#but i was never good at delayed gratification

[iamshame]

Chapter Two. That old fanfic cliché - Astarion is wounded in the fight with Gandrel. Halsin comes to help.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | eight

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: the one where they get caught. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, domestic bliss, gratuitous descriptions of joel reading, joni mitchell, explicit unprotected piv sex, delayed gratification, dirty talk, finger sucking, biting, academic praise kink, cream pie, who's in the pic on joel's desk??, angst, confrontation, an orpheus and eurydice metaphor uh oh, those blue panties from 3 come back to haunt us. word count: 6.9k nice series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: i need someone to make me write [or not write] the way j miller phd does in this... also sorry and i hope you like it and sorry again follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part eight of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Winter descends over Maine not with a bang, but with a whimper.  

The days and weeks fold together in a blurring mess of sleep ins and papers and coffees, until suddenly a month has passed, and you hardly noticed it slipping through your fingers.

You spend less time at home, and more tucked on one side of Joel’s couch, your feet in his lap as he lounges down the other end. You dip pale toast in runny yolks at the table, listening to him on the phone to Sarah in the other room. Hear him say I’m good, baby girl… I’m really good when she asks how he is.

You ride shotgun in the truck between his place and the university, slipping out the passenger door a little early every time. Walk the final stretch lest someone notice his glasses, your hair through the windscreen.

On campus you watch him up there on his stage, a burn in your chest, and see how he seeks you out in the after. How he props you above him and returns your gaze finally. Curls his body around yours and repents for every time he had to look away.

It's warm and it’s kind and it’s trading books with scribbled notes in the margins.

It’s rain smacking against the windows as you read, his scruffy chin nesting in the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, two sets of eyes staring at the same words.

It’s nodding off in his bed where the sheets have started to smell like your perfume, eyelids heavy as you wait for him to get home. It’s wearing only his clothes and being woken up by his face between your thighs, pupils blown and lips slick.  

It’s finding each other at the end of a long day and hearing him say, I thought about you all afternoon.

And this feeling of familiarity writhes between the slats of your ribs. A comfortable, quiet fondness that you see reflected in his eyes when he looks at you; that you hear when that tender mouth forms your name.

You gorge yourselves on it. Put lips to the crooks and thorns in each other’s bodies and suckle on that fondness, swallow, swallow, and watch the well never run dry.

The bleed is endless. Beneath the stain of time it floods and flurries, melting the two of you together until you start to feel certain it could never end.

Until, of course and at last, it does.

Sunday.

It’s late, you think. Somewhere in the mess where time blurs between sunset and midnight, Winter stealing hours that feel like minutes.

The curtains in his living room are drawn, low yellow light warming the room from a tall lamp in the corner. Blue spins in the on the record player, a gentle sway of sound that fills the room.

I like listening to Joni on Sundays, he’d confessed in the bathroom, bashful as he rubbed a towel over you, drying the wet ends of your hair and the slick skin of your shoulders.

He reads at the table now, strong chin cupped in his palm as his eyes flit across the pages of a textbook.

Something to do with conservation; a Minoan palace in Knossos, you think. He’d explained it earnestly, but his curls were soft and fluffy from the shower and his glasses were resting on the tip of his nose and so you’d found yourself zoning out, eyes going from round to heart shaped as you nodded along from the couch.

Every few minutes he grips his pen and jots down a note before glancing up to check on you. And whenever this happens you avert your eyes quickly, pretending to be enthralled by the half-finished essay on your screen. You have a feeling he catches you each time, because he keeps laughing softly, tutting under his breath as he goes back to reading, foot never stopping its tap-tap-tap in time with the music. The only time he gets up is to flip the record, and soon those little laughs and huffs start to mix with Joni’s bell-like voice, and the opening lyrics to California swell through the room as you type at a glacial pace.   

She sings, I met a redneck on a Grecian isle, and you glance up again, eyes turning wide and doe-like when you find Joel already watching you. He gave me back my smile, Joni sings. But he kept my camera to sell.

“How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” Liar. “Great, even.” Bad liar.

Joel’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, lips twitching in a clear attempt to smother a laugh, but he just nods, looking back down at his book.

He’s wearing home clothes. That’s what he called them. Home clothes.

When he’d said it, still pulling them on, you’d wanted nothing more than to grip his hands and stop him in his tracks, but you’d sequestered yourself to the other side of the room instead, sorely committed to the study evening he’d suggested. But he’s in soft grey sweatpants and an even softer looking white t-shirt, and every time he sips his coffee he hums happily against the rim of his mug, and his bare foot goes tap-tap-tap and Joni sings Oh, will you take me as I am?, and—

“Come here.”

You blink. His eyebrows raise expectantly, lips split into a broad smile now.

“Unless you’d rather stay over there and keep starin’.”

You reach him as The Last Time I saw Richard, the final track on side two, begins to spin.

Joni sings, all romantics meet the same fate, and Joel’s knees fall apart, thighs splayed so handsomely across his chair, inviting you to take a seat. You ignore the woeful lyrics and focus instead on the knowing smirk on his face, taking a step forward, and another, until you’re stood between his open legs.

He doesn’t touch you. Just smiles, all saccharine and easy, leaning back in his chair.

“Much left to do?” He points at the laptop in your hands.

“Maybe another hundred words,” you grumble and put it down on the table. “Today, at least.”

Joel hums, eyes flicking down. His gaze skirts across the bare skin of your legs, the soft sleep shorts you’re wearing; ones he puts on you himself, and knows you don’t have anything beneath.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh; stops you with a soft tut when you try to straddle him. “Naw, baby, like this.”

Soft hands tilt your hips, turn you until your back is to his chest and he’s drawing you onto his lap.

“Oh.” You smile, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

Nose turned into the side of his face, you brush a kiss to the edge of his jaw and sigh in relief as he wraps his arms around your middle and squeezes.

The space between his chest and the table is a little tight; small enough that if you were to lean forward a few inches your ribs would knock against the wood.

As if he’s thinking the same thing, Joel leans forward. Presses you against the table, one hand coming up to hold your face. His fingers are soft on your skin, offering small amounts of pressure as he grips your jaw and encourages you to look forward.

“Gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little, skin prickling at the shift in his tone. Still soft, still quiet, yet with something… demanding, shifting just below the surface.

“You,” you say, cringing at the way your voice takes on a higher quality all of a sudden. Steeling yourself, you add, “You’re distracting me.”

“Wasn’t doing anythin’,” he responds simply. “Just sittin’ over here, minding my business while you burn holes in my head.” 

“You know what you’re doing.”

“I cooked dinner.” He squeezes you again. “Fed you. We showered, and now I’m readin’.”

“You were humming.”

Joel kisses the shell of your ear.

“And tapping.”

He flutters his fingers against your hip.

“S’that such a crime?” he murmurs.

“No, but…” You sigh when his tongue snakes out, tracing the soft curve of your earlobe. “But it…”

“But but but,” Joel mocks, and you can feel his sick smirk against your neck, teeth teasing along your carotid now. “But all you can think about is my cock, ain’t that right?”

Your stomach falls away. Everything firm inside you turns to goo as he laughs, knowing he’s right.

“So needy,” he taunts you, holding your hip tighter as his length begins to thicken against your ass. “Had all day to ask for it.”

You don’t respond, tongue tied and more uninterested in your essay than ever.

“Just lookin’ for a distraction now,” he teases lightly. “The more you put it off, the harder it’ll be to get it done, baby.”

“I know.”

“If you know.” He hooks a finger over the waistband of your shorts. “Then finish it.”

“S’not that simple,” you whine, rolling your hips over his lap. A sharp puff of air warms the back of your neck, so you do it again. His hand tightens around your jaw.

“Just a hundred words, right?” he coaxes gruffly. “Come on now, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You feel his thick cock beneath his sweats, stiff and pressing between the crease of your thighs, melting what’s left of your resolve. You want to grind down against it. To pull your soft sleep shorts to the side and let him sink inside with no more pretence. But you put your hands on the desk, eyes on the screen, and Joel slides his warm palms beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Floats them over the curve of your stomach, the soft flesh around your ribs, waking thousands of tiny hairs that cover your skin until his fingers meet your chest, and he cups your breasts.

You shiver, lids growing heavy as he squeezes and tickles at your skin. Your nipples harden to peaks against his rough palms, and he sighs at the feeling, face resting against the back of your neck as he plays.

“Fuck,” you sigh, voice a broken buzz in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought you wanted me to write.”

“I do,” Joel murmurs unconvincingly. “A hundred words, go on.”

Hands like lead on the table, it feels like an impossible task. Even more than it did ten minutes ago. You force yourself to lift your fingers to the keyboard, vision sharpening as you look for where you left off. You try to shut him out, try to ignore the way his tongue warms the skin on your neck, the way the hairs on his thighs tickle against yours, and begin to write.

But he doesn’t make it easy.

The second you finish the first sentence one of his hands drifts down your stomach to cup your pussy over your shorts. You flinch, heart galloping in your chest when he sighs in your ear.

“Joel,” you whimper, pleading already. “I can’t if you…”

“You can,” he soothes. The warmth of his palm is suffocating, so hot against where you’re already wet and wanting. Thick fingers press against the fabric, nudging it between your slick folds until it goes damp. “Just ignore me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” you reply. You type five more words, chest rattling with heavy breaths as he paws at you, thumbing at your clit through your shorts.

His breath is hot and heavy against your neck and his soft curls tickle your skin as you try to focus.

“Ignore me,” he repeats, and you squeak as he tilts you forward. A rush of breath spills from your mouth, chest flush to the desk, ass suspended above his lap as he shifts behind you. And when he pulls you back down, you sigh pathetically over the fact that he’s pushed his sweats down.

The full weight of his length presses against you, nestled between the rounded flesh of your ass, and you manage to mumble his name.

“Just—” You’re panting now; considering begging. “—I can do this later. I will finish it later, I swear, just—”

Joel nudges your shorts to the side and presses a finger between your folds. A ragged gasp stutters out of you, finger jammed against the keyboard. A steady stream of kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk fills a line of the document as he smears your wetness up to your clit.

“Fuck,” you mumble, hips tilting forward, trying to chase the feeling.

“None of that,” he tuts quickly, other hand slipping down and pinching the skin at the inside of your thigh. You’ve only backspaced half of the k’s when he slips two fingers inside you. “Come on, now.”

Thirty words fly as he crooks his fingers inside you. Slow and gentle, thumb rubbing messy circles against your clit as he works you open.

“That’s it,” he coos, pressing a third finger inside. Your cunt sucks desperately at his fingers, the skin of your face warming as you catch a glimpse of your reflection on the laptop screen. Jaw hanging low, a silent prayer for relief written across the open slant of your mouth. “My smart girl. Knew they didn’t give you that degree for nothin’.”

You gasp and swat at his wrist, but a satisfied little smile cracks your face for a moment when he laughs. Only for it to fall seconds later when he lays a sharp bite to the back of your shoulder. You moan, voice cracking around his name, rutting desperately against his hand.

“You can do it,” he flatters you, sickly sweet and entirely convincing as he strokes at your insides. Curling and stretching until you’re turning to a wet trembling mess in his lap, wobbling through half-assed sentences that you aren’t sure even match up with your essay outline anymore.

“Good,” Joel murmurs. “That’s good.”

“Don’t look,” you slur out, heart pounding at the idea of him reading anything you’ve written in this state. “It’s f-for your class, you can’t look.”

“Not lookin’.” He noses at the back of your ear. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Just lookin’ at you, m’always just lookin’ at you.”

“I’ll finish it.” You switch up your tactic now. Voice low and breathy, the back of your head resting heavy on his shoulder, eyes longing to close. “Tomorrow, I’ll write it—”

“Tomorrow?” His thumb drags harder on your clit.

“Yes,” you gasp, stomach tensing. You feel a bit floaty all of a sudden. Locked out of your own mind, all thoughts spilling from between your thighs as desire grips you, consumes you. “Please, just…”

“What, baby?” he prompts. “Say it.”

“Just let me sit on your cock,” you groan. “Please, I can’t think right now, I’ll finish it, I promise.”

“You fuckin’ promise—Christ,” he grumbles, fingers drifting from your tight clutch. “Just a little more, baby, for me.”

You don’t even really know how it happens after that. Ears roaring, skin tight, everything is a blur as you write and write and write and he presses his leaking tip between your folds works you down onto his length. Hands everywhere, so warm, so rough, holding your thighs, your waist, your breasts, your shorts to the side. Slower when your gasps spin higher, you think, always knowing when to ease up, when the burn gets too much too quick.

Joel grips your thighs, prying them apart until your calves are on the outside of his, and then he’s shifting his legs open wide, giving your own no choice but to follow. You feel the full weight of him in this position. The long, thick stretch of his cock inside you as your legs dangle listlessly over his lap, toes straining and failing to reach the floor. You can do nothing but rest heavily across his thighs, those hands still everywhere all at once, and whine pitifully as your walls spasm and clench around him, coil inside pulling tighter and tighter.

Vision waning, the text on your screen warbles as Joel slips the pad of his finger against your clit and begins to play with it. Soft little rubs that have you going tense and leaning forward on the table, braced on your elbows and grinding down into his lap, desperate for release, for movement, anything. It feels like your brain is splintering into a thousand tiny pieces inside your skull.

“You’re so wet,” Joel rasps, forehead heavy against your shoulder blade as he groans. “Pretty pussy’s drippin’ all over me, honey. You really need it that bad?” 

You say something you think, mouth moving and eyes rolling as his hips shift up in a weak little thrust. Just one.

“Keep goin’.” He sounds pained, half-drunk as the words stumble out of him.

Your mind slips further from your grasp and you’re typing pure gibberish. Slurring messes of letters cloaked in perfect punctuation. Your fingers fly across the keys, painting commas and full stops and semi colons around complete and utter bullshit as your cunt flutters and your belly stirs.

His finger glides and his cock pulses and your vision darkens and you come. Shoulders hunched, table digging into your forearms, you fold forward and cry out as an agonisingly brief orgasm rips through you.

It’s over before it’s even begun, but Joel groans and offers a shallow thrust, your cry turning to a gasp as he grips your thigh for dear life.

“Oh good girl,” he murmurs, fingers slowing against your nerves, not wanting to overwhelm. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now. Liquid frustration that pools against your waterline and threatens to spill when he still doesn’t fuck you how you need him to.

“How much left?” he asks roughly, rocking his hips against yours in a steady pace now. Gentle, rolling movements that snag on the heels of your orgasm and hold it close.

“Huh?”  

“How many words?”

“I don’t…” Your eyelids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” he laughs a little then, rueful but not unkind. “That’s gonna be hell to edit.”

With a furious groan you slam the laptop closed, the sharp smack of metal on metal filling your ears as he grips your hips and really starts to fuck you.

It’s not fast though, not rough. Just deep, lingering strokes that grind against the end of you and nudge you stumbling toward the edge. He pinches your clit between the tips of his middle and ring fingers, rubbing slow drags up and down against the hood like that. Moaning and sweating, you slip your hand over his. Press lower and let your fingers glide around his girth, thick and vascular between your thighs, hot skin wetter every time he pulls out of you.

“Feel that?” Joel pants, teeth nipping at the top of your spine. “You’re creamin’ for me, baby. Fuck, I—I need to taste it.”

“Shit—oh god.”

He grips your wrist and drags it up, chin harsh against your shoulder as he sucks your fingers into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is filthy as his hot tongue snakes out to lick the webbing between your fingers, and you tip your head to watch his eyes roll back. His thighs tremble beneath you, but you can’t be sure it’s not just the vibrations of your own body tricking you.

But no, it’s him. His hips stutter against yours, deep plunges stilting into shallow movements, and he stalls deep inside your cunt for a second on the end of every thrust, as if his brain is short-circuiting.

You hook your fingers in his mouth, the tips digging into the gums behind his teeth, and tug him back to reality. He nips at your fingers and moans, hand falling heavy between your thighs again. And he doesn’t stop now; keeps pushing and pinching and fucking and grinding until your pussy is pulling tight and slick around his length and your fingers are fanned loose and shaky across his face, and you can hardly breathe except to say Joel or please or oh my god.

“Can feel it,” he grunts breathlessly, skin smacking against yours in a sharp staccato beat. “Deep breath, baby, c’mon, let me have it.”

“Your teeth,” you gasp feverishly. “Bite me again.” 

“Fuck,” he snarls and then he’s grating the hard line of his incisors along your shoulder.

The sweet pinch of his canines digging into your back sets your cunt aflutter around him, mouth hung open in silent ecstasy as he fucks you full of his seed and you suck it in deep, tight with longing, still panting and high when it begins to drip from where you’re connected, spooling around his cock and smearing between your thighs and his.

His chest heaves against your back. Chest hair damp wet sweat, dripping through your thin shirt until it can’t decide whether to cling to his skin or yours. There’s an ache at the base of your spine, maybe a muscle pulled, and his thumb presses into the flesh there as if he can sense it.

Sounds come back slowly. Joni’s finished and the needle tracks around the runout groove on the record, a little crackle flaring every few seconds where the two channels join. Joel’s breathing too, rough against your shoulder, harmonising with the wet sound of his lips peeling from your skin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Wild eyed, cunt-struck, Joel knocks his nose against yours. Groans low when you flick your tongue out to graze across his bottom lip. He’s bitten it rough and ragged and red, and you want to soothe the sting. His glasses are on top of his head, smudged lenses tucked amidst wild fluffy curls.

You try to kiss him, hard and wet, but he stops you with a hand to your jaw. Cradles your face and strokes your cheekbone and wipes the spittle from your lips before kissing you lightly. Chaste and gentle, like the two of you are ten and have never kissed anyone before, have never been brave enough to use your tongues.

That invisible bleed in your chest drips heavier. You picture a thick spurt of red against your chest cavity as he kisses the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, your eyelids.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling when his lips catch and drag across your skin with the movement of your head.

A moment passes like this. Searching kisses dotted over your smiling face. The swell of your cheeks, the ends of your eyebrows.

“Sometimes I feel like you aren’t real,” Joel confesses. A bare bones whisper that tickles the skin between your eyebrows, where his lips rest now. “Like you might just melt away if I don’t hold on tight enough. Disappear if I look away too long, and I’ll be stuck tryna convince myself that you were ever really here.”

Twisted up in his arms, you can feel the way his heart batters against his chest, thrashing through to vibrate against your back. He might as well be plucking the admission straight from your own mouth.

“I’m real,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m here, it’s real.”

“Me too,” he says. Something wet tickles your skin, but it’s gone in a second. Rubbed over by his thumb, soothed with another kiss.

I love you, you think, but when you speak it comes out as, “No melting.”

Joel laughs softly. Kisses you again. “No melting.”

Thursday.

“It was too much.”

“It was fine.”

“I said the word grateful three times.”

“Four, actually.” You chew the inside of your cheek and shrug apologetically. “I counted.”

“Jesus,” Joel sighs, reaching up to a drag a hand over his face.

He’s pulled his desk chair all the way across the office. Tie loosened and top buttons undone, he slumps in it a little. His thick knees almost brush against yours where you sit in his armchair.

“Hey, I liked it,” you smile, bumping his knee. “It was nice - shows you care.”

“Well, you ain’t all that hard to please,” Joel smarts, lip quirking up into a sly grin.

Mouth open in a scoff, you feign offence, dragging your laptop from your satchel and making a show of ignoring him.

“How the mighty fall,” he continues, sighing dramatically and tilting his head over the back of the chair. The light coming in through the window hits his face just right, and the grey hairs in his curls shine. “Grateful to have been your professor… asshole.”

“Don’t be precious,” you laugh softly. “You’re just embarrassed because you said you were going to miss us.”

“That was a lie,” Joel tuts, brushing you off with a hand in the air, biting back that grin. “I ain’t gon’ miss any of you assholes. And when those final papers come in—” He taps a finger against the top of your laptop “—I’ll be sayin’ my prayers that any of you can string a worthwhile sentence together.”

“If you’re lucky,” you drawl, batting his hand away. “You’ll teach some of us again next year. And when that semester finishes, you’ll say all of that shit again, because you’re a sap, Joel Miller.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, face softening, and then clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Smart ass.”

“And you love it,” you quip easily, only balking a moment later when the word hangs awkwardly in the air. Hands pausing on your keyboard, you glance up, neck hot, only to find Joel watching you still. Face suspended in a small smile; eyes light as he nods.

“I do,” he says after a moment. “But you’re on thin ice, wise guy.”

He plucks a book from his desk and spreads it open on his lap, either not noticing or simply not caring as you watch on, slack jawed. I do.

After a moment, Joel taps his foot against yours again. “Write.”

So, sucking in a breath, you do. Time passes and rain starts to drizzle against the window as you write, and Joel reads. Having forgotten to put a record on like normal, he hums lightly under his breath; some tune you can’t place but still nod along to. Every few minutes he turns his page, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate the way he holds books. Hate the way he cradles the spines, thumb hooked around the footnotes to hold his page. Hate the way his fingers trace the stanzas as he reads, tender and patient, and always afraid to miss something. Hate most the way the tendons on the backs of his hands flex when he turns the page. How the veins around them go fat and blue the longer he does this, as if all the blood in his body is sprinting towards the words. It’s a dangerous sort of eroticism, watching him read. You hate how much you love it.

In need of reprieve, you focus on your own hands. Crack tired knuckles and stretch out cramps and aches, taking a moment to peer over at his desk. The picture frame you’d once been so curious about is propped on the edge of it once again.

You can see Joel behind the glass panel, sporting a shit-eating grin with Sarah, clad in a graduation gown, tucked proudly against his chest. Taken the day she finished high school, you know now. And you’d never noticed it that first time, months ago, but Ellie’s face rests in the corner of the picture. Pink tongue stuck out and eyes pinched shut; she’d snuck her head into the frame at the last second apparently.

You gaze fondly at it, and feel that familiar warmth in your chest over the fact that he’s put it back out. No more hiding.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Joel glances over his shoulder, and then smiles.

“It’s a good photo,” you say. “You look so happy there.”

“I was. It’s one of my favourites,” he nods, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He seems to consider you for a moment, eyes flicking around your face, fingers fidgeting with the corner of his page. “Hey, I uh… Sarah actually called yesterday.”

He pauses. Takes an unusually deep breath and folds the book shut.

“Okay.” You blink, confused. “Is she alright?” 

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, she was uh, she was askin’ about the holidays, and if—”

The office door creaks open, and Joel’s mouth seals shut as Rachel walks hastily inside, rushed words filling the small room.  

“Joel, sorry, I need to grab—oh.”

There’s an odd pause after the words catch in her throat. A moment of uncomfortable stillness as the three of you inhale all at once, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

You and Joel aren’t touching, but your knees rest close, one of his feet in the space between yours on the carpet. Laptop propped on your knees, your final essay still lays open with a stream of edits pasted through the margins, cursor blinking at the end of the word nostos.

Joel, tie undone and sleeves rolled up, looks painfully casual in your presence.

“Sorry.” Rachel blinks, hovering awkwardly as the door clicks shut behind her. “I didn’t realise you had a… a meeting today?” The end of her sentence flares up, as if she’s confused, phrasing it like a dubious little question.

You offer a smile in her direction and hope it comes across as relaxed, a little encroaching even; as if you are the one who has interrupted; the one who should not be here.

“It’s fine,” Joel supplies easily, straightening in his chair to give her his full attention. His face gives nothing away. Stoic and calm, the way you’d imagine him to be if you weren’t here at all. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says, frowning like she’s affronted by the question. Looks between the two of you again, listless fingers curling at her sides. “Just came to get that Livy copy back

You look back at your screen and will yourself to type something. To appear casual, studious, as if your heart isn’t lodged in the base of your throat.

“Sure,” he nods, gesturing vaguely toward his desk. “It’s in one of the drawers on the left.”

Rachel nods, walking over to the desk, and as her back turns you spare a glance at Joel. Find him already looking at you, eyebrows pulled down a little. Pink lips mouth It’s fine, married with a soft nod of his head, and for the second time in seconds you attempt a smile. 

There’s the sound of wood sliding against wood, and then a soft, tired kind of silence. The lack of sound seems to swell, the air in the room thinning, your eyes focusing on Joel’s fingers on the armrest of his chair, tap tap tap, Rachel’s unruly curls somewhere past that, her face downturned, looking at something. Wary breaths held in unison, synced heart beats racing. It’s fine, it’s fine, no melting.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Your head snaps up. Joel turns in his chair and begins to ask what’s wrong, but all that ends up coming from him is a sort of choked noise, rough around the edges, and breathless in the middle. Chest on fire, you let yourself look past him to where she stands.

Her gaze is hard as she stares Joel down from across the room. A slip of blue; soft material visible between her fingers, held up for a stunned chorus to see.

Your hearing deafens a little as you look on, motionless, a vague memory of birthday boy and got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock? playing in your mind. Of a damp patch on his shirt as he tucked blue into his desk drawer.

Joel says Rachel’s name, you think. Can see the way his jaw moves, the way her dark eyes sharpen, flitting back and forth between the two of you. And then, like a volcanic eruption or the swell beneath a wave, realisation crests the hill and It’s fine cracks and crumbles and turns to dust in your grasp. You don’t know what she knows, or how she knows, you just know that she does.

“You… what is this?” Rachel’s face shifts into something uncomfortable. A warped, grotesque shot at a smile. But as her lips curl upward, eyebrows down, it’s nothing but a contorted mess that blurs endlessly between confusion, surprise, and then horror. “This… her? She’s the reason you—”

“Rachel.” Joel’s entire body is wound tight. You can see the edge of his jaw from where you sit; the way his shoulders pull back, tight he watches her.

Your body seems to hold itself together for a moment. Breath caught on an inhale, lungs expanded, eyes frozen on the hard line of his nose, the arm of his glasses—places you feel safe to hover. But then she speaks again, and everything lurches back into focus. Like a needle scratching on a record, or tires squealing as a car pulls to an abrupt stop at a red—the words make you cringe, chest deflating and face crumpling.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she’s saying, and her voice raises, louder to match the disbelief in her tone. “You… she’s a fucking student.”

When the fear hits it doesn’t come slowly. It strikes hard and solid; an icy sheet of dread that sucks at your fingers and numbs your extremities. Cool and abrupt, it sinks to your bones and promises that you’ll never again feel anything but this. It laughs in the face of your warm kind month, pressing its chilled ice picks to the back of your eyes until they burn.

