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gojonanami · 8 months

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❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞

❝ BEING PROF. GETO'S T.A. IS SO HARD BECAUSE HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

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

✧ summary: you're now professor geto's t.a. for the semester, forced to spend time with the man that you so desperately want, either of you barely able to hold back when you're around the other, so what happens when you're forced to go to a conference with him...and there's only one bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, so much mutual pining, bed sharing, cuddling, masturbation (f + m), oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), semi public sex (sorta), office sex (kinda), amateur's take on moral philosophy and ethics, art by @/nino84391425

✧ wc: 16,821 (apparently i am writing a novel lol) | part one | part three | part four

“On time for once?” Professor Suguru Geto remarks without looking up from his notes on the podium, even as your footsteps echo in the empty lecture hall, “color me surprised,”

“Couldn’t be late on my first day as a teacher’s assistant, now could I?” and his lips curl in that damnable smile, as he finally glances up from his notes to see you looking far too gorgeous in his button up — one you had oh so generously relieved him of last night, pilfered away in your bag seemingly.

“But you could be late on your first day as a student?” and you lick your lips, as you draw closer to him, “seems like you’re quite the hypocrite, not very ethical,”

“Don’t think what we did last night was very ethical either,” you murmur, enjoying the way his dark eyes glaze over for a moment with the thoughts what you both did — the places touched, the moans heard, and the pleasure had — “plus, I definitely have an incentive to be on time now,” your fingers graze his, and why does his touch always feel like coming home.

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand against your cheek.

“Your gorgeous face,” you smile, leaning close as your lips brush, “and some stolen kisses before class,”

“And what makes you think you’ve earned them, my favorite student?” He teases, as his fingers slide to the back of your neck, and his other hand snakes around your waist, tugging you close.

“Oh, I have a few ways to earn them, Professor,” your fingers drag down his chest, “but I don’t know if we have the time before class to—“

And his lips find yours — needy and bruising, as your fingers clutch at his shirt, the pressed fabric now definitely creased under your touch, “we’ll make time,” he murmurs, as he leans back to drag his thumb down your plush lips, “I still have many things to teach you, and what time is there like the present?”

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips—

RING. RING. RING.

Your eyes snap open, a groan crawls its way out of your throat, as you fumble for your phone to silence the dreaded ringing. You lie back on your bed, a distinct ache between your legs that makes you squirm, and only want to bury yourself back into your bed and possibly the reality that existed within only your dreams.

But this was sadly reality, and you had about two hours before your first class as a teacher’s assistant for Professor Suguru Geto’s ethics and moral philosophy class. And two hours before you would see Professor Geto for the first time since you had made out.

You turn over, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if you tried hard enough, if you could suffocate yourself before then.

