💜Drea🩷 @dreaisgrayte - Tumblr Blog

Oct 3, 2025

Tether | Uni Student Giyu x professor fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, student x professor themes, dean's son x favored professor, BDSM themes, sexting, blindfolding, oral sex (both), fingering, cum as lube, dom x sub, Giyu as a dom, y/n as a switch (in theory), pathetic Giyu, dom in the sheets simp in the streets, bratty y/n, hair pulling, choking, biting, rough sex, rough handling, dick pic during class, public play (vibrator during class), orgasm denial, tied up, fucked by a vibrating wand, masturbation in a mirror, flirting through annotations, teasing y/n in her office, erections for days, teasing y/n at a family meal, dark themes, knife play, mask play, hunter x prey themes, titty play, raw sex, rough sex, angst, depressive episode (kind of...), lots of hurt feelings, flirting/apologizing through letters wc: 21.2k a/n: I think Giyu took over my body... and I loved every second of it. He's needy

You raise the large glass of beer toward the sky. “Nnnnno listen—listen, wait, wait. I am so good at bein' single. I—I’m like the, the champion of it. Okay? Gold medal. But also I haven’t been fuh—fuh—fucked in like... a hundred years.” Your glass sloshes the yellow liquid around, dangerously close to spilling over on your best friend, who laughs softly at your outburst.

“You said that an hour ago, babe.” She gestures to her lit up phone screen that showcases a cutesy photo of her boyfriend.

Your brows furrow as you huff out a dramatic sigh. “S’fine, s’all you care ‘bout s’anyway. Here lies y/n: sexyyy, but negl–neglected.” Your arms flop wildly around your body. “Dun need him anywayyy! Whyyy should I care ‘bout some—some vanilla-asshole? I should jus’—jus’ join one’a those kinky sex apps or—orrr somethin’. Like… Tethurrrr or whateverrr.” Your friend’s eyes light up at the mention of the aforementioned kinky sex app. You’re so sloshed out of your mind you don’t even care what her name is anymore. “Ughhhh and speakin’ of that chub, he dun’t even eat pussy right—he kisses like a soggy noodle. Pffttt. I want a man who knows how t’tie me up and spell ‘metaphor’ right. That’s the bar now.” Your vision is swimming, including whoever was sitting across from you. Their face is swirling into what might be a tasty ice cream flavor. After a moment the urge to hurl simmers enough for you to slap your hand upon your phone. It felt like trudging through water, but somehow you manage to open up your app store.

Tether is a private, curated platform for adults who crave more than just vanilla. Whether you’re Dominant, submissive, a rope enthusiast, a discipline devotee, or simply curious—Tether connects you to others who understand the beauty of trust, control, and release. Features include private verified profiles, blind mode and anonymity tools, dynamic preference matching, scene negotiation templates, secure chats and scene journals. Because some connections aren’t made with hearts — they’re made with rope.

Let’s be honest, you didn’t read a single thing before you press the download icon. “Wait, Y/n, are you sure about this?” Your friend’s face comes into view again, Mika Fuiji, queen at everything. “I think it’s a good idea, but I don't want you to do something you regret.”

That’s what you should’ve listened to, but as you open your eyes the next morning with a hammering ache in that stupid cranium of yours…there’s a red screen on your phone. What have you done? Opened on your phone is a chat exchange between a profile that looked like yours…and someone else’s. Someone with the user name…Crimson_Margin.

Crimson_Margin: You strike me as someone who marks up every book she owns.

Crimson_Margin: The kind that underlines what makes her thighs clench together…

Crimson_Margin: I like that

You: Maybe I do.

You: Maybe I dogear the pages that I cum to…

You: what about you

Crimson_Margin: (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) I prefer to leave marks that don’t fade so easily

Crimson_Margin: But books are good practice

You: So are you dangerous or just a poet…

Crimson_Margin: Why not both?

Holy…you really did that. Oh my—you’ll have to move. Reinvent your whole personality and maybe go into the secret service…wait a measly literature professor can’t get into the secret service…

Shit.

How was it even possible that you got a verified profile while drunk? Your mouth falls agape as you tap your profile icon – which happens to be a blurry photo of you with a half-eaten skewer of yakitori. Nice, really reeling in all the good ones with this damn photo. You want to throw your phone on the ground repeatedly. You were obviously better off without it. Heat rises to your cheeks as you scroll through the rest of your profile.

There’s a blinking knot icon at the bottom. With a tiny sigh you press the highlighted icon. A list of chatrooms open up – apparently others had messaged you last night but you only talked to Crimson – and it’s his chat lit up with a new message. You swallow down the earlier embarrassment as you read his new ping.

Crimson_Margin: Good morning

Crimson_Margin: Did you make it home safe or did you try to arrest someone with those pink handcuffs?

You: oh god

You: did I really write that?

Crimson_Margin: You did.

Crimson_Margin: “Please help” might’ve been the strongest call to arms I’ve seen on here

You: I was drunk

You: and emotionally vulnerable

You: and craving physical touch and stability in my chaotic academic life

Crimson_Margin: So just another Friday night then?

Crimson_Margin: I’ve been meaning to ask, you a lit major?

You: EXACTLY

You: something like that

You: wait how’d you figure that out?

Crimson_Margin: it’s basically written all over your profile

Crimson_Margin: something about metaphors and wall sex?

You: kill me

You: this is cyber blackmail

Crimson_Margin: I like to think of it as “earned leverage”

You: that’s hot

You: rude

You: but hot

The messages stop for a beat long enough to realize you were in deep. Sure you could delete the app and never look back…but this was always something clawing at the back of your mind to get out. Your last boyfriend had freaked out when you even mentioned the aforementioned handcuffs. That’s what caused him to break up with you, labeling you as a freak. This was an – albeit drunken – opportunity to finally break free from the chains of vanilla. You could’ve gone on a whole rant but the sudden ding from your phone makes you forgo any presidential speeches about how everyone should try kinky sex at least once in their life.

Crimson_Margin: on a serious note, I’m glad you got home safely. You don’t really know me, not really, but I take safety seriously.

Crimson_Margin: emotional and physical

Crimson_Margin: so if you ever want to talk limits, boundaries, fantasies…I’ll listen. No pressure. No expectations.

The way your thighs clench together must be a clear sign your bar was buried…far…far underground. Talking about no expectations when he’s clearing all of yours with flying colors?

You: That’s actually really sweet…

You: thank you

You: I was scared I was going to wake up to “ur hot wanna fuk”

You: this is so much better

Crimson_Margin: I could say that too

Crimson_Margin: but I’d rather make you earn it…

There’s a beat before his next text comes in.

Crimson_Margin: slowly. Oh. Oh okay then. You set your phone down and proceed to scream into your pillow. Then, with curious fingers you find his profile.

Damn…this app was good.

- - -

Giyu sets his phone down on the table next to him while his father drones on about the upcoming semester. As the Dean’s son he was expected to be the image of perfection, but the monotone voice of his father lulls him into his thoughts — a dangerous place to be right now. His thumb presses into the fullness of his bottom lip as he pictures having a gorgeously witty woman sprawled out underneath him. Throughout the rest of the day they grew increasingly filthy. He didn’t even know what you looked like yet you’re all that consumes his waking, and probably unconscious, thoughts.