Her words hang heavy in the air, thick weights that press down on three sets of shoulders, and you have never wanted anything the way you want to see Joel’s face right now. To look at him and believe that this isn’t as bad as you know it to be. See that mouth tell you it’s fine and remember how it tastes.

Instead, a fear-stricken Orpheus, you will yourself not to look at him. Despite that longing, the way your arms beg to stretch out, to hold and be held, you do not look. No, you don’t think you could suffer the double death of both knowing this is happening and seeing him know it too.

In his place, you let your eyes turn to Rachel, and find that she already stares at you, small mouth cracked ajar in incredulity.

Mind whirring, racing, stumbling; fumbling to pin back together the pieces of who you once were in her eyes and who you are now. This woman you admire so, whose career path you’ve dreamt of, whose wit and quirk has propelled you, invigorated you.

It’s agonising to watch—the way her face morphs into something so unfamiliar as she looks at you now. An expression that once held only admiration, kindness, marred here by an inexplicable sense of pity. Not hate, or contempt, which perhaps would be easier to handle. Easier than the way those dark orbs go round and solemn with worry as they fall upon your anguished frame. It’s a slap in the face; camaraderie washed down the drain like the dregs of a long overdue bath, as she grips your soiled underwear in her fist.

Joel says her name, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s said it now, and she spurns his attempt at placation like a snake. Fast and deadly, venom dribbling from her tongue. 

“Someone else?” she says, and her voice is like never before. Mirthless and cold, fury laced through every word. With a sharp jerk of her elbow, she tosses the underwear across the room. They land against Joel’s chest, caught silently in his fist. “You’re fucking sick.”

“This isn’t what you think it is—” Joel starts, and you think you hear his voice shake.

“It isn’t?” She laughs cruelly at that. “You haven’t been sleeping with one of our students?”

The cursor blinks on your screen. Nostos, nostos, nostos, nostos.

“Listen, can we talk about this somewhere else?” he asks. “Not like this, I—”

“Oh, is this not a convenient time for you?” she scowls. “Jesus Christ.”   

The urge to speak bubbles in your chest. You don’t even know what you’re going to say until the words are spilling from your lips, disjointed and warbled, a voice that doesn’t even sound like your own.

“I pursued him,” you say.

You can feel them looking at you. Can hear the way you must sound to her, like some kid and not a woman who’s almost thirty years old and just as much to blame. But you can’t stop it.  

“We’re both adults. He never made me do anything I didn’t—”

Joel says your name sharply. His fist, in the periphery of your downturned gaze, grips your balled up underwear so tight that the blue is entirely invisible within the thick masts of his fingers.

You suck in a breath, and it feels like the last bit of air in the room disappears into your lungs, so you hold it there. Keep it safe inside and figure that if all three of you were to suffocate then at least the truth, and all the foul consequences that come with it, would die here with you.

“Can you give us a minute?”

Silence falls in the lull after those words, and it takes a moment for you to look up, finally. To realise that the double death wasn’t in looking at Joel, but in understanding that he’d spoken these words to you, not her.

Eyes locked with his, you feel the fear move to your side. Hang low until it ebbs and flows in the space beneath your ribs—a sharp ache with no end in sight. He looks tired; resigned. Mouth thin and downturned, cheeks splashed with red.

You think you must say something. Some fumbling, awkward acknowledgement, because Rachel is giving you that look again and you can’t bear it. Can’t stand those eyes, that misplaced pity.

You collect your things, hands numb as you pile them into your bag and head for the door, skin prickling in defence against the silence that follows your movements.

Outside his office, alone in the long corridor, you know you should go. Should follow the wall down the stairs, out to your car, and not look back. Can you give us a minute? But that sharp ache leaves you cowering against the wall, limbs heavy, ear to his door. 

“Rach,” Joel says softly, and it’s so familiar that your stomach rolls, lids fluttering closed. “It isn’t what you think, just let me explain, alright? We met before the term began; before she was my student. Before.”

“And then?”

“What?”

“I said, and then?” Rachel’s voice is steely. “You met her before and, what, you saw her in class and decided it was fine to let it continue? You—”

“Everything was consensual. You know me, I would never—”

“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it. Did you not think about what would happen if you were found out? Her credibility will be destroyed, Joel.”

“I know—”

“I mean for fucksake, her first major presentation was given at a conference where you were the keynote speaker. How do you think this will look?”

“Fuck, I know. Can you keep your voice down, please.”

There’s a brief silence. You hear shuffling, feet against carpet, and a dull spike of fear flares in the back of your mind. The idea of getting caught a second time, eavesdropping from outside the door. Against better judgement, you don’t move, and Rachel speaks again.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “I don’t know you. I… you aren’t the man I thought you were.”

You don’t hear Joel’s response over the drumming in your ears. Hot blood thrashes and roars inside your body, veins pounding with terror. Hands shake damp and weary at your sides, thinking hard, hard, grasping for solution, for the chance to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.

But he must have said something because then you hear it. A low fragment of a human voice, words spoken clear as day. They slice through your ears and have you peeling away from the door, swallowed by a white-hot longing to disappear as you stumble down the hall, the stairs, until you’re sucking in cold air on the pavement outside.  

It’s raining hard now. Thin spray that comes at you sideways, lashing at your face and blinding you. You curl your back to the downpour and search thoughtlessly for your car, hands outstretched, those words of hers ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

When you find it, you press your key into the door and slump inside, and you still can’t avoid it. She might as well be standing right by the door, peering in at you. Shock in the jut of her brow, disappointment in the slant of her mouth as she whispers those words over and over through the crack in your window.

"I don’t care if you love her, Joel. I have to report you.”

refs:

joni mitchell's 1971 Blue album. [life changer]

the hollow men by t. s. elliot [fat juicy banger of a poem]

orpheus and eurydice from metamorphoses by ovid, tr. by a. d. melville

thank you for reading x

[yandere-sins]

Do you think the miya twins would ever "mess around" with their darling at the same time? Ik they usually don't touch her like that unless they have her to themselves. Idk, I think it'd be fun to have the two crazies fighting over her as they have sex.

Oh yeah, totally!

[Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content]

Osamu is gracious, almost lenient. He knows Atsumu needs his alone time with you after a hard day of training, to celebrate his victory, or to just shut him up for a while. Having you bounce on his cock until he's satisfied is sure to knock Atsumu out for a while, as he'll be sleeping like a baby after a good fuck. And, to be honest, Osamu doesn't always want to deal with his brother's whining because you moaned the "wrong" name or because you've been kissing Osamu for too long. He just wants to be concentrating on your and his pleasure, knowing his brother can get off just fine by slamming into you but Osamu likes taking his sweet time. Also, Osamu is fully aware that his presence and extra stimulation could overwhelm you (although he enjoys that).

Regardless, that means he'll be the one to back off 7 out of 10 times, whisking you away after Atsumu is done for some fun in the bathtub and to help clean you up. Or he enjoys the rare time he has alone with you, bending you over the kitchen counter or taking you into the twin's room for somewhere more comfortable. There's also the delayed gratification in listening to your moans coming from the other room while he's cooking, his cock throbbing and waiting for his own chance of release that Osamu so likes. And he really likes being the one to pick up the you in pieces that Atsumu leaves behind, making sure you know he's the one to rely on in this weird relationship.

But there are times it can't be helped. I mean, look at you; how can anyone resist you?!

Surely not those two!

It's mostly when Osamu and you are getting frisky, and Atsumu comes home too early and catches you. He really has no shame, and there will be an unoccupied spot he can squeeze himself into. There's so much excitement in his eyes when he sees you, already hot and heavy, dazed, crying, or otherwise deliciously pleasured, and he can't help himself from asking you if you're enjoying his brother's dick and if you want to feel even better. He'll be so vocal about how pretty you are and how well you are taking Osamu's cock. How you'll be able to fit one more and take Atsumu as well, looking absolutely brilliant like this. If your mouth isn't occupied, Atsumu will make you tell him all about how you're feeling, asking you to say where his brother is making you feel good and apply some more stimulation that Osamu might have missed. Atsumu is always a little rougher with you, but he knows where to twist and pull to make your back arch, and he's the best when it comes to praising and degrading you, depending on what you need at that moment. And he knows. He always knows where you're itching to be touched, and if not, he'll make you tell him, kiss you feverishly when you speak up, and do everything you need him to do.

The twins might nag a bit at each other, but you know better than anyone that their teamwork is dreamwork. If they get together, you'll be drowning in pleasure until you no longer feel like the trapped darling you are. They'll make you feel like you belong. Like you are their lover and as if you want to be their bitch, chasing just one more height. The two of them are as addicting and devastating as drugs, but you'll never find anyone who knows your body better. Who's touch will make you cry from joy and who controls you from your thoughts to your orgasm, allowing you to let go of any worry or fear.

Although more rare, there are also times when Osamu joins you and Atsumu. Interestingly, Atsumu does give out an invitation every time Osamu walks in on you and his brother cock-deep inside you. It might be a jest, but Atsumu is unpredictable and mischievous in that way, and Osamu, too, can't resist his pretty darling, writhing and moaning in front of him, desperately in need of his attention. (It's what he tells himself, at least.) Sometimes, it's enough to watch you and his brother go at it as he jerks himself off, but on the very good days, Osamu will do anything to worship you, putting your pleasure before his, especially after seeing his brother rough you up. Isn't it nice of him to kiss all those bites and scratches? Osamu's hands can be so amazing as they dance across your skin, leaving trails of his touch from one hickey to another that make you gasp while his palms almost seem to burn when they settle. You'll want to nod and confirm any of his questions because you know he'll treat you to mind-breaking stimulation when you do. Of course you'll suck his fingers, push out your tongue for him and let him play with your hair as he rearranges you into new positions, making you feel things even deeper to the point both you and Atsumu are trembling and moaning.

Having the full attention of one twin can be exhausting or quite one-sided. But once you have both, you'll start to forget that you never wanted any of this.

Because in those moments, you'll only want more.

[moni-logues]

Heavy Metal

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (afab)

Genre: smut/pwp, established dating?

Summary: It's the first time you and Jungkook have slept together and you have a couple of surprises up your sleeve in your pants.

Word count: 1.8k

Content: reader has two piercings (VCH and fourchette specifically), oral sex (f. receiving)

* * *

You had been waiting for this. Patiently, politely, mostly in agreement that it was good to take things slowly. But waiting all the same. 

Waiting to taste Jungkook’s tongue as his hands roamed your body. Waiting to feel the heat and weight of him on top of you. Waiting to finally be able to give in to the desire that had been burning deep in your belly for weeks now.

You pushed Jungkook back slightly, giving him the cue to kneel up, to allow you to strip yourself of your T-shirt, encouraging him to do the same. You took a second to admire him, all that you knew would be beneath his clothes: his pecs, his abs, his smooth skin and firm muscle. You didn’t stop yourself reaching out to touch it, with your hands, with your lips. You heard a tiny gasp escape him as you flicked a tongue over his nipple, so you did it again. But he prevented you doing it a third time, tugging at your hair, pulling your face to his so he could kiss you, so he could taste you, so he could run his own hands up your waist and deftly unhook the clasps of your bra. You sighed with the relief of it, lowering your arms so it could fall, forgotten, to the floor.

Jungkook was similarly impatient, pushing you back down, trailing a sprint of kisses down your jaw, your chest, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He let his teeth graze the sensitive bud lightly and you moaned.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you panted, breathless already.

He hummed back at you, refusing to drop your breast from his mouth.

“Shit, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me, too,” he replied in the breath he took moving to your other breast.

You laughed airily.

“Then why has it taken us so long? Why did we wait?”

He looked at you with wickedness glinting in his eyes.

“Never heard of delayed gratification?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Bet Namjoon taught you that one.”

Jungkook laughed.

“Namjoon sucks at delaying gratification. No, it was Yoongi.”

You nodded with a muttered ‘sure’ but Jungkook didn’t lower his mouth again, just stayed hovering over you, looking at you. You looked back.

“What?”

His smile was slow and sweet and then, suddenly, a little shy.

“I really like you, you know that?”

There were a lot of things about Jungkook that got you going, a lot of things about him that made you melt, but it was the combination of the two sides of him that was lethal. One second, looking at you with undisguised, carnal desire, wicked intent and dangerous dreams, and the next, looking at you with round, boba eyes, sparkling and awed and innocent.

You brushed his hair from his forehead and nodded.

“Yeah, I know. I really like you, too.”

He grinned and your stomach flipped as you saw the darkness cloud his gaze once more, the hunger returning. He pressed a kiss to your sternum and travelled south down your stomach. He was quick to release the buttons of your jeans and you wriggled beneath him to push them down, lifting and lowering your hips, letting him take them from you at the knees. He pulled them all the way off and then reversed his trail of kisses upwards, from ankle to knee, knee to inner thigh, inner thigh to the crease of your hip. He left no inch unexplored, crossing from hip to hip, lips dancing above and below the waistband of your underwear.

You were wet. You could feel it dripping from you, soaking into the soft cotton that still covered you. You were hot. Sweat was pricking in your scalp and you felt sticky down your spine. You were quivering, trembling with the anticipation of his mouth on you, where you really wanted it, where you could feel yourself aching powerfully with a desire so fierce you thought it might tear you in half.

Your hands were twitching at your sides, just starting to move, to push things forward yourself, to take them off yourself when Jungkook ran the flat pad of his tongue across the gusset. You were halfway through a gasped moan when he made a noise you weren’t expecting.

It was inquisitive, slightly alarmed.

“What?” you asked, lifting your head, your frown creasing your brow.

Jungkook lifted himself onto his elbows and pulled your underwear aside. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. They flicked towards you.

“You have a piercing?!”

“Uh, two actually.”

“What?!”

His eyes dropped again, his fingers pulling the fabric further to the side, exposing more of you. He gave a soft, little gasp when he spotted the second.

“You don’t… mind them, right?” you asked, hesitantly, doubt creeping in when he didn’t offer an opinion.

“Mind them? They’re so cool!”

You noticed his left hand lift and then stop.

“Can I touch them?”

“That’s pretty much what they’re there for.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Not at all.”

His finger prodded lightly at the ring that ran through your clitoral hood. He flipped it one way and then the other. He span it gently, watching the ball meet your skin before spinning it back. Then he turned his attention to the other, doing much the same thing: gentle experimenting, acquainting himself.

“Did they hurt? To have done?” he asked, turning his attention back to you.

You shook your head.

“Not beyond the half a second of the actual piercing. They actually healed the quickest and easiest of all my piercings.”

“Wow,” he breathed, before sitting back on his knees, his eyes on the middle-distance, lip rings pulled into his mouth in thought. “Reckon I could get one?”

“Uh, a clitoral hood piercing? Do you have a clitoral hood?”

He laughed and shook his head, scrunching his nose as his ears reddened. Then he shuffled himself off the end of the bed and bent, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of both trousers and boxers, pulling them down. He took his cock in his hand, thoughtfully, frowning down at it as he considered the possibility.

“Could I get a dick piercing?”

“Well, sure, if you want one.”

“I don’t know… Would you like it if I did?”

“It’s not about me, Jungkook. You should do what you want.”

“But I care what you think.”

His eyes were wide and imploring, so at odds with the view from the neck down. Above, all sweet innocence; below, he held in his hand the thing that could (and, you hoped, would) destroy you: stiff and already leaking, it made your mouth water, made your walls quiver.

You leant forwards, crawling to the end of the bed and getting to your knees, reaching up to take his face in your hands. You kissed him, doing your best to keep it light, even though every inch of you was aflame and your impatience was once again rearing its head.

“I think you should do whatever you want, baby.”

His surprise at the pet name melted into a scrunched grin and he kissed you, not at all light and not at all gentle and not at all soft. His hands gripped your hips tightly, ten little dimples pressed into your flesh.

“How long would I have to go without sex after getting it done?” he asked, his voice suddenly deep as he spoke against your lips.

You giggled.

“I don’t know exactly. A good few weeks; maybe a couple of months?”

He shook his head.

“Then no dice.”

He pushed you backwards, mouth on yours once more, tongues dancing, teeth biting, until you were on your back again and he was between your legs. He paused, for just a second, his breath washing over your hot, flushed skin, and then he gently flicked your jewellery with his tongue. He did it again.

Then, as if his tests were conclusive, he licked a broad, wet stripe from the bottom ring to the top, and you shivered with it, goosebumps erupting all over your skin, a small, quiet sigh escaping your lips.

Jungkook moaned and repeated the motion, punctuating his tongue’s journey with a swirl around each twist of metal. He grabbed one between his teeth and gave it the tiniest tug. He waited for your pained reaction but none came. He sucked the metal into his mouth and pushed your thighs apart, burying his face further into your cunt.

It was erratic, at first. Teasing. Jungkook couldn’t make up his mind what to play with, where to go, what to do. It all felt good, better than good; his tongue was hot and wet and alternately soft and strong and you had been waiting for this. But every time his focus switched, there was a dip, the smallest pause in the pleasure which brought you down with a bump. You were about to tell him. You were about to beg him to make you come, to tell him he could play later if he worked now.

You didn’t need to. At the very second that your hand sneaked into his hair, ready to tug, ready to instruct, he sealed his mouth around your clit and your admonitions turned to acclamation. You closed your fist around strands of his hair, fingernails lightly scraping his scalp, and he moaned. You echoed the sound back to him, unable to stop your hips rocking.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pulling away for the briefest second, to slip first one and then two fingers into your tight, wet heat. “So good.”

You nodded, whining in agreement. The way his fingers crooked against your front wall stole your speech and he stole your breath entirely when his mouth returned, sucking hard on your swollen, stuttering clit. His tongue flicked over it and you gasped, your back arching. Your whole body was tightening as you careened through the white-water rapids of Jungkook’s mouth and fingers. When you dragged your feet up, everything coiling impossibly tight, muscles screaming, vision popping, Jungkook used his free hand to keep at least one of your legs wide. As he tipped you over the edge, you wanted to clamp them shut, twist and writhe under him, but he held you open and beneath him, crying out, gasping, shuddering, and finally, collapsing.

Your hand fell to the side, probably taking a few of Jungkook’s luscious locks with it. You gazed, dazed, at the ceiling while your chest heaved and legs trembled. Jungkook gave a final, playful flick to the jewellery in your clitoral hood, making you flinch, and then he pressed sticky, open-mouth kisses to your skin. When his face came level, he nudged his nose against yours and kissed you, smearing your own sticky juice across your face.

“So fucking cool,” he whispered with a giggle.

You could only nod.

[gorgonwrites]

wriothesley headcanons

NSFW below the cut! minors DNI. 18+

author's note: i'm BACK!!! and i am obsessed with a certain duke from genshin, good gawds. my best friend and i starting spitting ideas out about our fav genshin men, and i decided i wanna share these with you all. :) enjoy! <3

This man is covered in tattoos- he just tends to dress so they aren’t visible. He has a Cerberus piece that takes up his entire back, and he has lots of florals that cover his legs and arms and chest. That’s his secret little way of bringing some of the overworld down to him. 

Wriothesley is SUPER outdoorsy. He doesn’t make it a habit to spend a lot of time away from the Fortress of Meropide, but when he does go up to the overworld he’s most likely trying to soak up as much sunshine and fresh air as he can. 

He gets sunburned so easily, bless him. Even if he slathers sunscreen on, it's guaranteed he’ll come back to the Fortress burnt to a crisp. He never complains though. He took Sigewinne camping once, and his sunburn was so bad she was convinced he had sun poisoning when they got back home. 

He loves taking cheesy photos where he’s “holding” or “leaning on” landmarks, and is always super smug about the pictures if they turn out exactly like he wanted. 

Has a photic sneeze reflex. And on that note- the man’s sneezes are so fucking obnoxious. They echo throughout the Fortress when he sneezes in his office. He gets his feelings hurt if no one says ‘bless you’ though. 

To show love, Wriothesley gives physical touch and gifts. He loves seeing small things throughout his long days that remind him of his partner, and he wants them to know he’s thinking of them constantly. 

To receive love, he needs physical touch and words of affirmation. Trust is extremely hard for him, so having verbal reassurance is key to him relaxing and building trust with his partner. 

Is literally just a little baby. The man would melt into being cuddled after a long, hard day.

nsfw below<3

This man has a SERIOUS praise kink. He needs to know when he’s doing well and the reassurance drives him crazy. He’s also quick to give praise to his partners- the intimacy makes him melt. Will lose his mind if someone calls him a good boy. 

He also has a very mild degradation kink- he loves to tease his partners or slightly embarrass them. He can’t help that he’s fucking them stupid! 

T I T T Y MAN!!! 

Pierced nips because he likes the look of them. 

Obsessed with his partners riding his face. He just wants to be a tool for their pleasure, and in his opinion that's the perfect way to let them use him how they want.

He loves bondage, but more specifically, he loves shibari. He thinks it's beautiful, and the time spent tying his partners up in intricate positions feels incredibly intimate to him. 

He also has a bit of a sadistic streak- he loooooves predicament bondage too. 

Mild voyeur and exhibitionist kink, he’s a bit jealous at times though so he tends to lean more into exhibitionism. 

He LOVES edging. Giving and receiving- the delayed gratification of it all makes him feral. If he’s edging his partner, he wants to see tears and hear begging before he finally gives in and lets them come. If he’s on the receiving end, he tries to hold out as long as  humanly possible because he gets so lost in the pleasure. He’s usually crying out by the end, though. 

Generally, such a soft and tender lover. He’s very attentive and adapts well. He would most likely try anything at least once, and would say if he didn’t like something in particular. He expects the same from his partners. 

[onlymingyus]

things Seventeen do between someone's thighs

this is just for fun -- some of the ideas will be a bit silly and poking fun at the members but all of them will be smutty. thank you to @onlyseokmins for dealing with my nonsense.

cw; oral (mostly f receiving), fingering, sulking, bad jokes, and fuck boy attitudes.

also, no tag list because I am just not in the best headspace and don't feel like going through the effort, I apologize.

Seungcheol

This man isn't there to play...most of the time, but he can get a bit cocky. He'd be three fingers deep, his tongue working hard when he'd get a cramp in his hand. You wouldn't know what was happening when your orgasm was pulled away from you only to find a sulky Cheol between your thighs pouting at his hand.

"I went too hard..."

"My poor baby...want me to kiss it better?"

He'd just nod and hold up his wet fingers, his pout covering a smile as he got you to kiss his fingers dripping with your own arousal.

Jeonghan

Jeonghan would love being between your thighs but he's going to be the absolute worst when it comes to giving you what you want when you want it. All the baby talk against your thighs, his mouth running over your legs, stomach, even right over your folds but never giving in until you are almost crying. Then when you beg him for it he'd be faux exasperated that you were, sighing at you, running his tongue between your soaked folds between speaking.

"You could have just told me what you wanted."

You'd spend most of your time wanting to strangle the man with your thighs.

Joshua

Good luck getting him between your thighs in the first place. Slow and steady wins the race.

"There's no rush, love. We have all the time in the world."

It's not that he doesn't want to pleasure you. It's not that he doesn't want you. This man is just into delayed gratification. He wants to be a son-in-law one day and in your bed at the same time.

He'll make you scream his name on your wedding night and then good luck getting him from between your thighs.

Jun

So good at oral and such a freak in a good way. Loves to try new things but is also such a dork. Would be in the middle of making you orgasm and would stop only to look up at you with a goofy smile on his face only to say;

"Mmm, cum here often?"

Hoshi

There isn't much to say about what this man would do. You probably already know.

He is going to growl into your pussy.

I am so sorry.

Wonwoo

There are some nights you are shaking with pleasure from how good Wonwoo is making you feel with his tongue and fingers. Other nights you are wanting to smack the shit out of him with the book he laid on your stomach while his fingers scissor into you.

"Well, I really wanted to do both. You can't be mad at me for wanting both things, can you?"

Jihoon

The biggest issue with Jihoon is finding him and getting him to take a break. So you are having to come to terms with the fact that you aren't getting his tongue between your thighs in a bed anytime soon. You are either on his couch in his studio, laid over his desk, or on a piece of gym equipment.

At the end of the day he's so fucking good at it, can you really complain that much?

Dokyeom

Loves to talk and is so loud even while eating you out. Your fingers run through his hair, tugging trying to keep his mouth flush with your pussy but something comes to his mind and Dokyeom hums against your folds pulling back to take a breath.

"Oh, baby did I tell you that I saw a really cute dog today? I almost decided to steal it. I mean clearly, I didn't because that is wrong and I don't steal things, especially animals but I really wanted to because---"

A loud muffled groan would escape his lips as you sigh loudly his tongue diving back into your leaking entrance, his fingers digging into your thighs as he appreciates your taste. You love him but god, he loves to talk.

Mingyu

He's got game. He knows he's good at eating you out. He's made you cum so many times on his tongue it's ridiculous but when you glance down at him and he literally winks at you from between your thighs you can't help but close your thighs around his head making him whine and pout against your pussy.

Mingyu's hands grope at your thighs as you roll your eyes finally letting him move and get a full breath as he pouts at you fully.

"I had such a good groove. Why did you do that? Not that getting suffocated by your thighs isn't in my top ten ways to go..."

Another muffled whine leaves the man's mouth when you close your thighs followed by a muffled laugh. Mingyu nibbles at your thighs until you let him loose so he can pout at you again.

"I'm not dating a fuck boy. Don't wink at me from between my thighs while you are eating me out."

"Aww, but I'm cute..."

"God, you are really trying to be suffocated tonight."

"Top ten ways to go...I told you."

Minghao

You would have to remind the man you aren't an art project multiple times a night. Cum is not an art material Xu Minghao.

He'd spend so much time using his fingers to make you cum so he could drag his fingers along your thighs creating patterns only to lick them clean. Listening to you whine and whimper for him to fuck you, but clearly, he is busy...he is painting his canvas.

Seungkwan

Going down on you doesn't have to be a competition but it is for Seungkwan and he is in that competition with himself. How long did it take to make you cum? 3 minutes? Last time it was 5. He can do better.

Vernon

You didn't know your thighs needed nicknames but Vernon needed a reason to slide between Laverne and Shirley to make himself comfortable for the night.

Chan

He would need to be reminded that his face is in fact not a seat or a throne. Especially since he doesn't need to say it in front of friends or family.

He would forget where he was depending on his mood and what you were wearing. You'd see the look in his eye and the next thing you'd know Chan's hand would be on your hip.

"Fuck...I need you on my face."

Your face hot, and you'd look at your friends who would be trying to hide their laughter. By this time they should be used to it but it's still interesting to hear about your bedroom habits so openly.