Probably not. That would be far too lucky.

~~~

Professor Suguru Geto couldn’t sleep — instead he spent his time staring at his ceiling, the blades of his fans spinning above him, just like his mind was — in circles. It was as if he almost didn’t want to risk his dreams taunting him, it was the same reason he had buried himself in research over the semester break, the same reason he had put off emailing you the materials for the semester, and the same reason he hadn’t seen you since that day you had kissed.

It was too much of a risk.

You were risk personified, even for a risk averse theologian he liked to think himself as. But you were the thing of myths, the dangled food for Tantalus, the far too warm sun for Icarus, and the promise of gold for King Midas. But you were not a myth — you were real, his student made of flesh and bone, the same flesh he had pressed into his desk just a few short weeks ago, his legs parting your thighs, his fingers itching to rip your pantyhose off your legs—

He sighed, this wasn’t helping — his bedside clock blinked back at him mockingly — he only had a few hours before his first class. He should try to sleep even a little. So he did, shutting his eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t dream of you.

But he couldn’t possibly be that lucky.

How many times have you stood in front of this office door? Your Professor, to which this office belongs, would joke that it was far too many to count — and you’d be better speculating how many times that Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the same hill. But the last time you had been in it was the thing that made you hesitate now.

But that was your entire relationship wasn’t it? A game of chicken, wondering who would hesitate first — and neither of you were the type to hold back. Except when it came to this — except when it came to your feelings for the other.

You shake your head, trying to shake your anxious thoughts free of their eternal bounce around your skull, and grit your teeth before finally knocking.

“I’m actually right here,” a voice behind you says, making you jump, as you whip around, nearly pressed against his office door. And now you stood face to face with the man who owned it.

And how was it that every time you saw him, he was achingly more perfect than the time before? His ebony hair was half down, black locks brushing against his shoulders, the rest tied up in a neat bun. A crisp white button up underneath a neutral toned knit sweater vest, the shirt very much like the one you had stolen in your dream.

Perfect.

“Professor Geto,” you offer a small smile, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, instead of drifting over his form, “it’s good to see you,”

“It’s good to see you as well, and so prompt,” he says, brushing past you to unlock his office, “made a habit of being on time these days?”

“Well, when your professor reprimands you in front of the entire class, you try to make a habit of being on time,” why did it feel like your dream was repeating yet again? It’s not as if your relationship with him wasn’t cyclical enough — life imitating dreams was almost far too much. He opens the door for you, letting you enter first, before he follows you in, “and aren’t you the late one this time?”

His lips quirk, as he rounds his desk, and takes a seat, “You really can’t make it a conversation with me without giving me shit, huh?”

“Language,” you chide, as you sit across from him, “not very appropriate for an academic setting,” and you have to bite back the want to say that you’ve done plenty of inappropriate things in this office the last time you both were here.

“Well, our track record isn’t known for being very appropriate, now is it?” Or maybe you didn’t need to say it, because the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. But that didn’t mean either of you would act on it. He licked his lips, mouth parted to say something, his gaze heavy.

And the moment is broken when his email goes off — you squeeze your bag a little tighter, as you busy yourself with digging through your bag for the materials to go over. That sound was nearly traumatizing in this office, not only did it usually signal the start of some assignment you had to trudge your way through — it also was the sound that had ended your relationship before it even really began.

“Class starts in an hour, so I thought we could have this meeting just to review the syllabus and see if you have any questions — as well as just overall any questions you had about being a T.A.,” he explains, pressing his pen to his lips, “I understand this is your first time being a T.A.?”

“It is, I hadn’t really considered it until the department head approached me about that,” and he nods, a flash of emotion that surfaces for only a moment before dissipating, “what will my responsibilities be?”

“Good question,” a smile pulls the corners of his lips, “obviously, as a T.A., you will have office hours that you can decide with your own discretion—”

“So it’s okay if I have them once a month at 3:00 AM?” and he rolls his eyes as you bite your lip at the sight — why was everything he did so effortlessly attractive?

Fucking unfair.

“Witching hour, how apt,” he murmurs, as he tilts his head, “but they should be weekly, as I’m sure you know, and held not in the middle of the night, when nights should be used for other things,” and you have to bite back your reply, like what?

And then he continues to explain, “You can also help with some grading — mostly entering grades online for me since you know I love to handgrade,”

“Oh yes, truly enjoyed having my self-esteem cut to shreds after receiving a paper back,” you scribbled notes down in your notebook, “glad I won’t be on the receiving end this time,”

“If you’re good, that is,” and you knew it slipped from his lips — from the way his lips parted, the way his body froze for half a second as if he had shocked himself — and he had, because the spark between you two remained, a weed stubbornly cracking through concrete, “sorry—’

“You don’t have apologize,” you shake your head, waving him off, “it’s really fine,”

“It’s not,” he said softly, placing the syllabus down on the desk, “I know we agreed to keep our relationship professional,”

“We did,” Yes, you both did — sort of.

“And I want us to do that—”

And you ask the question you weren’t brave enough to ask the last time you two had seen each other, “Why is that again?”

When the email had come, it was as if a spell had broken — the rosy colored lenses had come off, only to leave the hard glare of reality behind. Your limbs still entangled while you both reread the email off of his screen — as if it would say something different the millionth time over.

It didn’t.

And then the awkward clamor of disengaging, slow limbs pulling apart, as the warmth of his embrace left as quickly as it had come. Silence as the two of you let the news settle in, like a noose tightening around your necks, and you slowly slid off his desk.

“If I’m your T.A.,” you had said slowly, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “we can’t do this, can we?” and he had only nodded, his gaze unable meet yours, fixed to the rug on the floor of his office, and he could only muster two words as you brushed past him and gathered your things—

“I’m sorry.”

But even so, you couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea? Why was it so wrong for the two of you to do this? What difference did it make that you were his T.A.? It was still against the rules either way — it was still unethical either way — so why, why did it matter?

But he knew why, from the way his brow creased with lines and his lips pursed and the way his eyes yet again couldn’t quite reach yours — as if you’d spot something in them that he didn’t want to see.

“Because we’re going to working together all semester long, with students in class who will see us each week,” he licked his lips, leaning back in his chair, “because it was already problematic if we saw each other without any classes or connection, but now — if you’re my T.A. and my girlfriend, how would I even properly supervise you?” and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he blows air through his teeth, before his voice grows softer, “how would I focus on guiding you and our students if I’m too busy gazing into your eyes or staring at your lips or wanting to—” he cuts himself off, “you know it’s not a good idea, most of our students probably wouldn’t notice, but rumors spread and it takes one good rumor to ruin your career,” and he adds, “with how things work, you don’t need me to tell you why it would be worse for you than me, even if I tried to take responsibility,”

And you did know, knew very well that rumors got out that the two of you were together that nothing would happen to his reputation — perhaps he would be scrutinized a bit more, some judgment and side-eye from other professors and higher ups, but he wouldn’t get vilified like you would. Called a slut or a whore — and those would be some of the kinder names you’d be called, and you can’t imagine what it would do for your career, especially if you stay in academia. And then the rumors would fester and grow, more wondering where your grades came from — whether you had obtained them through honeyed words whispered over pillows and rumpled sheets instead through late nights spent at your desk and weekends practically living at the library.

“I do know,” you said quietly. But it didn’t mean you wanted to do it anymore than you had that day. A part of you wished he had stopped you when you had turned to leave his office, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his arms—but this was hardly a romance novel, “and you’re right,”

He still has his gaze fixed anywhere but your face, settling his syllabus on his desk now, the silence familiarly filling the room yet again, muscles tense if your body didn’t know whether to flee or to draw closer.

So you did neither, and instead broke the silence.

“So would T.A.-ing provide an opportunity for me to teach the class?” and he blinks, eyes snapping up now, as a glimpse of sadness slips away behind his now thoughtful expression.

“Would you want to do that? I don’t know if I could allow you to lead an entire class, only because some students may take some issue with another grad student teaching them—”

“I don’t blame them with the tuition costs,” you mutter, and he nods, “don’t nod, it’s your salary I’m paying for,”

He laughs, a noise you wished you could bottle because you knew it’d be the same as bottling happiness, “Well worth your money after how much your writing and understanding of moral philosophy and ethics has improved,” and you roll your eyes.

“I see your ego is the same as ever,” and his lips curl, as he crosses his legs, and you fight the cruel temptation of your gaze flickering a little downward.

“Well, Kant did say an ego is necessary to understand the world meaningfully and therefore act in a moral way,” you tilt your head, being defensive with philosophy? That was a new one.

But you weren’t one to let things go — as he very well knew.

“And he also said that an ego can lead you astray from living a moral life if we become too self absorbed,” and he raises an eyebrow.

“Are you calling me self absorbed?”

You bite back a laugh, “Well, you are certainly self interested,” and you gesture around his office, “look at this office,”

“What about my office?” he gapes at you, and you snort, you’ve seemingly struck a nerve by how wide his jaw dropped.

“It’s a little…pretentious,” and dare you say it, your professor had a touch of pink painted across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears,

God he’s even pretty when he blushes.

“I’m just teasing Professor,” and then you add, “it’s one of my more tedious qualities,”

And he blinks, before his lips curl in the smile you never tired of seeing, “not tedious, more irritating,”

You chuckle, before trying to get back on topic, “So you think you could work out me teaching a part of the class?”

And he nods, “Let me discuss it with the department head — it should be fine,”

“Do I have any other responsibilities?”

“If it doesn’t conflict with your schedule, you can also attend some classes, students can stay after and ask you questions as well,” and you nod, looking over his class times in the syllabus.

“I can make the Tuesday one,” and he makes a note, as you rise, “we should go. Don’t want to be late for the first class now do we?”

And he smiles the same damnable smile, “That would be a terrible first impression,” and his shoulder brushes yours as he opens his office door for you, “after you,”

God, you thought as you stepped past him, the warmth from the brush of his body still there, this was going to be a long semester.

If there was one thing you had learned from being a teacher’s assistant for Professor Geto’s class, it was that the students were even more desperate for your professor’s attention than you had thought. You thought your introduction had went relatively well — besides the pointed glares of several….enthusiastic students.

After his detailed overview of the class, he reaches the resources section of the course syllabus, “Now, I am available at my listed office hours, in which you can make an appointment online. There’s also tutoring services through the university listed as well. And lastly, we have a T.A. for this class, for the very first time,” and he smiles, “Class, please meet your T.A. for this semester,” Professor Geto says your name and gestures to you, sat up in the corner of the lecture hall, and you stand, waving, “your T.A. took this very class last semester and showed great grit and dedication in the class assignments,” you have to stop yourself from shooting him a look, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips, “She is also a philosophy student, so please, feel free to reach out to her,”

“Thank you Professor Geto for that…generous introduction,” your pause was slight enough that he caught it, a smile tucked behind an all too fake cough, “I really look forward to working with you all — this class truly had a great impact on my perspective about the world,” and you catch a flicker of an emotion ripple across his face out of the corner of your eye, “my office hours will be posted soon, and I hope we can get to know each other well over the course of this semester.”

You sit as the students cast their gaze forward again, and the class continues on as usual. You make use of your time by reading for some of your other classes, until class was over.

And that’s when you really learned something. As requested, you joined Professor Geto at the bottom of the lecture hall to help field questions from the students.

Except, the students were far more interested in Professor Geto than they were in the course material.

But maybe it was simply because it was the beginning of the semester right? It couldn’t happen again right?

It was a good thing you weren’t getting graded because you would earned yourself a zero. As again, the next week, students were only interested in Professor Geto — whether it was because it was for his intellect or — you glanced at the students mooning over him — something else.

Something you knew very well.

You were forced to watch a female student flutter her eyelashes, then another brush against him, as she showed him what passage was confusing her, and then another student couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And then you wonder, if it had been another student who kept pestering him week after week, would it have been them instead of you? Would they have shared those moments together? Maybe even they would actually gotten to be in a relationship, instead of watching other people flirt with him—

“Excuse me,” your eyes snap up from your reverie and you see two students, seemingly waiting to speak to you.

Those students had seemingly taken pity on you and spoke to you about the class, tips, and asked about your office hours. But soon enough, the students filed out one by one until it was just you and Professor Geto. And he’s collecting his things, as he glances at you, lingering still as you check your email on your phone, “Don’t you have class after this?”

You blink, “how’d you know that?”

And he’s straightening his notes to place back in his bag, before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, “well you’d always rush off after class so it was either you had class or you didn’t want to be alone with me,” he looks back to his bag and you hear the click of the zipper, “I was hoping it would be the former,” he adds.

“Well, I never lingered after class when I was taking it either,” you adjust your bag, toying with the strap — why was it anytime you were with him it felt like stepping into quicksand, the more you struggled, the more you sunk — and even if you didn’t move at all, you were still stuck all the same, “didn’t want to get in the way your students stroking your ego,”

And he raises an eyebrow, “Are we back to my ego again?”

“I don’t see you shying away from smiles and praise from your students,” and his brow knits together, as he places his bag down on the podium, “no wonder your ego is so large,”

“What students?”

“Oh please, the ones swarming your desk after clsss. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many students from different disciplines take your class?” he opens his mouth and then you add, “and don’t say philosophy and ethics apply to every aspect of life,”

And then he seems to consider the thought, as before his lips curl, as he leans against the podium.

“Am I detecting some jealousy?” he smirks, and you pause before you scoff — far too quickly.

“No,” and he only smiles wider.

He chuckles, “That was convincing. I’m glad your ability to teach is much better than your ability to lie,”

“I’m not—“

“Jealous or not,” and you have to bite back your retort, his gaze freezing you in place, a softness you hated to see — because you didnt know whether it made you want to push him away or pull him close, “there’s only ever been one student who caught my eyes,”

Ah, there is was — you were sinking again.

“Really?” you mumble, crossing your arms, “not even one other? You have a habit of unethical behavior for an ethics professor,”

He’s grabbing his bag, before he’s taking a step forward to whisper, “Only when it comes to you,” and you have to force yourself not shiver at his words warming your skin, “I’ll see you next week,”

And he’s gone — as you stand in the empty lecture hall next to the podium, the very one from your first dream— and you’re right back where you started.

Professor Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to make mistakes. He was always meticulous and methodical — he used the very principles to help guide his life — because it gave him a moral framework, a way to interpret the world and his own actions. That’s what had drawn him to ethics in the first place. But then he met you.

And it seems like he’s made nothing but mistakes since.

He sat in his office after he practically fled the classroom, forcing his pace to be normal, hoping you didn’t see the flush on his face. Fuck, he tossed the pen he had picked up to start grading away, what was he doing?

He had told himself it was for the best — again and again when he watches you leave at the end of the last semester. He held his muscles taut as he watched you gather your things, stepping over the crushed pieces of both of your hearts. The two words he had barely choked were the only ones he could manage before he watched his office door shut behind you.

It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best.

That sentence was on repeat in his mind as he tried to work on his paper over the break — “try” being the operative word. It felt as if even his work hadn't been untouched by you — your impact widespread and all consuming — just as your actual touch was.

Fuck, he rakes his fingers through his hair, how was he going to survive this week much less this semester?

He couldn’t afford to be selfish — for your sake and his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. He runs a hand over his face — he all but blatantly admitted that he had feelings for you after class. After promising to keep things professional — he was the worst.

He only wished he was worse enough to do what you both wanted when you asked him in his office why you both couldn’t be together. He wanted to tell you the reasons why you should be — because he couldn’t stop thinking about you despite never seeing you over the break, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you standing in front of his office, and because he couldn’t help but smile when he could see you hesitating in front of the door — but he couldn’t help but smile when it came to you. But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

But he also couldn’t help but toe that damn line in the sand, the one that he had drawn, but the one so desperately wanted to cross.

And then there was a knock at his door, he sighs, “Come in,”

The department head enters his office, as Suguru blinks before he gets to his feet to offer his hand, as they exchange greetings, before gesturing for him to sit, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I saw your email about having your T.A. teach part of your class, and I wanted to get a little more detail about it,” Suguru nods, his face composed, but his body tense — paranoia scratching at the back of his mind, no one happened to see them kiss had they? No one was on campus really at that point. And the door was closed — he probably just wanted more information.

“What questions did you have?” and the department head runs down his list — what topic would you cover? How much class time would it take? Would he be asking the class first? Would he review your materials beforehand?

“Well, you both seemed to have thought a lot about this,” he leans back, crossing his leg over the other, “I think having her teach a part of a class is fine, but I would like you both to do it sooner rather than later,” and Suguru opens his mouth, but then he adds, “and I’d like to attend that class,”

Suguru tilts his head, “You would like to attend my class?” He considers his words carefully, “I was under the impression, based on the rules, the only thing needed to allow a T.A. to teach was the approval of the department head,” his anxiety begins to pick away at his nerves, “it’s not unusual for a T.A. to teach here correct?”

It was his first time having a teacher’s assistant at this university so perhaps this was a quality check? To ensure both you and him were meeting the standards of the university — and his anxiety added, and to make sure no rules were being broken by either of you.

“Yes, it’s not unusual, and I have my reasons which I’ll discuss with you after the class,” he checks the time and rises from his seat now, “I have another meeting soon — do you think she can present in two weeks?”

Suguru hesitates, “I’ll have to ask her but most likely that should be fine,”

“Okay please send an email cc’ing her and confirm the details,” he says his goodbyes, and he’s gone, as Suguru sits and considers this — what could he be planning?

Or, his nerves add, what could he be looking for?

Either way, he pulled up your email — it was going to be an interesting two weeks.

“Deontology determines whether an action is right or wrong based on a set of rules and principles instead of the consequences of the actions,” you speak to an empty lecture hall, your voice echoing in the silence, “therefore an act that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,”

You had come into the lecture hall to practice yet again this week. You were cursing your past self for inflicting this optional task on yourself — it had taken far more time than you had expected (what’s new?), taken far more preparation than you thought (again, of course), and now had the fun added pressure of the department head attending. And why was he attending? A wonderful and complete mystery.

The last two weeks have been amazing for your mental health, truly.

You were lucky the lecture hall and the building at large was deserted at 8:00 PM — all of the staff and students had all but fled, and you were left with the perfect place to practice. It had been many nights of honing your presentation to the allotted time, leaving time to pose a thought exercise, time to discuss, and for questions.

You don’t see the door behind you open, nor do you hear it close, as you use the clicker to go through your PowerPoint, switching to the next slide.

“For example, killing an intruder, based on the consequence would be wrong, as I hope we all know killing is wrong — otherwise, I worry about what will happen when you get your grades back,” you give a brief chuckle — and hope some of the students would pity you with some laughs, and that’s when you hear a small laugh behind you.

Your head snaps around, flushing when you see Professor Geto standing by the door. He’s wearing a deep royal purple button up and gray slacks, the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms.

God, this wasn’t a dream was it?

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, his footsteps against the floor grew closer, and your body tenses, until they stop, “go on,” and he leans against the wall behind you.

“But when you do kill an intruder to protect your family, that’s viewed as right under deontology,” and you can’t focus with his gaze running over you, an all familiar feeling settled over you. Would life imitate dreams again? Would he come over and ask you to continue your presentation as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder? Would he—

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you can’t meet his gaze, but you hear his footsteps, “should I go?”

“No, no, it’s just,” you shake your head, “a little deja vu,”

He raises an eyebrow, “deja vu?”

Your blood runs cold. Fuck.

“I don’t recall you ever presenting like this in my clsss before,” you can't decide if his voice is more thick with confusion or curiosity.

“Yeah, no, sorry it’s nothing,” you brush him off, your eyes fixed on your notes on the podium, and you know he’s still staring, “what?”

“I see you’re still not a very good liar,” and you scoff, “what is it that’s gotten you so bothered?”

“Nothing,” you insist.

“The more you say that, the less I’m convinced,” and now he’s walking closer, closer still — but you’re fixed in place, “what is it?”

“You never let anything go, do you?” And you turn, your breath catching when you saw how close he was — inches from you, his pretty eyes wide at the sudden movement, his breath warming your lips. Black strands fall in his face, and you have to stop yourself from tucking them behind his ear. Stop yourself from wanting to touch him, stop yourself from wanting him to lean forward, stop yourself from wanting him.

Nothing good ever came from your want.

“Only when it’s you,” but this man makes it impossible not to want him. Not when his voice is soft, not when the back of his finger, a knuckle brushes against your cheek. And no words are needed — you can hear it in the silence between you both, you feel it in the gentleness of his touch, and in the softness of his gaze.

And you know you’re in love with him. You are.

But you can’t be.

“I’m not telling you,” you murmur, looking away — and it seems to break the spell, as he steps back, nodding, a flicker of sadness that slips away under his facade, “but maybe I will sometime, over a drink,” you add.

A smile tugs at his lips, “Well we know how well that went, or didn’t go rather, and you know, we can’t anytime soon,”

“Well sometimes an action that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” and he raises an eyebrow.

“Using deontology to convince me?” He tilts his head, “not a bad strategy — maybe I’ll have you write a paper,”

“And willingly subject myself to your red pen? No thanks,” and he snorts, before the smile fades into a frown, brow wrinkled in thought, “what is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just…” he crossss his arms, “I’m wondering why the department head wants to observe your presentation,”

“He didn’t give any indication why?” and he shakes his head, “maybe he just wants to evaluate how good a job you’re doing,” you add, “you are relatively green,”

“Not that green,” and you see his lips pressed together — and is he? — he was — he was pouting. You bite your lip how fucking adorable — but you know you’d be met with a scowl if you said that out loud, “don’t you worry that the dean may suspect something between us?”

The thought had crossed your mind, but class had been nothing but professional so far, and you’d be too busy sweating bullets (and perhaps dodging them from the students if the presentation went poorly) to even consider your feelings for him.

You sigh, “Look, nothing to do but get through it, right? It should be fine, we’ll deal with whatever comes after. As long as I don’t choke, and you don’t stare at me too adoringly, we should be fine,”

And you expect a retort, a cheeky reply, or even a quite sarcastic one, but he only gives a small smile, “Right,”

You feel your cheeks burn and you can’t meet his gaze again without feeling your heart flutter.

Fuck — maybe there was something to worry about.

Despite the concerns, the presentation goes off without a hitch. You spot the dean sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand, which did nothing to soothe your poor heart (nor did the far too many cups of coffee and the total lack of sleep).

It happened quick — a blur of speaking, forcing yourself to slow your words down, a necessity when presenting — as you knew you always spoke faster than you believed you did when presenting. You think you even made the students laugh a few times, led an interesting thought experiment with a rousing debate that ended with no clear answer (as always), and then you answered questions.

All the while, Professor Geto stood in the back, and you’d catch a glimpse of him by the corner of your eye, his lips curled in that smile that haunted all your nights and days.

By the time it was done, you had barely realized time had gone so quickly, as you passed the metaphorical baton back to Geto. And you took a seat off to the side, opting to watch him lecture, rather than busy yourself with other work.

It felt like old times, you thought, as you watched him speak. You couldn’t blame the people that took his class just to watch him speak — he was unfairly beautiful when he spoke, gesticulating as he read a Kant quote. And you kept your face as neutral as possible, but he catches your eye for a moment, corner of his lip twitching upwards. And a flush settles over your cheeks, as you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to look suddenly engrossed with your notebook.

Your heart ached as much as your body did. You wanted to walk over and just kiss him, swallow his smart words along with his gasp, and feel those hands run along your body. You wanted to know every thought in his head, every part of his day, and fall asleep beside him.

You glance up to see him still speaking — a black strand falling in his face. You bite your lip, before looking back down.

This man would be the death of you — and it was even worse being alone with him. You’re thankful that your T.A. check-ins with him were every other week, because you couldn’t imagine having to spend more than an hour with him every other week.

“You want us to do what?” You blink at the Dean, his lips curled in a smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Apologies for all the secrecy, I did not receive confirmation about this until earlier today,” he explains, “but I want you two to attend this conference on ethics and philosophy — it’s over the weekend, two weekends from now. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the both of you to make connections and attend presentations, as well as mingle with prospective students. It would also afford us an opportunity for both of you to help put our university on the map,”

You glance at Professor Geto, his lips parted in surprise, “Sir, is it appropriate for a male professor and a—“

“Don’t worry, the accommodations will be separate and it’s a public event, as long as everything remains professional, there’s no problem, right? As long as you two are okay with it and there’s no problem,” he glances between the two of you, “is there a problem?”

And Professor Geto’s eyebrows knit together. It was a lose-lose situation — saying no meant raising some suspicions that there was an issue between the two of you, but saying yes meant going on a trip with the same professor you had kissed at the end of the last semester. And if anything happened on this trip...it could be very bad — ethically and otherwise.

So you make the decision for both of you.

“That’s fine. I’m happy to attend if Professor Geto is,” and you know you have no choice — you had to spend the weekend with him, alone. At a conference. In a hotel.

“Do you have everything?” Professor Geto asks, as you hand him your suitcase, your fingers brushing as you do. He lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car, his black t-shirt riding up as he does, a quick flash of the expanse of his muscles—

Fuck, you bite your lip, stop, stop. Professor. He’s a professor.

It didn’t matter that you had felt him part your thighs, as his lips slid against yours, nor that every time you saw each other, you felt this undeniable ache to touch him, comfort him, hug him, nor that you knew he felt the same and wanted to give in as badly as you did—

No, it didn’t matter.

You consider his question, scrunching up your face in thought, “I think so, wait,” you snap your fingers as he glances at you, “forgot the rest of my apartment upstairs — you think that’ll fit in there too?”

He smirks, rolling his eyes as shuts the trunk, “Ha, ha, ever consider becoming a comedian instead of a philosophy major?”

“Every day, but then I think what would my favorite professor do without me?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m your favorite?”

“Who said it was you?” you grin at him, as he shakes his head and you open the passenger door seat and slide in, as he slips into the driver’s seat. He adjusts his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, as a sudden wave of guilt bombards you. You had dragged him down this rabbit hole with you — and now the two of you had to spend the entire weekend together, alone.

You lick your far too dry lips, “Sorry if I roped you into this,” you fidget with your phone, tapping on the screen absentmindedly.

He starts the car, engine roaring underneath your feet, before he glances at you, brow furrowed in seeming confusion, “What? It’s not you that roped us into this,”

You purse your lips, “But if I didn’t agree to it—“

He sighs, “We were in a position where we didn’t have much of a choice,” his fingers drum against the steering wheel, as his eyes flicker to make sure your seatbelt was on, “it’s not your fault — and it’s not a bad thing — we’ll spend time at the conference, we’ll mingle, and then return to our hotel rooms,” he adds, “don’t worry. Nothing will happen.”

And his reassurance is almost a punch to the gut instead — and your brain chides you for being so childish — you knew it was for the best, you knew it was the right thing to do, and you knew he was trying what was best for you, and for him.

But why did it hurt so goddamn much?

You steal a glance at him as he pulls into the street and begins to drive, dark gaze forward, his hair tied into its usual neat bun, and a chain poked out from underneath the rounded opening around his neck. And then your eyes flicker back out the window.

Was it really not a big deal to him?

Because the last two weeks were consumed with nothing, but thoughts of being alone with him. Days spent in conferences, sitting beside each other, whispering thoughts and inside jokes; evenings spent socializing together, waiting for the other to give the signal to leave; and nights walking back to your rooms, fingers brushing as you walked beside each other. You were sure it would take a slight bend of the rules, a gaze that lingers a little too long, to break the paper thin resistance either of you had to the other. The two of you could barely be alone for more than a few minutes without temptation rearing its ugly head — even now your eyes can’t help but trace the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight catches his eyes, the way your fingers want nothing more than intertwine with his hand that rests on the console between you two.

But you don’t. You give a weak smile, glancing out the window as the streets of Tokyo pass you by — “Yeah it should be fine.”

Just fine.

“There was a problem with your reservation,”

And after half an hour of waiting off to the side, with your luggage stacked up and irritation creeping its way to a new high as you watched others easily being checked in to the hotel, you assumed there was a problem. If there wasn’t a problem, you would wonder if this was a new take on Waiting for Godot that would end with the both of youu sleeping in the lobby. You rubbed at your temples, as Geto dealt with the hotel staff, his arms crossed, lips a tight line, “the hotel double booked one of your rooms, so we only have one room available for you.”

You barely heard the rest of the argument your professor had with the hotel staff, the same phrase ringing in your ears — one room, one room, one room. With nothing more to argue about, they finally escorted you both to your room in awkward silence. And as they opened the door, you spotted it — there was only one single queen sized bed.

One. Bed.

