

Tutor after tutor, study session after study session since ninth grade never did you any justice, even cheating- peeking over to your neighbors left you with an end result of the huge red D's, F's and C's scribbled onto your paper. You were tearing the hair out of your head.

You couldn't write an English essay even if there was a gun being held to your temple; you weren't necessarily illiterate, but you envied your classmates who could throw together a thesis in an hour lecture, not to mention these giant papers which could've driven you to kill.

Today, bright and early in the morning, here you sit in your English classroom writing a timed essay, an essay about the logistics of capitalism, whatever that meant. Headache booming while you wrote illogical sentences onto lined paper vigorously.

You didn't even bother to read over your work; an hour later you're finally standing up from your seat and shuffling down the row, reaching to drop your paper into the basket, "Miss. Y/l/n, have you looked it over?" Professor asks, you smile and nod, he takes it from you.

"I wrote it sir, I don't need to reread it." You retort, he leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow at you.

"That's not necessarily what I meant; very well then." He smiles, you go back to your seat and wait for class to be over.

Thirty minutes later, kids are gathering up their bags and papers, scurrying out of the classroom to their next lecture, as you walk out of the double doors into the hallway, your last name is being called and you stop in your tracks, turning around, "yes, Mr. Morow?" You respond, stepping back into the classroom, he stands from his desk, hands patting the black button up as he stands, he waits for you to approach his desk, his arms crossed and he seemed a little irritated.

You approach the front of his desk, nervous, "now, you can't honestly tell me this is your best work." He sighs, you swallow hard, slightly embarrassed, he looked completely unfazed.

"W-well, in my defense Mr-" you stutter, he immediately cuts you off.

"There is no excuse for this lackluster paper." He states, you jump out of your skin, his tone threatening. Everyone always knew not to mess with professor Morow, he was strict and rarely tolerated unprofessionalism. But you- you, always drove him mad, he hated how you acted, he wished he could fail you for the year, being as you were so incompetent.

But that would be immoral or him to stoop that low.

"I should have you rewrite this, do you know how important this is for your grade? Do you want to pass, y/n?" You not, picking at your nails in fear, he was definitely failing you for this semester.

"I'm sorry sir, I try- I really do, it's just I can't bring myself to it." You mumble, head down in total humiliation. "Please- please sir, I'll do anything, please don't fail me this semester." You plead.

Professor Morow sits in his office chair; hand on his chin as he ponders, he did like the sound of you begging.

He sighs and moves towards his bag, opening it and shuffling through papers, pulling out mine, you braced yourself, "you're going to rewrite this, I will swallow my pride and give you a chance, I'd like to see you get higher than a C." He deadpans, you nod, gracious for his generosity.

Handing the essay back to you, "would you like me to do it right now?" You ask, he shakes his head no, closing his bag and picking it up.

"Nope, I'll help you later, you'll have to leave campus for this evening, so clear your schedule." Your eyes widen, he begins walking out, back to you before he peers his head back towards you, "do you want help?"

"Yes, yes sir I do." You sputter, he gives you a half cocked smile.

"That's what I thought." He leaves you breathless as he turns off the lights as he turns the corner out of his class, leaving you there in the barely lit room. You slowly walk out of the empty class, unsure if something like this was even appropriate, 'but it has to be, he's helping you.'

The next few hours would feel like eternity, laying chest up, looking at your ceiling spread eagle bored out of your mind. Waiting for time to pass before you anxiously awaited for later tonight. As you lay there, you hear your phone swoosh, indicating you had just received an email. You sit up and snatch your phone off the bed stand, opening it and seeing an email from the professor.

With an address being the only thing sent to you, you don't bother responding, 'this must be his house,' you spoke out loud, looking at the time on your phone, you might as well get ready, only an hour until you need to leave.

Wearing the same thing you had worn all day, a plain black skirt with a sweater, you just spray perfume over yourself and brush through your hair.

It was only 5pm, but the time of the year brought early darkness; so it was pretty dark by the time you were walking through the parking lot and unlocking your car door. Bag in toe you drive off campus, you scolded yourself for being so, so stupid. How can’t someone write an essay? Not to mention you were at fault for letting it get this bad... a teacher, y/n? A teacher is doing this for you? It was embarrassing.