"How bout we talk about it when we get home, Chan?"

Looking around, he'd only get shy for a moment before he'd look at you again and shake his head.

"Then let's go home. Your throne is getting cold and lonely."

[luminoustarlight]

— ANAKIN SKYWALKER MASTERLIST

©️ luminoustarlight // i do not give permission for my work to be translated or posted on any other platforms.

-ˏˋplease reblog writing to support writers and their hard workˎˊ- 

i do not have a tag list. if you’d like to stay up to date with my writing, please follow @luminous-library and turn on post notifications!

organized from newest to oldest // last updated nov 29, 2023

— Sweet Everythings | fluff, 1k

Admissions, cuddles, and kisses.

— As Fate Would Have It (chapter one)* | smut, 3.7k

Anakin Skywalker gets a new assistant, who also happens to be his favorite OnlyFans performer. *see series masterlist for more parts!

— Love Bites, Love Bleeds | smutty themes, >1k

vampire!anakin thoughts

— Saccharine | smut, 5.3k

What do you get when you mix a college Halloween party with beer and a pretty girl wearing a pirate costume?

A jealous Anakin Skywalker.

— Practice | smut, 2.4k

Playing with Anakin’s hair leads to you practicing your dominant side.

— Passionfruit | smut, 2.1k

Ingesting a foreign fruit leaves you and Anakin feeling strange.

— Your Eyes Only | smut, >1k

You leave Anakin a special recording on his tablet.

— State of Grace | fluff/comfort, 1.3k

Anakin finds comfort in you when he can't sleep.

— Had It Up To Here | smut, 4.6k

After argument, Anakin's patience for you has grown thin.

— So It Goes... | smut, coming soon

As a worker at a sex club on Coruscant, you've seen your fair share of characters. However you never imagined a Jedi Knight would be waiting for you in a private room. Anakin's indulgence at the club leads to some complicated feelings for the both of you.

— Good Things Come to Those Who Wait | smut, coming soon

Anakin teaches you a lesson in delayed gratification.

— Devils Roll The Dice | smut, coming soon

“Whatever number I roll, that’s how many times I’m going to make you cum.”

multi-part

— As Fate Would Have It | modern!au, dilf!anakin x onlyfans!/assistant!reader

— Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince | modern!au, high school!au

drabbles/blurbs

dad!anakin x dancer teacher!reader

dilf!anakin’s new assistant is his favorite onlyfans performer - now a series under the title "as fate would have it"!

anakin when he's sick

sin saturday drabbles

◂ main masterlist ▸ other hayden characters

requests are open!

[sevensoulmates]

where you look at it as tim confirming buddie is happening the way he's talking about bucktommy purposely echoing buddie means that he's replacing buddie with bucktommy or buck and another guy and that makes me sad.

I really don't want to be snarky here, but I do truly feel like some people in this fandom are just looking for reasons to be upset. I understand that optimism is a learned and practiced skill and that this fandom has a disproportionate amount of people who lack media literacy, but for a lot of you, I truly think you won't ever be happy with anything you see on screen, even when buddie do finally get together, you'll find something to be unhappy about.

This is your burden for not being able to comprehend the story that's being told, even when tons of people in this fandom have put in countless amounts of time and emotional energy to try to explain it to you all in excruciating detail. I feel really sorry for the people who just can't sit back and enjoy the story unfolding and have to spend every waking minute trying to find something to make them mad.

Truly good stories take time. The current world we live in has trained us to crave instant gratification, and this time you aren't going to get that, plain and simple. Deal with it.

I'm glad the writers aren't just jumping headlong into buddie to appease impatient people who have never experienced the beauty of delayed gratification in their whole lives.

If you truly want to learn how to analyze media with a logical eye rather than just having purely emotional/reactive responses like this, I would recommend picking up some books or YouTube crash courses on the craft of storytelling, the art of foreshadowing, red herrings, unreliable narrators, dramatic irony, thematic patterning, etc, and also probably some books on the history of queer portrayals in the media, both in fiction and in marketing.

Lastly, if the show is causing you this must distress, you should log off tumblr.com and stop watching the show. Find a show that suits your needs better. They're out there. This one might not be for you.

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | aizawa, part one.

Aizawa's route of soulmate trope.

Part one bc tumblr formatting weird. Part two here.

Warnings: BTS mention. Reader is explicitly a kissless virgin to make Aizawa feel Worse. Part one: reader gets a mild hand injury. Threat of dub-con. Claustrophobia. Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Part two: alcohol consumption (not by reader). Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Fem reader.

Remember that U.A., for the purposes of this fic, is a university. Lore dropped carries over to previous and subsequent chapters.

~38k overall. ~20k for part one.

You didn’t have a soulmate, and that was just how you liked it.

Because instead of being hooked to one of your weird-ass classmates, you were free to continue to harbour your crush for your weird-ass homeroom teacher, and you nurtured your crush like a stray kitten brought out of the rain. A creature comfort, really, this affection for Aizawa Shouta—a creature no one knew you kept hidden in the back laundry room and sneaked scraps.

You’re not stupid. The man has to stay your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year, until graduation. Besides, you did have a sneaky little goal with your crush, though it will probably never come to fruition. It’s not an immediate plan in which you corner him after class to beg for sexual extra credit, no, but it’s a long, onerous, masochistic plot of delayed gratification: sometime down the road after graduation, you’ll casually run into him on a patrol, casually suggest you two share a drink to catch up, and then casually I-miss-you-terribly-sensei-you-deserve-to-sleep-more-oh-wow-your-hands-are-really-big-what-if-I-place-them-right-between-my-legs your way into his heart.

For now, the most you can do is be the best student you can. Yes, Yaoyorozu is most likely always going to beat you in chemistry and some maths, since her quirk relies on her knowledge of those subjects, but you’re positively gruntled and satisfied with your place at the top for humanities, along with trading top spots in other subjects with the same three or four people.

But mostly, you tried to be 1) resourceful and 2) not annoying, because Aizawa dealt with a lot of teacher bullshit, probably.

So, while you knew about stories in which students would seduce their teachers by favours (sexual or not), lingering innuendo, or flashing lacy underwear from their seats, you weren’t going to do that shit. 1) How dumb, 2) how embarrassing, and 3) you didn’t want your (hopefully future!) relationship founded on cliches for student/teacher relationships. How a relationship starts shouldn’t have to be a secret, either, or be something to be ashamed of.

(Because you could just picture your family’s faces at Christmas if you said something like, “Hey, this is my boyfriend, Aizawa; he used to be my teacher, and we started dating after I sucked him off under his desk while he was giving a lesson.”

Although, admittedly, there’s probably no good way to introduce a former teacher as your boyfriend.)

You figured, for now, it was enough to stand out in a quiet way, never outright begging for his attention, yet somehow landing in situations in which you got it. You liked to think that Aizawa appreciated that you read when you finished your classwork early instead of talking to your friends (guiltily activating your cringey not-like-other-girls complex that you tried to suppress), along with being attentive in class in general, and you landed an unexpected advantage in Midnight.

Since your first year’s sports festival, you’ve been her sidekick. Well, first you were her intern, and then you signed on the next school year. It was mostly academic work instead of hero work at this point in her career, but you found you liked it and her. You tagged along to record events and complete evals and rubrics, and running her errands allowed you into the staff room, where Aizawa was often curled up in his office chair or on the couch. And hopefully, Aizawa heard good things about you from Midnight.

Midnight’s current project when not teaching or on active missions was rehabbing female villains. She was easy to trust. They tended to let down their guards around her, eventually, and it fascinated you the way the system treated male and female villains differently—

“Hey,” whispered Mina, hunching forward in her desk to tap you on the shoulder, “You got back from Sakura Grove Rehab with Midnight really late last night. Did something happen with Tainted Love?”

You shot a look towards the front of the classroom, where Aizawa was gripping the podium intensely in an effort to stay standing, and once you garnered he wasn’t paying attention to you (big sigh), you turned slightly in your seat to whisper back. “False alarm,” you said, shaking your head, “She used her emergency buzzer because she heard that BTS released a music video, and she wanted to see it.”

Grinning, Mina nodded. “Normal BTS fan stuff. Is a member her soulmate, or something?”

“Don’t you think she’d be dead by now if she were? Ito said—sorry, Tainted Love said that they’re all simply very easy on the eyes and that she’s a connoisseur of human beauty. But her ass is in trouble right now, because the staff’s pissed they had to break out the emergency procedures for that.”

“I don’t know,” said Mina, fiddling with her earring, “I think that’s completely fair. It’s, uh—girlboss, gaslight, get-to-see-BTS.”

You snorted, covering your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s the wrong order, and you know it—”

“Since you have the energy to talk during a lesson—” Aizawa called towards you, his voice sharp, and your head snapped towards the front of the classroom. “—then I expect you’ll be capable of a higher calibre of effort and example for the class in your stealth presentation today.”

“Absolutely,” you said, recovering and folding your hands on your desk, “I’m ready when everyone else is.”

Aizawa gave a dismissive wave and allowed the class to leave the four minutes early to change and head towards ground beta. You’d already triple-checked that all of your support gear was ready, because it was your day in the rotation to serve as a combat example to the rest of your peers. Your focus for the past month had been on stealth, so you were presenting on your findings—presenting through whatever challenge was posed to you at the hands of one of the faculty.

 Giddy, you headed towards ground beta much more quickly than your friends, who were still getting dressed. Since you’d be presenting on stealth, you had a good idea of which teacher you’d be facing.

Aizawa was waiting at the entrance, himself clad in full gear. You shot him a cheerful wave, which he lazily returned, and you retreated to one of the benches nearby and opened the book you’d brought along.

(You don’t want to aggravate him, and what’s more, if you talk to him before your challenge, you’re going to be thinking about your conversation during it. Aizawa will be more impressed with your performance if you don’t fuck it up due to daydreaming about his cock.)

Making yourself comfortable, you lay down on the bench, holding the book above you to block out the sun.

Aizawa pushed his goggles back into his hair. “You have a book,” he said (asked?) flatly as he trailed towards you.

“You have a sleeping bag,” you said, jerking your head towards the yellow bundle wadded up by the door, “We must both be relaxed about this presentation.”

Crossing his arms, Aizawa carefully leant against the door and squinted down at you. “Do you not see me as a threat?”

You tore your gaze away from your book to look up at him, tilting your head backwards to smile into his scowl. “Should I?”

Kirishima and Tokoyami burst in and broke up the conversation before it turned into something that got you off for weeks.

Once the rest of the class clambered towards ground beta, Aizawa cleared his throat and addressed the class about the challenge; he spoke with his back to you (and a couple of others), since most of the class clumped in one spot.

“Sero’s melee close-combat presentation yesterday will be a tough act to follow, but today is our first presentation on stealth. Bakugou, Aoyama—your stealth presentations won’t be following the same format, but take inspiration from it.” Aizawa stowed his hands in the deep pockets of his jumpsuit and shifted his weight forward slightly, his broad shoulders lost under his capture weapon. “Hagakure and Tokoyami, I specifically want your critique of your peer’s performance today. Be ready to give her advice. I will be the faculty member she is up against, and—” Frowning, Aizawa cut himself off, did a quick head count, and spun in your direction, his hair whipping at the movement.

Seeing you reading over on the bench (which you were still doing in what was hopefully a sexy devil-may-care, fuck-the-police way), Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose before spreading his palm over both of his eyes, heaving a sigh, and dragging his hand down his face. He then held it out in from of him and curled his fingers to beckon you closer. “C’mon; I know you said you weren’t threatened, but now you’re pushing it.”

You were sunshine; you were ease, and you were pushing it, for some reason. But you were feeling it, so you cheerfully trotted up to Aizawa, in front of whom you halted expectantly and bounced on the balls of your feet, hands holding your book behind your back as you waited for further instruction.

He cleared his throat and snapped, holding out his hand farther to confiscate your book. You shunted it towards him, and when Aizawa took it, your fingers grazed his—your pinkie and ring fingers just barely brushing against his thumb.

And.

And it’s a rickety, staticky, lightning-type thing, this wave of thunder that rushes through you, branching from where you touched him—a two-second, core-shaking rumble that only you can feel.And there’s an electric jolt.

Vibrant pink blossomed from the points of contact, staining the skin like watery ink.

Two seconds. Two seconds compressing what must be years and years of salient moments yet to come, and they—they all had him, Aizawa, in flashes of memories (?) integrating him more and more into your life. And you knew, in that shock and subsequent ooze, how it felt to be pulled into his arms and held like you’re something precious—wrapping around you while he’s half-asleep and acting on instinct, hunching and curling over your back to shield you from a backdrop of  a battlefield—the feeling of you two lying together bare. You heard the crack of his voice in the morning as he nuzzled closer to you in bed, the rumbling vibration when he growled against your skin. Felt a ghost of his fingers digging into your hips as you arched beneath him (rocking, writhing), sucking a small spot on your neck, kissing down your shoulders, your back. A shiver as he trailed his hand down the inside of your thigh. A prolonged kiss to your collarbone. The passage of thunder left your body sore, like live-or-death level adrenaline had just faded. For a moment, your knees were in danger of buckling.

Aizawa must have seen—felt—the same phantom sensations, because once a noise from the class snapped him out of it, he grimaced, tucking your book and the pink-marked hand under his opposite arm.

Ducking your head to stare at your shoes, you took a step back, overheated and too aware that the class was watching.

“Recovery Girl’s office,” Aizawa said, his voice rasping, “Now.”

You bolted.

***

You slumped in the sky-blue plastic chair in the patient area of Recovery Girl’s office, unable to shake the sensation of his arms around you. You shuddered and hunkered over, a wave of misery washing over you as the last vestiges of his warmth (?) faded. Fucking figures that the only time in your life you’ve ever been in someone’s arms is in a goddamn vision and not reality.

On the other hand.

The pads of the two fingers that touched Aizawa were blemished with the same bright pink as that dust you’d inhaled the day Tainted Love’s team had invaded, and the colour wouldn’t rub off on your hero costume when you tried. An evil sort of smile spread across your face.

You jolted in your seat when the door slammed open, the knob banging into the wall, and Aizawa stormed in, shoving one of two clipboards into your lap.

“Quirk incident form,” he spat, a plastic chair scraping against the tile as he yanked it next to (but not too closely to) yours.

You slid the pen out from underneath the clip. “This says it’s a soulmate registry form.”

Aizawa glanced up at you, already a few strokes into writing his name in the first blank. “Tainted Love’s team had utilised her quirk enough before attacking U.A. that a specific form had to be made. Nevertheless,” he said, finishing the kanji for sho with so much pressure that the paper ripped slightly, “it’s a subset of the Quirk Incident Registrar.”

Huh. You supposed you should’ve known about the paperwork, since you’re working with her, but then, you’re dealing with personal rehabilitation, not the bureaucratical aftermath.

Following his lead, you quietly began to fill out your form. Basic stuff, really: name, home address, current address (dorms), quirk, soulmate’s name and quirk…

“How would you describe our inciting soulmate incident? Are you only putting first physical contact, or are you mentioning something about the, uh,” you said, leaning over to see his paper, but he flipped his clipboard up against his chest to hide it from view.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Aizawa, finally looking you in the eye. His tight grip on his pen didn’t dilute the saturation of the pink on his thumb. “And we’re not going to talk about it. You’re not going to tell anyone about this, and I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Oh, he’s repressed repressed. “Not even my mother?”

He shook his head. “Nothing important happened today, and nothing’s going to happen.”

“That’s a shame,” you said, moving onto the next section of the form, “I was already picking out China patterns.”

He flipped his clipboard out enough to continue writing. “Don’t even joke.”

“Hey, it says I need your phone number.”

“Leave that part blank. I’ll fill it out once before turning both of them in.”

That little sneak. “Wow. You really are intent on having nothing to do with me,” you said, sighing, which he echoed.

“Listen,” said Aizawa, running his hand back through his hair to sweep it out of his face, “if you genuinely require an explanation, you don’t deserve to be in school at U.A.”

You crossed your arms. “Try me, sensei.”

Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut. “Don’t call me that. Listen. What I’m about to say does not apply only to me but to teachers in general. No one wants to fu—pursue a romantic relationship with a student because we are tired. Teaching is our job. No one wants to take work home when you don’t have to. You want to have a life outside teaching, and in addition to that, I have hero work.”

“There are lots of books and stuff about teacher-student relationships,” you said.

“Written by deranged maniacs who haven’t been teachers. Sometimes, it’s difficult to see your students as people, let alone the horrific romantic par—God.” Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose again, his fingers moving the press into his eyes, almost like he wanted to gouge them out. “The only reason a student may be brought up in conversation in a non-school setting would be if that student did something particularly moronic that day. At the end of the individual day, teachers are tired of their students and want to slip back into being an individual instead of an educator.”

You pursed your lips. “I have yet to hear that you personally are tired of specifically me.”

“Let me attempt another approach,” said Aizawa, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together, “As your teacher, I would have an unfair power over you in a relationship.”

“Hell, yeah, you would,” you said, grinning.

Aizawa turned his head away, pressing his mouth into his shoulder. “I’m not going to engage with you if you keep making comments like that.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, aware you were getting yourself in deeper shit the more you opened your mouth. “I wouldn’t want you to propose in Recovery Girl’s office, anyway.”

It took him a moment, while you waited by scribbling a doodle of your cat onto the bottom margin of your form, but Aizawa genuinely let out a hiss as he snapped towards you, his teeth gritted as his eyes flashed scarlet, hair flying upwards in an instant.

“You can’t make those sorts of quips around anyone else—at all. Nothing is going to—” He seemed to notice that you’d shrunken in your seat, away from him, your hands held up while you let the clipboard fall to the ground, and he released his quirk, mildly startled that he’d activated it on impulse. He settled back into his own cold, plastic chair and sank his chin into his capture weapon.

“I’m sorry,” you said, quiet and subdued, “Joking about stuff is how I handle it.”

“No,” he said evenly, stooping to pick up your clipboard and pen, “I knew that already. That’s how you show you understand the material in class discussions. I should’ve taken that into account.”

He held out the clipboard, pinching it by the edge. You won’t touch each other, this way.

You took it and clicked your pen, scanning down the document to where you left off. “There’s this checkbox I wanted to ask you about.”

“What checkbox—oh,” Aizawa said, his voice faltering.

Near the bottom. A single, small line and box, for the weight it held: do you want this form to double as your marriage registration?

You crossed your legs to prop one ankle over your knee and tilted your clipboard away from his line of vision. You checked it before he even answered.

“Yeah,” you said, proceeding to shade in the entire box, “Do you—”

His scowl cut you off. “Leave that blank, too.”

“Of course,” you said, drawing a couple of hearts around the inked-in box before moving on.

You finished filling it out before he did, and when he set his pen aside, he pushed on his knees to stand with a soft grunt, taking your clipboard underneath his without caring to glance over it.

“All right. The rest of class has been joined the training session that All Might was monitoring for Class B, and given the circumstances—” His eyes fell to your stained fingers. “—you’ll have to make up your stealth presentation at a later date with a different faculty member. I’ll have someone else grade your work from now on, so you won’t have to worry about my grading you more harshly because of this.”

Aizawa waited for you to nod, and after, he took a step towards the door. He ducked his head for a moment before turning back to you, saying your name under his breath. “I’m serious when I say that you can neither tell anyone about our soulmate bond nor do anything about it.”

Swallowing, you slowly stood up from your seat. “I don’t know how well I can do that, Aizawa-sensei, but I can promise that I’ll do my best not to trouble you. I haven’t been troubling you for the past three years, have I?”

“Not exactly.” Aizawa narrowed his eyes, his shoulders tensing enough that his mouth disappeared underneath his capture weapon. “Why do you ask?”

Okay. You can do this. You’re fine. You’re normal about it. You held up your hands, as if gesturing that he should brace himself. “Because that’s, uh, how long I’ve—” Been in love with you—no! Stop that. “—had feelings for you.”

Grimacing, Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. He’s done that more in the past hour than you’ve seen in the past semester. “Holy shit.”

“Please don’t—please don’t feel any fucking pressure whatsoever,” you said quickly, trying to backtrack, “I’ve been dealing with this by myself for so long that I’m good at it, so please don’t, uh. I mean, I—I live in my head; I live in my books and stories, so it’s fine and good and tolerable that I’ve never been in a relationship or kissed or anything; I’m used to it, so you don’t have to worry; I’ve been handling this by—”

Aizawa exhaled very carefully, his chest heaving in a controlled way as he dug his fist into his eye, rubbing it. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

“Ah, ha. Ha,” you said, scratching the back of your neck, “Sorry if that’s too much information; that wasn’t the point—”

“You’re transferring to Class B,” said Aizawa, and he spun on his heel and sped out of Recovery Girl’s office.

Huffing, you seized the clipboards and ran after him. “Wait up,” you said, shoving the door to the stairs open after he nearly closed it on your face, “I was just trying to let you know I am open to a relationship if you want it, but I’m more than fine—” Liar, spat the voice in your head as you scrambled down the staircase after him, your footsteps reverberating against the grey-cinderblocked walls. “—if you don’t want anything to happen, but if you—”

Aizawa turned sharply to glare in your direction as you caught up to him, and when you skibbled to a stop on the same stair, he said under his breath, “Quiet.” His gaze followed how your hair fluttered with each of his harsh syllables, so he took another stair down to distance you. “Anyone on the stairs could hear you,” he said, resigned.

He crossed his arms, and you slanted the clipboards away from your chest for him to take them.

“You really didn’t know I’ve liked you?” you asked as he took them, “All this time?”

“It’s never crossed my mind,” he said, and he continued down the stairs at fast pace but one you could keep up with, “Like I said, students are a different category of person once you’re a teacher.”

Biting your lip, you followed closely enough to keep your voice down. “You never knew. That’s comforting,” you said, and after a few more stairs, you grinned. “Could that count as my stealth presentation?”

***

You would think that more was supposed to happen, now that you’re soulmates. More conversation, at least. Perhaps a conversation.

Instead, a lingering, bruising feeling branded your chest, as if you’d been kicked the night before, and often a stifling, smothering pressure weighed down on your shoulders until you could be in the same room as Aizawa again. Sometimes, it felt like steel marbles were playing pinball in your chest, the aches where they hit gnawing and settling into your bones.

(Your cat, your chocolate-point baby Dango, has been upset with the hours you’ve been sleeping away the pain instead of playing with her. Luckily, Kouda has been borrowing her some afternoons. You don’t know what he does with her, but you do appreciate very much being able to tell Dango, via Kouda, that you love her very much.

Kouda also has the advantage of being subtle when you lend him your cat, because cats aren’t allowed in the dorms. You’ve been secretly caring for Dango for over a year now, so it’s as if you, Kouda, and Shinsou, who brought Dango catnip treats, were partners in crime.)

In class, Aizawa interacted with you as little as possible, usually asking Present Mic to grade your assignments in his stead. He didn’t act any different towards you from the perspective of the rest of the class, you supposed, except you made fewer jokes and he fewer retorts. Instead, you kept your head down, reading or working on your Sakura Grove data for Midnight, and you were skimming by.

But sometimes you’d be doing Midnight’s paperwork after finishing an assignment early, hunched over your desk, when your skin prickles and the emptiness in your chest wavers for a moment, and you’d look towards Aizawa—either slumping over his desk with his chin on his palm or almost concealed inside his sleeping bag behind the podium—eyes half-lidded and boring into you.

When you look away, it’s as if he’s the one kicking you in the chest.

***

The Saturday after a particularly painful school day for you (aside from your fucking up in a combat exercise, Aizawa had been going down the line of those who’d participated to give individual feedback, and he skipped over you without hesitation), you’d planned to spend all day huddled underneath layers and layers of covers and throw blankets in bed as yet another snowstorm swept across Mustafu, but you jerked awake, completely fucking frigid, before the sun had truly risen. You blindly fumbled over the edge of the bed for any or all of your six billion blankets and felt none of them, and, making a miserable whimper as you cracked open an eye, you peered over the side of the bed.

No blankets on floor.

No…no little bedside rug.

Jesus, did you somehow kick your bed away from the wall during the night? Wait, where’s all the shit you have all over your walls this isn’t your room.

Something was pressed against your back.

Your life was over. You’re totally getting expelled from U.A. for sneaking into your teacher’s room. It’s got to be his—holding your breath, you slowly peeked over your shoulder before snapping back towards the bare wall. A flash of that yellow sleeping bag, even in bed—it’s Aizawa’s room, all right, and his back was pressed against yours, with only your sleepshirt and his sleeping bag keeping your skin from touching (unless he’s wearing a shirt, which, in that case, get sluttier, Aizawa).

In the case that somehow appearing in his bed overnight made him detest you, you elected to slither out of his living space without his ever knowing. You wouldn’t have any answers for him, even if he caught you, really, at least not this early in the morning.

In the vexingly slow process of getting out of bed without waking him up, you had the time to look around, not that there was that much to see; it was all greyish and sparse and didn’t really feel like a home at all or that he spent much time here, with the most significant pieces in his bedroom being the shoddily painted radiator (in heaven, everything is fine) and a desk with both a PC and a propped-up tablet on it, with some papers spread in front of them. But the layout of his flat appeared to mirror another part of the dormitory, so you bet the door to leave his area entirely was through the next room, and you’d be home-free.

What caught your attention, though, was a well-loved cat tower, with one of the dangling mice for the cat to bat at torn off the string and resting on the middle level. Aizawa must have a cat. Funny, since that’s illegal in the dorms. As you finally slinked off the bed entirely, you resolved to locate the cat to kiss its little forehead before slipping out of his room entirely. Cat detours are allowed.

Walking out of his bedroom, you first were hit by the pungent scent of brewing coffee and then by a cold wave of defeat. Across the kitchen counter, Aizawa’s back was towards you while he fossicked through different brands of sugar packets.

You could’ve punted that empty sleeping bag out the window.

You took one step towards the exit before he spoke, his voice gravelly from sleep: “Do you want to offer me an explanation before I write you up?”

Fucking stealth heroes. “I don’t have one,” you said, shoulders falling slack while trudging into his kitchenette—with an ulterior motive of seeing more of his place before being removed permanently. “I’m—I don’t know how I got here. You didn’t—?”

“Of course not,” said Aizawa, ripping open two differently branded packets and upturning them into his coffee. He turned to face you as he took the first sip, and you wished you could say that his eyes drank you in hungrily, or whatever, but you supposed that you have to get sluttier, too: you were just as completely and unalluringly covered as he was in his Purple Revolution sweatshirt and pants. “You don’t have any ideas from working at Sakura Grove?”