He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling – like all moody young adults do when their next semester of university is about to start back up. His hand fishes the black-cased phone from the dark blue sheets, holding it up to his face.

Crimson_Margin: what are you reading right now?

You don’t instantly reply and this elicits a deep sigh from his chest. Ding!

You: a story about two academics who hate-fuck across an entire semester

You: so, educational.

A smirk tilts Giyu’s lips up in a way that makes his chest thump.

Crimson_Margin: I’d like to hate-fuck you

Crimson_Margin: we could pretend you’re my professor and I need that A real bad sensei.

You: oh my god, I just got chills

You: and not the ac kind…

Tuesday afternoon was boring and full of meetings. You’re sitting at your office desk making sure everything is lined out in the syllabus when your phone buzzes. With a hopeful beat of your chest you realize it’s just an email from one of your colleagues. As your eyes glances over the contents it’s soon abandoned when a notification from Tether pops up.

Crimson_Margin: what’s something you’re curious to try and something that’s a hard no?

You: curious: being blindfolded and completely at someone’s mercy

You: hard no: being humiliated, like really humiliated. I want to feel owned, not destroyed

Crimson_Margin: I understand. I don’t break toys I want to play with again

You: …hot

You: that makes me feel safer…thank you

Crimson_Margin: you should always feel safe before I make you fall apart

Wednesday evening is mandatory family dinners, which makes for great conversation. “You’re going to be taking The Literature of Obsession right?” Giyu looks up from his perfectly cooked steak to meet the cold stare of his father’s eyes.

“Yes. I like controversial topics in literature. It breathes life into a subject long thought too boring by those who do not understand its depth.” He sounds like a snob and it makes his skin raise. “Besides, that precious new professor you love so much is teaching it right?” It was a few years ago when his father came home speaking constantly about his star student. She was moving quickly through her degree, one of the smartest kids he’d seen in a long time. All of this said in front of his own son. Even after Giyu graduated and was accepted into his father’s prestigious university all he could talk about was offering this woman a position in the English Department.

Even now, the mention of her makes his eyes glow with a warmth that would usually be unimaginable. “Yes, Professor Y/N. She’s the best fit for this class. I’m sure you’ll love her.” Giyu’s phone buzzes against his thigh. Rather than continue listening to his father ramble on about his soon to be professor he pulls out his phone under the table.

You: do you always text like you’re narrating a gothic novel?

Crimson_Margin: only when I want to be inside your head

You: rude

You: but effective

“Are you even listening?” This is the sound of his mother’s voice. “Giyu Tomioka.”

“Yes, mother?” His voice is calm, not a hint of the attitude he wishes he was brave enough to use. His steak is cold and so is his heart in a way that felt impossible to warm ever again.

“You will pay attention to your father when he’s speaking to you.” That’s how the rest of dinner went. His father talking, his mother aptly listening, and his fork moving around the food on his plate.

He leans against the wall of the hallway leading toward the library, still in the stifling suit he’s required to wear for these dinners.

Crimson_Margin: what scares you the most? Not being in control or giving it up?

You: fuck…

You: the second one

A long breath of air whooshes out of Giyu’s lungs as he tilts the back of his head against the wall. It was this night he knew he had to meet you. To escape.

Crimson_Margin: Good. That’s the honest answer.

Crimson_Margin: I’ll make you crave it even more

You’re all smiles as you hold up your phone Thursday morning. Mika was reciting her weekend plans with some cute guy she bumped to in a club. You were listening…kind of.

Crimson_Margin: you had coffee this morning, didn’t you?

Crimson_Margin: you text like someone who’s over-caffeinated and wearing a messy bun

You can’t help but turn your head to search for any guy appearing to love bullying a girl just trying to have a carmel frap before she goes into her office.

You: ARE YOU WATCHING ME?!?!

Crimson_Margin: No, but I’d like to

Crimson_Margin: And I’d like to pull the tie from your hair while you read to me. Then make you forget what the words mean.

Finally, the message both of you had been waiting for appears thanks to him.

Crimson_Margin: I’ve been thinking about that blindfold. About you giving me your sight and trust…would you be open to meeting this weekend? A private location. Your comfort first. You’ll be safe. You won’t see me, but you’ll feel everything. Think about it, yeah?

That’s how you end up here, in front of the address he’d given you. If you weren’t nervous before, you surely are now. To be honest, you were trembling in the heels Mika made you wear. Everything about this was a little too much here and a little too much there – but that’s the way you liked it. You found pleasantness in the uncomfortable way your stomach churned with anticipation.

You just hope this tall ass building has an elevator. A man lets you in, eyeing you blatantly. You’re not sure how he knows to let you enter this apartment building, obviously filled with some of Tokyo’s richest people. As you step into the building everything weeps with grandeur. The soft lit fountain in the middle of a seating area. Plants are everywhere giving the illusion you’ve just stepped into a garden. At least he’d warned you that his room would be on the 26th floor.

It doesn’t take much time for you to find the elevators, the golden doors parting open for you to enter. As you do, you leave any doubts you had on the ground floor. The ride is smooth and when they open to a muted gray hallway all you can do is follow it to the only set of doors on this floor. He had instructed you to enter, the doors would be unlocked.

You hesitate for a beat before wrapping your hand around the elegant handle. The door swings open, revealing a dark room. “Don’t speak.” The voice is low, careful. It sends shivers down your spine. Damn, if his voice could do this much you wonder what else he has in store for you.

The doors click shut behind you, leaving you alone in the shadows. You can see movement as your eyes adjust to the lack of light. “Last chance,” he whispers, the sound coming from behind you now. You don’t turn, just stay breathlessly still. His presence can be felt, warmth spreading across your back. “Do you trust me?” You shudder as his breath fans your neck. It’s a simple question, but you know the weight of your answer could possibly change your life forever.

“Yes.” There was no other answer. You wanted this. Needed this. You catch a glimpse of his forearms as they lift a dark cloth toward your eyes. They look strong.

“Good girl.” All the sudden his voice feels like it envelopes you; swallowing you whole before you can run away. Excited doesn’t even cover what’s running through your veins. He takes your hand, softly guiding you a short distance. The back of your knees brush against something soft as he twirls you around. ”Sit.” Firm. Commanding. Dominating. You’re met with a luxurious feeling cushion. You have no clue where you are or what kind of furniture you’re sitting on. The moment your ass meets the material his warmth is absent. You can hear him take a step back. Was he admiring you? The thought makes your fingers twitch where they lay in your lap. It’s silent for so long you wonder if he’s left you here all alone.

No, in fact, Giyu was melting. He thought he might die if he stared at you for much longer. The sarcastic woman he’d gotten to know through text was sitting in front of him. Sharing in his obscene nature. Well, obscene to some…but utterly perfect to others. It’s hard to form words in his mouth – which is unusually dry. You wear a deep blue dress, the material appears to be satin of some kind. He isn’t sure and to be honest he didn’t care. It’s going to end up on the floor sooner or later; but you do look damn good in it. The hem brushes just above your knees, revealing long legs that he swears men would start wars over. The nail in the coffin? Those shoes. Parts of him tingle with the image of you pressing your heel against his aching cock. A smirk ties a corner of his mouth upward. “How do you feel sitting there not knowing what I might do to you? Does it scare you?” Giyu takes a step forward, bending down so he could reach your ear without touching you. “Or does it excite you?”