Soon you're driving up the spiral driveway up towards the large house in your view, nice car in the driveway, lawn well taken care of. It was beautiful. You take off your seatbelt, opening the car door with your bag and keys in hands.

You walk up the path and inhale before you're knocking on the door; waiting a few seconds and the door is opening. Professor Morow allowed you entrance, wearing the same button up and black slacks as earlier in class. We great each other, "follow me, my office is upstairs." He speaks, you follow him up the marble stairs, down the hall and he's opening a beautiful wooden door, a large desk, chairs in front, a couch with a bookcase behind it with stunning red curtains which were closed.

"You have a nice home Mr. Morow, stunning." You breathe, looking around and observing.

"My, well thank you y/n." He hums, sitting in his chair behind the desk, you sit in front of him, taking out your paper along with a notebook and pencil, “I'll have you rewrite, and after each paragraph I'll read it over for you." He says, crossing his leg, you nod.

"I- I wanted to thank you again, for helping me." Yoy mutter, he nods slowly.

"Don't worry, you'll make it up to me." He smirks, motioning to your paper to get you to start; so you do. Starting with your thesis, you spend extra time making sure you think it looked good. You hand it to him and he reads it over, eyes trailing across the page, "not bad, but I know you can write more about the proprieties within some enterprises.” You groaned and quickly started erasing, his hand immediately grabs your wrist, stopping you, “I didn’t say erase it.” He insists, you look up at him, then down at his hand; a big hand wrapped around your wrist obviously didn’t fill your head with appropriate things.

He suddenly stands, walking around the desk and reaches his arm to grab your pencil, his arm flexing next to your head while he rewrites the things you disregarded, your throat hitches, sitting still and tense; intimidated by his cologne aroma and the fact he was inches from you, “what has you so tense?” You internally gasp, heart beating and you see him now standing against his desk to your right. How the fuck could you answer this?

“I-uh, no reason.” You nervously chuckle, he crosses his arms; he didn’t buy it at all.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles, stepping closer to you, you stared up at him, he towered over you, swallowing hard, “no need to be nervous, y/n.” He says. The tension was really thick in the room, you didn’t notice until you found yourself pressing your thighs together for pressure.

“Sir I-” his hand moves, tucking hair behind your ear, instantly silencing you. You’re spinning. Such an authoritative man making you feel small was a new feeling you hadn’t felt before; like you needed to listen to him or else you’d be in some type of trouble.

“I hope you’re paying attention, if you want to do good of course.” He murmurs, dropping his hand back down, you nod slowly, listening to him. “I’ve always known you could be a good girl.” You were stunned, you chewed on the inside of your mouth like crazy as he still stood over you.

“Mr. Morow,” you breathe, nervous, “I need to pass this class.” The desperation in your voice was pitiful, and Hisoka fucking loved it.

He brings his hand up to your jaw, caressing only a little with his thumb, “don’t worry, you’ll get a good grade,” he purrs, thumb running across your bottom lip, agonizingly slow, “open.” Mouth opening immediately. His thumb slides into your mouth and down deeper towards the back of your throat. You look up at him with beady eyes, he licks his lips and smiles.

He pulls out of your mouth, you hesitantly bring your two hands up, lightly touching his belt, his head drops down and he assists you in unbuckling his black leather belt, “my my, such a fast learner, so good.” Your face heats up, fingers working at the zipper of his pants, the tight space was noticeable, the bulge in his pants made you squirm.

Hand grabbing the back of your head, he’s releasing his cock from his open slacks, you braced yourself for the thick and long cock to stab the back of your throat. He holds your hair back out of your face while you’re spitting up the base of his dick, taking the tip between your lips slowly while you looked up at him with those eyes.

Tongue swirling around the tip, his grip tightening on your skull. You push your head further onto him, spit seeping down your chin; taking over, Hisoka pushes your head down all the way to the base, choking and your throat constriction, he groans and pulls you off him quickly, “do you like my cock down your throat princess?” He purrs, index finger lifting up your chin, you nod, he smiles and grabs you from under your shoulder, you stand and he pushes you over the desk, legs locking and you’re held up by your arms.