You felt your cheeks flush, as you couldn’t even meet Geto’s eyes, as he began to speak heatedly with the manager again. And the excuses began, as the manager wrung his hands, about how no other rooms being available due to the conference and another event happening in town.

“There is a couch though,” he offers, pointing to a far too small couch, and the sharp glare that Geto gave him would put even his red pen to shame, “we will see about comping half—“ Geto crosses his arms, “all of your stay here,” and with that, he’s gone.

“So,” you sigh, glancing at Geto, with a strained smile, “I have dibs on the bed?”

Was this a cosmic joke? You wondered as you turned off the water of the shower, squeezing your eyes shut. Was this a version of ethical karma for what you had done last semester? An ultimate ethical test that you would surely fail? A fucking prank show?

You didn’t know. You dried off and got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, your hair still damp, as you took a breath and stepped out, towel slung over your shoulders.

Geto was still on the phone, pacing back and forth — he was trying to call other hotels to see if there was anywhere else with two rooms or at least a room with two beds.

“Yes I understand it’s very last minute—“ he sighs for what must have been the billionth time today, “yes, there was a mistake at the hotel I’m staying at—yes, ok, well, thank you,” he hangs up, setting his phone down.

“No luck?” You sit on the edge of the bed, wiping your hair, and he shakes his head.

“The one thing they were right about is that every hotel room is booked solid — not only is our conference in town, but there’s a physical science consortium happening as well,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “I’ll have to give the Dean a call to update him on the situation,”

You nod, “So what should we do about sleeping?” And he can’t quite meet your gaze, “are there no trundle or rollaway beds?”

“No, apparently those have all been spoken for,” he grumbles, and he prepares to call the dean, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed—“

“Professor, we can—“ and his gaze snaps to you, “we can share—“

“No, we can’t,” he says softly, “you know we can’t do that,”

“We’re both adults—“

“And we’re still a professor and a student,” he draws the line between you two again, the gash even deeper than before, the gap that’s meant to keep you safe — the chase meant to protect you — so why did it feel more like a punishment? “I’ll take the couch,” and he calls the Dean to update him on the situation.

You busy yourself with drying your hair in the bathroom, before coming back out to see him hanging up the phone.

“Well, are we in an ethical bind or should I go sleep in the lobby just to show there’s no funny business?” And he shoots you a look, “there have been stranger bedfellows,” and he opens his mouth, “and a single word comes out of your mouth, and I’ll join you on that couch,”

And a very pretty flush adorns the tips of his ears and cheeks, “He said it was fine, it was out of our control, but to just document everything, including the hotel’s incompetence for legality reasons,”

“You’re also a lawyer as well as a professor?”

“You have to hedge your bets,” he shrugs with a smile pulling at his lips, before he checks the time, “I’m going to take a shower,” he sighs, pulling his hair from the messy bun, letting his black locks down. And you watch him run his fingers through his hair again, sighing, as he heads into the shower.

You lay on the bed, biting your lip — as you turn over to use your phone, as the shower turns on. And you glance at the closed door — the thought of him in there, pulling his shirt over his head, shedding his pants and boxers. Your cheeks burn, burying your face in your pillow as if that would help (it did not).

You curl up on the bed, turning away from the bathroom door, using your phone. And a few minutes pass, as you kind of drift off into sleep, and you hear a creak of the bathroom door open that rouses you from sleep. You don’t move at first but you hear shuffling, the sounds of a zipper. You finally turn on your other side, eyes fluttering open, and you’re met with the sight of bare skin.

You blink, eyes flickering up to see your Professor’s flushed face, before your eyes slowly following a bead of water slip down his bare chest, black hair dotting along the middle of his chest and abs, down to a happy trail that was hidden by a towel wrapped around his waist. His clothes in his hand, and your eyes find his own, your lips parted and mouth impossibly dry.

Oh. My. God.

“Uh—“ and his cheeks flare red, as you try your best not to let your eyes flicker downward, “I forgot my clothes—“ and you turn away, as he darts back into the bathroom, “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled through the door.

“It’s okay!” You reply, your heart thumping against your ribcage, squeezing your eyes shut to only be met the memory of his bare torso, “fuck,” you mumble under your breath, as you turn onto your back, and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you. A distinct ache below at the thought of him.

Your eyes flickered to the shut bathroom door. You hear the sound of water running again — maybe he needed to wash up again. Either way, you slid under the comforter, hand slipping into your shorts, you had some time. You wish you could have grabbed his hand before he fled into the bathroom, sat up on your knees, fingers sliding to his cheek.

“Kiss me,” you’d murmur, and he would, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips sweetly, as your fingers glide up his bare chest. You’d swallow his gasp with delight, as your other hand finds his wet locks, fingers tangling in his black locks, “please,” you would guide his fingers to the hem of your shirt and he would oblige, lifting up and over your head. And your fingers would tug his towel away, letting it fall to the ground.

Your fingers press against the wet patch on your underwear, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you gasp, imagining it was instead his eager fingers that tugged your shorts down. You sunk one finger in and then another, pumping slowly, and you knew he would get you ready for him. He would fuck you with his thick fingers, as his mouth latched to your clit, sucking gently as he fucked you open. You moaned his name softly, as you imagine his fingers stretching you open.

“Do you want me, my pretty girl?” He would murmur between your thighs, lips glossy with your release, “s’good for me, taste as good as you look,” and he would press your back gently into the mattress as he would meet your lips again before, rubbing the tip of his cock against your puffy lips, “tell me what you want, Princess,”

“Please,” you whispered, as you moved your fingers faster, adding a third finger, but you know his cock would feel so much thicker, and reach so much deeper, “fuck me,”

And he would, sinking into you, his pretty cock parting your folds, his quiet grunts and moans whispering in your ear, as he works himself inside to the hilt. His lips would find yours as he would rock his hips into you — your cunt would flutter around his length. He would press your thighs apart further, long fingers digging into your soft flesh, the wet squelch of your cunt and the sounds of his skin slapping against yours would ring in your ears.

“S’close, Sugu—fuck,” you would keen against him, instead of your fingers, “please,” and his thumb would find your clit, just as yours did, and you would cum all over his cock, squeezing around his length, as he sinks even deeper, until his tip is brushing against your cunt. The moan of his name slips out, as you press your forearm against your mouth to barely stifle it.

Fuck, you come down from your high, panting. And you glance at the bathroom door, thinking you’ll clean up once he gets out. You roll over in bed, as you pulled the pillow over your face.

This was going to be a long weekend.

Suguru lingers in the bathroom for far too long after that, the embarrassment of the moment still far too fresh in his mind, his cheeks still a dusty pink at the thought. Not only was it bad enough that he was trapped in this hotel room with you for an entire weekend, but now he had paraded out practically half naked for you to see.

Fuck his life.

He had hurried into the shower if only to get a break from being in the same room as you. It had been hard enough to endure the last few weeks as a T.A., but now he had to spend an entire weekend sharing a hotel room — and deal with situations like that one all weekend. Seeing you emerge from the bathroom, only in a t-shirt and shorts, still damp from your shower — wet hair in messy tangles that he wanted to run his fingers through— and that’s why he excused himself to the bathroom. A reprieve if only for a moment. If he had only remembered to bring his clothes into the shower — he wouldn’t have had to finish his shower, with only his discarded clothes to wear that had slipped off the clothes rack and onto the damp floor.

He had stepped out, towel around his waist, as he peeled out, only to see your back to him, the sounds of soft breathing told him you were asleep. And he crept out, silently cursing as the door creaked and rifled through his suitcase for clothes. He had found them, and gone to retreat back when you roused and turned all at once.

God, he sighed, it was such a mess.

But the way you looked at him…lips parted, gaze flicking across his body, the way your eyes lingered a little too long on his torso — and now he had an entirely different problem.

His cock tented against the towel, as his eyes slid to the bathroom door. What if he just hopped into the shower for a second again? The towel dropped to the floor, as he steps back into the shower, turning on the water.

He groans, his fingers slide over his mortifyingly hard erection, teasing his slit as he would imagine you would, as you would open the bathroom door, murmuring his name, “Professor? Are you okay?” And you wouldn’t wait for his answer as you stepped into the shower with him, eyes raking down his body, a teasing grin on your lips, “not very ethical is that?” And your fingers would curl their way around the base of his cock, making him shudder with pleasure, “I can take care of that,” and you would kiss down his chest and stomach, even despite his protests, until you reached where he wanted your touch most.

And god, you would look so pretty on your knees for him, as your fingers pumped him far too slowly, teasing him with a chaste kiss to his tip, tongue dragging against his slit, better than how his thumb did, “s’good for me, Professor,” you’d say, when you heard the hiss he just let out, “I wonder what other sounds you could make for me,” and your lips would close around his tip, sucking lightly, as he gasped, his other hand clasped over his mouth, muffling his sounds.

He would look down with half lidded eyes, and see your head bobbing as you took him so well, your fingers toying with his balls, spotting your eyes flicking up to meet his — glazed over and desperate, just he imagined his were. Your mouth would feel so much better than his hand, the wet squelch of his pumping would not compare to you swallowing around him, sucking and licking around his length, his pre-cum and your drool slipping down the corner of your mouth.

You’d swallow around him, as his fingers would slide into your hair. And maybe you would let him fuck your mouth, hips rolling slowly as you adjust, before he slowly would thrust faster. He would repay the favor tenfold once you were done, burying himself in your sweet cunt, until you were begging him to stop. His fingers moved faster around his cock, his low groans and wet squelch bouncing off the bathroom walls, hopefully drowned out by the running water. Fuck, he wished he would feel how it would to have his tip brush against the back of your throat.

He was close, the twitch of his dick in his hand told him so, and he imagined what it would be like to cum in your mouth, watching you swallow his release, if you’d want to, or cumming all over your face or chest, letting his cock drag over your tongue as he pulled out.

Fuck, he shudders, moaning your name against his fingers, he cums all over his hand and the wall of the shower, his release running down mixing with the water. He rinsed his hand off, leaning his head under the water again, hoping it would wash away any traces of you.

It didn’t.

And as he emerged from the shower, making sure any trace of his act had slipped down the drain, but the towel around his neck, wondering if you’d see what he did on his face. But you wouldn’t — because you were fast asleep.

His lips curled as he watched you sleep for a moment, your lips parted, curled up facing away from the bathroom — your feet sticking out of your blanket. He adjusts the blanket for you, and you shift a little in your sleep, mumbling something under your breath, before settling back in.

And he bites his lip before turning away — he would never be clean, would he?

Not when it was you.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” you murmur, the smile plastered on your lips nearly starting to chip and crack.

Professor Geto sipped at his drink hiding his frown, long fingers cradling the wine glass far too perfectly, “at least another hour,” he sighs, “when in academia, one must get used to mindless conversing if only it will lead to another needless connection,”

And this day had been nothing but an exercise of that — lectures, panels, presentations — any other word that meant someone or several someones sitting in front of you, talking at you — with only maybe 30% of the people actually listening (if you were lucky or interesting). And now you were one hour deep into a mixer that had you engaging in dry chit-chat that had your mind going numb by the first ten minutes. Your only reprieve being by Geto’s side.

You hated how he could make the dullest of things enjoyable for you, or rather—

You hated how much you loved it

“How pithy — Plato?” And he snorts, as you finish off your own drink, “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, and you head off to the bar.

You were so restless after sitting for so long. Not to mention the slight rash you got from not washing up soon enough. You woke an hour and half later and cleaned yourself up — luckily Geto had passed out by then. You saw him sleeping half scrunched up, half sprawled out on the couch — one of his legs were hanging off the couch — and even his blanket had slipped off. You stifled a small laugh, taking a quick picture of him — so stubborn that he wouldn’t sleep on the bed with you. Your gaze had softened, as you picked up the discarded blanket and placed it over him softly, your fingers gently tucking some of his hair from his face. You fell asleep again after heading back to bed, and woke up refreshed — while Geto had woken up with a very sore back and neck.

“Can I get…” you look at the menu, ordering your favorite drink, standing by the bar as you adjust your dress, you had opted for a black dress with sheer tights — one you had worn a suit jacket over it. You tap against the bar top, checking your phone as you do.

“Can I get what she’s getting?” A dark haired man sidles up beside you, his mouth curled in a smirk drawing attention to a scar in the corner of his mouth, and his voice drops to a whisper, “though I think I’d enjoy you more than the drink,”

You raise your eyebrows, “and I think you’ve certainly had enough tonight,” you say under your breath, giving an awkward chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to notice as the bartender comes back with your drink. Your eyes flicker over the crowd as you search for Geto but you can’t find him.

“What’s your name, pretty?” And your skin crawls as his dark gaze slides over your body, “mine’s Toji,” and you bite back a sigh, introducing yourself, “it’s very nice to meet you — I’ve met a lot of people tonight but you definitely have been the most interesting,” and the bartender comes back with his drink.

“Then you must have not met a lot of interesting people so far,” you say, eager to look for any out to escape this conversation, “my friend is waiting—“

“No, I’d say that you’re just that interesting,” he sips his drink, “can I get you another drink?”

And right when you’re about to respond, “No, I don’t think she’s interested,” And you tense a moment before you register the familiar voice, Geto smiles at Toji, if you could call that a smile — it reminded you of one a predator gave its new prey, “especially because she’s a student, and you’re most assuredly not,”

Toji raises an eyebrow, “But she is an adult, she can speak for herself, so why don’t you let her, Professor?”

“Because—“ his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach for you but he can’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat. And you know why he can’t.

Geto’s smile wavers, and you intercede, “I can, and I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” you pay your tab, “let’s go back to the hotel, Professor,”

And Toji pulls his card out, handing it to you, “If you change your mind,” he raises his glass, leaning against the bar, before he leans closer to you, whispering, “if you ever get sick of him, call me,”

You give a polite smile, tugging Geto away until you reached the outside of the building, silence filled the space between you two, until you found your way outside.

“What did he say?” He asks as he calls a car back to take you both to the hotel, and you don’t know how to answer that — not without making it worse, “actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,”

“Professor—“

“You’re an adult, he’s right — you should be allowed to make your own choices,” he licks his lips, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, “I’m sorry if I—“

“Can you let me speak?” you sigh, as you wave your hand in front of his phone so he would look at you, and his eyes meet yours, “you’re fine — I was trying to get out of there — I just felt very trapped.”

He huffs out a chuckle. “When you took that long, I wondered if the group of solipsists had taken you hostage,”

You grimace, “I guess when you believe everyone else is an illusion, you also think manners are an illusion too,” he laughs in earnest now, “now there’s a real smile,” He tilts his head, “the smile you had inside, real scary kind of smile,” you tease, as his eyes can’t quite meet yours.

“Oh yeah?” he suddenly seems very interested in his phone, “our rideshare is almost here,”

“Almost like you were jealous,” and he scoffs.

“Of him?”

“Uh huh, he is pretty attractive, maybe I will give him a call—“ and you notice him grip his phone tighter, and your lips curl, “but I probably won’t, not really my type,”

“Not your type?” he asks.

“More into the intellectuals, that man was far from it — I like an academic, sweater vests, glasses, a pretentious little office—“ and the glare is back, as you laugh, the rideshare sparing him from you continuing this conversation, but you also didn’t get to see the slight smile on his lips as you slipped into the back of the car.

“Just sleep on the bed,” you say for probably the thousandth time, but he only shakes his head, as he sits on the couch, combing out his black locks. Even freshly showered, he looks unfairly hot — a loose gray t-shirt with sweatpants, contacts switched to glasses, and now his hair brushed against his shoulders.

“I’ll sleep on the couch — it was fine last night—“

“Your spinal cord would beg to differ,” and he looks unamused, as he struggles with his comb, “what are you doing?”

“I can’t get this knot out of my hair, and I can’t get you out of my hair either,” he adds, as you roll your eyes, slipping off the bed and walking over. You ease the comb from his fingers, biting your lip at the brush of his fingers, “what are you—“

“It’s easier if someone else does it,” and he sighs, giving in, as your fingers undo the knot in his hair gently, “your hair is really smooth and fine, probably why it tangled so fast,” and he only hums in response, his body relaxing under your touch, as you comb through the rest of his hair. You bite back a smile, he’s almost like a cat, keening under your touch, “feels good?” You murmur.

“Yeah, it does,” and you don’t want the moment to end, you want this excuse to touch him to remain, the first time you’ve been able to breach this wall between you two — and it’d be over in an instant, “I think that’s good,” he mutters.

He lays his head back on the top of the couch to look up at you — pretty obsidian orbs stared back at you — and your heart squeezes. He was so close, within reach, and all you had to do was lean down, press your lips against his, and maybe you wouldn’t have to tiptoe anymore, maybe you wouldn’t have to hide from him, maybe you could be—

“We should go to bed,” he sighs, the moment breaks, as he sits upright, adjusting his pillow on the couch beside him, “we have an early start,”

“Don’t remind me,” you turn back to him, “but you’re right - we should go to bed—“ you grab his pillow, “on the bed,”

“No—“

“Like you said, we’re both adults,” you tilt your head, as he purses his lips, “I think I can handle sleeping in bed beside you, just sleeping, we can even put a pillow between us,” and you add, “if I try anything in my sleep, you challenge me to a pillow fight, and push me off the bed,”

He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really can sleep on—“ and then you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking to the hand on his neck. He sighs, “fine, but I really will push you off the bed, I’m a restless sleeper,”

“Then it’s equal opportunity,” you grin, as you slip into your side of the bed, stretching. Suguru is slower to get in, taking his time and adjusting his pillow and blanket before he finally gets into bed, “good night,”

“Good night,” he turns to face away from you as he sleeps and you do the same.

But it wasn’t a good night. Not when you couldn’t fucking sleep.

For someone so smart, you really were very stupid. The bed that seemed expansive and open yesterday now felt Tom Thumb tiny, every shift of your body felt like a ripple effect, as you’d feel the slight shift of Geto right beside you. He was so close — you swore you could nearly feel the heat radiate off of him, the weight of his body beside you felt far too close and way too far — a chasm you could never cross.

And it was close to driving you insane enough to follow your wants all the way down it.

But you couldn’t — but you could look, stare into the void, without becoming part of it.

You shift again to face him this time — how could the back of someone’s head be so beautiful? Jet black locks that you had combed yourself fanned out on his pillow. But you could spot the nape of his neck through the tresses, a lovely spot that you only wished you could lean over and bury your face in. Your eyes began to droop.

Hypnos finally took pity. You could only sleep this way. Your eyes finally flutter shut — you should have known — you were always the most comfortable with him in your sight.

Suguru knew that you had fallen asleep — because your soft breaths fell into a rhythm, the crinkle of your sheets had grown silent, and the loud thoughts that filled up your head had gone quiet. He was glad one of you could sleep.

He surely wouldn’t get a wink tonight.

This was certainly more comfortable than the couch, but at least he had slept on the couch. He would be lucky to get thirty minutes at this rate. This weekend had already been too much — and he felt his will to stay away from you slowly snapping, a few strands away from breaking away completely.

When he had seen you with Toji — he didn’t think, he just acted. He could see you were uncomfortable, the way your body leaned away from him, the way your eyes flickered around the room, and the way you toyed with your glass. It was a simple choice, but what happens when the next person that flirts with you is someone you’re interested in? Would he have to stand by and simply let it happen? Watch as you’re able to date this person but not him simply because of his title?

He was jealous. Not of Toji — but of the idea of you being with someone else — of your attention drifting from him, of you drifting from him. He turned to lay on his back, he really was fucked wasn’t he?

He turns his head to look at you. It never helped that you were effortlessly adorable, even now as you slept. Lips parted, body curled up, your hair falling in your face yet again. His fingers tuck a strand behind your ear gently, and you shift, a quiet hum leaving your lips as you settle back into the arms of the sandman.

How were you so close but so far? You were mere inches away but you might as well be across the country. Because he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t hold you, he couldn’t kiss you. The kiss he shared with you haunted his dreams — a daydream wrapped up in the nightmare of reality. He couldn’t ask you to wait — wait for your degree to be completed so the two of you could date. It wouldn’t be fair to you, but what about this was fair?

And he turns on his side to face you, his fingers brushing your cheek gently — maybe if he couldn’t be with you in reality, he could allow himself to dream, his eyes flutter shut.

Just for a moment.

And his unconscious allows it — allows him to dream of you.

Dream of your face buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths warming his skin, his nose buried in your hair. Your fingers grasped at his shirt, your other hand thrown over his middle. Why was your scent so intoxicating? He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you shift, your leg sliding around his waist, as you pressed closer, pulling a groan from his lips as your core grazes right against his morning…visitor.

And you move again, nose brushing against his collarbone, his name on your lips, quietly whispered like a secret against his skin. It was perfect — you were perfect.

But what if this wasn’t a dream? The back of his mind prods — but that’s not possible, he was home in bed, right? This wasn’t real. It was the same dream he always had, of waking up in your arms, a lazy morning spent together in bed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the sheets becoming dappled in sunshine.

No, there was no way this was real, he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, but even if it was, he thought as he drifted, he didn’t want to wake — not yet.

A distinct buzz stirs you from your sleep. But you don't want to wake — you were far too comfortable. But the buzzing persists, so you reach blindly for your phone and to turn off the alarm. And settle back into bed, eyes still shut, as you find your way back onto your pillow — or what you thought was your pillow.

Except pillows didn’t move, or have an arm they could wrap around you.

Your eyes open, to find yourself entangled with someone else — your brow furrowing in confusion that melts away to silent horror. Professor Geto.

So much for sticking to your sides.

Fuck.

You tried to extricate yourself to no avail, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his body, your legs entangled, aside from your leg thrown over his waist, you realize, a small squeak escaping your lips, as you try and fail to move away. Instead you brush up against something very…hard.

You flush, cheeks burning so hot that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t wake from the heat of your skin against his alone. His morning wood was pressed right against you, nearly between your thighs — just like the last time it was against you — why the fuck would you think about that now? You resisted the urge to press your legs together — lest you have another new problem, and a mess to deal with.

You manage to only pull your head away, urging yourself up so that your faces are an inch or two apart now. His soft breaths warmed your lips, his brow relaxed, locks of black hair fell in front of his eyes. Your fingers reach and tuck the locks behind his ear, tips skimming his skin. And the arm around you almost seems to tighten, and you bite your lip, the comforting presence of his arms far too tempting to drag you into wanting — as if you ever left. Wanting was dangerous, because wanting can only ever lead to need, needing him was as foolish as it was to share a bed with the man you were in love with.

But how foolish was it that you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away? It was okay right? Okay as long your lips didn’t touch, as long you didn’t follow this slope all the way down — it was treacherous to press forward, but why did you want to anyway?

Your eyes flutter shut again for a moment — and your eyes glanced at the morning sky — the sun had just breached the horizon. You could allow yourself a few minutes — even if you had to give up a lifetime with him.

The blaring of your phone only seems to grow increasingly loud, as you give a small groan, rolling over to your phone again, slapping the screen to snooze it again. And your eyes flutter open a moment, lazily flickering over the screen — 8:45 AM.

Your eyes close — before your mind fully wakes — 8:45 AM?

“Fuck,” you shoot up to get up, a tangle of limbs, jolting Geto awake, his eyes popping open, his arm instinctively grabbing you by the waist, and you land with an oomfph back onto the bed—wait, not the bed.

Your hand pressed against his chest, your body against his, noses brushing, your eyes unable to tear away from the other — his eyes were even prettier this close — a dark brown, nearly black, with flecks of another color — purple? You can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat or his that’s racing with how close you are, chest to chest. And even as you try to shift, you make it worse by slipping, your hips rubbing against each other’s.

Fuck.

You both freeze for a moment, his eyes flickering to your lips and back, as yours does the same, before you both scramble apart.

“We’re late. We’re really late,” you spring out of bed, grabbing random clothes from your suitcase, “I’m going to get ready, really fast,” you don’t even bother to look at his expression, and you almost wished your heart had shattered your ribcage, with how fucking hard it’s beating, if only that you wouldn’t have to spend another day in the conference with him.

You sighed, as you brushed your teeth hurriedly while doing your hair — well maybe a lecture or presentation would take your mind off this morning.

So that wasn’t a dream, Suguru was only glad you didn’t even glance at his face when you ran off, or you would have seen the lovely tomato red that graced his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth from your body, slowly receding, and he swore he could still feel you against him, your soft skin, your pretty lips against his neck, and your leg around his waist.

Fuck.

God, he had another fucking problem to deal with — as he shifted awkwardly, his morning wood up and erect with a tent that could put most large circus tents to shame. Fuck, he didn’t have time to take care of this — especially with you in the bathroom right now.

But still, he pressed his inner palm to his lips, how was he going to make it through the rest of the conference with the feeling of your body still lingering in his mind. If the situation was different, the two of you would have woken up with smiles on your lips, spent the morning cuddling without a care, and probably a little more than that—

But the situation was the same, and his eyes slid to the bathroom door, so why was it that he still thinking about you? He wasn’t the type to dwell, he accepted things for what they were — he had his principles and his beliefs, and he stuck to them, unless proven otherwise. He was a man of guidelines, of rules—

So why were you the only person that ever made him want to throw every rule away?

“We are going to be discussing ethical dilemmas faced in universities and how to approach them,” the lecturer begins, “can anyone tell us an example of one such dilemma?”

You both had barely made it into a lecture — barely even speaking as you ran-walked into the conference — choosing a lecture at random, as the two of you ran a good fifteen minutes late. You both arrived, hiding your pants, as you both grabbed water bottles from the back, and sat down.

And of course to make matters worse, your phone goes off, making the entire room turn to look at the two of you. You silence your phone, murmuring a quick sorry as the two of you take your seats.

Could this possibly get worse?

Your eyes glanced at him — it was already bad enough to begin with. Geto had barely spoken a word this morning, even as the two of arrived at the conference, the only words he spoke were to the attendant that parked his car.

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, adjusting your clothes. And if that wasn’t enough, you were going to spend the day sweaty and disheveled. Meanwhile, you stole another glance at your professor — his skin flushed from running, button up not buttoned up all the way, glasses instead of contacts, and his hair in its usual bun, but a few strands were nearly coming loose — he still looked fucking delectable. But he wouldn’t meet your gaze, his body positioned to lean away from yours, his eyes fixed ahead.

You held back your sigh as you focused on the presentation — you just needed to get through today — as the lecturer picked someone who raised their hand.

“A student-teacher relationship is one such ethical problem faced in universities today,” and Geto nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly, as you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of this morning, “it presents several ethical problems — including the role the professor plays in the student’s education and future, their ability to provide praise or reprimand, and even grant recommendations gives them great power over their student. It leaves the student without much freedom in the relationship.”

Oh, what the fuck.

The rest of the conference is spent in relative silence with a thick film of awkwardness perfectly overlayed. When you both finally return to the hotel room, your only consolation is that you’ll be leaving tomorrow. You toss your things onto the couch, “I’m going to wash up,” you tell him, and he only nods in reply, as you enter the bathroom and shut the door, back pressed against it and sliding down.

Oh this is such a mess. You sigh, maybe a shower will help.

It didn’t. You were still just as much of a mess as you were before. You sighed, as you stood in front of the sink, wiping your hair with a towel. This could be so simple if you both could be together — so easy. There would be no tension, no hurt feelings, no awkwardness — you could just be. But that’s not an option. So the only other option is to let him go.

But you didn’t know how to begin to.

Either way, hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t solve a thing — and you finally opened the door, “I’m done if you want to wash up,” he nods, sitting on the couch, reading a book. His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, lips pursed, and legs crossed.

You walk over, grabbing your things from the couch and put some of your things away in your suitcase. But after all of that is done, you realize one thing is missing — your cellphone.

“Shit,” you murmur under your breath, searching through your suit coat pockets, your pants pocket, anywhere that your phone might be.

“What’s wrong?” Geto says, book in his lap, as he tilts his head.

“Can’t find my phone,” you mumble, cheeks burning — god, it was already awkward enough, and now this?

“Is it on ring?” You nod — your phone was usually on ring, sometimes to your detriment — you cringe at the memory in the lecture this morning, “I’ll call it,”

He calls you — and you glance at his phone screen, your contact is just your name, no picture, nothing. You bite your lip, what were you expecting? A heart next to your name? And the sound of your phone ringing catches both of your attention.

“It’s over here, somewhere,” he says, lifting up some of cushions of the couch, and reaching underneath into the creases, as you walk over — “I found—“

And you were so concerned about your contact information in his phone that you forgot about his contact information in your phone.

The screen flashed with the image of him sleeping all lopsided on the couch from that first night, as you covered your mouth in both horror, but also to stifle your laugh.

His eyes flicker to you, “When did you—“ and you reach for your phone, but he moves it away, “not until you answer my questions,”

“This isn’t class, Professor, I want my phone—“ you reach for it again, and he’s holding it above your head, “oh real mature—“

“Like the picture you have of me as my contact picture?” He raises an eyebrow, a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “thought I should resort to my student’s level,”

“Your T.A.,” you correct, as you reach for your phone again, but he’s using his height to his advantage, and he’s beginning to walk backwards, “come on, give it back—“

“Not until I change and delete that photo,” and he’s trying to hold your phone up to your face to unlock it, and you gasp.

“Oh my god, give it back!” And you grab his hand, and he’s grabbing at the other, giggles leaving your lips, as he laughs too, as the two of you struggle for the phone, your fingers closing over it, and over his own fingers as well.

And you realize how close you are to him.

The two of you freeze a moment, laughter on your lips fading away to soft smiles, and his fingers squeeze yours lightly, as he passes you your phone back. But he doesn’t move away — and you don’t either.

“Why did you let go?” and it seems like it’s a force out of your control that draws you together, no matter how much either of you try to let go.