Your heart is hammering against your ribcage. “A little of both,” you exhale, grinning. “Though, I’m starting to think you’re all bark.” You laugh, a small part of you hoping your words will push him to finally touch you again.

Warmth flourishes against your knees as they’re pushed apart, straining your hamstrings. “Mmm, is that so?” His voice vibrates through the air. “Apparently my girl is demanding.” Your skin burns at the words my girl. “What is it you want me to do, sweetheart? Eat your pussy until you can’t think? Watch you ride my thigh? Or maybe…” He trails off, crowding you without even touching you. “You want this.” His hands are around your wrist in an instant, guiding you to a much hotter piece of himself.

A small gasp escapes your lips. There was no doubt Crimson had just guided you to his cock. It’s veiny and slick. You move your hand up the length. And long. A close-mouthed groan echoes from his chest. “So greedy,” He hisses, before moving away from your touch. There’s some more shuffling around and the sound of a zipper. You can’t help but feel a little bit disappointed. “Haa… not yet honey, tonight is about getting to know you.” His hands are on you again, pressing against your breasts before dropping down to your navel. “Every inch.”

There's a pulse throbbing in your nether region, growing with each slip of Crimson's fingertips. They glide over the curve of your shoulder, slipping the strap of your dress down your arm. He's silent, but his determination is commanding. You can sense the dominance and intent of each pull, tug, and brush of his warmth. "Quit teasing me," the demand tumbles from your lips, a tight gasp causing you to clamp your hands over your mouth.

Crimson doesn't seem put off by your impatience, in fact he seems delighted that you wanted more than the nagging swell of anticipation to fill you up. "And what shall I do instead, hmm?" His question is handing over control for a brief moment — surely before he makes you cry out in pleasure.

You swallow down the excitement. Anything was at the tip of your tongue, if you willed it he would comply. It was an exhilarating feeling, but there's a sensation that tugs on the edge of your thoughts. "I want you to touch me like you've been thinking about all day." Your words come out in a breathless manner, light and airy — but they burn Giyu in a way that nearly makes him press you into the couch.

It's his turn to let your voice sit in the silence of the room for a moment. His skin was prickling with the need to grab your delicate throat and spit on your cunt while fucking you with his fingers. An amused chuckle bubbles up from his chest. "Sly girl, how'd you know I was thinking of that filthy mouth of yours all day?" His head cocks to the right, allowing himself to take in the image of you before him.

"Then get on your knees and say please."

Gone was the plan to absolutely undo every nerve ending in your body, replaced by the primal desire to have those plump lips wrapped around his cock. Hey, he could restrain himself only so much. Exploring your mouth was still somewhat under his plans for tonight. He's almost second guessing himself until you slide down to your knees in such a way his mind goes blank.

There you are, sitting back on your heels with your knees spread before him. Your dress has ridden up your thighs revealing parts of your skin he's promised to leave marks on later. The position you're in gives him a mouthwatering view of your tits and he suddenly regrets not giving them more attention earlier. God this was going to be a battle he wasn't sure he could win. He either places his cock in your mouth and blows his load like some two pump chump — or tries really really hard to not watch you give him the greatest head of all time.

His breath catches in his throat. "Fuck," is all he can seem to hiss out peering down at those pretty tits almost spilling out. The word leaves him like a reverent whisper, not even spoken to you — just at the sight of you. His hand flexes at his side, itching to reach out for you. "You look like you were made for this." A hand comes up, deliberately brushing against your bottom lip. "Open up for me, sweetheart." His thumb is like a heavy weight, bringing your jaw downwards as he guides you into a submissive angle.

Giyu undoes his belt with a free hand, a swift and promising moment. The leather slaps against itself, the buckle clinking together as he tosses it carelessly to the side. His cock is flushed and heavy when he frees it from its restraints, pants and boxers shoved down to make room. He's already leaking pre from the tip, a sign he'd have to hold onto the control or he'd be the one whimpering for more — though he's still not sure he can make it through even a second in your mouth.

He pauses just to enjoy the sight of you — seemingly peeking up at him through the material covering your eyes. For once he was glad he couldn't get a read on one of his partners because if he gazed into those eyes of yours and saw any hint of lust; he'd go into a frenzy. Not one you could soon recover from.

Instead of immediately thrusting in to watch you choke on the sheer girth and length of him, he drags the head across your lips. The shiny liquid coats your mouth in some kind of fucked up gloss which made Giyu reel with thoughts of claiming you. "Spit on it." He orders, eyes glaringly dark with desire. His voice is a rasp now, thick with restraint. Giyu was edging on the very brink of his sanity. "Nice and slow."

Spitting on his cock should be a simple instruction, but you couldn't see a damn thing — so that caused some…issues. Instead you reach out your hand until you feel his warm length. A breathy groan rattles from his chest as you push a slow stream of saliva from your mouth onto the heavy head of his cock.

Giyu watches as it mixes with his precum, sliding down his shaft in a filthy concoction. "There," you mummer, delicately wrapping your fingers around his aching cock — spreading the mess. "Better?"

His hips twitch forward, involuntarily and he nearly sobs when your teeth graze the underside of his dick. He grits his own teeth, your silky and sinful hands stroking him like some needy dog. It takes all his will to not grab your head and fuck into your throat until his vision goes white. Instead, he doesn't speak, just sharp ragged breathes. Giyu isn't sure words would come out of his mouth — whimpering moans being the one thing he was trying to hold back from.

"Fuck — don't play with me." Now he's the one begging for you to take it easy on him. What a sight. The mastermind that was the dominator had become a simpering mess under the light warmth of the woman before him. Somehow, he knew it. Knew that you were fucking with him. Bratty women always seemed to be his weakness — especially when they played their cards right.

You were something out of a fever dream, luscious and soft. Even blindfolded you held a kind of confidence Giyu could only wish for. You pump him languidly, your thumb swiping across the tip in a lazy circle, smearing the precious blend around. His abs tighten so much he thinks he might pass out.

Then there's a fan of hot breath that spreads across his cock. "You're so tense," you whisper, slipping a hand away to grip his flexing thighs. "Are you gonna come just from this? Poor thing…" You draw out, smirking against his weeping tip. His abdomen shifts, contorting in such a way that he refuses to let you be right.

That's when you knew how to get what you wanted. Rough, raw, primal. Break him before he breaks you. "I thought you were supposed to be the one in charge." You taunt in an unbelievably innocent tone.

Giyu's jaw clenches and the restraint he clung onto like a lifeline snaps in an instant. His hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to drag a gasp from your lips. "Get your fucking mouth open." He snarls and you glow with happiness. Oh no, the big bad dominating man was going to absolutely ruin you. Whatever were you going to do?

Take it like a good girl.

"You wanna act like a brat? Then take it like one." The second your lips part, he's there; pressing the head of his cock to your tongue. He watches the glossy mess string between you and then — he drives a sharp punishing thwop of his hips into your throat. The kind that makes you tighten around him instantly and makes tears prick behind your blindfold.