“Uh, no,” you said, “I’m not encouraged to talk to I—Tainted Love. It’s more like bringing her food and filling out paperwork for her craft requests. I am very much the middleman. I can—”

“Don’t.” Aizawa held out his free hand. “I’ll ask Nemuri.”

Nemuri. You’ve known, you supposed, that he was on a given-name basis with Midnight. You resolved to get him to call you by your first name, too. And then the thought came that you might be ruining something romantic between them? Based on every interaction you’ve had with either of them, you had no indication of romance, but Aizawa had said that teachers aim to have very private lives. Yikes. You elected to slough it off for now, because introducing feeling jealous of your mentor whom you admired very much would only complicate the situation more. You could linger on jealousy once you figured out what the hell was happening.

“Right,” you said, pulling at a hangnail, “What if this happens again?”

“We’ll put a stop to it. Simple as that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’ll be able to prevent this once we have more information. Until then, just handle it maturely and without fuss.”

“And here I was hoping we could cuddle,” you said, heaving a huge, fake sigh as Aizawa narrowed his eyes, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter, swinging your legs. “This is the part where you offer me coffee.”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“C’mon, Aizawa. Or I’ll spread that you have an illegal cat in the dorms.”

Aizawa hesitated just as he brought the lip of his mug to his mouth. “I don’t have a cat,” he said before taking another drink.

“Come off of it; I saw the cat tower.”

“I don’t have—”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when something prodded your thigh; a lanky, tuxedo-patterned cat had sneaked up to headbutt you before you could notice, and it climbed onto your lap to loaf. It’d be nice if your own cat were this friendly.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” grumbled Aizawa as he poured your coffee.

You flipped over the cat’s tag, the light catching on the rose-gold heart. “You named your cat Konpeito?”

“Eri named it.” Aizawa set the mug next to you instead of giving it to you directly—stubborn bastard, not wanting to touch you again. “Don’t make a scene when you return the mug.”

“You’re kicking me out before I even start drinking?” You tentatively gripped the handle and maneuvered the cat off your lap.

“You keep asking these questions that have obvious answers.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t make too much noise on the way out; Eri’s in the next dorm over, and I don’t want you to wake her.”

***

You woke up in Aizawa’s bed again less than a week later. You’d had a dream that you’d been freezing, and the reason had been, once again, you were, since apparently Aizawa depended on his sleeping bag instead of blankets. You allowed yourself a moment of savouring the sensation of his back against yours (for real, this time, since the sleeping bag was snoring) before slipping out.

The third time, you left him a note to tell him to get a damn blanket, or else you’ll bring one of your own to keep there.

You idly took notes in Present Mic’s class, words coming slowly on paper while he prattled on. How come it was always you who was showing up in his bed? How come you always went to Aizawa, and he never came to you?

Your eyes flicked up to what Present Mic was writing on the board in skewed, thin handwriting. Had Aizawa told him the specifics? Present Mic had to know something, since he was grading your work, but Mic was also Aizawa’s friend—a luxury you didn’t have in this soulmate situation. Midnight would also be a strategic person to tell, from Aizawa’s perspective, but she hadn’t given any hint she was aware.

You drew a heart in the margins, and then you gave it legs. You made it walk off the page and onto the desk, colouring it in by crosshatching. If only you could get up and leave. Class without Aizawa dragged nowadays; where did he spend his time during school on break? Probably huddled in his sleeping bag in a slant of sunlight like a damn cat, maybe out on the grounds where he couldn’t be found. Or maybe he fucked off to a gym closet where the mats were; they’d be cosier than sleeping directly on the floor. And you could cosy up next to him, pressed up against each other in that snug—

You slammed into a wall of solid muscle, papers flying and tea spilling over the tile to seep into the rug in the teachers’ lounge, and you sprawled on your knees in the midst of it in your haste to get the fuck off of Aizawa before he could say anything, hissing as you tentatively raised your hand from the wet, broken cup. Despite the slivers of pottery in your palm, you one-handedly fumbled for the papers that had been dropped—third year evals, now crimped and tinted a yellow-green.

Aizawa took the papers, tapped the bottom to align them, and gave them a firm shake to flick off excess tea, and when you started to sweep the broken cup into your hands, he stopped you.

“Go to the faculty bathroom,” he said, pointing to the connecting lavatory, “I’ll be there in a minute with a first-aid kit.”

You had a moment to yourself in the clean, warmly-lit bathroom, so you pushed yourself up on the green marble by the farthest sink and crossed your legs, ensuring your shoes didn’t dirty anything. The pain’s setting in, but you won’t cry, not in front of him, and you’re crying, but just a bit, right? Fuck.

At the sound of the door, you hastily wiped your nose with your sleeve and did your best to look stoic, like pottery in your hand happened every day. But your eyes were too watery to even see the tweezers as he dug them out of the kit.

Standing in front of the sink, Aizawa clicked the tweezers twice (carcinisation, baby!) and held out his other hand.

You looked at it. “What do you want me to do with that?”

He said your name through a sort of scoff, which would’ve been way hotter if it had been your given name and also in bed. “Just give me your hand.”

Tears ran down your face in an overflow. “You wanna touch me?” you asked, sniffing.

“Fucking hell,” Aizawa said under his breath, “At least I know you’re all right if you’re still joking.” He shifted his jaw, scanning your palm. “If you’d rather have it at an uncomfortable angle over the sink—”

“No! No, I wanna—I wanna touch you,” you said, and you lifted your shaky, injured hand for Aizawa to hold steady. The instant his fingers cradled the back of your hand, everything fell into place: touching him was like breathing in cool, crisp air on a clear night or the smoky kindling of a fire that never goes out, like feeling sunshine on bare shoulders on a spring day with freshly cut grass, like walking into your childhood home’s kitchen when someone’s baked chocolate-chip cookies, like breathing in, like breathing, and—

You lifted your hand just a hair from his hand.

You have a stopped-up nose.

You glanced at Aizawa, whose lips were parted, his chest visibly heaving underneath his baggy jumpsuit. “Did you…?”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “I need to get the pottery out of your hand as soon as possible.”

Bracing yourself, you rested your hand in his again, and that irresistible warmth swept over you again. He’s got to be feeling it, too, so why isn’t he reacting? You’re embarrassing yourself, so why can’t he?

“Were you trying to teleport to me earlier?” he asked (distracting you from the sensation of each shard being plucked from your skin), head bent over the sink and your hand.

“No, I never—I don’t intend anything. But now that we’ve seen it, we at least know it’s not a gradual thing. Instantaneous and painless. Well,” you said, nodding towards your hand.

“Nor, I see, is it limited to my bed,” he said, shifting over when you uncrossed your legs, “What were you doing before the jump?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I was in class.” You dangled your legs off the side to get closer to him (for medical purposes of course), and wow, Aizawa smelled incredible—probably; your stuffy nose wasn’t doing you any favours—what the hell kind of soap did he use?

 “Were you thinking of anything in particular? The bond?”

That’s got to be pine, and there’s something earthy mixed in. You really needed to blow your nose (Can you even name earthy scents? [Dirt?] You’re not up-to-date with masculine scents; you’ll have to find his deodorant next time you wake up in his room). “I was—” You cut yourself off with a hiss as he pulled the largest shard out. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad, really. Keep going. I don’t really remember the specifics of what I was thinking about, but I—” You cut yourself off again, this time with heavy realisation. “Goddammit. I was feeling the acute loneliness hollow out my chest again, and I was wanting to—be near you. Which explains why I’ve been teleporting to you instead of you coming to me.”

“It explains nothing,” said Aizawa, and he set the tweezers next to the shards on the edge of the sink and flipped on the faucet, guiding your hand under the water and reaching for the gauze.

“Yes, it does,” you said, openly wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, because fuck it, this man didn’t care about you, so be gross around him. “If the teleporting is triggered by intense longing to be close to the other person, then it makes total sense that I’d be the only one teleporting, since I’m the only one who has feelings.”

“It explains nothing,” he said again, drying off your hand, “It’s only a possible contributing factor to the teleportation. Maybe it has to do with location, or timing, or action. It’s highly improbable that this physical action was caused by thought alone.” Aizawa ripped off a long strip of gauze and began to wrap it around your palm. “Don’t feel like this is a weakness on your part. I’ll probably teleport to you before the month is out.”

You let your fingers relax, your pinkie falling enough to graze his own hands as he bandaged yours. The more skin-to-skin contact you had, the more serene you felt—or maybe it was the injury adrenaline wearing off. Either way, you might fall asleep on the bathroom counter. “My bed isn’t big enough for two people.”

“That’s okay,” said Aizawa, and he slowed at the final wrap-around, holding it in place until he found the metal clips in the first aid box. “I’ve gotten very used to sleeping in odd places.”

When he stepped away to pack up the kit, you fucking whimpered on impulse at the loss of physical contact, and he froze, stuck in the motion of clicking the box shut.

“Sorry,” you said, sniffing.

His jaw tensing, Aizawa shook his head. “You should go to bed early tonight. Don’t overexert yourself.”

***

Yeah, except it’s Friday, and Jirou has been arranging this girls’ night for two weeks now.

Apparently, the karaoke bar you’re going to overheats really easily, since it’s in a refurbished building that used to be something-or-other; you’re not really listening to the explanation but were more concerned with having to wear summer clothes while it’s snowing out. The past two weeks have been strategic outfit layering plans from the lot of you, most of which have devolved into being silly and impractical (ranging from “I’ll just take off my skin and hang around in my bones when we get there” to “I will walk out of this dorm in a sleeping bag over my underwear” [the latter reminding you of Aizawa, in a pleasing, warm thought that you had to keep to yourself]).

Either way. Twisting over your shoulder, you strained to tuck in your bra so that it wouldn’t show from a mostly backless spaghetti-strap that you ended up borrowing from Uraraka, and once it was kind of hidden, you stuck your tongue into your cheek. It didn’t really sit right with you to be going out in this shit in this icy weather. You’d be a lot warmer and probably a lot more content if you peeled off these Best Jeanist jean shorts (from the Moulded to Your Ass line, unofficially titled) and crawled into your pyjamas and bed.

In the corner of your eye, your bed beckoned, with all of its blankets and stuffed animals (for when you just need to hold a little guy). What if you ditched the outing and—no. Stop that. You’ll be warm soon enough.

But with an abrupt lurch towards your bed, you found yourself spluttering into the scalding spray of a showerhead, water dribbling into your mouth between gasps and sloshing down your body. Blindly, you took a step backwards out of the cascade, but a flattened palm on the bare skin of your back stopped you before you could move farther.

“Don’t.”

The water still gushed and flowed over you, eyes scrunched tight and heart pounding. The hand on your back maximised the space between the two of you, but with the pathetic size of the shower stall, his body heat still seeped into your skin, complemented by rising steam. There’s a quiet grunt when he knocked against the frosted glass door; his shoulders must be wide enough for that to happen frequently (you swallow against a dry throat, because the man could hold all of you). If he wanted to, Aizawa, the way he has you now, could press his lips to the crown of your head, keeping his mouth there as his eyes flutter shut.

Instead, Aizawa was reaching up to tilt the showerhead away, giving you a good face-full of his bicep, and your eyes followed its movement (his jumpsuit did an excellent job of concealing a fucking powerfully built form), straining as he twisted the showerhead and relaxing as it fell back into place at his side—

“Eyes up,” said Aizawa, using his first two fingers to guide your chin back to face your front, where they lingered for a moment to tap against your jaw to ensure you’d stay there.

(With the shock of getting wet and the heat of his hand flat against your back [still there, still flooding you with an intoxicating headiness], you’d been entirely too overwhelmed to even consider catching a glimpse of his dick.)

“Aizawa-sensei—”

“Cut that out,” he said, huffing, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

For once, you’re out of the loop. But since you’re in his shower, you could take a moment to locate his soap to put a name to what he smells like and perhaps get a look at his cock along the way. Only his washcloth hung over the faucet in front of you, so you moved to turn slightly as you spoke, ducking your head to scan for shampoo bottles: “Earlier today you were saying it wasn’t my—”

Hissing, Aizawa slid two fingers through one of your belt loops and yanked, jerking you backwards into his hips for an instant before establishing that space between you again—pulling you by the belt loop blocked your view of his cock, and his hand on your back kept you from touching him in any meaningful way. But he was still as close as he could be without touching you otherwise, his breath as searing as the steam as he grumbled into your ear: “Bad girl.”

The water splashing at your feet wasn’t so hot anymore.

Aizawa tugged at your belt loop again (for a moment, when a swish of cool air washed down your ass, you worried that he’d look) and kept you in front of himself as he turned sideways to face the shower door, which he (fuck!) lifted his hand from your back to prod open.

Light flushed into the stall, and he scoffed. “I knew it,” Aizawa said, bitterness creeping into his voice, and he unlooped his finger from your belt loop to tap the fabric firmly, nudging you forward.

“Knew what?” you asked, spinning on your heel the moment you were out of the shower, water flying, and Aizawa ducked behind the frosted glass with a defeated expression. “Right,” you said, grabbing the thick towel on the toilet and tossing it to him.

“Check your fingertips.”

Tearing your gaze from his frosted-glass impression of wrapping the towel around his waist, you held up your hands. “They look fine. My bandages are soaked, though, so I’ll have to redo—oh, okay, fuck. My soulmark is gone.” You’re not going to cry in front of him, and definitely not twice in one day, because that’d be—

“Sensei,” you said, choking up and curling your shaky fingers into an even shakier fist, “Sensei, my soulmark is—I don’t want my soulmark to be gone, fucking, I—” On accident, you slammed your elbow into the glass door when you were trying to—please get closer (so goddammit, if your eyes water, it’s from hitting your funny bone). “I don’t want my soulmark to disappear; I adore you and want—”

“It hasn’t disappeared,” Aizawa said softly as he stepped out of the shower, gripping his towel in addition to the firm knot, and he pointed behind you towards the mirror.

While Aizawa eased down onto the closed toilet to towel-dry his hair, you took the four, wet steps to the sink and wiped off the clouded steam. No difference in your reflection.

When you shot a baffled look towards Aizawa, he gently raised his eyebrows and his finger to twirl it once. So, you turned around to look over your shoulder at your back, where his pink handprint put all body glitter to shame in how well it reflected the overhead light and in how quickly it was spreading (ink leaking outside of the handprint in watery bursts before slowing, never detracting from the shape of his hand, though the ink seemed to rise more than fall, especially near his middle and ring fingers between your shoulder blades).

He was holding up his newly pink palm, wiggling his fingers in your direction.

You returned to him (really to stand on the bathmat, since you’re drenching his floor) and raised your hand to touch him, first glancing at him for his approval. Aizawa looked at your hand and back at you, and after he wetted his lips, he nodded and got back to towel-drying his hair.

You hesitated. Is this really so nonchalant, so trivial to him? It’s everything to you.

You dropped your hand to your side, mouth twitching. “What shampoo do you fucking use.”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look at you.

“You smell fucking good all the time. What’s. What scent is your soap,” you were saying, in the same, flat tone you’d use to argue with your landlord about finally fixing your leaky roof after two years.

Aizawa squeezed water out of the last of his hair and spoke in that infuriatingly gravelly, just-woke-up voice of his. “It’s sandalwood.”

Sandalwood. That’s earthy, you guessed. “Then where’s the pine come from?”

“That would be the aftershave,” he said, folding the hair towel in half twice and setting it aside, “You were going to touch me, but now you’re upset. Care to explain?”

You plucked at your wet shirt before crossing your arms over it. “Does this matter to you? The soulmate thing.”

“You matter to me,” he said, standing with a quiet grunt, “Let’s get you reasonably dry before going back to your dorm.”

“Oh, shut up with that teacher bullshit,” you said, following him to a cabinet, “You care about me through the lens of a student, because everyone in this fucking dorm is your—fuck, I’m. You’re insufferable.”

“I can’t lend you clothes, but I should have enough large towels to keep you warm.” Aizawa reached for the top shelf, with beach towels. “However, I recommend against going out tonight with the rest of your friends.” He handed you a new-looking, blue-pineappled towel.

You angrily wrapped it around you, pissed that you instantly felt better. “Oh, is it because you’ve gotten me wet—” Aizawa draped another towel around your shoulders, tucking it in a little to secure it. “—and going out into this fucking ass iceberg weather would get me sick—” Another towel, this one with Present Mic’s radio show logo on it. “—and then I’d have to miss one of your precious days of class—”

“Is that what you want me to say?” He arranged two more towels around you at once, tying the outermost one in a knot. “Or are you waiting to hear that I want you to hide away while you bear my mark?” He tugged your drapery down a smidge so that you could use your arms a bit—at the least, use your key to your room. “When in reality,” he said, taking a step backward and appraising his handiwork, “I want you to be comfortable and content. And I don’t think you’d be either if you went out after this, even if you got ready again.”

Goddammit.

“And you’ve had a long day with strange revelations. You have a new injury. Going to bed for the night will facilitate healing. Your body will have more time to process the day.”

Groaning, you said, “Fuck you for being right.”

“Thanks.”

Since you hadn’t touched him earlier, you took the opportunity to clonk your forehead against his chest (dense muscle was evidently comfy). The soulmark warmth blossomed throughout your body from the spot, and you took your time to appreciate it, taking a couple of unhurried breaths against his skin, dry save for some stray running droplets.

Aizawa sighed, the planes of his chest rising and falling under your close and thirsty scrutiny. “This counts, y’know. As staying up late.” If you hadn’t seen him put his hand on your arm, you wouldn’t’ve known, due to the thickness of the towels. “I told you to go to bed.”

You blearily looked up at him. “Take me there, then.”

After a moment, Aizawa said, “I have to feed my cat,” and he opened the bathroom door to escape. Before he left, he spun back around, and you would’ve sworn he was fighting a smile, if you hadn’t known how he felt about you.

“But first,” he said, “let me fix that forehead situation of yours.”

***

Picking up the folders from the office mailbox, you flipped out the flag for read/empty and trailed back to the office space that you and Midnight shared at Sakura Grove, idly waving to some co-workers as you flipped through the files. Pushing the door open with your foot, you dropped the folders onto Midnight’s desk and hurried over to lift the shaking electric kettle from the heat, since Midnight was too absorbed into her patient evaluation at which she was typing away.

You poured the boiling water the round teabag, watched it rise to the top of Midnight’s teacup, and bit back a cry—you clutched the chilled windowsill to stay standing, struck by an overwhelming dizziness that blacked out the edges of your vision and crept to darken it entirely; a bowling ball has just hit your chest and dropped to your toes, the ache reverberating through your veins as you caved and doubled over, nausea settling into your gut.

Through the dots clouding your vision, you barely make out Midnight stretching her arms over her head.

These attacks have been happening more and more. If Aizawa can have a friend in the know, so can you.

“Kayama-sensei,” you managed to croak, but she didn’t hear you.

You tried again, and she turned, her expression drooping when she saw you. “Is the tea that bad?”

Eventually, Midnight helped you into your seat across from hers with your own cup of tea, the pain draining away in the process of vague explanation.

“So, you genuinely think you’re starting to die because your soulmate won’t acknowledge you romantically. Easy solution in sight,” she said, picking her teacup up by her fingertips to breathe in the steam, “Just pick out some nice lingerie—you can use my sponsor discount for Wacoal—and arch your back when you lie in his bed for him to find. I can give you some tips on how to suck—”

“Kayama-sensei,” you said, your vision finally back to normal, “You do not understand how much I can’t do that.”

Her tongue flicked into her cup, testing the heat. “I’ll bite. Why not?”

“My soulmate is, um.” You frowned into your tea. “I’ve liked my soulmate for a long, long time. Before the soulmate stuff existed.”

Midnight ran her tongue over her lips, the corners quirking upwards. “So? All the more reason to make your feelings known and emphasised, now that you have an excuse for a legitimate relationship. Since he already knows about how you feel, you should keep trying to seduce him. All men crack eventually.”

“He won’t accept a lousy attempt at seduction, because—aside from I have no clue how to do that, I don’t—he’s, uh…” You trailed off, took a swig of tea instead of finishing, and ended up choking a bit at the heat.

“Yes? What’s the juicy detail you’re reluctant to share? Is he married? Is he a public figure? Is he too much older or younger than you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “Do you already know? Are you just making me say it?”

Tight-lipped, Midnight made a loose, dismissive gesture and moved to get back to her patient file.

“Fine. Fine! If anyone can help me with this, it’s you, because it’s—goddamn,” you said, deflating and sinking down into your seat, “It’s fucking Aizawa-sensei, okay? My soulmate is my stupid homeroom teacher.”

“Congratulations,” said Midnight, saving the document and shutting down the computer, “You have earned the right to call me by my given name for being so honest.” She spun in her chair to give you her full attention. “So. Shouta.”

“Did you know already? Were you just—”

“I had my suspicions but no concrete evidence,” she said, holding up her hand, “Just some observations from watching you for the past three years.” Tilting her head, she adjusted her glasses before lifting her cup to her mouth again. “Now, the reason why you can’t just seduce him is crystal clear now. I submit that you could start going to bed in skimpier clothes in the event you teleport to his apartment again, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Shouta’s got a steel will. He’s not going to violate that student-teacher professional relationship.”

“I know,” you said, slumping so far down in your seat that your ass was falling off of it, your chin touching your chest, “but if I’m in pain from not being with him, he probably is, too. And if he won’t acknowledge me romantically, I wanna know if there’s something I can do to alleviate the pain that we’re both feeling. He shouldn’t be distracted from his work because of it.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Midnight jabbed a finger in your direction. “Starting today, you’re promoted. You’re going to be Tainted Love’s primary monitor.”

“What?” You shot up in your seat. “But I haven’t—I haven’t even had a proper conversation with her before—”

“But she’s used to having you around,” Midnight said evenly, opening her top desk drawer, “To her, you’re in a position of authority but not a threat. You’ve seen how she likes to talk, anyway, and you’re in a perfect position to find out more schematics of how her quirk works on the individual level.” Midnight smiled and handed you Ito’s folder. “Plus, she can’t do anything more to you, right? You’ve already got a hell of a soulmate.”

“Okay,” you said, hesitantly taking her file to clutch it to your chest, “So, you just want me to talk to her? Try to solve my problems?”

“Yeah. And anything you find out about her quirk that she hasn’t shared so far—because she hasn’t exactly shared much past the first interrogation—is welcome intelligence. Record anything new. Keep Ito happy. You’ll be golden. I know you’re more than capable.”

“Funny,” you said, flipping through the file and joining Midnight as she stood, “This feels planned. Got anything else motivating you?”

“Besides a perverse desire to see my friend and my sidekick get together?” Midnight grabbed her whip from the hook on the side of her desk. “I was going to assign you this, anyway. Ito isn’t a threat anymore, and I need to focus on preparing for Serendipity’s arrival next week from St. Philomena’s. Even the airline we finally convinced to transport her has backed out, so I’m scrambling to bribe another.”

That had slipped your mind—Serendipity was being transferred to Sakura Grove for rehabilitation, mostly because no one else wanted to house the most potently dangerous female villain in the Americas. “Understandable,” you said, holding open the door for Midnight to follow closely behind, “When do I start?”

***

Fifteen minutes later, you were setting a tray with tea and powdered thumbprint-cookies in front of Ito at her desk in her room. She raised a sharp, white eyebrow at how the dishes clattered at your shaky handling, but she nodded in thanks and turned back to her book. You guessed you were lingering awkwardly by the door a bit too obviously, so she rolled her eyes and set her book upside-down on the desk.

“You’re my new handler, right?” she asked, scratching under her eye.

“That’s me,” you said, hands folded tightly in front of you, “Midnight says you cleared stage five, so you’re safe to be delegated off to me. I have your stage six schedule printed out—”

“But why are you still here? Everyone usually leaves as soon as possible.”

“I’m the only staff member immune to your quirk,” you said, sliding her schedule out of her file.

“Immune.” Ito grinned and crossed her legs. “That’s interesting. How do you know that?”

Well, Midnight said to be honest in order to get honesty from Ito. You sucked in through your teeth. “I’m only immune because you’ve already given me a soulmate. I was the, uh, student you landed on when you attacked U.A.”

Scrunching up her face, Ito scanned you from head to foot, and when she finally stopped at your chest, she nodded. “Ah. I remember you. You’ve got good tits, kiddo,” she said, reaching for her tea, “Be proud of ‘em. You allowed to tell me how it’s going?”

You glanced behind you at the door, pretending to be considering the trouble of talking to her, and when you prodded it shut with your foot, Ito’s grin stretched all the way across her face, her teeth cutting into her lower lip.

“I’ve been desperate to talk to you,” you said, dragging the extra chair closer to hers, “My soulmate is being a little bitch.”

“I like you better than Doc Kim already,” said Ito, and she took a noisy slurp of her tea. “Spill it.”

“I need your advice on what to do about the pain.”

“You found your soulmate already? Then you shouldn’t be feeling any,” she said, shrugging.

“No, I need you to tell me about what to do about the pain. I don’t know if he’s feeling it, but it’s fucking killing me, and he won’t do anything about the soulmate stuff because he doesn’t like me—”

“Back up.” Ito slammed her cup on the tray, spilling tea. “You’re not making any sense. Start over. Tell me about your soulmate.”

Groaning, you buried your face in your hands, leaning back in your chair until your back popped. “He’s my professor, and I’ve liked him for years. Since I met him, pretty much.”

“Hot. He got a sensei kink?” She shoved two thumbprint cookies in her mouth at once, and she nudged the plate in your direction.

“Eh,” you said, weighing your options, “It’s possible. But he doesn’t—”

“Nice. So, he says he’s not gonna do anything while you’re his student, which means he’s burning with shame and sexy, sexy doubts about how good of a man he is. Always sexy to bring a man to his moral and literal knees. Are you wearing fun things to class?”

“We have a uniform.”

“Shame,” she said, gulping down more tea, and then she cocked her head. “Unless.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport,” said Ito, gesturing towards the cookies again. This time you took one, pinching it absentmindedly in your lap. “I think I want to go on my daily walk around the courtyard. Is there room for that in my new schedule?”

You checked it. “I’ll make it work.”

Minutes later, you and Ito were bundled up and strolling the perimeter of Sakura Grove’s courtyard, full of other in-patients in team recreation in the middle and in private conversation on some of the benches.

“I’m still not with you,” Ito was saying as she stared up into the bare limbs of a sakura tree, “I don’t understand why you’re feeling the soulmate pain. It shouldn’t be affecting you, since you know and have met your soulmate.”