“Because I can’t help giving you what you want,” he murmurs, and the heat of his gaze melts your heart, as you drop your phone onto the couch, and reach for his hand again.

And you lean closer, your other hand gently brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, “So if I ask for a kiss, will you give it to me?” You won’t close the gap anymore than you have — he needs to reach for you too, let himself give into gravity.

He does, as his hand brushes against your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone, “will we stop at just a kiss?” He murmurs, leaning so close that your eyes want to flutter shut.

“Only one way to find out,” and his lips brush yours. And it’s not chaste like your first kiss was, no, his lips slide against yours, as his other hand slides to the back of your neck. He swallows your gasp eagerly, if the smirk you feel against your lips is anything to go off of. Your teeth graze against this bottom lip teasingly, drawing a small groan from the back of his throat.

Neither of you couldn’t stop at one kiss, and you both knew that, even as your lips parted for a small breath of air, they found each other again — just as you both always did. Because you could never let him go — no matter how hard you tried.

RING. RING. RING.

And this time it isn’t an alarm. But rather his phone, flashing with a name that brings you crashing back to reality.

The department head.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as he parts from you, his warmth leaving all at once, as he grabs his phone, and turns away, “Hello? Yes, the conference is over. Everything went well. No, no, nothing out of the ordinary.”

You stared at his back, this would always be the case wouldn’t it? Even as you crashed together, something would pull you apart, and neither of you could break the cycle. You take your phone from the couch, and crawl into bed, but you could start.

You close your eyes, your fingers brushing against your lips for a moment. You needed to start — otherwise, you would just end up broken.

And you don’t hear him hang up — or see him stare at your figure under the covers — and he would break along with you.

Suguru didn’t know what to say the next morning — especially when it seemed couldn’t even bear to look at him, much less speak to him. You had busied yourself with packing, even before he had awoken. His back ached from the night he spent on the couch, he couldn’t fall asleep for far too long, and by the time he did, he kept sleeping — through his many alarms it seemed.

And it wasn’t the couch that kept him awake.

You both had the most lovely timing, didn’t you? He thought, as he combed his hair in the bathroom, the memory of your fingers running through his hair as you gently undid the knots in his locks still ever present — it seemed like any time you two wanted to act on your feelings, the universe was doing what it could to keep you apart.

Was this fate versus free will?

You both kept choosing each other — but fate kept pulling you apart. Did he have any control over his actions or did he have no control over his actions at all? Was it all predetermined by some force he couldn’t perceive? Some force intent on pulling you apart.

He sighed, as his phone lights up with an email from the department head — department head position opened up in Jujutsu University: Kyoto —

And so maybe he should let it.

The next few weeks pass by far too quick. As your semester picks up, you stop attending Professor Geto’s classes, opting to send an email to let him know, and he replies back with a simple response — Ok. Please let me know when and if you are available to input the grades for the midterm paper.

The rest of your T.A. work is done online and over email — and you do your best to keep busy, keep yourself occupied, and keep your thoughts from straying to him.

And you maybe succeed 10% of the time. It doesn’t help that your unconscious does not wish to cooperate since it seems that once you stopped seeing your professor during waking hours, he’s infiltrated your sleep — sneaking in and out by the time your eyes open.

And then you’re left with the fragments of his touch, his voice, his kisses, and soft, loving words.

Just as you always were it seemed.

And before you know it, the end of the semester comes, and you find yourself in front of that same office door yet again. It felt like an eternal reoccurrence — stuck to repeat the same events again and again in an infinite loop. Was there any exit from this loop?

You didn’t know — you knocked on his office door — but you could try.

“Come in,” you do, entering his office to find him sitting at his desk, hair half up for once. And his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his head tilting at your stare, “see something interesting?”

“Your hair—“ and your cheeks burn — so much for trying — “it’s different,”

“Thought I’d try something different — my hair is growing out,” and you have to repress the want to curl a lock or his hair around your finger, “do you not like it?”

You shake your head, “It looks nice, just different,”

And he hands you the papers he’s graded, “you can input those, I’m just finishing up a couple more, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit?”

“Not at all,” a silence falls over between the two of you, the quiet scratch of his pen as he grades, the occasional ding of his e-mail breaking up the silence. You sneak a glance at him — ebony tresses brushing against his broad shoulders, his brow furrowed that you wished to run your fingers along to smooth his worries from his mind, pretty lips parted as he reads a sentence silently to himself.

Fuck — no, no, you can’t do this.

You busy yourself thumbing your way through the papers, spotting the familiar red scrawls littering these pages, as they once did yours. You were so pissed when you got your first paper back — indignant even — a whole Karen ready to speak to his supervisor. But when his honest criticism and blunt words rang true, you found yourself not only wanting to prove him wrong, but a want to be better. To earn his respect. And of course, later, you wanted to earn a little more than that.

You bite back a chuckle, and here you still were — by his side. Except next semester you wouldn’t be his T.A.

But you would still be a student. And he would still be a professor.

But one other thing that hasn’t changed is how brutal the feedback is — you couldn’t help but feel bad for “Itadori Yuuji” — whoever that was.

“What are you smiling about?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his head leaning against his palm, elbow resting on the desk.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but he looks unconvinced, “just thinking about our first time in this office,” and then your cheeks burn at the double meaning, “I mean our first office hours appointment—“

He waves you off, “I know what you meant,” a small chuckle in his cadence, as he continues to grade, “you certainly weren’t happy with me,”

“No I wasn’t,” a small smile on your lips, “but it worked out in the end,” you add, “you got an amazing T.A. after all,”

His eyes meet yours, “More than just that,”

Why can’t you help but get pulled in time and time again? And why can’t you help but ask questions that will only hurt you in the end?

He continues to grade when you finally speak, “What do you think would have happened if I didn’t end up being your T.A.?”

And his pen stops, lips pursed, “We shouldn’t—“

“Why shouldn’t we?” you felt like a child demanding an answer from their parent.

“We agreed—”

“I don’t remember an agreement-”

“It was unspoken—”

You scoff, crossing your arms, “You really are only a professor because an attorney would know that binding agreements can’t be unspoken,” he falls silent, his voice soft.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” his words are wrought with conflict, pain seeping into every syllable, “I don’t want to keep going down this road only to for you to get hurt in the end — I don’t want to jeopardize your future for something that might not last—”

“But what if it does?” and he swallows thickly, “what if we can make it work? We’re both adults, we can be discreet—”

“So discreet that we end up making out in my office?” he takes off his glasses only to run a hand down his face, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks, and you huff out a chuckle.

“A little more discreet than that, we’ll lock the door next time,” it’s his turn to scoff, and you rise from your seat, lips curled, “close the lights, or maybe even kiss in a place that’s not on campus,” but he does the same, meeting you on the side of his desk, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently as if you’d shatter under his touch.

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your career,” he says, his fingers finding your hand regardless, fingers interlacing, “I don’t want you to—”

“It’s my choice, Suguru,” you murmur, as you lean against his warm palm, your fingers sliding against his palm and into his inky tresses, “don’t you owe me a choice, and a drink?” you add, and his lips curl in a knowing smile.

“I do, if you’ll still have me,” and he’s leaning close, sucking the air from the room, and the logic from your minds, as his lips barely graze yours, “shouldn’t we lock the door?”

“Fuck it,” and you pull him into a deep kiss that pulls a groan from his lips that makes your cunt ache, as he’s already pushing you into the lip of his desk, his hand sliding down to your waist.

“Now who’s being unethical?” he murmurs, pressing eager kisses along your jaw, that makes you melt against him, your legs nearly jelly at this point, “what kind of example are you setting as a T.A.?”

You bite back your moan as his lips find the soft spot of your neck, teeth grazing it far too fucking teasingly, “Well students learn by example,” and his hands are slipping under thighs to lift you so you’re sitting on his desk — you spread your legs for him in the dress that you’re in, pantyhose underneath, his heavy lidded gaze raking over your body, “and look at my professor staring at his T.A. so lustfully, even with a clear power dynamic—”

And his fingers find your thighs again, squeezing, before his fingers dig into the sheer hose, tearing holes in it, drawing a gasp from your lips, “How’s that for a power dynamic, princess?” far too pleased, “don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs, “now just be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” he says, as he pulls away the ruined pantyhose, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand — one, two, three — before your fingers take over, leaning to press kisses at each inch of exposed skin, until the shirt falls open.

Then his lips find yours again, his silver tongue asking for you to part your lips and you do — as he extracts every want you have with his burning touch — his lips against yours, his large hands parting your thighs, his knee pressed against your twitching cunt — and only leaves your want for him behind, until it becomes a need.

“Wonder what our students would think of you,” his fingers tease your inner thighs, drawing a whine from your lips, “wanting your professor to fuck you in his office instead of inputting their grades,” he whispers in your ear, as his fingers finally skim the wet patch of your underwear, “so wet f’me, already? Look I think you even soaked my slacks,” he tsks, as his thumb and forefinger find your chin and tilt it up, “what are you going to do about that?”

“Suguru—please,” and he smiles as his finger starts to tease your puffy clit through your drenched panties, “don’t tease—”

“How can I not when you’ve nothing but tease me with your existence?” he pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, “I’ll oblige my favorite student this time—but I won’t be so nice next time,” he adds, biting your bottom lip.

RING. RING. RING.

It was his fucking office phone. You groan, but his finger continues to sink into you, “Suguru—”

“Let it ring,” his lips find yours in a bruising kiss as his finger deliciously sinks into you, “I have all I need right here,” he whispers, and you pull him back into a kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, your hand sliding up and down his chest, while he worked a finger into your cunt, “so fucking wet f’me, so perfect,”

And your hand flies back to support yourself as a second finger begins to sink into you — but your hand grazes his office phone, and the messages begin to play back.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble, as you reach blindly for the phone, only to knock it back, as he chuckles and reaches behind you, trying but failing to help — your noses brushing, and he smiles before kissing you again.

Mr. Geto, sorry we missed each other, I was calling, hoping that you would still be in office for the day, but I must have just missed you. I wanted to call to offer you the job as department head at Jujutsu Tech University: Kyoto—

You freeze, your lips parting from his as you look up at him, his eyes wide as he stops the message from playing back any further — and the words settle over the mood like a sheet pulled over a dead body.

And you’re the first to speak, always asking the questions that will hurt you in the end, “You’re moving to Kyoto?”

✧ a/n: so i'm sorry for that ending hahah, i promise there will be a happy ending later on for these two. thank you to @gaylatteart and @laneysmusings for betaing and just being the best. also if i tagged you please comment / reblog because tagging on tumblr sucks, it takes very long.

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala, @ashhlsstuff, @blue041803, @mwtsxri, @bblgumfairy, @sukunasleftkneecap, @xo-evangeline, @fiannee, @teatreeoilll, @chalametet, @ryukaver, @d1gitalbathh, @saga3ious, @seventhcinema, @satosugucide, @your-l0nely-star, @sokkasmoon, @deegausserr, @hyookka, @oggsyy, @littlebitb, @higuchislut, @ti-mame, @itoshisins, @cerene-dipity, @onionsoop, @sinlillith, @izzythenaive, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru smut #suguru geto fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru imagines #geto suguru x you #geto x you #geto fanfiction

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reverieblondie · 4 months

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Could I request headcanons for Raphael, and Haarlep with touch starved gn s/o?

Sorry this took forever to get to you! It's been half finished for weeks but I was finally able to wrap it up! I really do love these bullet point headcannons that deal with a specific type of reader they are fun!

Post with other BG3 boys with touch starved s/o HERE

Haarlep

You have always been good at hiding your inner longing. That aching emptiness that craves touch. It was your weakness, something that you could never tell anyone about you…you would suffer solely to save yourself the embarrassment. You're supposed to be strong, mind filled with ways to help people, there is no time to sit wrapped up in your loneliness… you could have gone to a companion for sure. Everyone knows Karlach is always eager to give a hug, but you knew it would only make you crave it more. Just suffer in silence; don't let anyone know. That worked for you until you ventured into the house of hope. They smelt it on you as soon as you walked through the door; Haarlep's fiery eyes couldn't help but glimmer, their mouth turning into a cruel smirk. A little mouse and a touched-starved one at that. As soon as your eyes met theirs, Haarlep knew they had you ensnared, and they couldn't blame you, their body exposed to all, the sheer heat radiating from them, their words silky and sinful. You had to fight the urge to melt, which Haarlep found quite amusing. Maybe that's why they decided for you to play with them rather than just kill you like they had been told. It was desperate, tender, and ultimately satisfying. From that moment on, even if you didn't know it, Haarlep, in their infinite generosity, vowed you would never be touched starved again. If Haarlep couldn't come to you, they would make sure you could feel their touch, transforming into your form and touching all your most sensitive areas, knowing full well of the shivers and excitement they flooded you with. Nearly every night, Haarlep was desperate for another feeding and would gorge themselves on you. Taste every part, listening to every sweet moan. You are so delicious…it started out as a mutual benefit for you both but slowly built to longer and longer that Haarlep would stay in your bed, holding you close.

Haarlep would say that they enjoy being touched everywhere; you can use your hands, feet, or tongue, and your pleasure is their pleasure. Though you enjoyed the sentiment of Haarlep saying this, you wanted to find where they liked to be touched. You, of course, knew the obvious place, but you wanted to see if there was more… You framed it as a simple message to thank them for all they do for you. You ran your hands over Haarleps shoulders, neck, thighs. Giving teasing kisses to their ears, stomach, and hands. You finally got what you were looking for when you placed an experimental kiss on the base where their wings reached from their back. A quick shiver, then a low hum, almost like a purr. You felt their body heat up as their wings twighted, silently begging for more. Now, when Haarlep and you engage in your nightly cuddles, you pay extra attention to Haarlep wings. You just love to make them feel special in any way you can.

When Haarlep is feeling needy, it is obvious…If you're up, they're up; if you're reaching up to grab something off a shelve, Haarlep is snaking their arms around you, pressing kisses to your arching back. If you're trying to take a bath, Haarlep is right there dragging the soap all over your curves as their hard cock sits in your ass, whispering their deepest desires to you, bouncing you slowly. If you are lying down for a nap, Haarlep is curled right behind you, their lips caressing your neck as their warm hands stay pressed to your stomach. Though many would probably grow tired of receiving so much non-stop attention, you could never tire of the feeling of Haarlep lips on your skin.

Haarlep would never say that they worship anyone…But that was before they met you. Haarlep can't help themselves when it comes to your body; they crave you endlessly. The taste of your sweat, the sound of your moans, the feeling of your warm walls squeezing their cock with every pull, they love how you quiver with every push. They could ravish you endlessly, let years go by, and they would never tire of you. But you're mortal, and your soul is delicate, so they will have to be able to allow you to have your breaks, to let your soul drift back down to your body after every devastating orgasm. The good news is you have adjusted quite well to the hours of cock warming.

Raphael:

It was like you didn't even try to hide your desperate need for touch. No, you didn't go around giving everyone a hug, but he saw it when he was watching you, that shy trembling when someone touched you, and how you would place your hand where the former was just to linger in the sensation more. How your eyes seemed to always be in a pleading-like state, begging for any kind of affection…comfort. The thought of his hands touching your skin floods his mind. The feeling of having someone so close like that…he can't help but crave it too. Raphael was a master of temptation; his words promised power and fame, but if you were to tell him what you craved the most…would he offer it to you? You couldn't help yourself; it was all so perfectly orchestrated…his bare chest, the fire that scorched behind him as he asked what you wanted for being a good mouse…his favorite client. Raphael knew as soon as he ghosted his hands over your arms that you were ensnared by him, the great hero, in the arms of a devil… how your body trembles for his attention. What he didn't expect from this deal was how his body would start craving you back. What began as a reward for when you did what he wanted slowly turned into a need you two shared for each other, an intimate closeness that is so sweet and foreign to both of you… After a while, it bloomed into something more; Raphael sees it in your eyes and your touch…he can't say it back, but do you feel it in his touch? The desire he shares with you.

It's no secret that Raphael is gorgeous… The worst part is that he knew it. Though there's something sexy to the cockiness of that. Raphael assumes your favorite part of him is his angelic face, his hands, his voice perhaps? Imagine his surprise when he learns it's his broad shoulders you just love to run your hands over and dig your nails into, all while your lips bite and suck marks to his neck. Raphael has warned you before about marking up skin…flipping you over face down on the bed, his hot tongue running up your spine. It's your turn for him to mark, and you can't help how your toes curl from the anticipation…

Raphael likes to think his neediness is subtle, but it's not. When you went to bed last, it was in your bed, but now you are wrapped in luxurious silk, laying on top of the cambion, his nails slightly digging into your skin to ensure you don't leave or that nothing takes you from him. For the rest of the day, he takes you everywhere, his hand constantly caressing you by either holding your waist or your hand. He spends the day being a perfect gentleman; you're unsure if there are ulterior motives, so you try to keep your head straight despite it. Raphael understands he is a devil after all, and your wit is something he enjoys about you, amongst other things. It's not until he brings you into his arms after the day is through that you realize this is different…Raphael sways with you slowly as a hauntingly beautiful melody of instruments whispers through the house, his rich voice in your ear as he sings soft, poetic verses of love. It's then that you know that this…this is real for him too.

"Such an eager pup…" his hands roam over your body as you push him down to his back, your strength apparent by the force. Raphael has been toying with you, and finally, you hit your breaking point. Your hands are fanatic as you rip apart his tunic and unlace his trousers. Raphael had spent days making you burn with withdrawal. His hands only ghosted over your skin, his lips only a whisper away before he would pull back. His bringing you here only to strip for him and then tell you to leave had been the final piece to break your neediness he had been so carefully cultivating. Why did he do this to you? Raphael loves your neediness, loves the feeling of you so eager to push his cock through your entrance, how tears of relief flood your eyes as you bounce on top of him, calling him an arrogant ass as you ravish yourself on him. Raphael is rarely left speechless, but watching your lovesick eyes on him as your body clings, sucking him in deeper, only one word can describe how he feels in this moment looking up at you, love.

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lucyswinter · 9 months

Text

.-‘*•_aaron hotchner dating hcs .•*-.’💗’-.•*

pairing: aaron hotchner x girlfriend!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: some sexual-ish stuff implied

♡ ♡ ♡

-the two of you met after a mutual friend set you up on a blind date. aaron had been a little scared because he thought he was too old to date after his divorce, but after he met you, he was immediately in love

-despite his quite serious demeanour at the BAU office, hotch is such an affectionate and cutesy boyfriend. always showing you and kisses and cuddling you

-he looooves to give you my pet names/praise. “pretty girl” “my love” “sweet girl” “mmm youre doing great sweetheart” “good girl, just like that”

-his groggy morning voice is really sexy and low and he loves to talk to you as soon as he wakes up because he knows it makes you blush

-cuddling is his favorite thing to do at any point in the day. you guys just woke up? he’s pulling you in for the first snuggle of the day. he’s tired after work? his arms are already around you. the two of you are winding down to go to bed? you’re falling asleep in his arms

-after a long day of talking to people and giving orders at work, he loves to listen to you talk about it your day. “oh, sorry am i rambling a little bit?” “no, sweet girl, not at all. i love listening to you, baby.”

-he’s really touchy in a protective way and always has his hands on you. an arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, arm around your waist, slowly snaking down towards your ass

-he doesn’t like to talk about work very much, mainly because it gets pretty heavy sometimes, and he doesn’t want to freak you out by telling you about creepy cases

-first time you ever visited hotch at the office, everyone was absolutely appalled by how sweet he was to you and how quickly he changed as soon as you walked into the room-

-“morgan, this is the last time im going to tell you- oh, oh hey pretty girl! what at you doing here?” “you just forgot the lunch i made you at home so i decided to bring it to you :)”

-derek and garcia are very freaked out at this side of him and keep pestering him because they didn’t know you two were dating. “who are you and what have you done with hotch?” and all he can do is roll his eyes and turn his attention back to you.

♡ ♡ ♡

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds headcannons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch headcannon #lucywrites<3

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starsinthesky5 · 3 months

Text

you are in love III || joe burrow x reader

description: you aren’t the only one that’s musically talented 😉

a/n: once again, this orange jersey makes me feral. and yeah this man can’t say he’s learning how to play the piano and expect me to act normal about it. nope.

this one is pretty short, kinda like a filler chapter that is inspired by piano joey. the next part for this mini series will prob take inspo from the request I got about the cannes trip, so it’ll be longgger and we’re going to pretend that the cannes event is in march for the purposes of this fic :)

warnings: smut, language

word count: 4.8 k

part 1 part 2

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

March

You listened to the loud patter of rain hitting the windows as the early spring storm raged outside your home one uneventful evening. You and Joe found yourselves wrapped up in each other's arms and absolutely bored out of your mind, you more than him. You’d been on the couch for about an hour now, Joe finding entertainment by online shopping while you were staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to notice. You were so bored that you turned to counting the number of times you heard rumbles of thunder, which wasn’t a lot compared to the amount of lightning flashes.

“Joe, I’m bored,” you gave up as you turned your head to him and watched him scroll mindlessly on his phone, seemingly looking at new shoes and clothes for your trip to Cannes in a few weeks.

“Watch TV or something,” he said, brushing off your clear boredom and going back to scrolling away on his phone.

You look up at him, a scowl on your face as you start to get a little irritated at the fact that he isn’t doing anything to help your boredom. Cuddling could only do so much, and it wasn’t really doing a lot right now. “Joe-,”.

“Ooo, these are sick,” he whispers to himself, interrupting you as he taps on yet another pair of shoes he wasn’t going to buy.

You let out a loud sigh as you moved out of his arms, his eyes darting towards you at the sudden loss of contact he felt when you moved out of his chest. You rolled your eyes and walked over to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine to hopefully distract you for the time being. You sat down on the barstool, pouring yourself a glass of wine as you looked up and saw the storm intensify, silently wishing (even though it was wrong) for the power to go out or a tree to fall down because that would provide some entertainment.

Joe looked back at you for a few seconds, watching as you plopped down onto the barstool and looked drowsy since you had nothing productive to do. You both had plans to go out tonight and check out the newest floral additions to the Cincinnati Botanical Gardens, but the storm outside ruined that plan and your moods.

He tossed his phone to the side, feeling guilty for ignoring you when you clearly needed something to do to keep you busy. You had been so excited to go to the gardens for weeks, your mutual fondness for flowers & natural beauty was something you bonded over pretty early on in your relationship, and it broke his heart when you couldn’t go and he had to watch you brush it off like it was fine. He hopped off the couch and walked over to where you were sitting, snaking his arms around your waist and setting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “I know you’re bored and I shouldn’t have brushed you off like that,”.

You stayed silent for a few moments and didn’t react to what he was saying. Not that you were mad, you just enjoyed teasing him a little.

“Y/N?” He asked, moving his head a little to look at your face, which was stone cold. You took another sip of your wine as you heard him speak up again. “I’m really sorry, I mean it. Don’t be mad,” he said again, this time pressing two kisses to your cheek. You could feel his body tense up at your silence, now feeling bad for making him feel like this.

You placed your glass down onto the countertop, letting yourself fall back into his embrace as you placed your hands on his arms that were around your waist, relishing his touch.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad, just teasing, I'm just a whiny baby because I can’t find anything to do,” you laughed.

Joe let go of you and moved to sit on the barstool next to you, “Well, let’s find something to do then,” he smiled as he grabbed your wine glass and took a little sip.

“Okay, shoot,” you said.

“How about writing? Working on music always keeps you busy and I wouldn’t mind sitting in on a little writing session and watching you work your magic,” he beams.

“Already hit the studio this morning while you were at the gym, remember? Besides, the album is almost done so not really much to do right now other than finishing touches and post-album production stuff,” you sigh.

“Oh right, right,” he remembers. “Okay, how about baking something? Maybe cookies? I can help too,” he suggests.

“Ran out of flour last week,” you frown. “I was going to ask if we could stop by the store on the way home from the gardens to pick some up so I could make Cinnamon Rolls tomorrow but well, that plan went down the drain,” you say as you run your fingers through your hair.

“Damn. Okay, what about a movie? I know we’ve been meaning to watch the new Hunger Games movie for a while but never got around to it,” he asks, hoping to see your frown turn upside down into the smile he loves to see on your face, but it doesn’t. You just let out another sigh and bite your bottom lip, feeling bad that nothing was helping you feel better and he was trying his best.

He watches as your face stays the same, feeling bad that he couldn’t do anything to help you. He felt that if you were in New York or LA, you could probably find something to keep you entertained and busy with no problem, but here you couldn’t. Joe sat there for a few seconds, contemplating what else to suggest to cure your boredom, and then had a lightbulb moment.

He reached out to grab your waist, easily picking you up off your barstool and placing you on his lap. “Joe, what’re you doing?” you giggled as he moved your legs so that you were seated comfortably on him.

He looked into your eyes for a few seconds, the feeling of him gazing deeply into you sending chills down your body before you felt him crash his lips against yours. You feel his hand fall down to your ass, softly kneading the plush skin through your leggings as he sucked on your bottom lip. He pulls away, “This always keeps us busy, right?” he laughs against your lips before going back to the kiss. You slowly wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer as your hands play with his soft hair.

“My favorite way to pass time,” you smile as you pull away from his lips, taking in how his skin is glowing in the soft light of your home.

“Sorry our garden plans got ruined,” he said, his smile dropping slightly.

“Hey, that’s not your fault. The rain just doesn’t want us to take 50 thousand pictures of the gorgeous flowers,” you joke, causing a laugh to leave his lips.

“Yeah, but it still sucks. We were looking forward to that for a while and it’s probably one of the few exciting things for you to explore around here. If you were in LA or New York you would never be bored like you are here. You probably feel like you’re trapped here,” he says, looking to the side to hide his guilt. He felt guilty because you gave up what looked like the dream lifestyle, to live with him. He loved Cincinnati, but it was nothing compared to the places you used to spend most of your time in, and you were here because of him.

“Hey, don’t ever say that again,” you say, moving his face so that he was looking into your eyes. “I chose to move here with you. I don’t give a damn about the flashy shit any other place had to offer. Neither of those places has the thing that truly makes me happy, and that’s you. As long as you’re here, I don’t care about being bored and I certainly don’t feel trapped. Besides, Cincy is far from boring. Not a week passes by that I’m not running around the city with the girls or discovering new things,” you add, watching his gloomy expression brighten at your reassuring words. “I just wanted to do something with you, that’s all,” you finish by pressing a kiss to his soft lips.

“And I still get to do what I love from here,” you add. “I didn’t really see myself permanently being in Los Angeles or New York anyway. You know that I love lowkey,” you smile.

“Is this lowkey enough for you?” He asks, referring to the house and the life you were now a part of.

“Oh, 100%,” you nod. “I could def go out to the patio and scream ‘I love Joe Burrow’ at the top of my lungs through a megaphone without the paparazzi showing up,”.

He lets out a soft laugh before saying, “They won’t show up, but you might tip off the fan girls and they’ll figure out where we live,”.

“I guess I’ll have to pull out these guns,” you joke as you show off your arm muscles. “I think I can fight off the Burrow girlies. Maybe even bribe them with a peek at some photos of you on my phone,” you wink.

“Okayyy, I think that’s enough,” he says as he rolls his head around, then moves it back to meet your eyes. Nobody needed to see the photos you had of Joe on your phone. Some were silly and innocent, but some were a little too spicy for the public eye. “You always know how to get rid of the doubts in my mind,” Joe laughs as he rubs your thigh.

“What would you ever do without me?” you tease as you press a kiss to his cheek. “But in all seriousness, don’t say that again. You know I love it here, no reason to overthink it,” you say, softening your serious words with another kiss but this time to his perfect nose.

“Okay,” he laughs. “No more overthinking from here on out,”.

“Good. If you said one more thing, I’d have your ass sleep out in the rain,” you joke.

“Hm, if you kicked me out then we wouldn’t be able to do this,” he says as he starts to trail kisses up your neck.

“I guess you’re right,” you say as you pull his face out of your neck and back up to your face, pressing your lips against his and running your hands across his chest.

You feel him get off the barstool with you still in his lap. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist as he carries you both back to the couch, his lips remaining glued to yours the entire time. You feel him nipping your lip, causing you to moan into the kiss while feeling heat climb up your body and that warm feeling inside of you getting stronger.

He sits down on the couch and places you next to him, both of you ripping off your clothes with urgency, then feeling yourself fall back flat against the couch with Joe on top of you.

Your lips met in another messy kiss as you felt Joe guide himself in between your drenched folds, eventually slipping inside you all the way, causing you to let out a throaty moan at the sudden fullness.

“Joe,” you gasp, throwing your head back against the couch. He began pressing kisses along your collarbone, before moving up your neck and back to your lips. Your hands moved to his back, scratching his soft skin, leaving red marks as breathy moans escaped your lips at the feeling of him thrusting into your wet heat.

“Sound so pretty,” he smirks as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. His hand lifts your leg up and bends your knee, allowing him to move deeper. You feel your wetness coating your lower halves, your eyes moving down and watching as he slides in and out of your core with each rough thrust.

“F- Fuck, you feel so good,” you whimper, moving your hands into his hair and pulling him closer to you.

The next few minutes pass by like a dream as Joe continues to send your body to its pleasure, your breathy moans and sounds of skin hitting skin filling the house as he continues to pound into you. Your name was on his lips as if he was chanting a sacred prayer.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel so-,” he rasps but you cut him off with another moan, this one a little louder than the rest as he just hit a spot inside you that he hadn’t before.