Your gag reflexes kick in, but he doesn't relent, holding you there buried to the base. Tense groans grind out of his mouth. "S'fuckin' tight. Pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock." He pants, hanging his head back as a shudder runs through his body at the sensation of your nails digging into his thigh — leaving crescent shaped marks like you were branding him. Owning him.

His hips start to roll gently now as he lets you adjust, but not too much. Never too much. The corners of your mouth ache from being rubbed raw by his ministrations. He starts fucking your mouth properly, lazy yet unforgiving. Each thrust is wet and loud, a slick symphony echoing in harmony with your hums of satisfaction. Your spit is dribbling down your chin, onto your chest, soaking the top of your dress. Giyu watches a trail of saliva and his arousal with a half-lidded gaze. His thrusts become sloppier, desperate — moans coming through his teeth; broken and breathless. "Fuuuck — shit, s'good, princess." The endearing title sends a chill through your veins, pushing you to swirl your tongue around him in approval.

"Ya'like that, princess? Gonna be my — fuck — good girl, yeah?" His massive hand is on the back of your head in an instant as he buries himself, hips flush to your face as his cock twitches in your throat. He cums hard, thick ropes spilling all over your tongue. Some of it leaks out, painting your lips and chin.

He tastes salty, but there's a hint of tangy sweetness.

Giyu pulls his cock out of your glorious mouth and lets the rest spill across your face, coating the blindfold in the oozing substance. With a wry smile he swipes it across your cheek like a prize. "Don't swallow it yet," he instructs, gazing down at you for a beat before helping you back to your seat on the couch.

Cum drips down the back of your throat, enticing you to swallow it all down in one big gulp — but you resist simply because he told you so. The cushions feel great against your sweaty body, a nice release from being on the hard ground for so long — your knees are killing you. You shift, noting that your dress must've traveled up to your waist during the previous activities.

That means Crimson can see the black lace panties you put on. Just for him. You wish you could get a glimpse of his face to see how he reacted to them. "Open up," his fingers are at your mouth again and you oblige, letting his cum pour onto his hand.

He allows the rest of his cum to roll down between your breasts, using the amount in his hand to slather your already sopping cunt with it. The air is sucked out of you at the warm and sticky feeling being spread in your entrance. "Messy girl," he mutters and then dips two long fingers into your pussy.

A gasping moan shoots from your lips at the way he curls them in a delicious spot. Your chest is rising and falling at a rapid pace, Giyu thourghly enjoying the way you clench around his fingers. His hand was soaked.

Giyu leans toward the shell of your ear. "Takin' my fingers so well," his voice rough and raspy. "Bet you'll take my cock even better." A shiver coils through you at his deliberate promise. His fingers slide between your folds, his cum slick on your skin as he drags it across your chest, yanking down the neckline of your dress. He draws his cum over your pebbled nipples, grinning at the image. You deserve to be marked this way, by his seed.

The squelching from between your thighs is audible as you writhe in a moaning mess. "Did you get off on choking on my cock that much? Or is this all for me?" He pushes his fingers in deeper, drawn-out and desecrating. Your back arches off the cushions as your lips part in a silent moan. He groans low in his throat as he watches your body react, eyes hooded with adoration and hunger. "You're grippin' me like you're scared I'll pull away," he says thrusting his fingers in just a little faster now, his knuckles dragging against your entrance with each measured pump.

He angles his hand to press his thumb onto your perky clit, grinning as your body recoils with pleasure. "Don't worry, princess, m'not going anywhere." Giyu strokes that spongy spot inside you that makes your hips jerk. A high wrecked moan careens out of your chest, shooting all the way from your toes that curl in arousal. "There you are." He smiles, dark and greedy. "Right there, huh?" His fingers curl again, and again. Faster and precise.

Your legs are shaking, his free hand moving from your stiff peaks to lay flat against your lower stomach, holding you down. His thumb brushes lightly against your clit like he's visiting, but never staying too long. "Feel that?" He whispers, thrusting a third finger inside of you. The stretch is just enough to make you squirm under him. "Feel how deep I am?" He asks, not expecting a response. "I could make you cum just like this— just from my fingers— over and over until you cry."

Little did he know there were tears gathered at the line of your blindfold. Some have escaped down your cheeks, but he's either not paying attention or letting you know he'll make you cry more. He leans in close, voice like velvet. "Would you like that? To fall apart on my finger while I whisper how good you are for me?" His palm slaps against your cunt now with every thrust — wet, fast, mercilessly. The friction of his palm scraping against your clit builds the ever close climax in the core of your stomach.

Underneath you is soaked in a mixture of liquids too obscene to describe. "Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" Crimson flicks the sensitive bud. "S'good for me. Just f'me." He was high on the thought of you cumming just from his fingers.

For the first time since he pressed you into this position you open your mouth to speak, but quivering moans fall out instead of words. Your mind feels like it's on the brink of disappearing as Crimson continues to torture you. "S'good, m'close, more, more, more — don't stop — please — I-I—fuck, fuck!" Your mouth hangs open, moans spilling out like a broken chant.

Then, with a languid slide of Giyu's fingers, a blinding orgasm bursts through you. You're breathless, a mewling noise slipping from your lips as your back arches off the couch, yet again. "S'it, s'my girl." Your legs are still trembling as Crimson guides you back down, gently caressing your hips. "You did fantastic." He praises, taking his fingers from your twitching cunt to his mouth. Of course, you can't watch him do so, but he tastes your sex anyway.

His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at the sweet juice coating his tongue. "I'll message you when I'm ready again." There's a beat of silence, and then, "You're to sleep here. You can wash-up on this floor. Everything is open to you except the upstairs. Don't go upstairs."

You blink behind the blindfold, lips parting as if to ask why, but he's already pulling away. You hear the faint rustle of clothes, a zipper, and the creak of floorboards. You're left with the soft hum of overstimulated nerves, pulse in your ears, and the stick ache between your thighs.

The water pressure is luxurious and the mattress allows you to get one of the best night's sleep ever. It was either that or the fact you'd been fucked so good you were exhausted. Nevertheless you were able to find a neat stack of clothes left out for you on the other side of the room you slept in. A little note was scrawled on notebook paper.

You were beautiful last night. So responsive. So fucking good for me. I'll be thinking about the way you came for days.

I left out something comfortable. Your thighs are probably sore — don't pretend they aren't. Have something to eat before you go. I'll contact you when I can.

-C

You clutch the paper to your chest, looking out into the hallway before stooping to pick up the soft clothing. Who knew kinklords could be so attentive? The thought of immediate aftercare makes your chest swell with a dangerous desire. You have to be careful…or you'll end up bound in a situation where there's no escape.

...

The lecture hall is buzzing with students excited to have Ms. Y/n as their professor. Giyu had to remind himself to not openly cringe at the compliments swirling around the air.

He, of course, arrived earlier than the rest; sitting in the front row with his leg crossed lazily over the other. Giyu was the picture of a dapper rich kid, unassumingly drowning in passion for all things literature. A stark silver blue knit sweater buffers him from the overcompensating air conditioning, freezing his fingertips. Pressed and crisp navy blue trousers fit against his legs like they are perfectly tailored for him — which they were. Black socks slip into shiny black Florsheim Francisco Cap-Toe Oxfords.