You huffed, breath visible. “Well, if you don’t know, then I’m lost. But if he’s not going to complain about the pain, then I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it. I like him too much to bitch about it to him, I guess.”

Ito shoved more of her long, white hair underneath her pom-pom hat. “Then it’s probably the same for him, with him liking you too much to bother you about it.”

“Nah.” You stepped into one of her footprints, the snow crunching under your weight. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t think he ever will, since once a student, always a stu—”

Ito’s head snapped towards you, cheeks rosy from the cold. “What did you say?”

“My soulmate doesn’t like me, because—”

“You said that earlier, too,” said Ito, and she looked around for other monitors before jerking her head for you to follow her. She guided you in a casual-but-not trail away from any doors or eavesdroppers, and she said in a hushed voice, “You do know that my quirk doesn’t assign soulmates randomly, right?”

“What the hell? Say more right now,” you said, taking smaller steps to stay closer to her.

“Oh, well, that’s news for me. I figured they’d captured my team’s notes on my quirk by now. Okay, well, report this, or not,” said Ito, jabbing a finger towards you, “How much do you know about probability? Yeah, yeah, more math—yes, soulmates usually to inhale the same cloud of my quirk to be considered soulmates, but there are other factors, too. See, you were making sense until you said your soulmate doesn’t like you back.”

“Okay, I’m not following—hey, let’s walk more towards the centre; I think those two by the door are watching us.” You steered the two of you back onto the typical path but stayed close to speak quietly.

“In addition to breathing from the same cloud, two people have to have had a moment of genuine, mutual attraction between each other. Not, like, you pass someone hot on the street and think you’d suck the soul out of their dick before dissuading yourself from the impulse, because they’d clearly ruin your life, but a moment of true, lingering affection for someone that you don’t talk yourself out of. A moment worth thinking about later. Hey, Rika,” Ito said loudly as you passed another patient on the path, “Good to see you today. How’s your cult? You don’t know? Great! Healthy! See you later!” Ito and you sped-walked past her, and once Rika was out of earshot, Ito lowered her voice again. “You don’t have to know the person, but maybe a stranger shared a moment of kindness with you. Maybe an old friend laughed in a new way. It’s a moment where you’re attracted to something past the surface level in a person, even for a brief second. I don’t give out soulmates with absolutely no attraction, even if it may seem that way.”

You, fuming, kicked snow out of your path. “That bitch likes me!”

Ito nodded. “And not just for your tits.”

“Shit,” you said, pushing hair out of your face and pulling your scarf to be snugger, “Nothing I do is gonna—”

“I can help,” said Ito, glancing over her shoulders again for eavesdroppers.

You stopped in your tracks. “But why would you do that? I’m just some weirdo.”

“Because when I have employed the help I’m about to offer you, it has been very, very funny to me,” she said, “and I don’t get outside news except through fucking letters.”

You joined her on the path again. “How many times have you done this?”

Ito looked up as she bit the pad of her thumb, trudging through the snow. “You’ll be the twelfth time. It’s like a part two to my quirk, but I usually don’t come across victims again to offer this sort of thing—and people usually don’t need it. Step one: we’ll need an airtight container.”

***

Cut to that evening in your dorm room, with you hunched over a ziploc bag sealed to the brim with her quirk’s pink dust.

Door locked. Lights down. Cosy pyjamas. Already under the covers in bed.

An increased probability of cliches, Ito had said.

You flipped on the flashlight on your phone to shine through the dust, pink light scattering on the ceiling like a home-planetarium.

Inhaling her quirk for the second time would still affect you, but it wouldn’t assign you another soulmate. Rather, it would dramatically increase your chances for romance tropes to occur in your real life. Stuff that only happens in rom-coms and fanfic could start to happen to you and your soulmate.

(“Like sharing a bed when there’s only one of them,” Ito had said, swirling her finger through the leftover powdered sugar and licking it.

“We’ve already got that covered with the teleporting,” you’d said.

“Shifting is what I’ve been calling the teleports, babe.” Ito had smacked her lips. “And maybe you’ll wake up grinding on his hard-on, now. Do you know how big his dick is?” she’d asked, and then she’d clicked her tongue. “Never mind; I wanna know about his thighs.”

“I can—”

“Or maybe he’ll spill coffee on your shirt and have to pat you dry, accidentally making your shirt see-through and getting flustered at your tits. Or maybe he’ll have to pick you up in the rain, and oh, no, the weather’s too bad for you to go home, and you have to wear his clothes, and—”

You’d snorted at the thought of wearing one of his jumpsuits. He didn’t seem to have much else.)

Either way, you had your ziploc bag of soulmate trope dust, and you had a soulmate reluctant to acknowledge you—even though you knew now that he liked you, that bitch. You’d prepared accordingly, already in bed, since Ito had said you’d likely pass out again. It sat a bit unpleasantly in your stomach that you were going to rely on cliches to jumpstart your relationship with Aizawa, since you hadn’t wanted to do that in the first place with teacher-student relationship cliches. But you could avoid that the best you could, you supposed.

You lay down in bed, adjusting your hair on your pillow, and with the bag on your chest, you popped it like bubble wrap, the dust surging into your face in a rosy burst.

***

Popping it Tuesday night led to a cruelly dull Wednesday, since, as seniors, Wednesdays were off-days for the hero course to spend more time in the field. You weren’t needed at Sakura Grove, as you remotely typed up your reports and sent them their way, and since all your friends were with their mentors, the hours crawled. You puttered around online for a while, before cracking open a book whose plot couldn’t hold you. Since no one was around to witness, you plodded downstairs to the kitchen in your pyjamas, stole one of Aoyama’s green tea popsicles for an early start to lunch, and booted up the console Kaminari kept in the commons.

While the screen loaded, you plopped onto the couch, licking the last of the tea off the wooden stick. What does Aizawa do on Wednesdays now that his class is loose? He frequents a cat café; the punch-card was poking out of his wallet on his bedside table last time you shifted to his room. But there are the mundanities—grocery shopping, catching up on sleep, grading, caring for Eri. And hell, how you’d like to share those moments with him—perhaps scrunching his nose at a change of ingredients of his favourite chip, stroking the neck of his cat in a beam of sunlight, braiding Eri’s hair with ribbon at the start of a school day.

Fuuuuuck, when will Aizawa let you in?

The next moment, you’re suffocating. Pitch black softness, swaddling and falling around you, sweltering within seconds, sweat beading at your hairline. You took a desperate, gasping breath—relieved in the slim moment a slant of light puckered in front you, until the hand shoved onto your face, palm feeling for your mouth and shutting your jaw for you. Within the cocoon, the frame on either side of you tensed, and—the hand fumbled, once you’d quieted, in the crack of light to clumsily cup your cheek, patting it abruptly before rubbing the thumb over your cheekbone.

From that touch and the peace it swept over you, you knew where you’d shifted: kneeling right between Aizawa’s legs in his sleeping bag. But he’s sitting upright in a chair and needed to silence you, so where was he right now?

You settled, leaning against the hard muscle of his calf and into his palm, nosing at it to signal you knew it’s him.

“You have twenty-seven minutes to finish your tests,” called Aizawa, and for the first time, you picked up on pens clicking, paper shuffling, and chairs scuffing against polished tile. “Don’t ask me when they’ll be graded; Kuranosuke-sensei isn’t set to return until Saturday.”

Bless him.

But okay. You’ve got about half an hour stuck between his legs under this desk in front of what’s likely a bunch of younger business students.

Huh, if you only inched your chin forward on his chair, you’d be perfectly positioned to nuzzle against his cock, maybe suck it if you maneuvered your arms out of the sleeping bag’s constrictions. But, you supposed, it would be very mean to tease him in that way in front of students who haven’t built that respect for him, and you’d prefer your first blowjob to be where Aizawa could throw his head back, face flushed, groaning loudly with a gentle, guiding hand on the back of your head—hey, now’s not the time.

You didn’t want him to feel the shame of having an erection in front of who were essentially strangers. It’d…you don’t want to humiliate your soulmate. You love that idiot.

But Aizawa was shifting his hips, to your horror, the thick fabric of his jumpsuit brushing your face in the moment his hand retracted, and the sleeping bag was shuffled down past the top of your head, which grazed the underside of a desk drawer.

You rested your chin towards the edge of his chair—yes, mere inches between your face and his clothed cock, but your breath probably wasn’t even hitting it. From this angle, you and Aizawa could share that suspicious glare he shot you, so you backed up the half-inch for your chin to rest of the very brink of the chair—he closed his eyes, his shoulders losing their stiffness—and you leant your head against his thigh, just on the inside of his knee. He heaved a silent sigh, giving a subtle roll of his eyes, and minutely nodded—an act so slight that if you hadn’t been looking for it, you would’ve missed it.

Aizawa’s hand came to rest atop your head, scratching his fingers gently against your scalp. Part of it’s the soulmate bond; part of it’s being touch-starved, but his gentle scratch was so fucking soothing that a hazy, relaxed sleepiness came over you. Your head sagged, nose pressing towards the underside of his thigh, while your eyes crossed. Maybe it’s the magic of his sleeping bag, but you’re so drowsy that the scratch of his short nails almost drowned out clicking footsteps approach the desk.

Aizawa froze, his hand stilling in your hair.

“What are we supposed to do with our tests?” came the whisper of a business student.

Aizawa made a grunt and moved as if he were stretching and reaching for something on the desk. “Whatever you normally do. Is there not a routine?”

“The basket we turn papers in to is missing.” The shadow of the student’s feet grew closer to the desk.

“Not my problem. Just leave them on the corner of the desk—” A tinny clink echoed through the teacher desk when Aizawa tapped it—his thumb swiping over your forehead to calm you.

“Gotcha,” said the business student, and you thought you were in the clear before she asked, “What—what are you doing under…?”

“Oh?” Aizawa jolted the chair forward to hide you, but with the jolt came his clothed cock pressed against your face; even through the thick fabric you could tell it’s his shaft pressed against the length of your nose and corner of mouth and balls nestled against your chin and cheek. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to text under my desk, the same as all of you do when you think I can’t see.” A metallic-sounding object scraped across the desktop, followed by an impulsively-large-sounding gulp.

“Your phone’s on your desk, sir,” said the business student.

His fingers now curled into your hair in a vain attempt to pull you away from his cock, but he couldn’t, with the scant room under the desk and bulk of his sleeping bag. Trying to be polite, you opted to avert your gaze from his crotch (even though it was right there), which shuddered so hard that you saw and felt it.

“It’s a common practise for pro-heroes to have secondary phones purely for work,” said Aizawa, taking another loud swallow of his drink. “You may want to invest in one.”

“Gotcha,” said the business student again, just as another shadow joined her at the desk and whispered for her to hurry up.

When they both retreated, Aizawa stealthily scooted back to gain some space in a move that looked like he was simply leaning back in his chair to drain the tea out of his cup—and you savoured the unshielded view of the tender skin of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed—and hey, that’s—Aizawa relaxed enough to glance down at you, elbow on the arm of the chair, holding in the air the teacup you gifted him to replace the one you broke (nowhere nearly as nice as the pottery one you smashed presumably was, but its deep crimson glaze had reminded you of his quirk-activated eyes).

You were strangely moved that he was using your gift so quickly after he received it, in public, and not where you were supposed to see it being used.

Your eyes darted between the cup and his eyes until he noticed, and he raised the teacup just a hair in a toast. Nodding with a tired smile, you wormed your arm around to unwind his hand from its grip in your hair, unintentionally still tight, and held his gaze as you kissed the pad of each finger, starting with his little finger, the pink flashing from each tip until you pressed your lips against his thumb.

Aizawa never looked away, but he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. You wondered for a moment if he liked the thumbprint bisecting the centre of your lips, the rounded edge aligning with the dip in your cupid’s bow. But his expression betrayed nothing, and instead, he raised the teacup to his own mouth, his hand returning to your hair for the rest of the period.

After the last student had petered out of the classroom and Aizawa had given an uncharacteristic little wave as the last one close the door behind her, Aizawa held out a groan as he kicked away from the desk, his hands flying to adjust his lower jumpsuit and then raking his fingers back through his own hair.

“How are you holding up?”

You balked. “How am I?” You shoved at his knees so that you had room to stand, and you sat on the desk.

Aizawa pointedly nudged your legs together (you hadn’t even thought of it that way). “Nice pyjamas.”

“You’re lucky I don’t sleep naked,” you said, plucking at your shirt.

“Am I?”

Was that…was he flirting?

Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he continued. “You shouldn’t walk back to the dorms like that. I don’t have anything at the school besides a spare jumpsuit, but Hizashi should have his jacket draped on his chair in the faculty lounge.”

“How romantic,” you said, flicking the side of his teacup for the hell of it.

“I don’t have another class to sub until the period after this one,” he said, pocketing his phone and other personals on the desk before handing the teacup to you, “Let’s go.”

Present Mic was gloriously absent from the faculty lounge, so there was no one to stop Aizawa from laying his stuff on his desk and swiping the jacket off the back of Mic’s chair. You set the teacup on the cat coaster and had just barely turned his way before he was sweeping the open jacket around your shoulders. Aizawa lifted the leather while you slipped your arms inside, and he zipped you up, stopping the zipper just above the curve of your boobs. You looked down, and he flicked the zipper up at you with a smirk.

“Are we married yet?”

His hand dropped from your zipper. “I saw what you did with the registration form. You’re not funny.”

“I happen to be hilarious,” you said, “I assume to want to adjust the mark?”

Nodding, Aizawa waited for you to tilt your head up and to the side. “I am not marrying you. You’re my student.” He grazed the usual spot behind your ear with his ring finger.

“And someday I won’t be.” You shivered as the frisson of his touch rolled through you. “You’d rather have even more paperwork, bureaucratical hoops, and possibly a ceremony at a later, inevitable date than one simple checkmark on a sheet? Not very logical, sensei.”

He frowned. “Stop that.”

A beat. “No otherwise rebuttal?” you asked, grinning, “You agree, then, that we’re going to end up together? That we’ll be—”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Funny,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek, eyeing Snipe in the far corner of the room, “Then, hey. Compromise. What if we just hang out with no romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever? I wanna get to know you better. You’re cool.”

Aizawa crossed his arms and followed your gaze to Snipe, who was bent over in his seat, cleaning one of his guns. “Think about it. Would you trust a teacher who spends time outside of school with a student?”

“How’s the training with Shinsou going?”

“You are not funny.”

“And everybody knows you’re training Shinsou, and they’re fine with it. You could say you’re training me,” you said, stepping closer to him, looking him in the eyes despise his hunkering down into his scarf, “Please say you��re training me. I want to spend time with you. Hell, actually train me. You could make me strong enough that you don’t have to worry about me, or any bullshit. C’mon, Aizawa. Please.”

“That,” he said, “I can easily deny you. Now, get back to the dorms. I’d like to—”

“What? Why,” you said with a whine, “How can you say that so quickly? You didn’t even think about it.”

“Yeah?” Aizawa turned to his desk to boot up the computer. “It’s because you’re already strong enough to take care of yourself. I don’t have to worry about you in a fight,” he said, just barely crinkling his eyes, so you figured that he’s smiling beneath his capture weapon, “Keeping you from being a fool—now, that’s something I’ll have to watch for.”

You groaned. Loudly. And for way too long. “Whatever. May I sit on your lap while you grade?”

“No,” said Aizawa, not missing a beat, “Go back to the dorm.”

“You want me to check on Eri?”

“Sure. That’d be—really nice. Let me know—”

“Yeah?” Grinning, you bounced on the balls of your feet. “How am I supposed to do that? Sounds like I might need a certain phone number.”

Aizawa collapsed in his cracked, leather lounge chair and spun it towards his cubicle desk. “No need. If you don’t shift to me in the next half hour, I’ll assume everything’s fine.”

“Oh, come on. I feel like I deserve some sort of treat for not mentioning your half-chub while it was in my face earlier.”

Aizawa rubbed at his temple, his eyes strained. “I’m busy grading and don’t have time to talk.”

He was staring into a blank screen.

“Fine, you big baby. I’ll concede to you this time,” you said, and before you could lose your nerve, you leant over to kiss the top of his head.

You’d bolted for the door before he could even turn around.

***

It was supposed to be a routine field exercise.

The hero course had been split into teams, each under the leadership of a faculty member, for a field assessment as twenty percent of your grade for your final semester. As an extension of the personal study starting with the student presentations from earlier, you were in the group focusing on stealth headed by Aizawa, along with Bakugou, Aoyama, and Todoroki (who swopped into your group last minute, since Midnight declared that he needed to get away from her group working on public relations). Bummed that no other girls were in the group, you resolved to make it work by being better than the boys. Not to mention that the three included would, hopefully, be dense enough to miss the subtler interactions between Aizawa and you that betrayed something else going on.

The four of you were to know as little as possible about the assignment as possible before going in, so you all spent the week leading up to it making contingency plans (you’d been told not to go out otherwise that week, so Midnight had to do her own work, for once, at Sakura Grove), with maps of the city and subway splayed out on the floor in the common room, along with bowls of trail mix Bakugou had thrown together, claiming that Aoyama’s stuff was bullshit (though you had enjoyed it very much when you ate it in secret that morning). All you’d been told was that you’d be making an escort in secret, without the target even knowing you were there.

No contingency plan could account for this.

A thunderstorm popped up on the radar out of nowhere, delaying the plane’s arrival, and the airport radio signal had been scrambled, fed into a different language, and back again. If you’d been allowed more details during preparation, you’d have more of the story, but all you could piece together now was excruciatingly obvious: the airport’s east wing exploded and caved before the plane even hit it, and now you were trapped underground under wet, crumbly tonnes of rubble, confined to a pocket of space barely tall enough to stand in, with the only structure keeping half of an airport bathroom’s mirrored wall from collapsing and crushing you being the charred, lower third of a column from the airport courtyard.

“You can’t blow our way out,” you hissed at Bakugou, who was climbing his way up the column to prod at the ceiling, “The column’s load-bearing.”

“I know that,” Bakugou said, contorting his upper body and neck as he gawped with his mouth open at the debris above him, “I’m just seein’ if there’s any light from the surface comin’ through, or if there’s anywhere rainwater’s drippin’ in.”

Hunching with his upper back grazing the rubble ceiling at the tallest point in the collapsed space, Aizawa frantically fussed with his work phone (which he genuinely had, after all) and his radio, unable to get a signal. “Be careful with your movements,” he said, mind barely in the conversation, “You could make the debris slip, or it could get weighed down with rain and further collapse. At worst, you want it to settle. Aoyama, are you getting anything?”

Tapping the AI filter on his sparkle shades away, Aoyama tore his gaze away from his handheld device’s screen. “Alas,” he said with a quivering frown. His ankle was being wrapped by Todoroki, who had been careful to refill the place in the concrete where Aoyama’s foot had been with ice, keeping the space intact.

“It’s fine; you’re doing well. Keep an eye on the signal. We want to know if we get one.” Aizawa handed his phone to you, giving you a short nod and the same job. “Todoroki, keep that cavity frozen. Keep an eye out for similar spot about to collapse and do the same.”

“I’m assuming this isn’t part of the assignment, since you’re taking charge,” you said under your breath to Aizawa, your back to the others as you stooped to stand yourself, arms crossed, “What relevant information can you share about the assignment that might get us out of here? Who were we escorting? If we know who they have for allies, then we can start to understand how the signals are scrambled and how to walk out of this situation.”

Aizawa stuck his tongue in his cheek. “None of it’s relevant. Our target has been isolated for well over four years and was being processed by professionals. She wouldn’t have had any opportunity to sabotage this procedure; St. Philomena’s has kept our target from having untracked outside communication.”

An uneasy stone dropped into the pit of your stomach. “St. Philomena’s,” you said slowly, biting your lip, “That’s a women’s penitentiary.”

Aizawa opened his mouth to answer but instead inhaled a mouthful of dust as the earth shook and clattered around you. Bakugou braced the column while you and Aizawa kept the bathroom wall steady, but the mirror shattered and fell with the wall, with Todoroki grabbing you out of the way of the sink from crushing your legs, icing the concrete shards into a makeshift support for the column, enough for Bakugou to twist out from underneath it. You gasped in deep breaths of powdery concrete yet dug into wet clods of silt and grime with the heels of your boots.

The ceiling had caved in by about two feet in height, and if Aoyama hadn’t skibbled away from his spot in the corner, he’d be buried under glass and tile. You experimentally knelt and stretched towards the ceiling—good for you, for having some room to move upwards, but Aizawa could only sit, now. Every heaving breath from your friends was too close for your liking, and the stone fell from your stomach right into your gut when you noticed the steady trickle of water between the rocks and down the column, cutting a clear, ivory path through the grey dust coating it. Bakugou scooted out of the ways of its dripping, letting it instead drain in a puddle next to him.

You and Bakugou nearly jumped out of your skins at the skrrrt of Aizawa’s radio, but nothing came through except static.

“We’re okay,” said Aizawa, once Aoyama started to show signs of hyperventilation, “The static is a good sign. Even if we can’t communicate specifics, they have a location on us. They know we’re down here, and if it seems like they’re taking too long, remember that civilians are the priority. We’ll be all right.”

Claustrophobia.

Not your favourite.

But Aoyama was clearly having a worse time handling it, so it’s better to set an example for him—see how calm you are? See how much you’re not being selfish, curling into Aizawa’s arms for him to pet your hair until it’s over, keeping him all to yourself, even though it’d be really easy to pretend like it’s the size of the cavern instead of your own selfish desires that’s making you touch him. See how mature you’re being, not even touching Aizawa, even though he’s right next to you. You’re being rational about the whole thing.

Todoroki stared off, his bright eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, and he parted his lips, wetting them slightly before speaking. “You should move closer to Aoyama,” he said to Bakugou, “Someone’s hurt.”

“The hell d’you mean?” When Todoroki gestured, Bakugou followed his gaze.

The water’s white path through the dust congealed and blushed deep vermillion as it coursed down the column, falling in thick, steady plops next to Bakugou, the upsplash ticking his exposed skin with red.

“Holy shit.” Bakugou scrambled away the best he could, kicking away from the water and practically into your lap, but he shot you a sort-of apologetic look and shuffled into more of Todoroki’s personal space. “Do you think—it’s not blood,” he said, smearing it on his arm, still running a dark red even spread thinly.

Aoyama cringed. “It’s not going to—it won’t fill up the—”

“No,” Bakugou said quickly, “It’s drainin’ through the cracks. We’re fine, Aoyama.” Bakugou made a point of dragging his hard glare from Todoroki to you, as if to say that keeping Aoyama calm was essential to getting out.

You checked Aizawa’s phone again for any signal, and, sighing, you stowed it to keep from scratching the screen.

“Nothing?”

Shaking your head at Aizawa, you resisted the heavy urge to rest your forehead on his shoulder. You know what? Maybe you could. He’s right there, and if you did it in this situation, it could be read as a simply act of comfort that you could have easily shared with anyone, perhaps. The two of you could stare romantically into the dripping, red goop, talk about your lives together, about teaching your psychotic friends, about sidekicking at Sakura Grove—

“Hey, don’t touch that,” you said, jolting in your seat, to Todoroki, who stopped, wide-eyed, in his odd stretch over Bakugou’s lap before he could prod with his outstretched finger the congealed mass accumulating in the puddle, “I think I know what that is.”

Beside you, Aizawa sucked in through his teeth. “Just once, I wish your deduction skills weren’t so good.”

Without averting your gaze, you moved to elbow him in the chest, hard, but he caught your arm and held it deathly still: he only touched you by your sleeve, though, so no soulmark would bleed through. Odds were that the mark was still furtively hidden behind your ear. Frowning, you tried to wrest your arm away from him, eyes on the falling droplet heavy enough to break the surface tension of the gathered, congealed mass, making the whole thing burst upwards in a dense, ruby smoke.

“Get down, as close to the ground as you can,” you said in a rush, cut off when Aizawa shoved your head to the ground with his hand on the back of your neck, his face inches from yours and only moving closer as he made room for the others to join you, cheek smushed against a patch of intact bathroom tile.

“It’s aerosolising,” said Aizawa, eyes darting over the ceiling, where the mist was rising through cracks in the rubble, “Follow where it’s escaping; we might be able to use—”

“No, you fucker,” you hissed (Aizawa squeezed the back of your neck), “Not all of it’s going to escape. It’s going to condense into liquid again on any surface that blocks it and then drop back on us.”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” spat Bakugou, voice muffled from behind you but strangely reverberating back through the curved metal of Aoyama’s armour.

“We’re only going to be safe on the ground if it doesn’t condense, which is un-fucking-likely the way the thunderstorm’s moistened and lowered atmospheric pressure,” you said, the sound of water rinsing through crannies in the rocks growing from the far side of the cavern, “Aoyama, try to breath evenly but shallowly; you don’t wanna inhale this.”

The knuckles of Bakugou’s heavy glove struck the centre of your upper back. “Dumbass. Just tell him to hyperventilate, why don’t you?”

A drop of red water fell onto Todoroki’s pale cheek, sizzling with the impact as it was absorbed into his skin, a miniature puff of smoke emitting from the spot.

After a moment of heavy silence, Aizawa shifted his jaw, his eyes dark as they focused on you. “Academic protocols are over. Time to share what you know about Serendipity’s quirk.”

You dropped your jaw, even with the grit digging into your skin and jaw. “Who’s the insane person who assigned a bunch of students to escort fucking Serendipity—”

“I am,” said Aizawa, grip on your neck tightening and eyes flaring scarlet so briefly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been inches away, “Considering your high level of academic success, I thought you capable enough to complete a more difficult mission than your—”

“Someone just fuckin’ say what her quirk does!” Bakugou’s hand curled into a fist with the fabric of your hero costume taut between its fingers, his fist lay, overheated, between your shoulder blades.