“Joe, Oh my god,” you whine as you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head. Nothing could compare to the feeling of him inside of you. This was your favorite and best way to pass time, and you could do this for eternity and manage to never get bored of it. You felt your arousal building up with each well-placed thrust, just mere moments away from reaching your high. Your skin was heating up and your breath hitched every time he rutted into your slit.

“I’m close,” you moan, throwing your head to the side and closing your eyes. Your hand gripped the couch pillow as you were struggling to hold yourself together. You felt his hand move down to your clit, fondling with the sensitive bud to set off your pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he felt your walls fluttering around his cock.

“Joe,” you screamed as you felt him move his hand away from your clit, just as you were about to cum. “Why’d you s- stop?” you rasped.

“Hang on,” he said as he was increasing the pace of his thrusts, which was only increasing your need for feeling your high.

“Shit, Joe. I’m gonna cum,” you panted as you moved your head back up to meet his eyes,

“Wait for me,” he ordered, his hands moving to grip your waist and his pace becoming more frantic.

“Oh, Joe,” you hissed, your muscles tensing and hips bucking against his.

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” he groaned. You moved your lips down to his neck, sucking on his soft golden skin, searching for his sweet spot. You knew you found it when you felt his head drop down to your shoulder and his lips softly biting your skin.

“God, you’re so good,” he mumbled against your skin as his thrusts became sporadic, signaling he was close.

“Joe, I can’t,” you pant as you struggle to hold in your release.

“It’s okay,” he says as he moves his hand back down to your clit, his fingers rubbing circles around the bud as your walls convulse around his cock again. You were about to cum, but this time he was right there with you.

“I’m cumming,” you whimpered as you felt a wave of ecstasy wash over you, feeling your body shake violently at your release. At the same time, Joe lets out a groan before you feel his cock twitch inside of you, then feeling his release coat your walls.

“Oh my god,” he moans as he slows his thrusts, eventually stopping while pressing soft kisses to your collarbone.

“Holy shit,” you pant, your heart racing from the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand stuffed in his hair as he breathes against your shoulder. Both of you trying to come back down to earth after feeling shocks of pure pleasure light your bodies on fire.

“You still bored?” Joe chuckles as he lifts his head out of your shoulder, his hair all messy and his lips swollen from all your kisses.

“Nope,” you smile as you press a sweet kiss to his lips. You both spend a few moments basking in the post-sex afterglow before you feel Joe gently slide out of you, then feeling him get off of you.

You crane your neck to the side as you watch him grab his clothes from the pile on the floor, putting on his sweatpants but handing you his long-sleeved shirt.

“Here, put this on,” he said, handing you his shirt but placing it on the couch so he could help you up first.

He reaches for your waist, moves you up, and places a pillow behind your back for extra comfort. “Thank you,” you smile at the sweet gesture, then reach for his shirt to put on. You slip on the light green long-sleeved shirt and then reach down to grab your pink lace panties. As you're putting them on, you see Joe walk back to the kitchen from the corner of your eye.

“You need help with anything?” You wince as you turn around, your entire body tired and sore.

“I’m good. Just making you coffee,” He says, shooting you a smile before pulling out a mug from the cabinet.

You turn back around, a content smile on your face as you relish the feeling of your boyfriend taking such good care of you. Life couldn’t possibly get better than this. Your caring boyfriend was walking around the kitchen in just his sweatpants, making you a cup of coffee after rearranging your guts while you were curled up on the couch in his shirt. You don’t know what you did to deserve someone so dreamy & precious like Joe, but you definitely were not complaining.

Joe knew you deserved this. You deserve to be loved without any limitations, to be respected and supported by someone who understands the real you. He made it his job to make sure you felt comfortable, loved, and appreciated when you were with him; and he made sure you felt that way even if you weren’t. So yeah, placing a pillow behind your back, getting you a cup of coffee, and giving you his shirt to put on didn’t really seem like a lot, but it was everything that you wanted and it made you feel all those things. The little things in a relationship were what you craved, and Joe was exceptional at making it happen.

“I also got you a slice of the Banana Bread my Mom brought over the other day,” he said as he placed the plate and cup next to you, snapping you out of your daze.

“Thank you, Joey,” you grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips before he walked back to the kitchen to clean up.

You grabbed the coffee mug and took a little sip, tasting the rich vanilla flavor as it warmed your cold body. You then took a bite of the Banana Bread his Mom had made for you both, you never got tired of her baking because it tasted just like your Mom’s. You grabbed your phone from the table and immediately pulled up her contact to send her a text, asking for the recipe and letting her know that it was delicious.

“Mmm, this is so good,” you groan as you take another bite. “Joe, you gotta have some,” you say as you turn around, but he wasn’t there. He was instead sitting at the Piano that you had got for the house. You stayed quiet, pursing your lips as you placed the snacks back down and turned your body so that you were facing him, his back to you. You could see faint scratches along his back from your nails, taking note that you should probably put some moisturizer on his back when you go upstairs. He looked so good right now, the sight of him at your piano, shirtless, was sending you into orbit.

Before you could say something, you heard a melodious tune fill the air, a familiar one. You watched as Joe worked his fingers along the keys of the piano, playing a song that he had been working on for the past few weeks. When you first got the Piano for the living room, he had asked you if he could also use it, which came to your surprise since he didn’t know how to play.

Flashback to February

“But you don’t know how to play?” you asked as you ran your fingers across the keys of the piano.

“I have the best teacher in the entire world at my fingertips though,” he smiled as he moved his hand on top of yours as you played a few notes; his touch was so gentle and so warm.

“You really want to learn how to play piano?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I really want to learn how to play piano,” he nodded. “If you can throw a football back and forth with me, I can learn how to do what you do,”.

You stared up at him for a few seconds before saying, “Deal” and watching his face light up at your response. There was no way Joe was actually going to learn how to play the Piano right? He was an athlete, not a musician; unless he was Troy Bolton and had a secret hidden musical talent.

“I’ll give him 2 weeks before he quits,” you thought to yourself.

End of Flashback

He didn’t quit. He passed the two-week marker and still was keen on learning how to play, even sitting at the Piano without you and playing by himself using tutorials and testing out his own ideas. It was truly incredible how he picked it up so quickly, and he always was so eager to show off his skills to you.

He kept playing, the song he chose was ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by Arctic Monkeys, one of his personal favorites.

“Secrets I have held in my heart, Are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours. I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours. Wanna be yours,” you whispered, singing the part of the song he was playing on the Piano.

You were about to sing the next lines, but then you heard the sounds coming from the Piano shift to another tune by a seamless transition. This one was even more familiar and made your eyes widen.

He was playing ‘Endgame’, your song. The song you wrote about the desire to be Joe’s Endgame. It touched on your reputations and how you both had a pretty big one and together would be the talk of the town, which you were. It talked about how you wanted to be the one for him and the things you both went through to bring you to one another. It mentioned how captivated you are by him, his eyes, his body; his handprints all over your soul that could never be smeared. You wanted Joe in your life forever.

This song was the final addition to the album, which had been heavily inspired by Joe, and he was playing it on the Piano for you, and not the other way around. He had never asked to learn how to play one of your songs, so this took you by surprise.

You watched as he pressed all the right keys, hit every note, and played the song effortlessly. Your stomach was now filled with butterflies as the smile on your face got bigger. You got off the couch and slowly walked over to him, singing the lyrics of the song to match what he was playing on the Piano.

“I don't wanna hurt you, I just wanna be, Drinking on a beach, With you all over me. I know what they all say, But I ain't trying to play,” you sing as you cup the nape of his neck with your hand, rubbing your fingers into his soft skin. A smile appears on Joe’s face as he hears you singing while he plays your song.

“I wanna be your end game. I wanna be your first string. I wanna be your A-Team. I wanna be your end game, end game,” you sing as you slide onto the bench next to him and rest your head against his shoulder, ghosting your fingers over his as they dance around the keys. Your heart was exploding right now, no guy had ever done this–played your song for you. He was serenading you in the best possible way.

“Big reputation, big reputation. Oh, you and me, we got big reputations. Ah, and you heard about me. Oh, I got some big enemies. Big reputation, big reputation. Oh, you and me would be a big conversation. Ah, and I heard about you. Oh, you like the bad ones too,” you sing as you hear the Piano fade out.

You stay silent for a few seconds as you try to process what just happened, tears filling your eyes at the plethora of emotions you are experiencing. The fact that he just played a song you wrote about him, to you, was something you couldn’t comprehend. You felt Joe’s hand move from the keys to yours, entwining your fingers and bringing them up to his lips to press a kiss.

“You’ve gotten really good at that,” you say, breaking the silence as you turn your head to look up at him.

“Learned from the best of the best,” he smiled.

“You killed it, Joe. Seriously, I have your Grammy waiting upstairs,” you laughed. “When did you even have time to learn ‘Endgame’? I finished that song not that long ago,” you added.

“Well, I found a copy of your sheet music on the table and started practicing it when you weren’t at home,” he chuckled. You looked into his eyes again, your eyes a little glossy and his filled with adoration.

“What?” he asked, noticing your teary expression.

“Thank you,” you said as you wiped your eyes.

“For what, Y/N?” he asked as he moved his hand to cup your face and wipe the tears that fell from your eyes.

“Nobody has ever done that for me and you- you just,” you say, not being able to find words that would express your feelings.

“No reason to thank me,” he says. “I’m just appreciating the talents of the most gifted and extraordinary Woman I have ever met in my entire life,” he says, making your heart explode again. “You deserve to be shown how amazing you are, musically & as a person,”.

“Besides, I know you love the little things,” he winks.

“You are truly the best Man I have ever met in all the years I have been alive,” you smile before pressing a big kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” he says against your lips before going back for another one.

“And I love you,” you say back, pressing more kisses around his face. “I should get you in the studio with me next time. I think a Piano feature is in your future,” you wink.

“Oookay, I know I’m good but let’s not go that far yet,” he says as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“Whatever you say, Troy Bolton,” you joke. He rolls his eyes at you as you cite ‘High School Musical’, which you happened to force him to watch with you a few weeks ago.

“Don’t be mad,” you shrug. “Not my fault you’re athletically and musically talented,”.

“I’m never going to hear the end of it, am I?” he laughs.

“Never,” you say as you press another kiss to his lips, his hand moving to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. Then, you feel his hands wrap around your waist, picking you up off the bench and carrying you up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” you giggle as you pull away from the kiss.

“Round 2, obviously,” he scoffs.

“Ohhh,” you nod. “I did get pretty worked up seeing you playing the Piano with a bedhead and just in sweats,”.

“I knew you would,” he smiled as he opened your bedroom door.

“Do I get to be serenaded again after we’re done?” you ask him, tilting your head and praying he would play again for you.

“If you’re lucky,” he winks as he places you down on the bed.

You reach out and pull him down to the bed next to you, then throwing your leg over his hips so that you are straddling him.

“Then I’ll make sure I get lucky,” you whisper as you lean down to kiss him.

–The End–

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fic #joeburrow #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine

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webdollzz · 5 months

Note

hear me OUT. hobie brown mutual marking/branding smut@?11!1?1? pic this:

basically whole premise is reader writing "[names property]" on hobie after they've had sex as a silly wake up prank and taking a pic of herself writing it on him, while unbeknownst her hobie's WIDE awake

So he turns the tables and just fucks her dumb again and writes "[hobies property]" right above her pussy and takes a pic so they're even

sorry this idea is so random i just HAD to get this out my system!!

a/n🌟anon, I love you. here's ur fic + the tallys you added! ur ideas are GORGEOUS. this is quite hobie hand focused ngl...n i kinda don't like this??

warnings!: fem!reader x dom!hobie choking, hair pulling, overstimulation, slight mocking, slight mean hobie but gets soft at the end. use of y/n once ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

his grip on your sweaty body loosened, a sign that he had fallen asleep after sex. he always did — he was out like a light everytime. you didn't mind, you enjoyed the sleepy cuddles. but you weren't that tired this time. you were still led ontop of him, puffing small amounts of air from your lips as your eyes drifted to the sharpie he used to sign autographs, immediately smiling at your little idea. you snatch up the sharpie, gently sliding down his body and writing 'y/n's property' along his hip bone with a cheesy grin.

with the remainder of your smudged lipstick, you kiss right next to the writing for affect. you giggle, grabbing your phone, pushing his boxers band down to make sure the writing was clear. You snap a picture of it, staring at it for a couple seconds before moving your phone away. you let out a yelp of surprise when you see hobie staring right at you, a very unimpressed and unamused look on his face.

"Fuckin' hell! I thought you were asleep." You gasped, your hands on his lower abdomen now as you sat on his lap.

"Yeah, can fuckin' see tha'. The bloody 'ell do y'think you're doin'?" He grumbled, sitting up and gripping your hips, sliding you closer to him, your breath hitching as your panty-clad cunt brushed against his already rehardening cock.

"was jus' having some fun." You shrugged. he rolled his eyes, placing his hand on the back of your head to brace you as he flipped the both of you over, your back now hitting the mattress as he flipped your positions, glaring at you from above. he pulled down your panties once again, making you shiver.

"we just finished." You grunted, your lips parting softly as he ran a finger through your folds, gathering your slick from previous rounds.

"so? should've thought 'bout that before you started tha' shi." He huffed, grabbing your hips and yanking you towards him, placing his head between your thighs. he kissed up them, nibbling softly on occasion, smirking at your impatient whimpers. he dug his fingers into your skin to make you stop squirming.

"hob — quit it." You whined, your legs attempting to close around his head to stop him but he forced them open.

"naw." He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, making you jolt with a moan. he smirks, putting your legs over his shoulder. in no time he started devouring you like you were his very last meal, like you didn't finish fucking approximately half an hour ago. he was insatiable. give him a ten minute break and this man can go another couple rounds. you shudder around him as he eats your cunt like he never will again.

"yeah? you like that, doll?" he murmured against your pussy, making you mewl with a nod.

"mhm! don't stop, please." you begged, your hands finding their way to his wicks, tugging him closer to your cunt. he hummed lowly, sucking on your clit as his free hand that wasn't holding your down snaked between you two, his middle and ring finger prodding at your entrance before sinking in and immediately curling to your sweet spot. you gasp shakily, whining as you tug harder on his hair.

"Hobie! fuck, m'gonna cum." you cried, the overstimulation from earlier on still lingering, making the build up painfully good.

"c'mon ma, cum f'me. you got it." he cooed, pulling away to let his fingers to the rest of the work, leaning down to drink up your cries in a messy kiss you can barely reciprocate. as you gush around his fingers, he didn't slow his movements, prolonging your orgasm until you push his hand away, muttering a "t'much.." he kisses down your neck, humming softly.

"open up, good girl." he grunted, making you suck your own slick off his fingers, your tongue lazily swirling around the digits, making him groan and his cock throb. whilst you sucked on is fingers, his other hand pulled away from your hips to grab the marker. he put it between his teeth to bite the cap off, spitting out onto the bed next to you. you frown, wondering what he was doing, but before you could pull away to ask his slender fingers pushed deeper and made you gag and grab his wrist. he grinned cockily at your gag before leaning down to your inner thigh to draw one simple line. a rally, if you will. he pulled his fingers away from your lips, nodding towards the black line on your thigh.

"think we should keep addin' onto i'?" he rhetorically asked, his answer already being yes. his large hands grabbing your hips, flipping you over with ease and pulling your ass into the air. you yelp, your hands flying back to grab his arm. he tuts, shaking his head.

"c'mon, baby. be a good sport." he mocked with a shit eating grin, pushing your head further into the mattress. "hobie..s'not fair." you whined, but pushed your hips back to grind your ass against his dick anyway.

"aww, it's not fair?" he repeated as he reached down into his joggers to pull out his dick, pumping it a few times before lining it up with your entrance. you meet him half way, pushing back until you're buried to the hilt. you both let out a moan, before hobie slid his hand to the middle of your back and pushed down to deepen your arch. his other hand remained on your hip, gripping the flesh there hard enough to bruise.

"go on, then. fuck ya'self on my dick like a good girl." he urged, watching how you rocked your hips back and forth slowly, nearly moaning at the sight of him sliding in and out of you, your slick coating his dick. "oh god, feels s'good, hob." you mewled, nails digging into the sheets so hard they might as well rip them apart.

he hummed knowingly, both hands now holding your hips. he took over, not liking the slow ass pace you set. his thrusts were deep and rough, each one making a small ah! ah! ah! sound spill from your lips and into the fluffy pillow.

"fuck, such a slut fo' me, hm? yeah, you like having your lil' cunt pounded everyday." he said between his teeth. it was hardly a question anymore. you did.

"mhm! mhm! fuck, faster, please." you cried into the pillow, your already pre-smudged mascara wiping off onto the white pillow case. he went faster, one hand sliding up your body and wrapping around your neck. he yanked your body up to meet his chest, still thrusting unforgivingly into you as his veiny hand gripped your neck firmly.

"faster? fo'real? can't ever ge' enough, can ya?" He teased, his breath brushing your ear as he hovered by your neck, just being able to see your fucked out face through the corner of his eye. strained whines and whimpers fell from you, the hand on your neck making your head spin so good.

"I asked ya' a question." He scoffed, slowing his thrusts. you shake your head, your hand flying back to try and make him resume. he loosens his grip on your throat so you can speak.

"no! can't get enough. m'sorry, please. don't stop. don't stop." you panted, voice sounding like you're on the verge of sobbing as your nails dug into him to try and make him continue. he smirked, realising how pathetic he makes you. it was adorable to him, gave him an ego boost the man definitely did not need.

"since ya' begged so nicely, doll." he mumbled, giving you a quick kiss on the side of your head before his hand slid from your neck to your hair, gripping it tightly to force you down again. you moaned, your arms attempting to force yourself upwards but he wiped them out with his free hand before it went to your hip. he resumed pounding into you, the sound of skin meeting skin, your moans and mewls, and his breathy groans filling your small bedroom.

your orgasm was building quickly, his hand tugging at your hair, his tip practically hitting your cervix and bruising it — it was all too much. "h-hob! m'gonn-" you barely got the words out before your orgasm crashed over you, making your entire body tremble and a loud cry fall from your puffy lips. you coated his dick with your release, and he released your hair.

"good girl, tha'sss it. jus' like that." He praised, leaning down to kiss your shoulder as he grabs the pen he tossed aside earlier, marking your inner thigh once more. that makes two tallys. "can ya give me one more, ma?" He whispered, kissing your back and shoulder. you whined breathily, shaking your head a little before he pulled out and flipped you over.

he reached over to your bedside table, tapping your jaw gently as he raises the glass full of water to your lips. "open. take a drink, doll." He whispered softly, his free hand tucking your hair behind your ear. you smiled gently, putting your lips to the glass and letting him raise it slightly so you could take a couple sips of the water, the coldness easing your dry mouth and sore throat. he smiled softly, putting the glass back down on the side table.

"good girl. such a good girl, hm?" He muttered, kissing your lips softly a few times, and it almost made you not notice the way his hands went to grab your thighs. almost.

"he-hey! what're you doin'?" you mumbled, looking up at him with fluttering eyes. "well, you're a good girl, righ'? a good girl can give me one more." he cooed, pushing your legs to your chest, admiring the way your cunt drooled for him. you huffed, but nodded nonetheless.

"mhph. one more." you warned, but your tone failed you as it turned to a whine half way through as his dick prodded at your entrance.

"yeah, just one more, baby." He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your calf before sinking himself into you with a groan from him, a mewl from you. his thrusts were slow but deep, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you.

"oh — oh — oh!" you moaned each time he hit that sweet spot inside you, your nails clawing marks into his back. "tha's it, ma. you got it. jus' relaaaxx." he drawed, kissing your nose softly before looking down to where you're connected.

"look a' her...takin' me so well, pretty." he praised, feeling you clench around him. your moans were breathy, your eyes fluttering closed as you gripped onto him.

"m'so close, m'god." you whined quietly, your back arching slightly. "s'okay, baby. you got it, cum f'me." he whispered, kissing your calf again softly, the coldness of his lip piercing a stark contrast to your hot skin.

you let out a high pitched, long moan as your legs shook against his hold as you came around his dick once more. your orgasm triggered his, making him groan softly as he filled you to the brim, softly pulling out a few moments later and muttering an apology when you wince. he laid your legs softly back onto the bed, kissing your body a few times as he tucked himself back into his boxers.

you were half asleep at this point, all fucked out and tired. he took the pen once more, gently writing 'hobie's property' right above your cunt. he grabbed his phone, snapping a quick picture of his n yours cum spilling out of your used cunt and the markings, grinning to himself. he then tucked his phone away, standing up to go to the bathroom and wet a flannel. he came back, carefully cleaning you up so he didn't disturb you, avoiding the now slightly smudged tally marks and his marking, before tossing the flannel to the side. he put your panties back on, grabbing one of his shirts from your floor and muttering a quiet — "cmon, help me out." as he slid it over your head, your arms going into the sleeve before you went back limp.

he curled up next to you, tucking you into him and kissing your head.

"i love you, sweetheart."

"love you more." you mumbled before falling into a deep sleep.

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kpopaussieline · 4 months

Text

It's a Bet

Genre: smut MDNI

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Afab!Reader, mutual masturbation, pet names (babe, baby, pretty girl, honey, sweetheart, princess), unprotected sex (DON'T), creampie

Synopsis: You and Wooyoung made a bet with your friends that you could keep your hands to yourselves for a week. But that's easier said than done...

A/n: The polls have spoken! Here's the Wooyoung fic as promised <33

∆°^°∆*^*∆°^°∆*^*∆°^°∆*^*∆°^°∆

You groaned and hit your head against the kitchen counter.

Wooyoung didn't notice. He was in the next room, all his attention on the TV.

You looked up at him, biting your lip. He was so 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯. 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘦.

He knew it, you knew it, everyone knew it.

Yeah, you'd hit the lottery and people often told you how lucky you were. But having a gorgeous boyfriend had its downsides. He could use his looks against you. Like he'd been doing for the past week.

You two never really took your hands off each other. Even when you weren't cuddling on the couch or intertwined in bed, Wooyoung had to at least be holding your hand or have his hand on the small of your back. Your friends had teased you both for it and it led to a bet that you could go without affection or sex for a week straight.

You were confident at the time, but you regretted it now. You'd been feeling pent up since day two, and staring at him now— his black hair falling in his face, man-spreading in his baggy pants— was not helping matters.

Wooyoung was a cheeky asshole so naturally he'd been doing everything he could to tease you. Walking around shirtless. Practising those sensual choreos until sweat dripped off his skin. Stripping and getting in the shower while you were still using the bathroom. You tried not to let it get to you, but your resolve was fading.

From his spot on the sofa, Wooyoung threw his head back and moaned— "stretching". You gritted your teeth and clenched your thighs. You glared at him, both with lust and annoyance.

That's it. You turned and started storming toward the bedroom, ready to put the vibrator to use.

"Babe," Wooyoung's voice called out, stopping you in your tracks. "Come here a sec, will you?"

You sighed before turning on your heel and going into the living room.

Wooyoung's gaze followed your every move. A smirk pulled up the corner of his lips as you stood in front of him, seeming on edge as you fixed him with an irritated look. You didn't mean to. You were just feeling so horny that it'd given you resting bitch face because you couldn't act on it.

"Yes?" You tried to sound civil and not like everything about him right then made you want to pounce on him.

Wooyoung tilted his head. "You're not taking this bet well at all... are you, honey?"

No fucking shit, thanks to you. You restrained an eye roll. "You could say that," you said in a strained tone.

"Hm. Do you need to get off, pretty girl?"

His words went straight to your core. You didn't answer, but he read it in your face.

He chuckled under his breath, an amused rumble in his throat. "How wet are you right now, princess?"

Your eyes flickered to the floor, your fingers pinching the hem of your shirt.

"Show me."

Your head snapped up. "What?"

Wooyoung smirked and you instantly knew you were screwed. "Get on your knees, princess, and show me how wet you are."

Who were you to resist? You quickly stepped out of your jeans, revealing the black thong you wore underneath. You sank to your knees in a W pose while Wooyoung's lustful eyes watched on.

Maintaining eye contact, your hand snaked down your panties and your fingers brushed against your swollen clit. You moaned softly at the contact, your lips parting and eyes drifting shut for a second.

When you opened your eyes, Wooyoung was already pulling out his cock. You smirked at the idea that he'd been suffering just as much as you.

Your fingers went to work, rubbing your clit and dipping into your dripping pussy. You let out a series of quiet moans that mixed with Wooyoung's, accompanied by the lewd but tempting noises of him fucking his fist.

It felt good, but it wasn't enough. The two fingers stroking your walls could never compare to the delicious fullness that his dick gave you. You couldn't reach your cervix like his tip could, or hit your g-spot like he could. You just knew that after holding off so long he could have you seeing stars within minutes.

You withdrew your fingers from your cunt and watched Wooyoung for a second. He looked so pretty like that— his hand tight around his throbbing cock, working the mixture of spit and precum up and down his shaft. His head thrown back against the couch, jaw slack and eyes closed, his hair falling in his eyes.

You stood up and slipped off your panties before making your way to the sofa. You gently seized Wooyoung's wrist and stopped his ministrations. He looked up at you with lidded eyes, confused. You smiled and straddled his lap, hovering your pussy just over his leaking tip. He groaned, placing his hands on your hips, ready to guide you.

"What about the bet?" he questioned, his voice hoarse. You could tell he was too preoccupied thinking about getting off to even try and sound cocky.

You slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, feeling that familiar stretch. "To hell with the bet," you said, biting your lip as you took in his length. "I need you now. And I know you need me too." The two of you let out a satisfied sigh as he bottoms out.

Wooyoung's fingers dug into your hips as they rocked against him. He groaned as his lips landed on your neck, suckling at the skin.

"You're not wrong there," he murmured.

You picked up pace, alternating between grinding and bouncing on his cock. As predicted you felt your high approaching fast. And going by the tension in Wooyoung's body, he was getting closer too.

You shifted slightly, finding a position where his tip stimulated your g-spot perfectly. You sped up, ignoring the ache in your thighs. Your moans grew louder, joining the wet sounds of your pussy sucking in his dick.

Wooyoung slipped a hand between your bodies and toyed with your clit as he left small hickeys and bite marks on your collarbone. That sent you over the edge, your high hitting you like a truck. You moaned out loudly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you collapsed against him. He continued rubbing your clit and bucking his hips, working you through your orgasm as he chased his own. With your cum coating his cock, he wasn't far behind you. It only took two more thrusts before he was painting your walls white.

There was a moment of silence, penetrated only by your heavy breaths and the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You smiled against Wooyoung's neck before giving it a quick kiss.

"Thanks, baby. I needed that."

He laughed breathlessly and planted a kiss on your temple. "No problem, sweetheart." Then he whispered in your ear, his usual cocky tone having returned. "But you're the one telling our friends you lost the bet."

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #wooyoung hard thoughts #wooyoung hard hours #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fic #Spotify

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 1 year

Text

Nights Spent In; Azul Ashengrotto

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, established relationship

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; This is for one of my first mutuals @azulashengrottospiano! I hope you enjoy this, and some domestic Azul! [and I'm keeping a screenshot of your ask ^v^]

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

Safe to say your social battery was pretty much at zero. You had fun, yes, but all you wanted to do was stay at home in some ridiculously comfortable pyjamas, eat leftovers from lunch, cuddle a bit, and maybe look through the storage container labelled Games! :D since there could be some hidden gems in there. And right now you were cuddled up under a super chunky knit blanket, snug as a bug in a rug.

You were content just putting the leftovers from lunch in the microwave, but Azul had insisted that he made the both of you dinner. You didn’t mind, since you had a nice view of him working away in the kitchen, muttering the recipe of tonight’s dinner to himself. He was even wearing the frilly apron and kitschy oven mitts.

What a dork. I love him so much. You giggled to yourself, watching Azul go about the kitchen, off in his own little world.

Sighing, you got up — the blanket draped over your shoulders so you were still in your nice blanket burrito — and shuffled over to the Games! :D container, seeing if there was anything interesting that Azul wouldn’t just automatically win. You loved him, but if he made you go bankrupt again in this world’s version of Monopoly one more time you swore that you weren’t going to give him any kisses. You may love him, but he was not a humble winner.

So any strategy games were completely out the window, luck based games were more on your side… hopefully luck just decided to favour you tonight. At least you had a cute chef at the least.

Hmm? What’s this? Blowing off the dust you pulled out an old edition of Snakes and Ladders. It relied only on luck, so it was perfect!

“Hey, sweetie,” you called to the kitchen.

Azul was just placing your dinner in the oven, it would take about thirty minutes to bake, so he had time to spare… and for you? He could spare all the time in the world for you. “What is it, darling?”

You held up the game under your chin and gave him your biggest smile. “Wanna play?” You waggled eyebrows for some added flair, and it made Azul chuckle.

“Fine, one round, but I won’t go easy on you,” he said, sitting down at the coffee table. He eyed the game, and squinted his eyes at the dice. A luck-based game? Playing your cards right I see.

“You never do,” you shot him a wink and rolled the dice. You moved your piece forward, not hitting any ladders.

Azul rolled his eyes, but took his turn, overtaking you by two spaces, also not hitting any ladders. “Would you rather that I did?” He looked up at you through his lashes, a small smug smile on his face.

You hummed as you took your turn, getting a ladder and going up a row. “No, it’s more fun like this, plus you’re extra cute when you get fired up.”

Azul pushed up his glasses, trying to ignore the warmth that had seeped into his cheeks. “Flattery won’t help you, my dear, when I win.”

“We’ll see about that.~”

The rest of the game was spent in silence, the occasional tch escaping when either of you hit a snake, but the game was neck in neck. You had to roll a perfect six to win, and Azul a four, and it was his turn. The both of you had your fingers crossed.

He rolled a two, the exact number that he didn’t want. He moved his piece forward and gritted his teeth as he moved it down two rows. He sighed, handing over the die. He knew that he had most likely lost this game.

You gently took it, and rolled a six. You had won. “Looks like luck was on my side tonight,” you grinned.

Azul grumbled, but he couldn’t stay mad at you. “Would you like a prize for that?” It was part sarcasm, but also part genuine question.

You placed a kiss on his cheek. “Just spending time with you is a prize in its own right… but I won’t say no to your cooking either!”

It wasn’t really a prize, as you were already getting his cooking for dinner, but it nonetheless made Azul feel soft and warm. The two of you really should spend more nights in if they were going to be like this.