Giyu stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants, his long raven hair brushing against his shoulders. A breath huffs out of his mouth as he gazes at the clock. Ms. Perfect is supposed to be here… where the hell is — the clicking of heels catch his attention quicker than he'd like to admit. His muscles are instinctively tense, supposedly because he was either going to loathe this woman or… understand his father completely — the latter making his blood boil with years of being overlooked.

Perfectly arranged notebooks watch Giyu with his rigid, quiet pride of someone who's never missed a deadline in his life. Then, watch as his mouth nearly drops open, face blanching with deadly recognition.

A woman hurriedly scrambles to the front podium, a frenzied but welcoming smile lighting up her stunning face. Whispers erupt around Giyu, but they all die out as his eyes take in his new professor — you.

There's a flash of your thighs as you step out from behind the podium, clicking to an introductory slide. "Welcome, students! I hope you all had a wonderful summer. I'm Professor L/N — and this semester, we'll be deep diving into Literature and the cultural interpretations of obsession as a whole."

Great, yada yada yada, super interesting class. What Giyu was more interested in was the fact that you had tucked in his shirt into that short pencil skirt showcasing your curvey ass. The world is titling on its fucking axis. That was the shirt he loaned you after…fuck — last night.

His ears are ringing, blood pressure spiking as he gapes at your utterly and professionally sexy attire. The voice he'd heard gasping and begging for more — was now casually discussing the required reading list and how many damn essays the class had to write.

And you look so fucking good. Confident. Composed. In control. Holy fuck. It drove a wave of arousal straight to his cock which happened to already be straining against the zipper of his trousers. He tries to shift uncomfortably without the whole class noticing his growing erection. You had spent the night wearing his cum like a fucking blue ribbon, yet here you were talking about MLA format while his cock twitches beneath the desk like it recognized your voice faster than his brain did.

The professor he was dreading was you. You were her. He's a fucking mess. "This course will push you. You'll be challenged — intellectually, and creatively. I expect your best." His best? You'd have it. Bent over the kitchen counter, writhing in his sheets, dripping all over his thighs. You weren't even looking at him but the effect you lorded over him was all the same. Instead, your eyes scan the class roster, probably not realizing that the man you'd choked on last night, was sitting fifteen feet away from you — glaring at your thighs with devious ideas of what to do with them. As of right now though, you were in control. If you pull the leash Giyu was bound to follow. The Dom in him — the part that knew you — rejected that idea; but there was a soft part of him that was beyond amused by the challenge. You needed to be put back in your place.

Meanwhile you glance up from the roster. "Tomioka," you call out, noting the name with vague recognition. "Are you here?" It had to be a coincidence, definitely not the same family you were thinking of. You knew the Dean had a son…but you never met him. A ravenette in the front row lifts his head in stoic silence. The entire class shuffles with hushed discussion.

Oh. Shit. Your stomach flips uncomfortably as those similar deep azure eyes glare back at you under furrowed brows. Long black hair frames his face, the rest of it tucked into a low ponytail. It makes your skin crawl with a familiar buzz. He's the dean's son. You've met his father at faculty dinners. How the hell have you never met him? And why is he looking at you like that?

After the syllabus is passed around and expectations are laid out, you offer a pleasant smile. "Now, let's start with something light. Icebreakers — everyone's favorite!" A groan ripples through the room, eliciting a giggle from your mouth. "Tough. You're doing them anyway." Basics — name, major, a book that changed your life — and go row by row.

Giyu watches you the whole time, feral with frustration at how easily you guide the class. You nod in approval, welcoming each and every student; starting from the back rows until you get to him. You glance down at your list, feigning forgetfulness of his name. "Tomioka…Giyu?" His name falls from your pretty lips like heaven fell just for him. Maybe he should've told you everything because not hearing your whiney moans chant his name as he makes you cum over and over again — was a real shame.

He raises his head slowly, voice as even as he can manage. "Literature and East Asian Studies. The Tale of Genji." Your nerves roll around like they want to wrap around this man. This student.

Blinking back the impressed expression on your face, you smile. "Bold choice. Intrigining." You've smiled at him. Finally. He clenches his pen so tightly it almost snaps in half. Class is dismissed but Giyu will be thinking about you until he can see you again, then he'll be touching you.

During next class you're mid lecture, tapping through slides about narrative framing when your phone buzzes. You ignore it, glancing down at your digital watch to see if it was anything important. When you don't notice anything pressing you move your eyes back to the board.

Longer skirt, still just as tight. It was black with a brown checkered pattern shooting lines down those distracting legs — with feet decorated in classic heels. This time you've paired it with a sky blue button up under a black cable knit vest.

Your phone buzzes again. And again. A steady, calm smile doesn't reach your eyes as you bow your head apologetically. "Excuse me students." Your face falls in a frown, subtly unlocking it on the podium, still talking through a quote from Lolita. You glance down.

Crimson_Margin: Miss me?

Crimson_Margin: Here, since you didn't get to see it last night.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock, thick, hard, gripped at the base by a veiny hand. The image is raw and unapologetic. The kind of thing that makes your thighs press together on instinct. "A-and this quote—um. This quote…reframes the sick and twisted…um…" You stammer, mind blanking on why exactly you took this job. Instead, you should be on your knees begging Crimson to spray his load all over your face. You're barely speaking anymore, mind racing with the sounds you made the night before.

Somehow you manage to regain your train of thought and continue lecturing on Lolita, unreliable narration being your main touchstone through the beating in your chest. Obsession with youth — specifically with themes of grooming. It was an intense read, something that made you feel sick yet completely thrown off by Humbert's seductive narration and how he warps reality through doing so.

There's Giyu, proud of himself for throwing you off your game for even a second. How ironic for you to be lecturing on Nabokov's work while he's obsessing over you — his professor.

Soon enough class is over — yet again. "See you all Thursday. Bring your annotation notes on Lolita." Students shuffle out without much excitement to get to their next class and you feign calm as you slide your phone facedown onto your stack of papers. Then your gaze catches on a lone figure — Giyu Tomioka, still here, still seated, still watching you. It makes your skin crawl. "Tomioka? Wait up a second?" You keep your tone light, professional.

His shoulders tense as he rises. Fuck, do you know it was him? Already? Had you noticed the way he slipped his phone under the desk to fuck with you? But how? Shit. He approaches the podium with guarded eyes, eyes that have watched you cry and moan and beg. Fuck, don't get hard, don't get hard. He's waiting for the inevitable fallout, he should not be thinking about how great your tits looked covered in his cum.

Instead, you smile warmly. "It's nice to finally meet the dean's son." It's friendly and innocent. Of course, his father. "I've known your father for years, but never bumped into you on campus. He talks about you often—says you're brilliant. I'm looking forward to seeing your work."

How can someone knock another off their thoughts completely rendering them a useless meat sack? Giyu doesn't know, but obviously you do because he can't think of a word to say to that bomb you just dropped.

His father? Brilliant? His work? He almost wants to laugh. You'd at least felt some of his proudest work, but how was he supposed to say anything filthy to those innocent eyes of yours? He wishes you'd stop peering up at him like that, with a glint of pride in someone you don't even know. Not really, at least.