You jerked your shoulder away from him, but there wasn’t any room to go, so his hand stayed on your back, putting distance between the two of you, though his knees and hips still touched the back of yours. “Okay,” you said after settling, glaring directly into Aizawa’s eyes, “Serendipity is the third most dangerous villain in the western hemisphere, evidently being transferred today to the place Midnight and I work, because fucking no one else wants to handle her. C’mon, Aizawa, is that why I wasn’t allowed at work for the past week? So I wouldn’t know? Fucking—” You tried to give a half-hearted kick to Aizawa, but his thumb curled enough around your neck to locate your pulse point, which he pressed down on in warning. “But yeah, her quirk is so volatile and dangerous because—because yes, it’s a sex pollen quirk, but it’s fast, and you can’t solve it by touching yourself, like other sex quirks we’ve seen used for villainy; you have to orgasm at someone else’s hands. And no one can figure out why your internal organs shrivel and die within four hours—”

You inhaled sharply through your teeth as two droplets sizzled into your skin in quick succession, but the squeeze on your neck told you to continue. “Or the brain damage, or—because her quirk’s been studied, but no one can tell if it requires the feed of dopamine to the body, or not getting enough oxygenated blood cells, or capillary damage, or—” Bakugou thumped your back again. “—but no one is immune to it, and it’s fucking terrifying,” you finished, scrunching your eyes shut at the sensation of more droplets searing into your skin and into those around you, each person inhaling more with each individual puff of smoke from the viscous drops.

Tongue too big for your mouth, you trailed off, eyesight blurring as you zoned out for a just a bit, but you lurched back into reality when a hot ache stung the back of your neck and swept through your body. Aizawa retracted his hand faster than a viper striking, his eyes briefly holding the same dread yours did.

Shaken, you pushed yourself up to sit, and to your horror, an enormous gush of arousal pooled between your legs—you snapped your legs shut at the sight of the wet spot on your hero costume (and worse, the dribbling into the gravel), and Aizawa saw, holding a steady, neutral expression despite your visible panic.

“Fuck, baby—”

It hadn’t come from Aizawa but Bakugou, whose hips you’d inadvertently ground against when you sat up. His large hand came to grip your waist, fingers digging in and pulling your ass back against him, and his other hand clamped over his nose and mouth as he pushed himself up. “I’ve always known you smelled good, but this is somethin’ else—”

“Absolutely not.” Aizawa yoinked you away from Bakugou and put himself between the you and the rest, cramping you into the corner with pointed rocks digging into your back, and he held up his hand, Bakugou glaring a hole into his palm, vermillion streaking down his face. “You’re drugged. She’s drugged. Even if you both say you want it, it’s not a reflection of reality.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but Todoroki tilted to the side to keep his tense gaze on you.

“No,” said Aizawa, using the scant room and the end of his capture weapon to snap in Todoroki’s face, “You’d be ruining the professional relationship you have. You’d be violating her. There’s no way she’d actually want you.”

Bakugou scoffed over Todoroki’s quiet how do you know that, already palming himself through his costume. “I’d rather risk it all blasting out of here than suck Icy-Hot’s dick.” His other hand crackled with the beginnings of an explosion.

“You can’t,” you said with effort, mouth and throat coated with dust as heat rose to your skin, sweat breaking out at your hairline, “If you’re not a heteromorph, Serendipity’s quirk suppresses yours. It—it overwhelms your entire system—”

“You couldn’t mention that before I got hard?” Bakugou scowled, thumb playing with his belt buckle in consideration. “I would’ve blasted us out of here earlier.”

Aizawa shook his head. “It wouldn’t’ve worked—”

Todoroki made a sort of horting noise in the back of his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, before hacking a thick glob of red mucus right onto a spot of white bathroom tile, large trails of saliva trailing from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” you said softly, your eyebrows shooting up, and Aizawa held you back before you could even move.

“Mon Dieu,” said Aoyama, and he removed his sparkle shades to see it without a red filter.

Aizawa’s radio crackled static again, but nobody moved a muscle.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Aizawa, his hand still up but hardly deterring an increasingly twitchy Bakugou, who kept staring at you over Aizawa’s shoulder, “Aoyama, you’re probably going to hurt yourself and others if you stay in your armour. If you think you can handle being more vulnerable, take it off. Prop it up between the three of you and us.” The radio hissed again. “We’re going to camp out here until help arrives. Waiting is the heroic path to take sometimes,” he said in Bakugou’s direction, “If you find yourself succumbing to the quirk, that’s okay. It’s not shameful. No one is immune to it. If you can work it out among yourselves, that’s fine. No one here is going to share any details you don’t want out.” But here his voice darkened, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew Aizawa was shooting a hard, unmerciful look towards them. “But you’re not going to hurt anyone here, and you’re especially not going to take advantage of her because she’s the only woman. To get her, you’ll have to go through me, and I do not intend to be kind.”

“Fucking hell,” said Bakugou, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off.

You were feeling a similar way, but Aizawa had you so backed into the corner that there wasn’t room to take anything off. So, instead of tearing off the increasingly abrasive and scratchy fabric of your hero uniform, you hugged your knees to your chest, thighs clenching, and bit down on your arm to keep from crying out. A choked sound still escaped you as a leather strap on your upper thigh rubbed closer to a more sensitive spot.

You couldn’t even lift a hand to fan your face—but with how heavy your limbs felt, even the promise of cool air couldn’t bring you to attempt it, and instead, you tried to find relief in the cold press of busted bathroom tile at the back of your neck—and you turned your head to feel it against your cheek, too.

Your hips rocked, knocking your legs against Aizawa’s back, and when he turned over his shoulder to spare you a glance, you jolted as far back as you could away from him. Not that you could go anyway but barely half an inch backwards. “Sorry,” you said quickly, shaking your head, “Didn’t mean to. Really. I—” Your heart flipped at his concerned face (himself looking a little red), and a sharp cramp curdled into your lower stomach. “Oh, fuck,” you said, a hand shooting to your stomach and doubling over—but your forehead grazed him before you could, and you let out a quiet yelp before jerking back into place, tears welling at the pain. “Sorry about that.”

Aizawa grimaced at your weak smile and turned back towards the others. You hadn’t even heard what they’re doing, since the blood pumping in your ears apparently deafened you to anything besides your own half-smothered sobs into your arm. 

They were growing louder at their frustration, but they were, for the most part, not directing any of it at you. Hey, is—? Over Aoyama’s armour-wall, it looked like Bakugou might have gotten his cock out to start stroking it; maybe you could get a better look—

“Hey,” said Aizawa, blocking your view when he turned over his shoulder, “Stop all that squirming.” Were you? You hadn’t even noticed. “Remember what I’ve taught you. I know you can do better.”

“Oh, don’t say professor-y things like that,” you said with a whine while, yes, squirming in place, “It goes straight to my cunt.”

 Aizawa closed his eyes for a moment, but he soon opened them and continued, unaffected. “Focus. I’m holding you to a higher calibre than your peers, because I know you can do it. What have you been taught about remaining calm in crisis? Ground yourself.”

“But I—”

“Do it.”

You huffed and tried to settle down into your body, counted, and exhaled slowly as you shut your eyes, waiting for your other sense to sharpen. Body scan—focusing on flowing energy, starting at your head, down to your toes, and back up again. But you had trouble on the return to the top of your head, since every cell in your body screamed to zoom in on the throbbing in your lower half—hard to say what’s tremoring more: you, or the walls of the cavern.

But there’s an infinitesimal sound that drowns every other maddening, oversensitive sensation: from the back of Aizawa’s throat comes a quiet, breathy whimper.

And—

“Oh, my fucking God,” you said, noticing all of the surreptitious ways Aizawa was trying to hide how affected he was: his hand clasped in a knuckle-whitening fist covering his lap, eyes watering with frustration, jaw tensed, neck and hand veins pulsating, sweating through his undershirt, and you?

Wetting your lips, you strained forward to brush his hair aside to kiss the back of his neck, and Aizawa fucking shuddered, the thing passing through his whole body. Though it hadn’t been your intention, your legs spread as you did so, parting on either side of him, and his hair flew into your face as he took in your legs surrounding him.

“Hey, no,” he said, and he pushed back on your legs, willing you to scrunch up to hug them to your chest again.

“I’m not doing anything—”

“You fucking are,” Aizawa hissed over his shoulder, “You’re being a goddamn brat.”

That shut you up immediately. Feeling slick drip out of you, you curled in on yourself, tucking your legs up to your chest like he wanted.

“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to keep guard.

His shoulders seemed wider than before.

 Maybe it’s the heady, prickling excitement swarming in your chest at the unspoken threat of a punishment turned sexual, or maybe it’s the incoming brain damage, but you rounded up every nerve not currently on fire to keep pushing your luck. “Aizawa,” you said, soft enough for only him to hear over the squelching from the far side of the cavern, “If we were alone right now, what would you do to me?”

He didn’t respond.

An easy grin stretched across your face.

“Because I know there’s got to be stuff you wanna do to me, not with me, for how I behave sometimes. But I only want your attention,” you said, feeling a bit dizzy as heat flushed all over your feverish skin, “I know you can’t give it to me, because you wanna be all noble and stuff, but—”

Another cramp had you gasping and hacking up red-tinged spit. Aizawa started to turn his head, but you told him, totally deflated, “Don’t bother. I’m sorry—” You coughed up more red mucus. “I know I’m gross; I know you can’t look at me that way; I’m sorry I’ve been—I’m sorry.”

How can he be so calm? It’s not fucking fair that he can just sit there, cross-legged and sweating, with the scent of sex permeating the smoke-hazy air, and yes, he’s hard, but that’s just the stupid fucking quirk.

You’re dripping and clenching but still so, so empty, and the tears finally overflowed as Aizawa looked over his shoulder at you again. “I’m sorry,” you said again, eyes glazing over and breathing irregularly (for all the talk about Aoyama hyperventilating, you might be the one to actually do it). “I’ll—I’ll stop bothering you; I can handle this. I’ll, uh—” You cut yourself off at another cramp, seizing up at a stray spasm, releasing your hold on your legs and yanking at the roots of your hair. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll get—get Shinsou to make me come—sorry I tried to—I’m sorry; I should’ve left you alone—”

“Stop apologising.” Aizawa twisted to brush away your tears with his thumb, the skin that vibrant pink when he pulled away. “Christ, you’re burning up.” He hand returned to your face, this time against your forehead, and he frowned—yeah, he was frowning before you were pathetically raising yourself off the ground to nuzzle into his hand, to mouth voraciously at his palm, which flushed pink with every pass of your lips, and—

“Fuck,” said Aizawa, withdrawing his hand to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. You made a questioning noise, and to answer, he let his gaze drop to where the soaked patch between your legs dribbled into the rubble. He dragged his hands down the rest of his face. “You’re drenched,” he said, rasping.

A vehement moan from the other side of the space made both of you flinch, with Aizawa making a quick check to ensure their attention wasn’t on you.

You grabbed his capture weapon, pulling him close. “Please,” you said, panting, “Please, ‘Zawa, I’m not as capable as you think I am; I’m not good; I can’t take it. Please—”

His teeth dug into his lower lip as a grumbled scoff came from the back of this throat, and he shook his head. “God, not like this. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Another loud moan and the sounds of skin on skin from the others brought another wince from the two of you, and Aizawa squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he’d steeled himself, determined and set. “I can’t have you corrupting my protégé,” he said (it was a joke, right? Why isn’t he smiling?), “but I can’t offer you anything more.”

“Wha—?”

Aizawa was nudging your knees open, his eyebrows raised, and when he turned to face the others, he scooted backwards to sit between your spread legs, pinning you between the rock and his back, crowding you in, and oh, oh, my God, you should’ve been embarrassed at how wet the back of his jumpsuit got as he pushed himself back to sit right in front of your crotch, but the first, pulsing wave of relief as your clit rubbed against him washed everything else away.

Did this count? Did this count as coming at someone else’s hands? You found the problem less compelling the more you thrashed against him, grinding your clit against his back so hard that your vision blacked out at the edges, breathing in that terribly awful frustrating sexy combination of pine and sandalwood, desperately huffing it in in gasping breaths and curling your fingers into the back of his jumpsuit to bring him closer: you needed to kiss the back of his neck again, to see that pink mark on his skin.

But it’s as if he knew what you were going to do, because instead of letting you pull his hair aside, he reached back to grab your hand, and he (mercifully) allowed the grab to relax into a hold, letting you lace your fingers through his as he guided your arm around his waist (an evil part of you was disappointed that he didn’t place your hand over his cock, instead of resting your entwined hands on his leg [cute]).

And you were quiet: you didn’t moan, so the others wouldn’t know, unless they could somehow make out your laboured breathing behind the hand you cupped over your mouth. You’re grappling for pressure against your clit, but it’s your shiver when he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb that triggered your orgasm—pounding, rushing, and all at once, the throbbing of your clit taking you somewhere distant and piney, with you slowly coming back to reality by an abrupt pulsing, for some reason, in the roof of your mouth.

And the quirk had passed through you.

It counted.

But it kept you bound in a tired haze, sultry and lethargic and red, and lost in the lingering high of both the scarlet saliva you kept hacking up and that Aizawa let you grind against him until you came, you closed in on yourself and did your best to stay awake. Your brain tried to worry about Aizawa, but the quirk shushed you and forced you into a cloudy exhaustion.

You were out of it when Aizawa’s radio crackled to life, when the rescue unit exhumed your team, when the EMT on duty looked you over. You were still foggy when you were put in a passenger seat of a government vehicle, but the fog dissipated when Aizawa climbed in the driver’s seat and told you to call Midnight.

“I don’t know the number for Sakura Grove,” he said, turning on the windshield wipers, “and I need to warn Midnight that I’m asking her to help me with this quirk.”

Thunder rumbled through the sky and into your bones as he turned into downtown traffic, headlights blurring in the rain. Blankly, you wrestled his phone out of your pocket and began to dial her work number. “Okay, traitor.”

Aizawa’s expression darkened, his face glistening with sweat. “You know that I can’t—”

“So I can’t do the same for you?” you asked, putting his phone on speaker and letting it ring (cranking up the volume to hear it over the rain pelting the windows), “I can’t just, like, hold out my hand for you to grind against, or, God forbid, give you an actual fucking handjob—”

“Stop it,” he said, and he snatched his phone from you, switching off speaker, and you crossed your arms to fume, staring out into the miserably grey morning.

You smushed your forehead against the cool of the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass, and you tried to focus on car horns blaring instead of the conversation regarding Aizawa’s sexual release that he and Midnight were currently having.

When he hung up, you sat up from your slouch against the window. “Is that all you need me for, then? You’ve got the number. You might as well drop me off at the next light.”

Aizawa swore under his breath. “Stop being such a—” He cut himself off, his leg not working the pedals bouncing profusely. “I still need you to enter Sakura Grove.”

That was true. You had three number-codes to punch in for clearance, and there was a thumbprint scan at the building in which you and Midnight worked. Still, you scoffed. “Just get Nemuri to let you in. You evidently don’t need me.”

The hand on the steering wheel tensed, veins pulsing. “First name basis?”

“Some professors like me.”

“Forget I said anything,” he grumbled, and when you turned to the window again, he mashed on the car radio, volume loud over the rain.

After a babble of a drum solo and what sounded like shouting in English, you were able to translate the song in your head by the time it hit the chorus:

“Got it bad, so bad, I’m hot for teacher.”

Aizawa stared, baffled, at the radio instead of the road as the guitar picked up, and he changed stations.

Again, in English, but with a hypnotically alt-relaxed beat: “Can’t tell my friends, ‘cause they will laugh; I love a member of the staff.”

You sneaked a glance at the driver’s seat, where Aizawa was fighting traffic, his erection, and his incredulity at what he was hearing.

“I fight my way to the front of class to get the best view of her—”

Aizawa changed stations before the singer could finish the couplet, and he sank into his seat at the safe sounds of synth and guitar, but you sat up straight, eyes wide and biting back a laugh, because you knew what the fuck was coming:

“Don’t stand—don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me—”

Aizawa smashed the radio’s off button, seething. He ran his fingers back through his hair, and after a deep breath, he opened his mouth. “What’d you do,” he asked flatly.

“Me?” you said, pointing at yourself, doing your fucking best not to smile, “What makes you think I’ve done something?”

Aizawa was panting. Chest heaving. Sweat visibly dripping down his face. Free hand darting between a superfluous position on the wheel, resting on the car door, and bunching up his jumpsuit to hide his erection, which only drew attention to it. “You didn’t—you and Nemuri didn’t orchestrate all this, did you?” he asked, teeming with nervous energy, “It’s a little—it’s a little too perfect for you, to get to see me dishevelled and desperate, to nearly get me to cave into what you want.”

Several feelings flooded you at once: revulsion at the suggestion you made a criminal use her quirk on you, anger that he’d even consider it to be in your character when he’s known you for years (and more anger that he thought you would want to lose your virginity with three other guys in the room), a wretched, clawing desperation to prove him wrong and beg for forgiveness—and a creeping disgust and shame towards yourself, for having been so vulnerable in his presence when he didn’t want it or you.

Time to shut down. “C’mon, Aizawa. That’s not very logical in the grand scheme of things,” you said, scathingly using his favourite word, propping your chin on your fist, and leaning against the window again, “And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t let it end with my fucking soulmate going to someone else to make him come, especially when I was similarly helpless.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you—”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” you said bitterly, “but I wouldn’t do that. To you or to me. I don’t do things that would humiliate or hurt you.” You scooted closer towards the car window, away from him and his stupid pine aftershave. “I guess I’m a brat, yeah, but I’m not mean.”

To have something to do instead of talk to him, you exhumed the car manual from the glove compartment and started to read it, and you read that dull fucking piece of crap until you were forced to punch in your clearance codes for Sakura Grove.

As soon as he was inside the main building and out of sight, you slammed the manual and the glove compartment shut, and you screamed. No one would’ve heard you over the thunderstorm, anyway. Comforting that the weather was as angry as you.

You unbuckled and cosied up in your seat, glaring at the curtain of mist blowing rain horizontal outside. Lightning illuminated a worker rushing from one building to another, and she had to double back to get her ballet flat, hopping slightly to put it back on.

You don’t have another work shift until Monday, but you kind of wanted to clock in, anyway. It’d be satisfying to bitch about the whole thing with Ito. She’d tear into Aizawa. He deserves it.

Slunking down into your seat, you were struck with new terror: what if Aizawa were right? What if you did, inadvertently, plan this out, by inhaling Ito’s quirk dust a second time? Sex pollen was…sex pollen was a trope. A pretty fucking common one.

Oh, my God.

You clamped a hand over your mouth and tried to work out the logistics. Serendipity was already scheduled to arrive in Japan regardless of you inhaling the dust again, and—fuck fuck fuck. You didn’t like this.

You swallowed thickly, turning it all over in your head, and as the variables overlapped and blurred in your mind, you started to cry.

“Goddammit,” you said aloud, sitting up and dabbing at your face with your sleeve. You’ve already cried a lot today, and it’s not even noon. You’re taking a nap when you get back to campus.

You know who else likes naps?

You fucking sobbed harder, even though you were laughing a bit, too. You decided that you were too worn out to make any sound judgments. Go to sleep once you get back, and think about it when you wake up.

You sniffed and looked towards the door to the main building. God, he’s taking a long time. You’d figure that he’d edged himself to oblivion and back during the car ride, but no—

The next instant, you tensed up, frazzled, because a half-dressed Aizawa’s straddling you, hips jerking, driving into your own and biting into his fist as he came on your shirt, cum spurting all the way up to your boobs.

The groan he released once the spill of his cum slowed to a slight dribble nearly wrecked your ears and stopped your breath. You’re hastily, desperately drinking up details, eyes flicking over them rapidly in case they’re snatched away before you could notice: the weeping, pink tip of his cock, the only part of his dick peeking out of his jumpsuit’s lower half—the trail of dark hair leading up to it from his naval, framed by an infuriating v on his lithely muscled abdomen—all of his exposed, corded muscles of his chest, tendons visibly stretching and contracting in his forearms—and when he wiped that final drop of cum off his cock, it was with the thumb stained with soulmark pink.

Of course, for how much relaxation coursed through his body, it all fled him the second he finally opened his eyes.

You expected that he’d scramble to cover himself up and off of you, but once that initial panic faded, all he was left with was resignation. He yanked up the elastic of his boxer-briefs to hide his cock, and, sighing, he said, “Please. Please don’t say anything. I can’t handle it right now.”

You nodded. His eyes travelled over your face, his expression cracking. “You’re crying,” he said, voice breaking.

“Not because of you,” you said, wiping at your tears, “It’s something I did.”

He wiped away the tear stains on your other cheek. “Let’s find something to clean you up.”

While he twisted to fossick through the console for tissues, you swiped two fingers through the stuff on your shirt. So, this was a man’s cum. Weird. Thick. (You’ve seen some before; you’re not an idiot, but this was your first time, uh, experiencing it. Honestly, it reminded you a bit of the congealed quirk stuff earlier.) You rubbed it between your fingers.

“Oh, what are you doing—no, stop that,” said Aizawa softly, swatting your hand away from your cum-stained shirt. When you eyed the bit on your fingers, Aizawa sighed again. “Don’t taste it.”

He took your hand and wiped it clean, pink ink seeping across skin with every brief touch. He gave you a tissue from the pack he found for your tears, and he used the rest to wipe off your shirt.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything else for you to wear,” he said, checking the backseat.

“It’s okay,” you said, balling up the tissues and putting them in the centre console, “We’re going straight back to campus. I’ll just shower and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Aizawa, and he lifted himself from your lap and moved to cross to the driver’s seat.

You grabbed his arm to stop him. “You should, too. Don’t run yourself dry.”

Aizawa froze, considering, and then he nodded, slowly sinking back onto your lap.

He braced his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been cruel to you.”

Too exhausted to argue, you shrugged. “You have your reasons.”

“I shouldn’t be so cold to you, though. It’s been wearing away at my conscience,” he said, patting his pockets on his thighs and moving down to his calves. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he said, “Give me your phone. You deserve my number, at least.”

You pulled yours out and opened a new contact before handing it over. “You’re sure you’re comfortable with that?”

“Yeah,” said Aizawa, tapping the screen, “So long as it doesn’t…lead to anything out of bounds. And…maybe you can stick around for a while next time you shift in your sleep.” He shot you a smirk as he returned your phone.

The contact name simply read Shouta. No surname or honorifics. Just Shouta.

Heat rose to your face, but it was much pleasanter than when it had earlier that day.

“Are you good to drive back to campus?”

Tilting your head, you pocketed your phone again. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

“Good,” he said, climbing off of your lap and into the backseat, “I’m going the fuck to sleep.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair

[koishiro]

# - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 2 📍

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : the lesson’s with megumi’s dad continue but he seems to become more…possessive?

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : dilf!toji x non-virgin!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : short smut with the tiniest plot ever

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : cumming inside, oral (male receiving), cheating (toji’s married), breeding kink, impregnation

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : this is a two part fic but can be read as a stand-alone

Part 1 | 2 | 3

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

Of all the memories I have of being 19 and having an affair with my best friend's dad, the one that I think about most often is the first blow job lesson he gave me. Toji loved oral, both giving and receiving, and he wanted to make sure I knew how to enjoy both.

"For most guys truly good head is a once in a lifetime thing. If you know how to do it right a guy will remember you for the rest of his life”

He said this to me before we really started anything serious, we were in his bed after sex just talking, and he was going on about the value of good oral.

The idea intrigued me greatly, most of my friends hated giving head — or at least hated doing it for more than a few minutes. I was interested in approaching the whole thing a bit differently. I didn't want to hate doing something the guy I was with loved. It seemed like a source of endless friction. I wanted a kind of explosive partnership that was much more intentional about mutually being the best for your partner than passively hoping for their infallibility.

I don't like the middle of the road, if I was going to do something at all, I wanted to do all of it — be the best at it, or at least take it to it's farthest end and experience it fully. Why be a bear at all if you're not going to be a grizzly? When I was younger I denied myself cream and sugar for a long time, until I learned to love the taste of coffee without it, and now I'll never need cream or sugar. When something is good for you, you just have to learn how to love it.

All this to say, Toji wanted to give me blow job lessons, and I was ready to be a very good student. I knew that not every man was going to like what Toji liked, but I figured it would be easiest to adjust from guy to guy when I at least knew one really well. Like how learning your second foreign language is a lot easier than learning your first.

One afternoon I was packing an overnight bag to meet Toji at the lake house when he texted me:

𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘰𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥．

I grabbed a water bottle and drank it on the short drive to the lake house. When I parked I saw he was waiting for me. Seated on the porch with his back against one of the cedar posts, reading something, or pretending to read at least while he waited for me. He looked so handsome and rugged like that.

"How's school?" he asked. I laughed, it was funny to him that I was a student, that I was so much younger than him. It turned me on as well — and I couldn't tell if it was his pleasure at the situation or my own curiosity about someone with a few decades of experience on me.

He poured us some wine inside the house and I drank nervously — he always made me nervous, it was part of his charm. Even when we just talked he stood closer to me than a person normally would. It intimidated and excited me. I took a step back and hopped up on the counter, he stood between my legs and kissed me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into him tightly, making the kiss more urgent than casual. I wanted to lay on the counter and feel his weight on top of me right then, but I knew that wasn't his plan for the night.

"Can we just have sex first?" I asked, a bit breathless from his advance and finding an irresistible urge inside me to get a quick fix in.

"No..." He moved from kissing my mouth to my neck. "It's good to delay gratification a bit. It makes it better, you'll see” It was impossible to see how he could be right, but all I could do was try to persuade him through other means. Maybe if I started to rub his cock he'd be overcome by the same lust that was making my brain fuzzy. I reached my hand down and felt him, he was definitely hard. But he merely grabbed my hand and deposited back on the counter.

He made us cook dinner then. I've never seen anyone look so sexy while dicing vegetables but I couldn't think about anything else. Everything was sex. Chopping vegetables was sex. Stirring a sauce was sex. Watching his mouth while he drank wine was sex.

I was quiet while we ate. I preferred to stare at his mouth and hands and fantasize about the place on my body I'd put them rather than make polite conversation. As if he could read my mind he was patient with my silence, the corners of his mouth turning up when he caught me lost in thought, my eyes focused on him.

I placed my dishes by the sink after dinner, expecting him to tell me we had to clean up first, too. But I felt his mouth on the back of my neck, his arm reaching around me stomach and pulling me backwards into his body. He reached one hand forward and cupped me between my legs and I felt myself coming undone with anticipation.

"Let's go upstairs”

Toji brought me to his bed where he sat, and I kneeled in front of him. He almost loving when he looked at me.

"You should always start playfully. Don't be too quick at it. You should act like all you want in the world is the guy to cum, but you're not in a big hurry to get it over with. Run your tongue around the edge of the head, especially on the underside. And then when you start taking it in your mouth, hide your teeth behind your lips”

I did all these things for a moment, it felt a bit disjointed but I noticed his hips writhing a bit and it became more natural, more fun. It wasn't my first blow job, but it was my first time trying to do something specific, or even trying really hard at it.