~~~~~~~

Tags: @eynnwwyjth, @hydra-sea, @inkybloom-luv, @identity-theft-101, @krenenbaker, @officialdaydreamer00, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

#dove does events #follower event #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto x gn reader #sha la la la my oh my! go on and ~kiss da 'zul~#you cannot tell me that he wouldn't wear a frilly apron; he's a nerd you know he would #would it even be called snakes and ladders in twst? ... eels and ladders???#idk but it would be funny if azul was silently cursing out the tweels #also; idk if you remember your ask BUT you did in fact request the same 3 people as last time ^v^ that was also a part of why i tagged you #- in the vil drabble. i diagnose you with azul trey and vil brain rot #this is technically a bonus drabble #scheduled post since idk if i'll be busy or not #hope you enjoy auburn; and thank you for supporting the soul match au in it's infancy ^v^

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freshxsturniolo · 2 months

Note

This might be a mouth full but can you do one where Matt o(or Chris)and y/n are in a relationship but they had some time apart and in that time Matt (or Chris) saw someone else and they go to mutuals party she’s there but y/n has no idea they hooked up and when she pieces it together she gets upset that he never told her and etc.

HEY BABY this was so fun to write. i hope this is okay <3 (i did matt hehe)

your relationship with matt in the first year had been far from perfect. you were the absolute definition of right person, wrong time. his YouTube career was at its peak, subscribers climbing higher and higher each week, and it was difficult for you both to juggle such a change to his life, plus your own life with your own commits, and your relationship.

when you both came to the decision to take a break for a while, your heart had broke. you had both cried and spent the day in his room, cuddled together on his bed watching your favourite tv shows, promising to always love each other no matter what happened.

you spent 6 months watching him rise and rise, whilst your own career took off better than ever. you were heartbroken but you had hope. you had faith that together one day you would be together again. you had said it was nothing more than a break, knowing your love for each other would bond together again one day. but over the course of those months you both become so busy, it had almost seemed unlikely. you had somehow learned to live a life without matt sturniolo, watching from the shadows of his life.

texts become the odd instagram dm, before becoming nothing more than the odd instagram like. but you were happy. you could tell he was living his life, he looked happier and healthier than had ever done before and that was enough for you.

"we love each other no matter what happens, okay?" his words to you that final night 6 months prior. and you did.

but when you woke up one january morning to a missed call, your heart had been in your throat. it had come early, around 6am, but in your deep slumber you hadn't heard it. there was no follow up. there was no text afterwards. you even checked on instagram and there had been no DM. you had almost convinced yourself it was accidental, but there was something in your heart pulling you to him.

so you called, and he answered on the first ring. you grabbed coffee together an hour later, and that night, you were back at his house, watching movies with him and his two brothers like nothing had ever happened.

"i never stopped loving you, you know" he had said, and you had smiled as you finally leant in to kiss his soft lips.

"me either, matt. we said we never would."

he smiled. "i know"

and suddenly, everything worked out. the time apart had been perfect, you couldn't deny it. as heartbroken as you had been at the time. you had learned to live without him but the minute you was in his presence again, you knew you never actually wanted to live without him.

and matt felt the same. he knew that the lack of contact was his own fault. he had been the one to stop replying to your texts, the one to stop replying to your instagram stories, but he had never stopped thinking about you. his brothers had told him he was stupid, but he knew he wasn't. the 6 months break was needed. and when he woke up that one january morning, and he woke up and did his daily scan of your social media outlets, he knew it was time. he knew he needed you back in his life.

to now, 5 months later, watching you apply the last touch of your make up in the mirror of his bathroom whilst he came out of his bedroom, looking at you with a smile.

"you ready?" he asked, and you looked at him through the mirror.

"beyond ready, i need a drink" you said, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. his arms snaked around your lower back and he leant in to give you a soft kiss.

"you two are too lovey dovey for me" you heard chris remark from the kitchen, and you had rolled your eyes with a laugh, pulling away.

"try talking to a girl for more than one second" matt had said, and you turned around to slap his arm. these boys could be so cruel to each other, but you knew it was all in love.