Giyu blinks. "Oh," he doesn't mean to say it so quietly. "Thank you." Come on Giyu, don't pussy out because of those soft doe eyes.

You lean a hip against the podium, tilting your head with an amused grin. "Your paper proposal is due next week. I'm curious what you'll come up with."

His throat moves. He wants to say I've already came a couple times today, thinking about that mouth of yours. But he doesn't. He just nods. Voice tight, but lined with a single reach into the darkness. "I won't disappoint you, Sensei."

You chuckle, completely unaware of the weight those words carry. "I'm sure you won't." Giyu turns to go, his fists clenched and jaw tight. You just basically told him you're proud of him after he sent you a full-frontal dick pic during a discussion on predatory control. And you still don't know who he is.

Is it worse to continue this charade or to not have been truly noticed by you?

...

Crimson_Margin: Tell me, do you prefer your poems whispered or whined?

You: that depends — am I allowed to breathe?

Crimson_Margin: only when I say "period"

Crimson_Margin: until then, you're a run-on sentence

You: You're such a menace

Crimson_Margin: only for you, Sensei

Crimson_Margin: think you'll ever let me annotate you properly?

You: what counts as properly?

Crimson_Margin: Mmm, I have a couple ideas

Crimson_Margin: but I'll keep those to myself for the time being

You: jeez, edging me in 10-point Times New Roman

Crimson_Margin: and you? You're a lesson plan I'd love to disrupt. Ever taught literature with a vibrator in?

You: Are you trying to kill me?

You: this isn't even sexting anymore, this is academic warfare

Crimson_Margin: I'm just giving you experiential material. Maybe we should work on a group project

You: mm, what would the assignment be about?

Crimson_Margin: Ha

Crimson_Margin: When Sensei Forgets her Own Safe Word

A sleek black 33 mm 'c' shaped remote controlled vibrator sits in front of you on your home desk. You swallow down the lump in your throat as it winks at you innocently. He's fucking crazy. Crimson had instructed you to slip this little guy in before you left for work. Apparently they can ship separately, the toy divorced from it's controller far too soon. He told you he'd handle the rest, you just had to tell him when you were in class. Fuck, could you get fired for this? What if someone hears?

The small toy is flexible to ensure complete comfort when inserting it. One end will enter your pussy, stimulating your G-spot, while the squeezing mechanism will rub against your clit. Built for the most natural interaction, the harder you squeeze that end, the stronger the vibration gets. He included a bottle of lube with a tiny note written on it.

Since you can't use my cum this time ;)

-C

The toy was simple enough to use, sitting flush against your mound. You pull on thick underwear, hopeful it'll help deter whatever was to come for you… or from you. In case you see Crimson tonight you put on a creme Elagia-MOnte Houndstooth skirt suit. To add a touch of elegance you tug on a pair of ivory gorgeous chains GINZA DIANA D'Orsay pumps. A grin lines your lips at the stunning shoes covering your feet. You were ready to conquer this day.

Nope nope nope. After sending a quick text to Crimson that you were about to start class, the vibrations had already started. You wiggle restlessly in your chair, waiting for the rest of your students to show up — but you'd be happier if they all just decided to take the day off. Maybe you should cancel class…it's not like he'd know…right?

Giyu Tomioka walks through the door, bag slung over one shoulder with one hand stuffed in his pocket. He trots down the stairs to find his usual seat, plopping down with a startling thump. You swallow down your nerves at the appearance of Giyu. If anyone was to hear the low humming in your pussy — it was going to be him. After all, he was seated the closest.

You get lost in staring anxiously at Giyu that you don't hear your phone buzz until it does so a couple more times.

Crimson_Margin: don't worry, Sensei.

Crimson_Margin: They won't hear the vibrator

Crimson_Margin: just make sure they don't hear your moans

A chill of anticipation snakes around your core. Fuck. This guy was going to kill you. It was unnerving the way he kept calling you Sensei as well. You didn't think much of it, expect how it made your stomach warm with arousal. Did you have a professor kink?

You groan into your hand, regretting even being born. As more students file in you swear you catch a smirk on Giyu's lips but he composes his face quick enough to make you think you were just seeing things.

Today's lesson is on The Picture of Dorian Gray, something about temptation and corruption. All Giyu can think about is how your lipstick might smudge as you moan is name — begging him to fuck you deeper than the toy ever could.

Mmm, it'd probably be nice to fuck you with it. After all that is what its intention is for. To stimulate the dick while plowing into the cunt. It was unbearable, the image of you whimpering as he burrows his aching cock into you — bent over the desk with your ass up. You're handling the stimulation well, until he presses the pulse button and amps up the intensity.

For a moment you stop talking, eyes widening as you turn away from the onlookers. Giyu places his chin in a hand, grinning wickedly. That's it. Focus. Your arm twitches as you point to a quote, muttering about self-worship.

The next slide instructs the class to read a certain few chapters of the book and come back with discussion points for Thursday. Your back is still turned away as you dismiss the rest of the students with a hearty goodbye.

Giyu titles his head, pushing you to the next couple of levels. He watches you nearly keel over, leaning against the whiteboard for stability. Your knees are buckling and he swears he can hear tiny moans echoing off the walls, but the noise of everyone shuffling around covers anything that might've slipped out of your mouth.

Then — he can tell when you reach your climax, stumbling to grip the edge of the podium and for a moment your eyes reach his. Giyu stands, dimming the intensity to a low pulse. You, on the other hand, struggle to pick up your lesson notes.

Despite your attempts to stop it, juices trail down your thighs. Lining them in an open answer as to why you ended class earlier than usual. Just hide behind the podium, no one will see and then you can go clean yourself up. You hope.

"Sensei, do you need help carrying those?" Your eyes are glassy as you glance up, a victorious feeling coursing through Giyu. He's always so formal and polite. You hope he doesn't notice how…not present you are. That nickname… it feels dangerous, even though it's not. Not really. It's weird that Crimson and Giyu both persist in dubbing you with it though.

"Thanks, Tomioka. That would be great, actually." He grabs half your stack, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. You're hyper-aware of him now. Your cunt quakes with the aftershocks of a thrilling orgasm. Shame rolls through you, but that was part of the excitement. You're starting to regain normal thoughts, so you turn to Giyu, ready to start a conversation — but you're distracted by the look on his face. His expression is so intense. "It's pretty quiet…I like it." You blurt to fill said silence you just admitted to liking. He plops the books onto the cart you used to transport class material, his arm muscles flexing against the fabric of his shirt.

Giyu nods with a smile on his lips. "I bet you do, Sensei." That fucking name again. You freeze, pulse quickening. Is it from your previous devastating orgasm or something else? He tilts his head, not quite smirking, but close. "Have a good day."

...

Crimson_Margin: are you free tonight? I have a reward for how well you did

Crimson_Margin: I think you'll really enjoy my depraved sense of humor

It's really on you for being too excited for the next session with Crimson. Classes were starting to take a toll on you, especially with the Dean's son watching your every move. It made you feel uncomfortable…whether that was due to the intensity of which he watched you or the way your stomach dipped with how much you enjoyed it — was still to be determined.