I tried to remember what he said and smiled internally (something someone told me about coming off as having a good time once) before running my lips up and down his shaft, pausing at the tip to lick my way around it and then taking more of it in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it when I slowly pulled it out.

He stood up then, and steadied my head between his hands while he helped me get the rhythm down, pushing himself in and out of my mouth.

He stopped me while I was catching my breath and lifted my face with a few fingers under my chin. "Men want to admire your face while you're doing this. You look so good with my cock in your mouth," he pushed himself back in my mouth, watching me intently as he pushed himself in and out again. He must have been right, I'd never seen his face look like this before. He was so focused, even if just to memorize the moment.

"Curl your tongue, make a snug bed for my cock” "Cup the balls. Don't play with them separately, but as a unit" I followed his instructions.

All of this is, I guess, considered a warm-up. When he's really ready to start Toji told me coordination is important. I needed to move my mouth in sync with my hands so it felt like one thing was happening instead of two separate things.

"See if you can catch your breath while you still keep it in your mouth. Just relax your lips over just the head and pull on it, breathe through your nose"

I tried this and it was unexpectedly easy — but probably because I knew he was expecting me to stop and test this out.

"You can always ask a man what he likes you to do. I like to get deep inside. I want to feel your throat. It mimics sex, but it's more relaxing. And more exciting” I was nervous about this part, but the good kind of nervous, because I knew I'd be happy I did it. And he made me feel very safe. I took him back in my mouth and allowed him to move his hips forward while holding me in place. This is where I discovered my own trick, when I resisted my urge to back off, I found my mouth suddenly filled with my own saliva. My body produced more of what I needed when I pushed it to the edge, and I suddenly had lube for my hand to run up and down his shaft.

He wrapped his hand around mine and showed me the speed and firmness he liked, keeping his other hand on the back of my head to keep us in sync, every few moments removing our hands and hitting my throat with his cock.

"When I speed up, it means you're doing a good job. I'm getting closer" He told me, as he speed up our routine.

He told me that some guys like you to go until completion and others just want to warm up for sex, they want the act of finishing inside you, it's a primal instinct. He was of the latter persuasion.

"When a man says he's about to cum, keep doing what you are doing, and if he is guiding you, let him take over. He knows what he needs”

I removed my hand from his cock and ran them up and down his thighs to signal that I was willing to do this. I looked up at him as I suddenly felt salty precum in my mouth. He was looking at me intently, pumping in and out of his mouth. I struggled not to move even though his groans were really turning me on. Finally I felt him break rhythm and push himself deep inside my mouth, depositing his semen down the back of it. It was always a bit difficult not to gag with the surprise of a guy cumming in your mouth, but since it was so far back, it was easier as it was already being swallowed by the time I realized what was happening.

He fell back onto the bed behind him. "Goddddd Y/n, you're already very good at this”

This wasn't the last blow job lesson, we usually practiced before sex from then on, but they got quicker — which I took as a compliment.

This went on for nearly a year. Meeting Toji at the lake house, receiving lessons, having sex was now a near daily occurrence that it surprised me how his wife hadn’t found out.

It surprised me even more when I found myself caught in quite the predicament.

Two nights before I was due to meet Toji for our near-daily escapade I had run into my friend Yuji, another (now) second year on my way to the grocery store. Yuji was a lovable character, always energetic, ready to talk to anyone and everyone and always seen with a bright smile on his face.

“Y/n! Where are you going at this time? Do you mind if I tag along?” How could I refuse the look he gave me? With his big bright puppy eyes and almost visible pout.

“Sure I don’t see why not, you can help me carry the shopping bags back” and of course he jumped at the idea of being able to help someone in need.

All I expected to get was ramyun noodles, a tub of ice cream and a few snacks for the weekend.

What I didn’t expect was to later be pinned down on a king sized bed while being ploughed into.

"Holy fuck, you're one- ngh, attention whore, aren't you?" He asked between his groans, and I whined, wriggling from underneath him. I couldn't give a proper answer, not when he'd gotten me in this position. My face pressed down on the bed, his hand on my waist, my ass up, and he's fucking me with no restraint whatsoever. Usually, he would be soft - or as soft as Toji could possibly be - with me, but tonight was different.

Tonight he was angry.

"answer me." he demanded, as he spanked my ass. The handprint causing a red mark to appear on my ass cheek, and I winced in pain before shaking my head. "No - that's … mfph! ngh - not true..!" I tried to deny his cruel words, protesting 'no' against all his accusations.  "No? Then why- why were you like that with Itadori, huh? Actin’ all friendly and shit." He leaned in, questioned me right in my ear, sending goosebumps all over my skin, and the pleasure he's giving me, my pussy being abused by his mean cock, making me feel euphoric, and the mixture of his harsh and brutal words, it turned me on. I loved whenever Toji was sweet and soft with me in bed, teaching me. But I also loved this side of him. I loved whenever he'd be mean with me and call me all these degrading names.

“You tryna slut yourself out, huh? Is that what you wanted? C’mon, answer me.” I couldn’t breath out a single reply, muted by his hard cock diving in and out. I was cock - stupid.

Nothing mattered, only his cock. It was all I could focus on. The rhythm and pace he kept while spitting crude and hurtful words my way but I didn’t care, I loved it. “What? Can’t talk now? You jus’ that cock drunk? D’you think pink boy could do this to you, making you a dumb cock slut?”

He wasted no time taking his lips to my neck and kissing, abusing, the soft skin as his hands worked on my big assed hips. Taking pleasure in watching my ass bounce back and forth, keeping in rhythm with his thrusts.

And then he pulled out, leaving me to whine unsatisfyingly and wriggling my ass trying to tempt him to dive back in.

"All you got to do is ask for it bitch, I'll give you exactly what you're wanting.”

I was all his from that moment on, I surrendered to him immediately, giving myself completely to him, panting like a bitch in heat,

"Oh God fuck me, please fuck me!...fuck my slutty cunt please!"

Then his long shaft poised at the opening of my cunt thrust forward, the massive cock spread my cunt open, pushing as far as he could. I was in ecstasy as this happened. His big hands held me open, spreading my ass as he slowly slid his thick shaft into my pussy. I moaned, groaned, sighed and panted as he entered me, stretching me, filling me to places I had never before felt a cock penetrate too. His big cock was by now touching previously untouched territory of my pussy. I was stretched by his girth more than I ever had been. And it showed as I moaned over and over, the pain both sore yet pleasurable.

"Oh oh, oh my god! - mfph! Oh fuck, fuck" .... "Oh my fucking god!"

Before long he had sunk every last inch of his cock into my eager cunt. He would pause briefly before withdrawing the hard shaft he had inserted into me. His cock glistened with my moistness. He then withdrew his cock, till I could see the mushroom crown of his cock almost come completely out of me briefly, and then he would thrust it back into me. I groaned loudly and let out a low growl of satisfaction as I began to simultaneously thrust my hips forward to meet his cock. He soon picked up the pace, hard and fast.

His balls slapped against my ass with vigour, as our thrusts met. He kept commenting on how big a slut I was for his big cock, and how wet I was.

"Your pussy feels so fucking wet, bet you ain't never been fucked so deep have you? Not by those lil’ boys I bet.”

He laughed loudly as I could only pant and groan at the onslaught.

“D’ya think pink boy could do this huh? Fuck you this deep? What if I knocked ya up hm, what then? Would that teach you?”

I let him know best I could that indeed it would as I screamed, “yes, please! Fill me up. Give me your baby! Give me your cum!”, and oh how much I was loving it, by telling him to fuck me harder and fill my slutty cunt. Flipping me onto my back, my hands were now on his ass pulling his dick deeper into my dripping cunt with each thrust. I then pulled him down and started kissing him deeply and passionately as he fucked me silly. My breathing was ragged, and increasing rapidly, soon I knew as did he that I was on the edge of cumming; He didn't stop this time.

My breath became shorter and shallower, but his thrusts remained long, deep, fast and hard. I went over the edge screaming out as my body was racked by a powerful orgasm. He never missed a beat, continuing the relentless pounding on my well abused cunt as I came, prolonging my orgasm. I was by now flopping around like a rag doll moaning and sighing at his persistent thrusts as I enjoyed the pleasures he was bringing to my body. As my orgasm subsided I pleaded with him to stop, telling him that I couldn't take it anymore.

“‘Gonna fill you up. Make you nice and round f’me, how’d you like that? Filled with my babies, my babies.”

He fucked me for some time like that before moaning - a loud guttural moan.

"I'm almost there, ain't no stopping now. Gonna fill you up!”

I was moaning as I desperately wanted the pleasures I was feeling, with each thrust of his rod. His thrusts intensified and he began to breathe heavily, then suddenly without warning he grunted, sank his cock as deep as it would go into my wet frothy hole. He was so deep inside me, that I felt his large ball sac tighten towards his groin and then his balls starting to jump around as his cock spurted shot after shot of cum into my fertile womb. All too late I was knocked out of the fantasy, remembering I wasn't on any birth control, "Oh my god I could actually get pregnant!" I yelled

"That's what’m hoping for.... your belly full of my baby” He rasped out, hugging me close to his warm and sweaty body.

At each spurt, he thrust into me as he emptied his balls followed by a grunt, staying there as if not taking any chances of it leaking out.

And that’s when I remembered,

“Shit, Toji! You’re married!”

—

Part 1 | 2 | 3

𝘈 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 2 𝘧𝘰𝘳 @shadowmoonlight0604 ♡︎

[oceisastar]

MDNI

do not repost / translate / re-use my work in any shape or form.

diluc x gn!reader; orgasm denial, masturbation, grinding, tender, loving s*x, diluc is soft for reader

clutching at diluc’s back, your fingers dig into his skin.

“please, please, I need it so bad, fuck me, diluc,” you gasp, ragged. you’re dripping wet, the scent of your arousal thick in the air. diluc looks like it takes all his self-restraint not to just give you what you want.

after all, it was you who asked him to deny your pleasure. at least, at first. and diluc is nothing if not a man of his word.

***

“diluc?”

“what is it, sweetheart?”

your heart jumps at the nickname. he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder before continuing to read over the pile of paperwork on his desk.

you lean against the doorway, resting your head on the doorframe.

“are you going to be working late?”

“unfortunately, it seems so. since we’ve taken on more international ventures, the paperwork keeps piling up--i’ll have to have a talk with ernest about how to optimize our overseas revenue without it being at the cost of local operations. is everything alright?”

“yeah. i just miss you.”

he stops what he’s doing and looks up. his gaze softens and he sighs.

“i’m sorry, y/n. i know i’ve been preoccupied with work recently. there’s just so much to take care of...”

“but it’ll still be there, tomorrow, won’t it?”

diluc is silent, staring at the paperwork in front of him. you wait until he looks back again and you catch his gaze, softening your own. it’s that look, the one you give him when you’re about to ask for something. 

“come to bed, please?” 

he hesitates, but you flutter your lashes and he’s weak.

he pushes himself up off his desk, setting down his pen and striding toward you.

“give me a few minutes and i’ll be up.” he presses a kiss to your hand, “i promise.”

***

“can we try something tonight?” you say.

diluc glances at you as he takes off his watch, setting it on the drawer.

“what were you thinking of?”

“denial. orgasm denial.”

diluc’s face flushes red.

“why would i... why would i deny you that?”

“it’s not like you’d never give me the pleasure. but the delayed gratification... it makes it more intense. plus, we’d spent more time together.”

diluc looks doubtful.

“is that something you’d be interested in trying?” you ask, studying him.

“you’re sure you would... enjoy this?”

“i’ve only ever tried it myself but--”

“you did this by yourself?”

the image of your touching yourself flashes in diluc’s mind and suddenly his tie is much too tight.

you giggle.

“i wanted to be sure i wanted to try it with you, too. but that’s only if you want to as well.”

“i wouldn’t be opposed to it. though, it will be difficult not to just give you what you want. those eyes...” he steps closer, running his thumb across your cheek. “they’re very convincing when they want to be.”

you bite your lip before launching yourself at him. he catches you, making a surprised noise into your mouth, the two of you falling back onto the bed. you let your hands run all over his chest, groping him.

he moans into your mouth, pulling away with a flush on his face.

“master diluc, you look so good like this.”

“ah, please. don’t say such things.”

“why not? you’re handsome and you should know that.”

he gives you an embarrassed smile, but you don’t let him turn away. instead you take his face and kiss him deeply. diluc grasps at your ass, kneading the soft flesh.

the two of you gasp into each other’s mouths, diluc growing hard underneath you.

your eyes light up as diluc’s gaze grows warm. his hands trail up your upper thighs, slotting you against him so you’re grinding right on top of his dick. he exhales out of his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head.

***

it’s been almost an hour of you two grinding against each other, room hot and your bodies sweaty. somewhere in the middle, the two of you stripped your clothes off, throwing them aside.

diluc is standing on his knees, you spread out for him, waiting, wanting. diluc’s dick is hard against his stomach, pre-cum smeared across his skin.

you’re trying to bait him into fucking you, but he’s managed to stay steadfast. you, on the other hand, find yourself lost in desire.

you grab his neck, pulling him close to you. bringing your lips to his ear, you moan into it, “need it... need you”.

your breath is hot and you can feel him full-body shudder against you, but he manages to pull away from you. while not giving in fully, he still indulges you, lifting your legs and pressing fluttering kisses up the back of your thighs. your exposed hole quivers and his dick twitches in response.

he inhales deeply at the scent of your arousal, of you, and begins to jerk himself off.

“diluc!”

though his cheeks are flushed, he stares at you with a heated gaze, getting off to your body. you throb with arousal.

he’s never done something like this in all the time you two have been together. it’s so hot you might pass out.

he maintains eye contact throughout, even when his strokes become sloppy.

“ah, hah, fuck,”

you can’t help it--you reach down and start rubbing at yourself, but he reaches down and pushes your hand away, leaning down without hesitation and taking you into his mouth.

the sensation is so intense that you cum instantly, back arching off the bed as you scream--at the same time as diluc, who doubles over, cumming into his hand.

***

you wake up to diluc gently wiping you with a cool washcloth. he looks extremely disheveled but satiated. he smiles gently at you when he realizes you’re awake, kissing you softly.

“are you alright? there’s a glass of water on the bedside for you.”

“i’m great. holy shit, that was intense.” you say, reaching over and taking a sip. you feel light-headed from the overexertion. diluc takes note, encouraging you to drink more water.

“you need to rest. let’s talk more in the morning, hm?”

he finishes wiping you down, then sets the cloth down, heading to the door.

“ah, ah, mister. no more work.” you hold your arms open as you yawn. when he realizes you’re not going to relent, he closes the door and walks back into your loving arms. he accepts the hug and lets himself fall into bed beside you.

you nuzzle into his chest, murmuring, “i love you.”

when you’re falling asleep, you hear him reply in the softest, loving voice, “i love you very much.”

[foxglovebells]

Lost Star (Part 3)

Azriel x Rhysand!Sister Reader

Summary: Rhys’s mother and sister, Y/n, were kidnapped and murdered by Tamlin’s family centuries ago. Everyone mourned their deaths but especially Azriel. His mate’s death had changed him and he was never truly the same, he still held onto the hope that you were still alive. Turns out he was right.

Warnings: None

Notes: More parts to come. Also this isn’t edited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

****************************************************

Azriel scoured over everything he could find to prepare himself for this mission. He found every single piece of information he could on this ancient metal. He scoured over blue prints of spring, the ones that dated back early enough to include the magic shelter the inner circle believed you were being kept in.

It was difficult for him to wait, but he knew the delayed gratification would be worth it when he held his mate in his arms again.

“Az,” Rhys poked his head into the living room; which had been covered in books and papers from Azriel’s studies.

He lifted his head up from where he was scanning over the paper with all the important details he had gathered from these past few days. “Yes?”

“Are you ready?” Rhysand asked him genuinely. He stepped over to his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder as a comforting gesture.

“I don’t know.” Azriel looked up to the brother of his mate with emotion clouding his eyes. “What if she’s not there. What if we got our hopes up for nothing.”

Rhys’s heart broke for his brother at the vulnerability in his eyes. “I know, but I have a feeling about this.”

Azriel had some doubts, but he didn’t want to think too hard into it.

He takes a deep breath and rises to his full height, shaking out his cramped wings in the process.

“We’re going to get her back, Az.” Rhys looked him directly in the eyes.

“We’re going to get her back.”

****************************************************

You hum softly to yourself as you pace around your cramped quarters. Something had you on edge, you don’t know if it’s the good kind or the bad kind.

You hadn’t been able to get anymore magic past the barriers since that day you had asked the human girl for help. Years had past since then.

You stopped pacing and instead opted to walk over to tiny kitchenette that consisted of a sink, stove, kettle, and pantry that magically restocked itself. Of course, the only thing that was in it was some slop that you knew had just enough nutrition to keep you alive.

You poured a small mug of hot water in hopes to minimize the chill in your bones. Though, no matter how much hot water you consumed you were still always cold.

You walked over to your small cot and curled up, the blanket a useless lump on the frigid floors. You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, trying to drift off to a land of happiness. One where you were happy with your mate and your family, one where you were never trapped in the metal prison.

Tears ran down your cheeks as you mourned the loss of what your could have had. What you wanted so badly.

Just then you heard a hum, a magical hum. You knew for sure that you weren’t using magic. So where was the hum coming from? You no longer allowed anything to raise your hopes, because each time you did, it hurt more and more when they came crashing down.

You felt your chest tighten all of a sudden. You nearly vomited from the feeling. Snapping your eyes open and dropping the ceramic mug in shock. You stood up as tears welled in your eyes.

So you sat and closed your eyes again. Ignoring the hum and holding on to the new wave of hope.

The mating bond

You felt it. For the first time in 2 centuries you could feel your other half. And he was here, he was trying to get you out.

You hesitantly pulled on the string that was once again aglow. You waited a moment and then you felt a tug back. Oh thank the cauldron!

The humming became louder and louder until suddenly and outline the shape of a door appeared on the wall furthest from you. You stood deathly still, waiting for the door to open and to see if it truly was your mate on the other side coming to rescue you.

In the case that it wasn’t, you grabbed a shard of broken mug from the ground and stood and waited.

After the longest minute of your life the door slowly pushed open.

At first, all you saw was dark shadows in a frenzy. They exploded into the room and searched every nook and cranny. But once the shadows thinned, you came face to face with the one person you had thought you would never see again.

“Azriel.”

A choked noise escaped your mate’s throat as he gazed upon you. He covered the distance between the two of you in 2 long strides but didn’t yet touch you.

“Y/n, my little star.” He gazed upon you like you would disappear again.

A sob left your mouth and then finally did he gather you up into his arms and hold you to him like you would disappear again if he stopped.

His nose was buried in your neck as he took in the scent of you that he had missed for so long. One of his arms was wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping your body pressed tight against his, the other was cradling your head, so, so gently.

His could feel tears leaking out of his eyes, and feel your tears falling against the bare skin of his neck. Your hands were running through his soft hair like they once did whenever he needed comfort. It was a bit shorter now. Still long, but not unruly and unkept like it once had been.

“Please, get me out Azzy, I can’t be here anymore.” You whispered painfully against his neck.

He took immediate action and winnowed out of the long time prison. As soon as you reached the outside air you felt an immense relief. Your magic had returned to you, rushing back into your body as if too had missed you. The bond was as strong as ever. You were free.

You pushed against Azriel’s chest, he reluctantly let you go. But still kept the arm wrapped around your waist firmly in place and moved the hand cradling your head to rest softly on your cheek, his thumb wiping away the stray tears.

You placed the both of your hands on either side of his face. Looking over every old scar your remembered and every new scar you didn’t. His eyes were so sad. It made another wave of tears gather in your eyes.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You whisper, trying to meet his eyes through the tears.

“I know, love, I know, all that matters is that you came back to me.” He smiles so gently at you. “You’re safe now.”

And for the first time in 2 centuries a smile lifts on your face too.

You continue to hold his head in your hands and you leans forward to press a gentle kiss to his right cheek, then his left, then the new scar on his forehead that you didn’t recognize, then his nose, and his chin, then to the corner of his mouth, and finally pulling away you looked him in the eye one last time before you leaned in and press your lips against his.

You both sighed in relief. You kiss each other gently, savoring the returned feeling. Never crossing any other boundaries. Just being there with each other.

When you pulled away he rests his forehead against yours and you both close your eyes. “Let’s go home now, okay?” Azriel said quietly.

You nodded your head and wrapped your arms around his neck, he lifts you into a comfortable position and shoots into the sky.

After 2 centuries, 18 years, 4 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days, you finally going home.

[nahoney22]

Oneshot request. Fives with a female reader who's a wallflower that doesn't get noticed, and is kind of awkward and shy. Some dialogue prompts to go with it "Sarad, it means flower." and "You were the first person to notice me, really notice me." Can include some mild angst. SFW and no y/n please!

Let’s see what we can do nonny. Hope this was okay ♥️

After Hours

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Fives X F!Reader

word count: 3.1k

You would never believe that the only person to notice you, a shy and shielded worker, was an Arc Trooper who was as loud as anything but with a heart of liquid gold. Maybe he can make work-life just a little more bearable?

warnings: none. Fluff, mild angst. Reader is introverted and often feels isolated. Mentions of soup being a choking hazard. SFW and no mention of y/n. It’s a little rushed and not proofread towards the end.

Masterlist

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Being a part of the engineering squad for the GAR was always a dream of yours. Sure, it was not exactly highly paid nor was it extravagant in any way, (your family liked to remind you that you could be better off doing something else) but you take pride in your work.

After all, how often can you casually bring up in conversation that you just repaired a Republic Gunship in just a day?

So here you are at work again, a never ending cycle that despite the pride you have - it was hard. It wasn’t so hard in the fact that you didn’t know what you were doing because you did, but because you were too quiet for your own good.

It’s not like you could help it. As a young child you were always berated by your teachers for not talking in class yet always presenting excellent work. Yet there was that burden at work that you felt lonely. You would always drag yourself to sit alone at tables in the Mess Halls and instead of going out and schmoozing with your colleagues at the end of a long shift, you would retreat to your own barracks and settle yourself down for the night.

You were known and always given the gratification for your work from your leaders yet despite them knowing who you were, they did not know who you are.

Often when you worked you would be lost in your own thoughts. So when you were underneath an Eta-2 that belonged to the General of the 501st, you were none the wiser when you heard something being called out.

For a peculiar moment you thought nothing of it and that it was a Clone Commander calling out some kind of order you didn’t know. But as you feel something kick at your feet, you realise that it was your name being said. It felt very odd for someone, anyone to be saying it which was why you probably had such a delayed reaction.

You pull out from under the starfighter and flip your visor up to see a Clone peering over you, hands tucked behind their back. He wore the same colours as the 501st and judging by the kama and double pauldron you knew he was a Arc Trooper. “Uh, can I help you Trooper?”

You remain looking up at him and he suddenly stills as you speak. He came over to you for a reason and now suddenly everything he was going to say blew right into the air. He’s looking at you, eyes a little tense but there was something endearing to him about the splotches of oil on your face as you watch him with a curious gaze.

“No.”

Oh. You had thought that maybe he had to relay a message from General Skywalker about his ship but instead, this Clone, one you had not spoken to but at closer inspection had seen before was here for no reason.

You stay still on the Creeper, the board you used to easily navigate under ships or any other vehicle and awkwardly twist the screwdriver you had in your hand around. You were growing a little nervous and as you glanced just past his legs you saw two other clones standing by some crates, watching you both.

“Are you pranking me?”

Your words sounded a little sad and the Clone hated that. It sent a horrible panic through his body and he quickly shook his head and apologised. “N-no ma’am! I… I came over because I saw you on your own and was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the Mess Hall for something to eat?”

You blink up at him, dropping the screwdriver on your chest. Why was this happening? You two had never spoken and suddenly he wants to eat lunch with you? Unfortunately for you both, his niceness is not being taken into account and so you declined. You slipped the visor back down and slid back under the ship to continue the work.

He watches you practically slip away and he is half tempted to try and catch your attention but he knows better than to prod and poke.

You hear him retreat and you feel a heavy burden on your shoulders. Your mind is racing with what to do but when you had made your mind up to crawl back out and call out to him, he and his friends had disappeared.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

As the next few days dragged on, that wave of loneliness hit more than ever. You had not particularly noticed it before but ever since that Clone spoke to you, knew your name, and had even asked for your company it had been infesting in your mind like a bad smell.

Someone had actually made an effort with you and you threw it away. Quite rudely in fact. You didn’t give him a reason as to why you declined and you had that horrible feeling that a grudge was now being held on you.

For those few days, you had kept an eye out for the Arc Trooper. You wish you had learned of his name and even been brave enough to ask someone or anyone where he could be but instead you had to do the annoying task of just keeping an eye out. Supposedly you were grateful for the armour being more stand out as living on Kamino was quite difficult when it comes to hunting down Clones.

A klaxon blares out from within the landing docks which means that lunch will now be being served. You throw your oiled and singed rags away and make way quickly to one of the refreshers to wash your hands and face. You grimace at first at your disheveled state and begin to wash away the labours of that morning. You even went ahead and smoothed your hair out more than usual because you were hoping that you may see that Clone. But you had a feeling you had blown your chances of even having a friend… or someone.

Once in the Mess Hall you’re keeping an eye out but over the sea of white plastoid armour, you assumed that the 501st must have been deployed elsewhere. Your shoulders sag in disappointment and plop some greyish unappetising soup into a bowl for you.

You’re looking for somewhere to sit and you spot your fellow colleagues all sitting at a table together and there is plenty of room for you. You’re mind is screaming at you, begging that you walk over and ask to sit with them but your heart had a different idea as your legs carried you to a table on your own. The same sad table you sat at every day. Alone.

You curse at yourself for your shy and awkward self because you swore one of your colleagues had smiled at you, even shifting to the side as a prompt for you to sit by them. But, no.

Playing with your food was always a bad habit of yours and one your parents had told you off for. So with them in your mind, you take a spoonful of soup and place it in your mouth.

In the corner of your eye however, you see a blurred figure. As you turn your head, you eyes widen and ever so gracefully you begin to choke on your food.

The Clone from before stood before you, tray in hand whilst you began spluttering into a napkin.

“Kriff, you alright Sarad?” He comes over to you swiftly, placing a hand on your back and patting it. You’re nodding quickly, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you try your damndest not to cough. It was almost the same when you’re in an exam hall with a dry and tickling throat and you’re doing your best not to cough too much to draw attention.