"come on, we're already late" nick had said from somewhere you couldn't see until you heard his feet down the stairs, chris following not far behind.

and an hour later, you where leant against the kitchen in your friends new house, chatting to a few of your girlfriends. you were celebrating her new career move and her new house and you were beaming with pride at how all of your lives were working out. your friends were happy, you were happy, your boyfriend was happy. life couldn't have worked out better.

"so," your friend said, coming to the side of you. "you and matt are okay, right?"

you smiled at her, swallowing down your drink.

"better than ever. the break really did us good" you said, and she smiled.

"im so glad."

and as if right on queue, he appeared.

"hey, babe" he said, walking over and planting a kiss on your lips.

"hey, baby" you smiled in return.

he moved to the side of you, reaching around to grab a fresh drink.

"you having fun?" he asked, but you didn't get chance to reply before his name was squealed from somewhere across the room. both of your heads snapped around, and it didn't take more than a second to see the beaming smile of some girl you'd never seen. you knew your friend had a whole group of friends you didn't know, you'd been passing polite hellos across the last hour, but this girl you had never seen before.

"oh, fuck." you heard matt utter under his breath, and your head snapped away from the gorgeous girl walking towards you and towards your boyfriend. you noticed the way his face had turned weary.

"who's that?" you whispered, and he looked at you for a millisecond before the girl was in front of you.

she was taller than you, her hair placed in a blonde bun on top of her head, and she was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. you didn't even notice you'd straightened your position and pouted your lips slightly.

her arms immediately went around matts neck, and you stood at the side of him as you watched him wrap his arms loosely around her back.

"hey" he muttered as they pulled away.

"i haven't seen you in so long" she beamed up at him, before her eyes finally diverted in your direction. "oh, hey!" she said, and you smiled.

"this is y/n" he said, and you saw from the corner of your eye that he was looking at you as he said it. but you kept your eyes on this stunning blonde, watching as her eyes widen slightly. and then she lunges forward to hug you, her perfume strong against your nose.

"i've heard so much about you!" she exclaims. you can't help but hug her back.

"you have?" you say with a laugh, your eyes finally meeting matts against the hug. when she pulls away, you notice the way his eyes go straight to her.

"so much! so," she says, taking a step back. "you guys are back together?"

"yeah" matt answers immediately, his hand finding yours.

"ah, im happy for you both!" she beams. "that explains the quietness, matt" she laughs, and your heart stops.

you look down at matts hand in yours, the sudden need to be close to you, and her words, and suddenly you feel sick.

the blonde reaches behind matt to the row of drinks behind you, and when her eyes are diverted else where you give matt a look, he smiles. but it doesn't reach his eyes like it normally does. when she finally pulls back, drink in hand, she looks between you both awkwardly. matt still hasn’t responded to her previous remark.

you put on a smile before pulling your hand away from matt.

“well, i’ll leave you both to catch up” you say, diverting your eyes to the girl who you hadn’t even asked her name, before you turn on your heel.

“babe” he starts, but you turn around quickly.

“matt,” you say. and he knows. he knows not to follow you.

you look back to the girl. “lovely to meet you”

“you too” she says, but you’ve walked away before you even see her face.

you can’t be upset. you can’t. but god it was so fucking obvious. her excited squeal, the look on her face when he said your name, it was so fucking obvious and you can’t help the tears that have brimmed in your eyes.

but you’re startled by a familiar face walking around the corner, slamming yourself against his chest.

“woooo easy tiger” chris says, and you look up at him as the first tear falls. “oh, fuck. what’s happened?”

but his eyes divert behind you and you see the way his eyes widen. it’s all the confirmation you need.

“did he sleep with her?” you ask, taking a deep breath. you could not cry on your boyfriends brothers shoulder.

“it’s not my place-“

you laugh. “so yes”

“it was only a handful of times”

“a HANDFUL?” you shout, and chris’ eyes widen as he pulls you backwards, out of the view of the kitchen and into the hallway he’d just emerged from. “a fucking handful, chris?”

“i’m not sure, alright? you should speak to matt about it”

you knew he was right. you were putting him on the spot and that wasn’t fair.

“can i chill with you, for a minute?” you ask, the anger surging through you almost unbearable.

“yes, come on” he says, and he takes your wrists and drags you in the direction of some of his friends.

they shout your name when they see you, and you put on a brave face, but the atmosphere is ruined. it’s not that you could even be mad. jesus, you weren’t together. but it was the not knowing. it was the fact he hadn’t told you. you had spent months learning to live a life without him and he’d spent it buried up in some other girl.

“he loves you, you know” chris said randomly an hour later. you’d been glued it his side the entire time, and listening to him yap to his friends had kept you from spiralling. the blonde and matt had not entered your line of sight once.

you look up at him with a smile. “i know” you whisper, and he gives you a one arm hug, pulling you into his side. “go and talk to him, please.”

and you knew you had to. because you weren’t having fun, and you needed to hear it from him.

so you stand up, leaving chris to his friends and make your way into the kitchen. your eyes scan but matts no where to be seen, and you let out a sigh as you head towards to garden. it’s louder out here, people are so clearly drunk and there’s more and more people you don’t recognise now, but you hear a familiar laugh from the right side of you and you turn to see nick, and just to his side is matt, picking off the label of his drink. but it only takes him a few seconds before his eyes are on yours, his back straightening immediately before his drink is placed on the table and he stands, heading straight towards you. you can feel the tears forming immediately.

“where have you been?” he asks when he reaches you, his voice mellow.

“with chris” you admit, but you can’t stop the crack in your voice.

“baby-“

“why didn’t you tell me, matt?”

“i’m so - i’m sorry. it didn’t seem relevant”

you scoff. “of course it’s relevant, matt. of course it is”

“it was nothing. i promise it was nothing. i missed you every single day, alright? every single fucking second. but you were thriving, babe. i saw it all over your instagram, you were thriving and it would have been selfish of me to ask you back so soon”

you sigh, looking up at the sky. the sun was still bright but it was nearing evening time.

“how long after we ended it?” you ask. you needed to know.

“3 months” he admits.

“and how long for?” you ask. you shouldn’t care. it doesn’t matter. “actually, don’t answer that. i don’t need to know”

matt smiles slightly. “i should have told you. i’m sorry. i just didn’t want to lose you before i’d even got you back” he says, and your heart swells.

“we promised to love each other always, matt.”

“i know, baby. and i do. so much.” he grabs your face in between his hands now, and you can’t help but let out a smile.

“i’m sorry” you whisper, and his face screws in confusion.

“for getting mad. what you did in those 6 months shouldn’t matter. but-“

“it’s okay” he cuts you off. “it’s totally okay. i should have told you.”

and then he kisses you, softly, like he doesn’t know what your reaction will be, but you lean in to kiss him back.

“can we go home?” you ask, suddenly feeling drained and out of social battery.

“i was about to ask you the same thing.”

and so he drove you both home, his hand on your thigh the entire time as he drove, a comfortable silence washing over you. but when you pull up, you need to ask him one more thing before you get let the situation drop.

“matt” you start, and he turns to you. “you said it would have been selfish to ask me back so soon.”

his eyes look over you, but you continue. “is that why you stopped contact? so that you wouldn’t?”

he sighs, twisting his position to look out the front of his car. and he thinks for a while. i can see him trying to figure out what to say. and then he turns to look at you again.

“yes. it was so hard for me. chris and nick kept telling me i was stupid, that you loved me and that you would have supported me no matter what we went through. but i knew that the break would have made us stronger. and then i saw you thriving y/n, you were telling me all these amazing things and i just couldn’t. we needed time apart, to focus on other things. and i don’t know why i started hooking up with her, maybe to fill a void? life was hard without you.”

you nod, you understand. “i would have come straight back.” you say, and he smiles.

“i know. and that’s why i couldn’t.”

you sit in silence for a while, thinking about him. the life you had before. but also the life you had now. and it had worked. he was yours. no one else’s.

“i understand. i really do. im so proud of you”

“for what?”

“everything, matt. you say you saw me thriving but every single day, i saw you. and chris and nick. and maybe im selfish that i would have come back so quickly, but im proud of you, okay? so fucking proud.”

and his lips are on yours immediately, pushing you against the car window, and you can’t help but giggle into him.

“i should be grateful, i suppose” you mutter against his lips, and he pulls away to look at you with a questioning glare. you shrug. “cause now i know no other chick can fill your void.”

“oh shut up” he mumbles, but you’re both laughing as he kisses you again.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff

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metallicaislife · 11 months

Text

The Photographer and the Guitarist pt 2

The Photographer and the Guitarist

Requested by: Anon

Genre: 18+ smut and fluff minors dni

Word Count: 1,007

Warnings: Phone sex, mutual masturbation over the phone, p in v sex

After the tour was over, I was afraid the magic of what Kirk and I shared would disappear. Turns out I had nothing to fret about.

Kirk and I went on a couple real dates, then we decided to be an exclusive couple.

We made it work even while Metallica wasn’t touring, and I had gigs with other bands.

Kirk and I were laying in bed together cuddling. Tomorrow morning I’d be going on tour with Megadeath.

“Look, Dave can be charming. Please don’t get road goggles. Don’t fall for him, or in his bed” Kirk pleaded as he rubbed soft circles on my back.

“Kirk, I only have eyes for you. I won’t tell you I’m a saint and hadn’t hooked up on the road before, but you’re the only one who’s stolen my heart.” I assured him as I stroked his face with my thumb. Kirk nuzzled into my touch. I leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips. He wrapped his arms around me tightly and rolled us over so he was on top of me.

“I love you.” He said, his eyes pierced my soul, as his words pierced my heart.

“I love you.” I replied, bringing his lips back to mine.

During the tour I called Kirk every night, I was lucky enough to get a single room every stop on this tour.

“What are you wearing?” I asked playfully as I leaned against the headboard.

“My boxers. What are you wearing?” He asked me.

“Your favorite black lace panties.” I answered him. I could hear him take a sharp inhale.

“And?” He questioned.

“Nothing.” I replied as I traced soft circles on my nipple.

“Mmm. I want to touch you so bad.” He said.

“You can’t, but I can.” I replied as my hand trailed down reaching under my panties. I started rubbing my clit in slow circles. I could hear Kirk pull his cock out, he began stroking it. I slipped two fingers into my pussy.

“Fucking yourself, thinking and wishing it was my cock?” He asked, his breath growing labored.

“Yes. Can’t fill myself up like you do.” I replied. I picked up the speed of my fingers before pulling them out to rub my clit.

“I wanna see you split open on my cock. Taking it like such a good girl.” Kirk said. I moaned as I came.

“I want to ride you. Make you feel so good you see stars.” I told him. Kirk groaned and came.

“I miss you.” I said after I caught my breath.

“I miss you too, baby. Not much longer though. You’re halfway done.” He said.

“I know, it’ll hopefully go by quickly.” I answered.

“I hope so too.” He replied.

“I’m sleepy, so I’m going to bed. I love you, talk to you tomorrow.” I said.

“Sweet dreams, love you.” He said. I hung up the phone and fell asleep.

I was finally at the end of the tour. It was the last show. I was doing my thing and taking photographs, it was the last song of the night and a pair of arms snaked around my middle. I jumped trying to escape the grasp. Then I heard a familiar chuckle. I turned my head and Kirk was smiling at me. I shifted in his arms so I could hug him tightly.

“Oh my god, Kirk!” I squealed. He held me tightly. I lifted my head and captured his lips in a passionate kiss.

“I’m so happy to see you but I have to keep snapping pictures.” I gushed.

“You do your thing, it’s hot by the way. The way you concentrate so hard.” He winked. My cheeks heated as I did my best to focus on catching snapshots of the band. The show ended and they came out for an encore.

After they finished, Kirk went backstage with me so I could gather my things.

“Kirk Hammett? At my show?” Dave said as he spotted us.

“Actually I’m here for the photographer.” Kirk pointed at me. Dave looked confused.

“Well, if my services aren’t needed anymore I’m going back to the hotel.” I waved and grabbed Kirk’s hand.

I practically dragged Kirk to the hotel. When we got to my room I pinned him to the door as it closed. I wrapped my arms around him tightly. He leaned down kissing me hard. Our clothes flew on the way to the bed. He sat in the middle of the bed. I situated myself to sit on his lap, I began riding him as we sloppily made out.

“Fuck I missed this so much.” I said and dug my fingers into his shoulder.

“Me too, so much.” Kirk said.

My legs started to ache but I kept going. Kirk reached down and started rubbing my clit. I let out a satisfying scream as I came, I could never make myself feel as good as Kirk does. I couldn’t move anymore. Kirk held me as he laid me down. He thrust his hips into me hard until he reached his high. He leaned his forehead against my shoulder, kissing it softly.

“How much would it cost for you to be Metallica’s full time photographer?” Kirk asked as I played with his hair.

“I don’t know, but the offer sounds intriguing.” I giggled.

“I don’t want to spend this much time away from you again.” He said, perching his chin on my chest so he could look up at me.

“We’ll figure something out.” I promised.

“The guys are already on board, just so you know.” He said. I grinned at him.

“I’ll consider it.” I told him. He grinned back at me and leaned up, capturing my lips with his. His hips slowly started to roll again.

“Mm you’re not leaving this bed until morning.” He said, kissing my neck. I giggled.

“Sounds good to me.” I replied, running my hands down his back.

If I only photograph Metallica for the rest of my career, it would be totally worthwhile.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

#metallica x reader #metallica #metallica imagines #metallica scenarios #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett #metallica smut #kirk hammett smut

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basketballanonsblog · 9 months

Text

I've been off sick from work 😷 so here's some fluff

Synopsis: In sickness and health, you'll always take care of her

In sickness and in...

"Hey jagiya, are you nearly ready? I'm on my way."

A sneeze made you flinch before a hoarse voice answered.

"Y/n. I'm going to have to take a raincheck. I'm sorry.

"Don't apologise, mi amor. I'll be there.

"Baby - "

"I know, but I want to look after you. See you soon, I love you."

"I love you too."

-x-

Jeongyeon had fallen asleep by the time you arrived, so you decided to make soup with the groceries you brought.

The food was ready when you felt arms snake around your waist. She looked exhausted and feverish.

"Do I look that bad?" She teased when you frowned in concern.

"No. You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. How are you feeling?"

"Sick." You immediately gave her water when she started coughing.

"Come on, I made you something."

-×-

It took hardly any coaxing for her to eat and take medicine.

But she protested when you tried to snuggle close to her.

"Why not?"

"Because you'll get sick too!"

"I don't care."

You knew you won when she sighed.

She continued to grumble as she laid her head on your chest.

"You're so stubborn."

"No, I'm not. I'm just a simple human who is deeply in love with my girlfriend and wants cuddles with her."

You could feel her smile more than you could see it.

"Cheesy woman."

"Only for you."

-x-

Jeongyeon opened her eyes sometime later after you both fell asleep. The couch was only comfortable for so long, and she felt it in her shoulders. She could only imagine how sore your body was going to be.

Facing you properly, she took the time to just look at you. She loved seeing you so peaceful. Her eyes wandered to your arms. More specifically, the scars scattered across them.

"I honestly don't know what I'd do if you weren't here." She whispered, as her fingers moved up your arm.

Jeongyeon borrowed your phone to check the time, when a new text showed up.

It's not like you to pass up on seeing Phantom of the Opera. You know the theatre only puts it on once a year. But alright, I'll give your tickets to someone else.

Her stomach dropped. She had forgotten the show was today.

-x-

You woke up abruptly, when you felt her scramble off you and ran to the bathroom. You went after her when you heard a familiar sound.

She knelt before the toilet as you held her hair back.

Thankfully, you had water and her favourite gum at the ready.

"Why didn't you remind me?" She asked, once she sat back.

"What?"

"The show. You talked about it nonstop lately."

"You know I'd choose you over anything like that."

"I do, but it doesn't mean I don't feel guilty when you prioritise me over almost all else."

"Honey." You brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I put you first because I love you."

"But-"

"Shhh, it's okay. Besides in sickness and in health, right?" She giggled.

"Only if you're married."

"Well, the principle should still apply to unmarried couples, especially if the love and trust runs deep and is mutual. Although being married to you doesn't sound too bad."

The last part was said with so much conviction, for a moment, Jeongyeon thought it was a proposal of sorts. You managed to keep a straight face for five seconds before laughing.

"Yah y/n! Don't tease me like that."

She wouldn’t admit it, but the thought of marrying you someday gave her butterflies.

-x-

Nearly a week later, Jeongyeon was back to good health. She knocked, and the door opened to reveal you wrapped in a blanket, and behind you, tissues were lying around. She opened her mouth, but you beat her to it.

"I know, I know, no need to say it."

#twice jeongyeon #yoo jeongyeon #jeongyeon #twice x reader #jeongyeon x reader #twice imagines #jeongyeon imagines #twice fic

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pokenerd98 · 2 years

Note

Please give me any and all headcanons you can make for a gender neutral reader and my babygirl Guzma. Just general romance headcanons but of you throw in some mutual „unrequited pining that’s actually requited“ I would be delighted

Thank you for being my VERY first ask! I will certainly try to live up to your expectations! This turned out to be waaaay longer than I anticipated, so I've just focused on Guzma and another HC for the time being! I hope this is okay! Thanks so much again!

Romantic HCs: Guzma and Larry - SFW.

💀 Guzma 💀

As intimidating as this man presents himself to his grunts, and the rest of Alola for that matter, deep inside this capable trainers hard exterior, is a soft gooey centre that only surfaces when he is around you. In private, though. He won't admit it, but sometimes it does slip out when you're out in public together. The occasional soft kiss on the back of your hand without realising, or cinching your waist closer to him when around others. He'll quickly realise what he's done though, and relax his grip.

Patience is key with Guzma. Unfamiliar with reciprocated romantic love, you'll often catch him holding his breath and tensing ever so slightly when you take his hand into yours, and press your lips gently across his grazed knuckles. Your lips will linger, savouring his touch, whilst he simply doesn't know what to do with himself, other than shift awkwardly from side to side and gaze over at you with a twinkle in his eye. After a few moments of silence, he'll finally exhale. Emotion will swell deep inside him as he finally snakes his hand into yours.

He will do just about anything to have you close by at all times. He may not find himself wanting to completely abandon his Big Bad Boss image, but that won't stop him from internally yearning for your closeness. And you feel privileged to be able to see the gentler side of him, whether that be him tracing his finger tips over your waist, planting little pecks on your forehead or simply asking if you're okay after a long day. You can see he is trying, and that makes you swell with pride.

If you should find yourself sleeping beside him, like dozens of times before, you know he is a bit of a duvet hog. Perhaps this might be his pathetic little way of getting you to cuddle him close. You often find yourself being the big spoon in this situation, although it doesn't both you. You can feel his muscles relax beneath you, and him breathing a soft sigh of contentment. Sometimes you catch him sleepily nuzzling his face into your side of the blanket, if you got up in the night for whatever reason. It was simple things like this, that made loving him so effortless.

But despite what a complicated mess Guzma is, he genuinely wants to be with you as much as humanly possible. Whether that be accompanying you to Battle challenges, or simply grabbing a bite to eat, he doesn't care. As long as he gets to spend that time with you. He's even made a passing comment about you shacking up with him permanently in Po Town. Despite its reputation, you know you'd be just as happy there with him.

💼 Larry 💼

Larry never invisioned himself wanting to settle down with a s/o in his early 40s, but you came around and changed that almost straight away. He's finding the transition from a life long bachelor to a spoken for man, quite difficult; his routine quite literally flipped upside down. But as hard as this is for him, he is willing to make that change, because he's never felt this way about a person before. About you. And although emotionally speaking, he comes across as cold and distant, this is just one of the ways his love speaks to you. You know he wouldn't accommodate for just anyone, and this makes you feel special.

You find yourself sliding into Larry's monotonous daily routine without much fuss, knowing that compromise was tough for him. It worked out quite well that you started a little later than him, as it gave you time to show your appreciation for him by easing his morning chores. He often found you cooking eggs and bacon on the stove in one of his old shirts, when he eventually trudged down from the shower. Something that etched a small smile on this lips. They say that the way to a man's heart is through their stomach, and this certainly proved true with Larry. Setting his breakfast down in front of him, you could just see his face light up with excitement. He wasted no time devouring every last bite of deliciousness that you graciously prepared for him. Once finished, he would carefully pat his lips with a crumpled napkin, before taking your hand into his, and offering up a lingering kiss as thanks.

Time was of the essence in Larry's world. You hardly saw him most days because of his day job, and commitments to both the Medali Gym and The Elite Four. So the short time spent in the mornings together, and those long awaited evenings were precious. Sometimes he wouldn't wander through the door until late because Geeta had him working overtime. Something he was used to, and quite frankly didn't mind, but knew this might sadden you. He'd often make up for this by immediately abandoning his briefcase and suit jacket by the front door, loosening his tie, and slumping himself next to you on the sofa, his arms snaking around you for comfort. You could feel the tension in his touch as he tried his best to be gentle, the day clearly having took it out of him. You'd return his affection with gentle kisses along his jaw, before pulling a blanket over you both and nestling into his chest. He rarely spoke of his work day, but that's just how he liked it. When he was spending time with you, work was the last thing he wanted to bore you with.