Crimson is exceptionally talented at getting your mind off reality. The blindfold is snuggly secured around your eyes, that much is the same — but tonight your master has shown his reward also happens to be a punishment for you throwing him of course last session.

Your arms have been tied above your head with just enough tauntness to make you strain. The same was done with your legs, pulled apart to watch everything — which Giyu was thoroughly enjoying. A pulsing wand has been strapped inside of you, the suction portion of it bullying your overstimulated clit. The low frequency has you squirming around for more while simultaneously wishing you could take it out. Crimson had clamped small vibrating nipple clamps on your tits, that made them feel uneven.

The bed he'd deposited you into smelled like him. He was surrounding you everywhere without touching a single inch of your skin. You turn your head into the plush pillows behind you, inhaling with a small cry. "P-please," you mewl, panting in the cedarwood scent of his pillow cases.

A dark chuckle slips past Giyu's lips as he watches you writhe around in his bed. "Not yet, Sensei." His voice is strained, the steady low voice cracking into something wicked. Giyu unlatches the leather collar in his hand, slipping it around your throat. An amused smile lines his lips as you gasp, nuzzling into his touch. "What a good girl you are." He praises, letting his hand caress the side of your cheek — clicking a long leash to your collar with the other hand.

"Let's begin with a lesson in obdeience, Sensei," he mummers, unbuttoning the lowest button of his suit jacket. He moves it out of the way as he sits in an elegant armchair next to the bed. Giyu crosses one leg over the other, appearing as the image of the businessman his father wants him to be. He wanders how you'd try to fuck him with your heated gaze if you could see him in the dark navy 3 piece suit he's wearing. "You're not allowed to cum until the last line of the last page. That is your only rule." A grin takes over his lips as he glances at the stack of poetry books with sticky notes protruding the pages.

Giyu takes the top book from the stack, flipping to a page with red ink scrawled over the margins. How fitting. "I touch you with gammer: semicolons where you should've stopped me. Parentheses around your moans. A footnote about the way you begged." His eyes lift, studying the stillness of your breath before picking up the cold metal bar from the table. He drags the bar against your thigh, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you. "Make sure you're paying close attention, Sensei. I wouldn't want you to fail the quiz after."

He moves to the next book, Anaïs Nin — a sinful smirk on his lips as he leans back. Giyu clicks the intensity up two clicks on the wand and nipple clamps, breathy squeals of pleasure making you tug against your restraints. "F—fuck!! S'good, m'gonna—ah, ah—"

His eyes are dark as he observes you, flitting down to the words on the page before him. "I want to crawl inside you and write from there. I want to taste your eyes, and mark your no. I want to pull you open like scripture and translate you through bruises and bloom."

Your whole body tightens— clenching, begging — and he knows you're teetering right at the edge. He reaches over and switches the wand off and you cry out like a scream being choked off mid-sentence. "No, no, I'll be good. Promise. P-please, m'your good girl." Bucking your hips upward, struggling to find any friction with the toy still strapped inside of you.

Ha. Were you trying to get off by yourself? At all? Without his permission? Giyu wraps the leash around his fist twice and in a brisk movement tugs your head up. You sputter out a strained breath, the collar tightening around your throat due to the tension and awkward position you were in to catch any air. "Manners," he snaps with a low growl. "Only good girls get their reward."

The wand is turned on again and he allows the tension to release from your collar. You collapse onto the mattress, trying to squeeze your thighs together. "I am your student of ache and ache again, learning you one whisper at a time — I diagram your sighs, your rules, your mercy, but never your release."

Giyu slaps the book shut with a loud thud, you nearly jolt against your bindings. A teasing smile wraps his lips in an upward turn, standing from his position in the chair. His gaze languidly travels down the sight sprawled out before him, taking in every drop of sweat on your brow to juices glistening down your thighs. What a sight indeed.

Your fingers twitch against the silken sheets, small moaning gasps the only sound filling the room. A silent plea corrupts your brain. Please let me cum, sir. The words almost fall out of your mouth, but then there's a dip of the bed, pulling your senses tight like a string wound too far. "Been such a patient little thing," cruel smooth voice sliding through your body like a balm. "Listening so well. Letting me read every filthy line." Then you feel his fingers trace along your inner thigh, skimming and maddeningly restrained. A strangled squeak slips from your lips when he presses an all too short kiss there as well.

Without warning he wraps his hand around the wand's handle. Your entire body jerks against the tormenting pressure. "You want to cum, Sensei?" He whispers the words, mouth at your ear now. "Say it. Use your words."

You choke on a whimper, thighs quaking, hot tears stinging your eyes. "Y-yes, please. I want to—I need to—"

The vibration clicks up. And up again. And again.

White-hot lightning bolts through your core, searing your entire being. Your hips arch violently off the bed, moans rising into sobs as the heavenly gates split wide open. Your orgasm doesn't crest so much as crash, thunderous and devastating, pouring through you like a stampede.

Giyu holds you there, firmly. Mummering sweet praises against your temple as you twitch uncontrollably. "There she is," he praises darkly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead. "S'good for me. S'fucking beautiful when you break."

After your body calms you feel the bed shift again. "Don't move." He instructs before a soft chuckle leaves his lips. "Not like you can though," you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. You press your lips into a thin line, yearning to catch a glimpse of who laid beneath Crimson Margin.

Your skin still tingles with the aftershocks of your orgasm, chest rising and falling.

Click.

Giyu turns the lights out. Another sound. Footsteps. Then tugging at the leather cuffs around your limbs. Before you know it you're free, the wand and clamps are gone as well. "When I instruct you to, take off the blindfold — but you cannot turn around." He drags a warm hand down your arm, gently grabbing your hand to assist you into a sitting position. Then, he's gone too. His footsteps stop behind you and the shuffling of clothes makes you want to turn your head — but you fight against it.

"Now." His voice is low, dangerously so. You reach up to take the blindfold from your eyes. It takes a moment to adjust to the dim light that only illuminates you…and the mirror in front of you. Your own reflection is, needless to say, ruined. Messy hair, red wrists, flushing cheeks — a sign you'd been fucked good. The mirror is angled in such a way that you can only make out the darkness behind you until movement catches your eyes.

There he is. His face is frustratingly cast in shadow, but as your gaze dips lower you find it's not that big of a deal. He's in a dark navy waistcoat, a white dress shirt underneath with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. You gulp, admiring the way everything fits him. He's undone the black tie around his neck, the ends hanging loosely on his chest. His legs are spread, slouched like he owns the world, and one hand lazily stokes his cock — thick and hard, flushed with need. The other hand runs along the single part of his face you can make out; his jaw.

Giyu watches you through the glass, your shared reflection tethering you together. Only a reflection of his desire for you. He releases his angry cock, unbuttoning his waistcoat and dress shirt underneath. The agonizing care he takes makes you bite down on your lower lip. He rolls up the tie, presumably stuffing it in his mouth.

Fuck, that's hot. Your eyes flit to every surface of his body, memorizing the mole above his collar bone, the shade of his skin, the way his cock was…beautiful? The way his muffled moans bounce around the room. The way his abs flex when he pumps a little faster. The way his hips twitch forward slightly, as if imagining your mouth.