“Hmm, how about you give me these wrists.” He hums, ripping you off your only stability, side of your face hitting the desk... right on top of your essay. You hear a click followed by another, cold metal now holding your wrists together.

“What, do you just have handcuffs in arms reach for this typa’ thing?” You found it humorous.

Mr. Morow didn’t.

Your skirt flying up, followed by a shard pain on your thigh, you gasp and try to look up; belt in hand, your English professor had whipped you. Hard. Your leg tries to move back but he’s placing his hands on your waist, keeping you still, “tell me, why might your panties be this soaked? I haven’t even touched you.” He had bent down to your ear, vibrations sending you crazy, “do you want me to fuck you? Princess? Fill you up?” You bite down on your lip, he made you tingle just by the sound of his voice.

Another smack of the belt against your ass rings through you and you yelp out in pain, hissing. “Answer me. Go on,” even his soft voice made this sound harsh, you press your forehead against the desk, panting; the pool of wetness most likely slipping down your thighs.

“Fill me up professor, please.” You mewl, he chuckles deeply, the sound of the belt on the floor caused you to sigh out of relief; instead his hands were grabbing your thong, pulling them down slowly and letting them hit your ankles.

“Oh my, so fucking wet.” He hums, pulling apart your ass cheeks to get a better look.

“Sir.” You retort, needy and beyond ready to be fucked at this point.

“Yes?” You tense up, mouth dropping open when you feel his tip stroke up and down your folds, your thighs tremble and shake under his grasp, slowly pushing his throbbing cock into you. You cry out, “use your words, what is it?” He questions you once more.

“So fucking big.” You moan, he pulls your hips further onto his cock; shaping your pussy to his liking, stretching you out and hitting every nerve possible, “oh my god!” His hips finally touching your ass, you twitched and tightened around him, fitting around him accordingly.

“You take my cock so well.” He pulls out, hands tight around your waist as he slowly thrusts you, you gasp and squeal, he didn’t even need to try to hit your gspot. He speeds up, enough to feel that sharp pressure of his head poking at your cervix, his name spilling from your mouth.

“Such a good girl, do you like that?” Ramming into you, your legs wanted to drop as he fucked you numb, his big hand grabs your hair, yanking your head upwards, “answer me.” He grits, you couldn’t, you couldn’t even compose words as he fucked every syllable out of you.

You didn’t answer, he shoves your head down, slamming onto the desk painfully, you wince and he picks up pace, “I told you to answer me,” drilling into you, you’re stomach twisting into a tight knot.

About to reach your hard orgasm, he only fucks harder, screaming out a gasp, “fuck! Your cock feels so good Sir!” You cry.

Your moans and screams were music to his ears, only inching him closer to stuffing you with his kids, “such a good little fruit, you’re sucking me in so good.” He groans, your cum coating his dick, he picked up your arms by the metal chain of the handcuffs, using it as leverage to demolish your insides.

Your wrists sore, makeup dripping down your eyes along with your tears, hair a mess, legs numb and shaking ready to give out, “I’m-I’m gonna cum again!” You wailed, he didn’t change his pace, cock stroking against your sweet spot.

“Do it.” Hips sputtering, only slowing down slightly, you become his cum disposal, dumping his seed into your hot cunt. He’s groaning, panting lightly; throwing your second orgasm into the mix, your slick and his cum pouring down his cock and your thighs, you shook profusely, he massaged your ass with his hands before unlocking the cuffs and pulling you up, dropping to your knees and huffing.

“You took me so well.” He purrs into your ear whilst picking you up by the armpits and placing you in the chair, he wipes under your eyes where most of the mascara was and brushes your hair out of your face, crouching down to your level and pulling your panties over your knees, you lift up a little so he can pull them up completely while watching his every move.

While you composed yourself, he walked back around to his desk, gathering papers together in a stack, “we can finish writing tomorrow, how about that princess?” You smile and nod, relived he wouldn’t put you through the torture tonight.

“Sure,” you say, standing and trying way too hard to walk normally, you pick up your bag and keys, walking towards his office door.

“See you in class tomorrow, professor.”