#pokemon x reader #gym leader larry #larry x reader #guzma x reader #team skull guzma #big bad boss guzma #pokemon headcanons #pokemon larry #guzma pokemon

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colourstreakgryffin · 1 year

Note

I'm really really about the other request. And I just came up with another one, and different.

A non-yandere Obanai and Mitsuri (separate) X reader who has a pet snake.

Hmmm. I have done something similar but you know! Why not, it’s not a Yandere request so it’s different enough to count as unique! Thank you, darling!

Iguro Obanai

Obanai is a snake man himself. He adores lots of serpents, alongside his precious Kaburamaru, so when he meets a person who also likes snakes and keeps a snake around them all the time, he immediately feels a comforting mutual aura towards them

Obanai likes the way you and your cute snake buddy are just so cute together and bond so well, like one person. You love him, a bright green serpent and as you happily coo at just seeing him, Obanai is watching besides you with a joyful smile

Obanai enjoys teaching you how to properly care for and even style yourself with your snake, like he does. He feels pride when you match with him and how joyous you are being able to spend more time with your beloved serpent friend

Kanroji Mitsuri

Mitsuri finds snakes really cute! Her best friend does have one and she likes to pet them, so when she meets you, a person with a bright green snake friend they always carry around. She wants to get to know the both of you

Mitsuri is very supportive of you and your snake friend, she will never try say you can’t do what you love so she is cheering you on for carrying the green buddy around. You should always feel comfortable and she will help with that!

Mitsuri buys your little snake friend all kinds of cute accessories so she can see you style the little snake and she loves the way he cuddles her at night when you do. You all are so close and she feels so special, having the love of a sweet person and a sweet serpent!

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xocasper · 2 years

Text

Sharing Beds Like Little Kids

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Ten - Mutual Masturbation Warnings: NSFW content, angst Tags: mutual masturbation, praise kink, pining, friends with benefits Word Count: 4083 A/N: ribs fic ribs fic ribs fic

The midnight sky was decorated with stars, and frigid tides crashed over coarse sand. Moonlight spilled onto Frank, who walked hand in hand with you across the beach, dressed much more appropriately for the weather. There was a definite chill in the air, making you shiver while Frank stayed warm in a red and black pullover, his sweater paws providing you at least a bit of warmth.

He looked ethereal, pale skin glowing and his eyes lit, his excitement evident by the hint of a smile on his face. It wasn’t unusual for you to admire him like you did–he did it to you, after all. Your relationship with Frank was complicated, but you swore you were just friends.

Just friends that watch each other with the highest level of adoration, hearts pounding when they’d make the other one laugh. Just friends that had woken up in the same bed on several occasions, fully sober with no regrets. Just friends that drowned their feelings in cheap spirits and Radiohead, secretly wishing they’d confess their feelings in a drunken haze.

“What’re you thinking about?” he mumbled, clutching you tight while you continued to freeze to death beside him.

“How much I hate this beach,” you told him, a soft grin contradicting your tone.

It was true–you didn’t like it here, cigarette butts littering the rough sand that somehow ended up in your sneakers, even though you hadn’t taken them off. The night was too cold for your liking, but it did give you an excuse to bury yourself in Frank’s arms.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” he laughed, bumping his shoulder against yours.

Why he wanted to walk to the beach at midnight was beyond you, but there you were, strolling along the shoreline, fingers interlocked with his.

He stayed quiet after that, face stoic as his mind wandered. You tried to cuddle closer to him, pressing right up against him for warmth. Nonchalantly, he snaked his arm around your waist, unaware of just how much warmth he was providing, or where it was headed.

Shivers ran through you again, but not due to the air this time. Instead, it was because of Frank’s hand pressed flush against you, his thumb brushing rhythmically across your skin. Slowly, he turned to you, holding you against him while his spare hand slid up to your neck, tilting it slightly to plant a kiss on your jaw.

He didn’t typically leave marks above the waist, but there he was, sucking gently on your skin, leaving a single love bite in his wake. You didn’t mind, holding the nape of his neck and pulling him closer, lips meeting in a slow kiss. Frank swayed his hips with yours, smiling between lingering kisses.

It was moments like these that made you think that there was something there, something past friendship. He kissed you so casually, soft and tender, not because he was bored and horny. There was nothing friendly about it, how his lips moved to the sound of broken dreams and sleepless nights, all unbeknownst to him. You wondered if he felt the same—did he also lose sleep, longing for something real?

The whole scene was peaceful, your body relaxing as he stroked your hip, the faint sound of crashing waves filling the otherwise silent air. If you could stay there forever, you would, as Frank was seemingly the cure to all of your problems.

He was always smooth, albeit giggly, all of his actions seeming effortless. His tongue swept quickly across the seam of your lips, easily parting them, a barely noticeable grin forming on his face as he slid his tongue against yours.

How could he touch you, kiss you, like a lover just to swear to everyone that it wasn’t the case? Of course, you were grateful for his companionship—you’d been best friends since middle school—but to say you didn’t want more would be a lie. It wasn’t change that you wished for, but rather acknowledgment. You loved your dynamic, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to go from ”Frank’s best friend” to “Frank’s clingy partner.” If that’s what he wanted, though, you’d take it in a heartbeat, grateful that his oblivion had worn off.

It hadn’t though, and you were still stuck in an endless cycle of heartbreak, his blissful ignorance tainting every loving kiss—the kind that had you swarming with butterflies, and falling head over heels for him once more. At this rate, you’d take rushed stripping and quickies over his gentle movements.

The way his tongue moved against yours was almost antagonizing, sweet and torturous, taunting you for thinking this was a good idea in the first place. Clearly, you weren’t aware that a boring night would lead to sex and hidden feelings. If you could reach back through the past and prevent this, would you? Or would you let yourself fall for him once more, just to taste his spearmint breath, for kisses laced with faux infatuation?

You weren’t able to ponder the question for long, fading back into reality as Frank pulled away. He watched you for a moment, noticing how you had stilled, eyes unfocused and melancholy. Briefly, you pressed your lips against his again to avoid any questions, one of your hands raking through his hair to tug him closer.

His kisses turned more passionate after that, relieving some of the unintentional heartache. It was easier to pretend you were okay when it felt like sex, as opposed to something pure, painfully reminiscent of kisses between couples.

You melted against him, scratching lightly on his scalp and muffling his soft moans. He pulled away somewhat unwillingly, moving his mouth down your neck to pepper kisses across your skin, a small smile spreading across your face at the feeling.

“You’re cold,” he laughed, pulling away to look at you. You were so beautiful to him, from the way you laughed along with him to the way your eyes lit up when you smiled. “C’mon, I can wait until we’re back to mine.”

“How generous of you,” you teased, receiving another giggle and an eye roll from him.

Frank wasted no time tugging you from the shoreline, booking it up the sand with you in tow. He radiated pure sunlight, hand in yours as he ran through the streets, shining under the orange streetlights. Laughter echoed through the neighborhood, followed by soft shushing from you, though you were laughing right along with him.

It wasn’t a long walk back to his house, but it did give you enough time to let the night sink in. Oftentimes, you would thank the universe for Frank, but chasing him through the street and giggling like schoolchildren made you more grateful than usual. You weren’t in middle school anymore, and college was mere months away. The thought of losing him to adulthood was both sickening and painfully realistic; how much longer would he really stick around?

He had so much potential to do great things. In your opinion, Frank was the best person in the world. And sure, maybe you had a bias, but as you glanced at him under the starry sky, you couldn’t help but think it was true–even more so when he was already looking at you, lovestruck as can be.

He paused under a streetlamp, hands back on your waist to pull you close, smiling at how cliche it was. Frank had kissed you a million times, but this one felt different to him. Even if it was apparent to you, he didn’t bother looking for answers.

Finally, you reached his doorstep, taking extra precautions to not get caught sneaking back in. You already knew every creak in the floorboards, dodging each one with precision as you made your way upstairs. Frank was still buzzing with excitement, barely waiting until you were up the steps to drag you into his bedroom.

You kicked off your shoes and laid flat on his bed, finally warming up. He followed suit, sitting back against the headboard and staring down at you, admiring your hardly discernible features in the dark room.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, warmth flooding your veins as he watched you.

“Hi,” he said back, returning the gesture and leaning down to kiss you.

It was soft and familiar, the same obnoxious boy that had shared his first kiss with you still moving his lips just the same. He’d definitely gained more experience since then, but he was still playful, slipping tongue between moans. That certainly hadn’t happened the first time, but you had grown up. You weren’t on the playground anymore, hiding behind a tube slide as he pressed his lips against yours, and you were no longer the only girl willing to kiss him. Even if he did it to avoid eating an earthworm, you went home buzzing that day, scribbling down every detail in your diary–even if you had embellished its greatness.

No, now you were in his bedroom, and the clock was ticking toward his first day of college. Even if his hands were beneath your shirt tonight, you were still expendable, soon to be replaced by cute girls from Rutgers. The thought of it stung, and you almost let on, but he was too distracted to notice, anyway. Even as he pulled away, you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset, smiling softly as you stared up at him. When he smiled back, you could feel yourself melting, tripping down your usual lovesick spiral.

The whole night felt soft and memorable, reflecting in all of his touches. It should’ve made you happy, full of love and warmth, but it was all bittersweet. You had been around the block before, winding up in his bed on late nights or after dirty phone calls. Every time, you fooled yourself into believing that he wanted more from you. Date nights and nicknames, and kisses that held truth. Tonight was different though; you had been hit with a strange realization as you kicked at the sand beneath your soles. Maybe he didn’t love you the same. Maybe he never would.

He was both entrancing and distracting, almost kissing away your insecurity, but it lingered still. Frank kissed with desperation and passion as if you meant more to him, and his hands were an irresistible contradiction, brushing lightly against your skin with foreign fragility. Even he was different tonight, sensitive and sweet, hidden beneath intense kisses and soft giggles.

“I’m gonna miss this,” he murmured, and the world stilled as you felt your heart drop.

It was quiet, mumbled against your lips as he pecked them quickly, but he didn’t dwell on it like you. Instead, he brought you closer, cradling your cheek in his palm while he deepened the kiss. You wanted to be angry, to cuss him out for his ignorance, but his newfound delicacy made you weak. He moved gingerly as if he were savoring you before being whisked away, occupied by hot dates and seminars. His lips trailed south, scattering empty promises across your neck, teeth and tongue bound to haunt you in the morning. Despite the heartache, you craved the pretty bruises and the teasing that went with it, ignoring the subtle sting for a taste of satisfaction.

You ran your hand through his hair while he marked up your skin, eyes shining with vulnerability as moonlight spilled through his shades. Frank was desperate to be touched, held, loved, and here you were, looking at him like he belonged in the Louvre.

Maybe he should’ve known the kind of damage he was inflicting, but his oblivion was unrivaled. He still believed this was a casual hookup, though part of him was convinced otherwise. For a moment, as he stared up at you, something stirred in him. Brief and subtle, the same way he’d felt under the streetlight, but he brushed it off, leaning in as your palm pressed against his neck, tugging him in for a final time.

His kisses emitted carbon monoxide, painless torture as you lead yourself down a path of psychosis, trying to convince yourself that he felt the same. With a small grin, he pulled away, planting a kiss on your nose with lingering innocence.

Bemused, you shook your head with a smile. “What?”

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he shrugged. “I can’t believe you’re friends with me.”

The word “friends” stung like a fucking hive. Swallowing pain and rejection, you breathed a laugh, hiding your underlying hurt. “I can’t believe it either. You’re a pain in the ass sometimes.”

Frank laughed too, nudging you with his knee before pressing it between your legs. “I think you deserve a ‘thank you’ then.”

It was a joke, an excuse, a reason to get between your legs without admitting that he wanted it. He couldn’t tell you how he felt, or how he wanted to make you feel. Shit, he couldn’t even tell himself. For now, it was the best you had, so you nodded and smiled, grateful for anything you could get.

“You need it that bad?” you joked, watching as he eagerly slinked down the bed.

Frank rolled his eyes playfully, the faintest smile crossing his lips. “It’s not my fault you taste so good, babe.”

The nickname felt antagonizing, and you sucked in a breath at the comment. With no rebuttal, you inadvertently stroked his ego, Frank growing arrogant as he tugged off your jeans. You shivered as the fabric hit the floor, only dressed in panties and a t-shirt. Obviously, he noticed, staring up at you sweetly before tugging off his sweater. For a moment, his own shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of pale skin, causing warmth to pool in your stomach.

He laughed softly after following your line of sight, even more so as you turned away. Regardless, you took his sweater with a shy “thank you”, and grew warm once more. Part of him wanted to comment on it, either to mention how cute you looked, or how you looked like his. Instead, he pushed the thought aside and centered his attention on your impatient shifting.

Vulnerability had replaced his usual dominance, his typical self-assured gaze melting into something softer. The way he moved rivaled his sensitivity though, tugging you closer and pushing your legs back while he teased you over your panties. Subconsciously, you pushed against him, a twisted grin on his face as he circled your clit.

“You need it that bad?” he mimicked, and you could feel your stomach burn. “C’mon, who was the last person to touch you?”

God, you knew he had other girls at his beck and call. He swore he never slept with them–not that you should care, anyway–but you were hurt at the thought of it. Frank was the only person you slept with; no one could compete, not when you felt so strongly for him. Still, you were embarrassed as you mumbled out, “You.”

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed,” he soothed, pressing periodic kisses to your thighs. “You haven’t touched yourself since then?”

He had caught you there, and you watched him grow prideful at your silence. “Yeah? I bet you look fucking hot doing it, huh?”

A wicked idea crossed his mind, and you could already tell what it was. You knew him too well, and a quiet, involuntary whimper passed your lips as he stared up at you. Slowly, he planted one more kiss on your skin and pulled away. His hands still lingered on your thighs, tracing patterns on them as he made a request.

“How about you show me?”

God, just the idea of it was so fucking arousing, and you could feel yourself being turned on by the sweet humiliation. It wasn’t like you hadn’t touched yourself thinking about him, but it was always in private. It didn’t matter though, not when he was looking at you like that–eyes wide and full of desire, devilish pleas swimming in soft hazel.

Nodding, you smiled back, breathing a soft, “Alright.”

He glanced at the lamp beside his bed, carefully getting up to switch it on and settling down at the edge of his bed. With a soft glow now cast across the room, Frank could fully take in the sight of you, donning hardly more than his sweater as your fingers trailed across your thighs.

“Look at you, baby,” he mumbled casually, as if the words didn’t scald your skin with false hope. “You’re so pretty like this.”

You were so eager to please him, so fucking devoted as you slid off your panties, exposing yourself to him. It wasn’t anything new, but he still squirmed in place as your fingers pressed against your cunt.

“You’re so wet; is this all because of me?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, but you knew he was proud of himself as you caressed your skin. Admittedly, you had picked up on Frank’s habits–he liked to tease, so you’d copy his patterns when you were alone. He should’ve noticed the way you touched yourself, how it resembled his movements, but he was oblivious like always.

“It’s always because of you,” you told him, hoping it would resonate.

Slowly, your fingers swept across your folds, and your eyes squeezed shut. After the night you’d had, it was almost embarrassing how wet you were. How could you feel so hurt and discarded and still ache for him like this? Frank was a fucking drug, and you tripped mindlessly on unjust desire as you spread yourself open.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he said quietly, transfixed as you circled your clit. “God, you taste fucking pretty too.”

Frank almost wanted to pull your hand away and take care of you himself, but the sight was almost serene. Everything had felt so different–nearly melancholic, but he pushed away his inhibitions while you pushed your finger inside. His erection pressed against his skinny jeans, and he ached for your touch. Fuck, he wanted to bury himself inside of you, wet and warm like all those nights before, back when he wasn’t worried about leaving his best friend behind, and before things had changed. He wanted to smile and kiss you, lewd phrases leaving his lips as he rolled his hips against yours. Not the confusion and doubt that he felt now, watching you with an ache in his chest as you got yourself off, pretending it was him. There was a lot of pretending these days, wasn’t there?

A soft moan and the mumble of his name pulled him from his thoughts, watching as your thumb brushed against your clit. “Just like that,” he praised, pressing his palm to his jeans. “Fuck, you’re doing so well.”

You moaned softly, trying to stay quiet with his mother down the hall. He swallowed hard as you bit your lip to muffle yourself, arching off his mattress as you slipped another finger inside. Briefly, your lashes fluttered open, and you caught the way he watched you. There was a hint of admiration in his eyes, practically in awe of the erotic scene before him. Tentatively, he inched closer, kneeling beside your hip as you pulled him in for a kiss.

It was steady and sensual, and you slowed your fingers to match it. Everything he did was fluid, holding your cheek again as his lips moved with yours. His tongue glided languidly, smooth and deep while your fingers curled with the same rhythm. It bordered on agonizing, so slow and yet fulfilling, Frank displaying an unforeseen passion. Things really were different, and he kissed you like he meant it.

When he pulled away, he looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t figure out what. Instead, sweet praise flowed past his lips while he wiggled out of his jeans.

“You’re being so good for me.”

It was a no-brainer, but you moaned nonetheless, fueled by his approval. You glanced towards him again, watching as he wrapped his hand around his cock, already beading with precum because of you. The words seemed to ring in your ears as he stroked himself, and you moaned out a short curse at the sight.

He planted his free hand on your thigh, squeezing gently as he jerked himself. “Quiet, baby.”

Frank always went soft for you, whether he’d admit it or not, and your stomach twisted tighter at his behavior. Aside from the arousal, you still burned with shame and envy; things would change in a few months, and it would no longer be you. He wouldn’t take you home, drawing orgasms from you and getting off at the sight of it. There would be someone else in his bed–someone that he’d actually confess to. And when he’d kiss them, it wouldn’t be nonchalant. He would feel something, and they’d know it was real.

Hushed moans filled the air as he bucked into his hand, and you sped up with him, your eyes screwing shut simultaneously. This time, he commented on it, “I want you to look at me when you come.”

His tone wasn’t demanding, but soft and hopeful, biting back a moan as you gazed up at him. You were slightly dazed, a starry-eyed mess as your fingers worked faster, matching the rhythm of his hand. Even if you were thinking of him, you weren’t sure if he was thinking of you. Maybe you would’ve asked another night, feigning confidence and hoping against heartbreak, but you couldn’t bear any hard truths tonight.

“Fuck, Frank,” you breathed, moaning brokenly as you came.

The image burned itself into his brain, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, savoring the sight as he fucked into his hand. With a heaving chest and droopy eyelids, you pulled yours away, hastily offering it to him. He moaned as you replaced his hand, stroking him quickly as his hips bucked, murmuring obscenities before coming. Your name poured from his lips, sweet and somber as he spilled into your hand, biting back a deep moan as you continued to jerk him off.

“Shit,” he panted, finally breathing as you pulled away. “You’re so perfect.”

God, he was so fucking sweet after coming. Every damn time he would hit you with a compliment and you would swell with hope and pride, truly believing that something would come of it. Despite the inevitable outcome, you gave him a pretty smile, the same one that was always returned.

After his usual routine of sweet kisses and soft smiles, he finally let you escape to the bathroom–but not without a whiny protest. You flicked on the light, scrubbing your hands of overzealous intimacy, and stared back at your reflection. Usually, you’d feel pride with a side of shame, but tonight the pride had vanished. It stung, staring back at yourself, internalizing the position you’d landed yourself in. You weren’t thirteen anymore, flustered and flattered as a cute boy begged you to save him from a disgusting dare. Your relationship with Frank was ever-changing, but his feelings towards you were doomed to stay the same.

So with a heavy heart, you turned out the light, padding through the same hallway you’d spent the past five years in, and climbed into bed with a boy who didn’t love you back. He was already groggy, slinging an arm around your waist as you settled against him, waiting for something–admission, of guilt or feelings. The words never came though, just Frank pulling you closer while you scanned his room. You certainly felt thirteen again, expecting a scolding as you laid in Frank’s bed like the first time. Back then, you had snuck under his covers after a nightmare, even if both of your mothers had sworn against it.

It was juvenile, but heartbreaking nonetheless, and Frank laid negligent against you as his breathing picked up a steady pace. This was how things ended, with a heavy sleeper and an insomniac, one blessed with ignorance as the other prayed for an escape. And yet you would always come back, if not for answers, but for hope. Hope that maybe one day he’d say something. Maybe not now, but years down the line when he’s long since moved on–maybe even with one of those Rutgers girls.

And maybe someday he’ll find an old photo and get that far-off look in his eyes as he stares at your last summer together. And if he looks close enough, he might see your name scribbled on the back in messy ink, and remember the way things were.

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#frank iero x reader #frank iero smut #mcr x reader #mcr smut

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