“Y-yes, sorry.” You stutter once your airway is clear, hand on your chest in slight relief that you almost died to some dull tasting soup.

You quickly stand and the Clone thinks you’re about to make a run for it but you turn to him, hands crossed stiffly across your chest before saying, “I’m sorry about the other day.”

He’s surprised and it’s shown on his face but then he shows you the most handsome smile you had ever seen on a human before. You try to ignore that feeling that just erupted in your heart and focus on what he was saying to you.

“I see no need for the apologies but I am feeling brave today and I wanted to ask if I could instead sit with you? Rather than you sit with me?” He’s charming in the way he talks and it makes you feel warm. This time, you weren’t going to ruin your chances so you nodded, smiling softly.

“I’d like that.”

Judging by the smile that widened even more, he was relieved you had said yes and took a seat across from you and didn't take any interest in the food on his tray.

You realise that you’re stumped for any conversation starters but you were smart enough to know that you should perhaps ask his name.

“So uh, what’s your name?”

“Fives.” He sticks his hand out to you and although he sees the slight reluctance on your features, your hand glosses over his glove and gives it a gentle shake.

“I’d tell you mine but it looks like you already know.” You say, taking a sip of your water as your swore you still had something lodged in your throat. Or maybe it’s because you were struggling to talk to Fives.

He smirks with a nod. “I do. I asked around.” He said it so casually that it didn’t somewhat appear at all creepy.

You grow warm. “Can I ask why?” You ask sheepishly and watch as he leans forward, arms resting on the table.

His gaze is trained on you and it’s almost as if he’s reading you like some ancient text. He had seen you around before and of course, he was attracted. But he often saw how lonely you had looked. Fives was curious, curious to know who you really are.

“I want to know if you’ll let me sit with you?Myself and my brothers have often seen you alone.” He sees you frown a little but he knew that he was only speaking the truth.

“Nice to see my loneliness is obvious.” You mutter but you weren’t bitter at him because it was true.

Fives gives you a reassuring smile and he’s half tempted to reach out and give your hand a comforting squeeze but he refrains for now. “Well, I’m hoping to change that! Tell me something about yourself, Sarad?”

Sarad. You swore he said that to you before but you weren't so sure but you definitely heard it this time. You knew that he knew it wasn’t your name so it was obviously some kind of nickname. You were about to question him about it until that deafening klaxon rang out again.

“Maybe another time?” You look up to him, seeing that he had small disappointment on his features that the conversation had to be cut short and it made you feel good. Like, really good. Someone disappointed to not speak to you?

You don’t realise you were staring until you felt something tapping at your foot. Your cheeks burn all the way up to the tips of your ear as you realise it was him gently prodding at your feet under the table like a pair of young teenagers. “Y-yeah, of course.”

Fives watches you leave, bidding you goodbye and once out of eyeline he silently fist bumps the air in celebration.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Since then, you have seen Fives more often than not. He always had something to say whether it be about the weather here on Kamino which is typically always the same or even about his knowledge on starfighters.

You always found yourself laughing at something he would say, blush when he would pay you such a casual compliment that he thinks wasn’t a big deal. Ever since, you have really come out of your shell. Conversations breezed easily with him but then realisation of possibly liking him scared you.

And he liked you too, a lot.

He was a Clone, a man made for a war you are currently fighting in. It couldn’t work and it pained you. Soon, he will have to go and you will never know when you will see him again. Over the last few days he’s been a safe space for you. Work has been tough? He would listen. You just wanted someone to sit with? He would be by your side. And now he could leave any second. You were scared to be by yourself again and before you could hurt yourself anymore, you had to make a drastic choice.

So, you did the foolish thing of distancing yourself again.

He noticed in an instant when you would make an excuse to go elsewhere and he would follow you like a lost loth-cat, asking what he did wrong. Of course you would say nothing and that you were just busy with work but he had his doubts.

He knows you’re working late tonight as you did every night but after the gruelling two days of missing you he had to get you alone again. So he waited and waited until he finally saw you packing up your things. It’s after hours and all Clones have a curfew but he did not give a single Kriff if he got into trouble. He could leave soon and he had to know if he pushed things too far or made you uncomfortable.

You dust your hands off your pants and wipe the sweat off your brow when you turn to see Fives.

Stilling, your eyes widen when you see him just in his Blacks. He’s toned, clearly, and absolutely beautiful in the dark moonlight of the hangar with the occasional flash of lighting piercing his silhouette. “Can we talk?”

He’s walking to you when he sees you chew on your lower lip, an anxious wave flowing through your blood. “You shouldn’t be here, you could get in trouble.” You try to speak as normally as you can but the waver in your tone blows your cover.

“Screw getting in trouble. I don’t care. I had to see you, sweetheart.” He ignores your way of trying to brush him away. As his body was getting closer and closer and with the nickname he gave you, you tried to hide your face by looking down and hoping your hair would cover how warm you suddenly got.

He stops in front of you, arms folded over his chest and it took all your willpower not to gaze at his arms. If it wasn’t his charm that had you hooked, lined and sinker then his physique was no better. “Are you ignoring me? Have I upset you?”

You take a moment to collect yourself and take a deep breath. Wearing your heart on your sleeve was something you never had to worry about until now. He came along and made you feel every emotion you had not felt in the year you had worked for the Republic. Now is the time to pluck up your courage and speak your mind freely. “No Fives, you haven’t upset me. Quite the opposite.”

His face twists in confusion but ushers you gently to continue.

With enough built up courage, you take a deep breath. “I really, really like you and it scares me.”

Fives eyes widened in pure joy for a mere second but then vanished soon after. “Scared? Why, Sarad?” He takes a step closer, his hands coming up and placing delicately on either side of your arms so your attention is trained on him.

“I’ve never,” you sigh glumly, feeling like a fool for what you’re about to admit, “I’ve never been this close to anyone who isn’t family. I know you’re a Clone and connections like this are not allowed which is why I had to distance myself. I could not cope with the idea of me liking you for it to just go nowhere, y’know?”

The Clone watches you intently as you talk, his fingers ever so gently caressing over your arms but you weren’t finished, “You were the first person to notice me, really notice me. And now you could leave in the next few hours and I could be none the wiser. I’m used to being on my own but since you’ve come into my life I’m so scared that this courage you’ve built in me like a building will just be knocked down.”

By now you’re crying and you don’t care. People didn’t understand what it’s like to hug walls and watch everyone talk with each other apart from you. It was hard for you to engage in conversations in fear of saying something awkward and embarrassing so you avoided it. You hated the feeling of going back to that. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

He’s closed you in against the ship you were working on, head tilted and eyes glazed with something you hadn’t seen before. “Oh princess, you don’t know how much I like you do you?”

You’re a little surprised by both the nickname and confession but mainly the confession. “You do?”

“Of course! I don’t start trying to make conversations with people I don’t like, do I? I wanted to learn so much from you and to just adore you and I have… I do.” He admits and he’s proud to admit it.

“I’ve seen your confidence grow and it’ll never leave you now. I’ve seen you even speak to your colleagues now! It’s little but it’s something.” He sighs in happiness, cupping your cheek with his right hand whilst the other settles down to your waist. “I don’t care what the Republic says about us. I want you, Sarad.” He whispered and his face is so close to yours you can feel him breathing. Warm and beautiful.

You gave in and had to ask, “What does Sarad even mean?” You say sniffling yet you were smiling.

“Sarad,” he says softly, “it means flower.”

Then he’s kissing you.

His lips are like silk and his hold on you is so gentle yet so firm that you could faint in his arms and he’d catch you in an instant. The moan that escapes you is surprising yet also welcomed as you find yourself kissing him back, fingers twirling the hairs at the back of his head.

There was something so alluring about kissing the Arc Trooper in the currently abandoned Hangar, after hours in the full moon light. Rain was pittering and pattering against the ground that drowned out the breathless sighs that echoed around you both.

When he pulls back, you’re both grinning as he takes your face into his grasp and places a kiss to the tip of your nose, “Sarad, my little wallflower.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Masterlist

tags: @padawancat97 @twistedstitcher27 @teletraan-meets-jarvis @jennamelinda12 @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka a @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @adriiibell @theroguesully @equalityforcats s @rexandechosandwich @mustluvecho @inagalaxywickedfahaway @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @sadspring @chxpsi @alexandrisonfire @arctrooper69 @salaminus s @by-the-primes @torchbearerkyle @tech-aficionado @in-the-crosshairs @therealnekomari @a-c-lee @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @mylifeinthetardisforever r @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @lucyysthings @fiveshelmet @buddee @s1st3r

[deandoesthingstome]

Welcoming Committee - Part 12

Pairing: Captain Syverson X Reader/OFC (Drea); August Walker x OFC (Genevieve/Neve); Captain Syverson x OFC (Genevieve/Neve); August Walker x Reader/OFC (Drea)

Word count: 971

Series Summary: You and Sy have been together for three years, but you still like to mix it up. The new neighbors down the street give you a chance to do just that.

Masterlist for series warnings. Heads up: this is 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings: p in a straddled reverse cowgirl, oral f receiving, mention of m masturbation, surprise!

August kept me spread wide for Neve and continued to thrust up into my ass. I was past the point of any resistance, not that I was interested in preventing any pleasure about to overtake me, but at one time I might have subconsciously thought I could delay the gratification by tensing against his push and her pull.

I dared one more glance at Sy, wide-legged and enraptured on his private island across the room and I knew exactly what he was thinking about. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd have me locked down on our own bed and he'd be describing to me exactly what he was seeing right now. And he'd tell me how he would never forget the night so early on in our courtship when I'd grabbed his neck and pulled his ear close as he was absolutely railing me into the bed and I'd whispered in his ear to tell him how hot I thought it would be if he was instead sitting in a chair across from the bed watching someone else fuck me into the mattress. The way he groaned back at me, whipped his head to capture my lips with the scorching hot kisses I'd come to crave, and began to fuck me harder and deeper than I ever thought imaginable. That was the moment I fell for him completely and he said the same the next morning when we rehashed the night.

We spent the next few days laying ground rules, sharing fantasies, admitting desires, and promising each other forever. Our friends were only mildly shocked when we announced we'd done more than gamble on our impromptu Vegas trip the following month. Neither of us needed or cared for the trappings of a traditional wedding, or marriage for that matter. As evidenced by the way Sy sat perfectly content, stroking his giant cock with a look of sheer adoration as his friend impaled me over and over on his dick and his friend's wife licked, sucked, and fingered me to within an inch of the most intense orgasm I'd felt in a good, long while. Sy knew I needed this.

It wouldn't take much longer. Neve had taken August's lead and was now alternating her soothing licks and nips with sharp taps from her fingers and my pussy was pulsing with a tightness that could only mean one thing.

"Fuck, Neve," I whimpered. "So fucking good. Please, Sir. Will you let her let me come?"

August growled in my ear, the roar pairing nicely with the increased speed of his hips and though I couldn't see it, I could tell he was nodding down to her because her eyes darkened with intent as she slipped two fingers back inside me and circled her thumb across my clit. I could feel her press the backs of her fingers against August as he slid up and down inside me and then she pulled forward and focused all her attention at the soft, spongy bundle of nerves that was about to explode.

I lost sight of Sy and I could no longer hear him praise me from across the room. The blood rushing in my ears and the blinding lights exploding behind my eyes as the release inched closer shrouded me in a floating haze of impending bliss. When Neve finally flicked her fingers free and rubbed my clit and pussy lips hard, I let loose with a wail I don't think anyone in the room expected.

Neve smiled wide with pride and opened her mouth to receive the gush she and August had coaxed from me. It was short-lived, but she clearly wanted more and I knew I had it in me.

"Again. Do it again, Neve. Please!" I begged and she complied, alternating the press of her fingers and thumb and tongue in the secret code she'd so adeptly discovered before drawing her hand back to give a few sharp slaps and a final rub to release another gush and wave of vibration.

August gave a final thrust before he jammed his hips against mine and stayed connected, pelvis to ass as he pumped his load into the condom. I wished I could feel his hot seed dripping from me, but the extra swell of his throbbing member was still enough to send a last shockwave through me leading to one last gush of clear, sweet liquid for Neve to lap up.

When she was done licking me clean with a few gentle nips for good measure, she stood and helped August ease me off his cock. I collapsed onto the couch, drawing Neve close with me as we tangled our legs and intertwined our arms and relaxed into a heaving mess of cuddle.

"You good?" August leaned over to ask with a gentle whisper and a soft caress to my cheek, no longer playing Sir with me. When I nodded assent, he told me "Good girl. Stay right here and we'll get you cleaned up."

I couldn't really say how long he was gone, but a glass of water was eventually pressed to my lips and I felt the soothe of a wet, warm towel drawing soft across the pleasant ache between my thighs. Neve still cooed sweet nothings in my ear and I had a vague notion that I'd like to ask Sy if he and August could agree to let her and me have something private, just the two of us, sometime. Maybe often.

I had only ever felt so safe in the warm embrace of one other person, and right now that person was making his way over to our couch to slip in behind me and tell me how he was gonna have a hard time waiting till tomorrow night to relive the memory of this one.

[transmutationisms]

i just read Against Exercise. i wanted to ask what you make of this sentence and the wider paradigm he gestures at occasionally in the essay:

Upon the desperate materialist gratifications of a hedonic society, commanding immediate comfort and happiness, we engraft the desperate economics of health, and chase a longer span of happinesses deferred, and comforts delayed, by disposing of the better portion of our lives in life preservation.

do we live in a ‘hedonic’ society? and does that framing shape his conclusions on in ur opinion? i have my own thoughts but am interested in yours x

ok i'm glad you asked because i find this sentence and this paradigm very irritating lol. i don't think he's the only left-ish thinker who's acceded to this type of framing (like i've complained about mark fisher pulling a similar move) but with greif there's a particular irksomeness to it because, even in the sentence you've quoted, we can see in the latter half how he contradicts his own idea of a "hedonic society"! if his thesis here is something like "the dominant cultural paradigm encourages instant gratification and hedonism, and the exerciser defies this edict by deferring their happiness and sweating it out at the gym instead" then, like, the obvious question here is, where does the impulse of the exerciser come from? does greif actually think the pursuit of fitness and longevity by physical exertion is some kind of counter-cultural move that reacts against, without acceding to, the demands of a "hedonic society"? if he does then it kind of undercuts the significance of the entire rest of the essay, lmao.

my personal answer here would be—and this is something greif dances around a few times but doesn't ever seem prepared to fully unpack—that the demand to have a fit and 'healthy' and long-lasting body is not at all contradictory to the demand to consume goods, and that this latter is more precisely what is meant by "hedonism" here if we are to use it in any useful sense. i think what greif is actually pointing to is the demand to shape oneself into, simultaneously, a valuable worker and an obedient consumer. in an immediate sense these two goals demand different things (say, 'going for a run' vs 'buying products') but on a more thorough analysis we can easily see how they arise from the same fundamental logic of profit-seeking. body fascism has never been just an aesthetic; what it promises to the state and the corporation is a population that is biologically managed and economically exploitable. i think this is true even in an imperialist economy like the united states that doesn't run primarily on production/export.

i don't know a ton about mark greif biographically but my impression is that he's kind of half-left at best, lol. certainly he's like, curmudgeonly in a way that is sometimes useful to mine (ruthless criticism of all that exists, &c) but i think in this essay and others we can clearly see how easily that attitude can slide into just a vaguely reactionary position when it lacks materialist analysis. like, frankly i think if we lived in a social context that actually had a commitment to ensuring hedonic pleasure that would probably be a better world. it's kind of similar to when lib-left types try to claim that we live in a world that has any serious degree of commitment to "the individual" when what they actually, usually mean is that we've been massified in a way that denies us social connection and material support from one another.

anyway: 'against exercise' was very mind-blowing to me when i first read it and i love to see someone staking out that position seriously; and there are elements of greif's analysis i think can be useful in an actually communist analysis. but i find a lot of cultural criticism (specifically that positions itself as counter-cultural without being explicitly communist) has a risk of just sliding reactionary, and i think this half-baked idea of a "hedonic society" is an example of that happening. curious what you think though!

[thecameronchronicles]

Anything For You

TW: Threesome. Smut. Language. Kidnapping.

SUMMARY: Rafe kidnaps JJ to fulfil one of your fantasies. 

Rafe would do absolutely anything for you and you knew it. Embarrassment or wrath left behind him, the smile on your face or the way you chose to show your gratitude was enough to risk anything and everything for. But this would be shown in excess tonight.

WORD COUNT: 2100

REQUESTED FROM WATTPAD

tvish_tpwk

heyy, would you ever consider writing a threesome story including rafe and jj

Anything For You

“A door?” You teased, turning back to Rafe as he’d just removed the blindfold he’d set across your eyes for the last half hour. A master of suspense of sorts as he favored tormenting you into delayed gratification, he would prompt an expressionless redirection of focus before opening the door before you. Set in an office chair, bound to the arms, and cursing every expletive under the sun, had been a familiar blonde-haired pogue who always made you curious to know his touch. 

You loved Rafe, but you couldn’t deny how JJ Maybank made your panties wet without much more than that smirk, a smirk you wanted to ride into a new orgasm. 

“I have one stipulation.” He added, catching your arm, as you’d made your way over to the bound surfer rat. 

“You can come as many times as you want…but he doesn’t get to.”

You nodded, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet, before moving towards your ‘gift’. Your fingers were careful to pull the blindfold off of his eyes as it took the blue irises a moment to adjust before narrowing to you. 

“What the fuck is going on-” When his eyes focused on Rafe, he spat his familiar expletives that had your boyfriend clenching his fists and jaw, before you made your intentions known. 

“Rafe is letting me play with you…” You explained as his eyes sharpened. JJ wasn’t blind. You were Rafe’s girl. Rafe’s sexy, bold, and reckless girl. But still Rafe’s girl. For that, he wasn’t stupid enough to look at you, let alone touch you. Not that he had much of a choice as he was kept in place by the binds forced by your boyfriend. 

“I’ve always been curious, JJ…” Your fingers were at his belt, forcing him from his restraints as he cursed and clenched before feeling his cock wrapped by your small but endearing motions. 

“Now Rafe is letting me play with you, only if you don’t come…and I don’t want to disobey him…we both know how he can get…” Rafe rolled his eyes as you would look back at him with a smirk, all while pumping JJ. 

“Fuck…” JJ groaned, your thumb brushing over his cock’s head and taking the precum to your lips. 

“He’s so good, Rafe…But I want both of you.” Rafe and JJ both looked at each other with hatred, but mutual lust for you.

“I said, both.” JJ smirked at how Rafe obeyed, moving to your side as he dismantled his jeans and brought his cock to view. The grin was from the way you had both of them wrapped around your fingers without much more than a gaze from lustful eyes and simple commands they never believed they would acquiesce to in any circumstances. But never before had either of them known a girl like you. 

You took Rafe in your mouth, giving him the commitment a boyfriend deserved, especially one who went to lengths such as him. But the way you held JJ in your grasp with fervent focus was enough to nearly accommodate the divided focus. Your ambition continued as both men found pleasure at your guidance, leaving you to grin while biting your bottom lip in a break for breath, at the idea of such power held by their submission. 

“Shit…” Rafe breathed as JJ groaned, your body needy for some form of gratification for yourself. 

“I know you’re both selfish, but are either of you even going to try to offer to take care of me?” You teased as they both went to speak, JJ’s motions actually forcing the chair into motion, as you were piqued by his desperation. 

“Since I already know how good you give it to me, baby…I want to feel how he does…”

“If he comes-” Rafe warned you as you kissed your boyfriend for validation as JJ felt torn between his already fragile morality as he watched the girl who was about to ride his cock now kiss someone else-and not just someone else…a nemesis to his own breed of poverty. But the way you sauntered to him left any reservation at bay while you sunk yourself onto him without anything more than a second’s preparation. 

“Oh my God!” You breathed, his foreign stretch making you wince as Rafe’s eyes narrowed to you. 

“He better?” Rafe spat with a scoff as you shook your head ‘no’, aware that nobody could compare to Rafe, but JJ was certainly some competition. Even if JJ was bigger, you’d never tell Rafe as you knew it would keep you from getting what you wanted, so you kept your eyes to Rafe while you rode the cock of his enemy, 

“Fuck!”

“I mean it, Maybank, you fucking come and I”ll…I’ll hurt Kie-yeah, yeah, yeah…I’ll hurt Kie…”

He clenched his jaw to repress the need to oppose while you diverted your focus from your boyfriend long enough to adore JJ’s straining. 

“I thought you’d be able to take a bit more…Kinda disappointed-”

“Untie my fucking hands then and I’ll show you just how much I can take.” He spat behind clenched teeth. 

“Would you, baby?” You looked at Rafe. “Please?” He let out a sigh. “I’ll give you some attention, I promise.” He nodded and moved behind JJ, unlatching only one of his hands. 

“I don’t trust you, pogue..this is the best you’ll get…Make her happy or I’ll break every finger.”

“Not until I know how they feel-” JJ forced you to kiss him, making Rafe’s jaw clench enough to rattle his teeth into a break, but your eyes flashing back to him in a silent promise was enough to keep him from acting out. 

“Untie him, baby…I’m gonna take both of you…” You withdrew from JJ, making him gasp for the sudden absence of your walls keeping his cock warm, as Rafe cut JJ’s other hand free with the pocket knife he held as a warning to the pogue, before both men followed you like mindless slaves. 

“Come here…” You invited them both on the bed. 

“Don’t you think it’s time you two got along?” They looked at each other before JJ glared.

“I’m not touching him, no matter how badly I need to-” His words were interrupted by your hand to his cock.

“No. I want your attention on me. But I don’t want to worry about one of you strangling the other while I’m in the middle of coming from one of you. So you make nice or neither of you get to come. Is it worth the feud?” You now took Rafe in your other hand, prompting him to consider your words. 

“Tell me what I want to hear, boys…”

“Fine-”

“Yeah…” Rafe groaned following JJ’s ill-timed agreement prior to his own. 

“Good…Now, take me how I like it baby…and watch me not let him come…” You angled your ass to the other side of the bed as Rafe was quick to oblige, lifting your hips at the same level of his own while you took JJ back into your mouth, your hands reliant on the bed at his side. 

“Don’t come.” You warned before he would be allowed the mercy of your mouth while you moaned against him, vibrations making his eyes roll while Rafe battered into you. 

“I want to touch you-” JJ groaned. “Need to-”

“Can he?” You turned back to Rafe, watching his teeth tighten as it was clear that any action not focusing on him was one that would take convincing. For that, you rolled your hips for him as his brought him into a nod. 

“Touch me, JJ…” You felt his hands reach to your naked breasts, made that way just prior to his actions, as he breathed deeply. 

“I’m gonna come, baby-” Rafe warned, your moans having been his focus. 

“On my back. Put me on my back.” You retracted from JJ as Rafe spun you onto your back and sheathed into you once again. For a moment, you left JJ in abandon as he clenched his teeth at the sight of your eyes finding him beneath your orgasmic expressions. 

“You want to fuck me, JJ?”

“Not a chance!” Rafe clenched. 

“Baby…” You warned your boyfriend, making him aware you held the power even if he could have easily bent you to his will. 

“Please…It might make me squirt…” You spoke prior to pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as JJ cursed at the thought. 

“He doesn’t get to come inside you…got me?” You nodded as Rafe moved from you. 

“What are you waiting for….pogue?” You teased JJ as he turned you to face him. As badly as he wanted to thrust into you and risk Rafe’s wrath by filling you to the brim with the cum you endorsed, he was more eager to know you could make his enemy’s girlfriend feel pleasure. For that, he wanted to witness your expressions, every oval made of your lips, and every chill of your skin from him. But the need to prove something to Rafe lifted his narrowed gaze to him, setting you to redirect his focus. 

“You want to fuck him, I’d let it happen.” JJ’s face twisted in disapproval of your comment, “Then focus on ME.” He quickened his pulses as you looked at Rafe. 

“That what you want, hm?”

“Rafe? RAFE!” JJ groaned at the lack of his name from your lips, but the way you clenched around him was enough to distract him. 

“I want to watch you come…I never get to…Please..”

He hesitated, glaring at JJ. 

“I can’t until you do…and I need to, Rafe…please…” You bit your bottom lip. 

“Fuck…” He groaned, beginning to stroke himself as you motioned him closer. By some perfectly timed precision, both men were brimming to their release rather quickly, warning you of this as you took JJ from between your legs, both of them now being pumped into your hand and towards your chest. 

“I’m gonna fucking come right now!” Rafe warned as JJ grunted. 

“I can’t hold it!” JJ warned. 

“Come. Both of you…RIGHT NOW!” You demanded as they buckled, spurts of cum coating your chest and down your breasts as you used your dominant hand to mix it together before bringing it to your lps. 

“Even better together.” You smirked, “So who’s gonna make me come now?” As if orchestrated to do just this, JJ moved to your clit with his fingers as Rafe had you pulled over his shoulders. 

“You both take such good care of me…” JJ and Rafe couldn’t fight a smirk when looking at each other through this, “Isn’t it better to work together? For me?”

“For you…” JJ answered for Rafe as his tongue was busy at sex, extended inside of you as he sucked viciously to swallow your coming release. 

“I’m so close!”

“Come for Rafe, sweetheart…I want you to drown him for me, okay?” Rafe glared towards JJ, who was beaming, while your breasts were fondled by someone who wasn’t him. Meanwhile, you basked being fought over as you climbed closer and closer to that high. 

“I could come all over you again, princess…coat every inch of you, so fucking sexy covered in me-”

“US-” Rafe corrected with a growl. 

“Sorry. Us.” JJ rolled his eyes as you brought your cum stained fingers to JJ’s mouth. He sucked them clean, focusing on your taste and not that of his own or Rafe’s, as your face contorted for him. 

“Gonna come?” He asked as you nodded, Rafe pulling himself even deeper into you, ditching his tongue when you began to shake, and instead using two fingers spread to your g-spot. 

“I think we deserve to know…” Rafe nodded, actually agreeing with JJ as you couldn’t help but illuminate at how you brought the enemies together with teh power of your sex. 

“I’m gonna come!”

“Now?” Rafe teased. 

“RIGHT NOW! OH MY GOD! FUCK!” 

“God, she sounds so pretty, so desperate…no wonder you’d even let her fuck me to make her happy…” JJ teased Rafe, who smirked. As this was the truth, Rafe would do anything for you to make you happy. Even if it meant watching you fuck a pogue…

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