He tears the tie from his mouth, panting desperately. "Look so pretty like that," wet slapping fills the room and you file the sound away as well. "S'fucking unbearable watching you cum on a-anything that's not m-my cock — ngh." His free hand digs into the material of the armchair he's in.

A pulse of arousal laps at your still aching cunt. "Fuck," you hiss out, wishing your gaze was larger so you could watch everything at once. Absentmindedly you reach up to tweak your nipple.

The reaction from the man behind you makes your eyes widen. "Jus'like that," he groans, voice lower and rougher. "S'it, you're mine." He huffs, rutting his cock through his fist. With a pussy wetting moan that shifts into a whimper, he makes a mess of his hand, still pumping himself through his orgasm. "Ngh, s'good, s'good, S-Sensei."

The familiar rhythm of your heels clicking down the hall comforts you into a lull. It's early Monday morning and the campus is a strange blend of sleepy and bustling. Students are half-awake, coffee emanating through their pores, and the brisk smell of fall clinging to their sweaters. You clutch your own travel mug tighter, shifting your shoulder so the bag full of your work items doesn't fall.

You're already half way to your office before you let yourself think about that night again. It's not the sex that's haunting you — not really. It's how the nights end.

Crimson's voice was hoarse from moaning — still shrouded in darkness. There was just the rustling of clothes as he stored himself back in his pants paired with a quiet sigh. "Shut your eyes," he breathes, the calm baritone of his voice sliding over your skin. You do as you're told, shutting your lashes against your cheek.

Your voice catches in your throat when you feel his lips press against your shoulderblade. He allows himself to linger only pulling back after he huffs. Did he want to stay longer? That's what it felt like, but it's almost like he couldn't let himself. He tossed a matching suit jacket over your shoulders before you heard the door click shut behind you.

When you turned around to gaze at the empty chair you half-expected to feel abandoned — but with his warm jacket over your skin, filling your nose with his scent, it was hard to.

After collecting your belongings you scramble down the stairs, toward the room you'd slept in last time. You took a long, steamy, amazing shower. Stepping out of the bathroom with a towel ringing out your hair you spot a pile of clothes, a bottle of water, a bowl of fruit, and how your phone has been plugged in.

There's not a note this time, like he knew you'd know it was him that did this. Not a single clue that he had been in this room, just the quiet care tucked in every corner. But you knew. Your body knew.

Still did. Still buzzing with that sensation.

You round the corner to your office, thankful that no one seemed to need your immediate attention. It's easy enough to flick on the lights and flop into your chair, setting your beverage on a flowery coaster. You had about four hours before classes started so you might as well start reading the annotations your students turned in on The Picture of Dorian Gray.

About halfway through your grading you stumble upon a certain someone's. Giyu Tomioka. You tap the end of your pen against your lips as you blink at the computer screen. To See and Be seen: Desire's Two-Way Mirror. A smirk plays with your mouth as your eyes flit through his prose.

It is tempting to dismiss Dorian’s fixation on his beauty as mere vanity — an indulgent form of self-worship. Yet Wilde seems to suggest that the truest intoxication does not come from worshipping oneself in private, but from the reflection of that worship in the eyes of others. It is in being seen — adored, envied, desired — that Dorian’s sense of self becomes electric, heightened beyond what any mirror could offer.

As one could expect from the Dean's son. There's a prodding flutter in your stomach that you narrow your eyes at. You try to shove the feeling down, scanning the last paragraph.

Wilde toys with the idea that Dorian’s beauty is not owned by him alone. It is owned by those who look, who crave, who imagine. In that sense, self-worship becomes communal, shared between the one who bears the beauty and those who cannot help but kneel to it. And there is, perhaps, a certain pleasure in that surrender… even when the one being worshipped pretends to remain untouched by it.

Your thumb is unconsciously stroking the length of the pen that's supposed to be writing comments on the rubric. You should praise him for its clarity and confidence, instead every sentence felt like it was reaching through the paper — pressing a palm against your jaw to tilt your chin up.

One specific line draws you back in. The act of watching… of knowing you are seen… becomes its own worship. You swallow hard, heat licking at the base of your hips. This wasn't just analysis. This was him — speaking about pleasure, about reverence, in the same careful tone he used to answer you in class. The tone that somehow made everything sound like a secret meant only for you.

During class you cannot seem to look at the section where Giyu is seated, hands underneath his jaw — watching in that same intense way. The presentation seems super interesting this time, seeing as you can't even turn around for a moment. But that does give Giyu a great view of your ass. It's just so disappointing he can't see that expression full of a different kind of passion than the one he gives you. You were in love with literature and he admired your respect for upholding the honor of authors.

You end class with the promise of grades being put in shortly after you get back to your office. Ah. So that's what this is about? You read his little…annotation. Giyu covers his mouth, a smirk present on his lips. Guess he'll have to pay you a visit — to talk about his grade of course.

It's already tense in your office when you hear the door creak open and then click shut. Your pen pauses mid-mark. "Sensei." The word is perfectly neutral. Too neutral.

Without swallowing you glance up, leisurely spinning around in your desk chair. "Tomioka." You gesture toward the stack of essays on your desk. "Here about your annotation?"

His gaze flicks to the stack before locking back on you, dark eyes glinting with something that makes your stomach clench. "Mm," he hums, stepping forward. "You didn't answer my email."

He sent you an email? You hadn't checked them yet. You slide a printed copy of his paper from the stack, the red ink glaring against the white page. "I thought it'd be better to… discuss it in person." You lie through gritted teeth. If he can sense your lie he doesn't let on.

Instead one corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smile — a memory. "Right. In person."

You clear your throat and start flipping pages. "Your argument is strong, but you rely to much on—"

He leans in. One palm plants on the desk beside your waist, the other braces on the far side — boxing you in so neatly you can't push your chair back without brushing against him.

The air sharpens between you. "Giyu." You swallow his name like it's a sinful word. Something you shouldn't be saying. You keep your voice low even though there's no one else in the room.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence, his hair falling forward just enough to shadow his eyes. "What? I'm listening. You said I should take your feedback more seriously." Yes after his annotation on Lolita, you were borderline concerned for yourself. Considering his writing had almost made it onto your spank bank list.

You gulp, drowning your nerves deep in your body. The heat of his body bleeds across the small space between you. His arm shifts slightly, forearm flexing as he leans more weight onto it. The dominance in the air is jarring. You keep your gaze locked on the page though. "You need to work on your transitions."

His smirk deepens — you can hear it in his voice. "I think my transitions are pretty smooth." You make the mistake of glancing up, his eyes are unreliable by heavy, scanning over your mouth before meeting your gaze again — as if daring you to call him on it.

If someone walked in right now, there'd be no convincing them this was just about an essay.

Your fingers skim the page. Keep it professional. "This section," you start, tapping the margin, "you jump between perspectives."

A quiet hum leaves him, almost like he's pretending to listen. "Mm." He leans in further, the heat is boiling you alive. "Wasn't intentional," he says lowly, tilting his head just enough that his breath grazes along your cheek. "Guess you bring out impulsive things in my writing."

Your pulse trips as you force yourself to meet his eyes. It's worse, so much worse, because he's smiling. Smirking. Not the polite curve of his mouth you see in class, but something sharper, more knowing. "You should be taking notes," your voice is airy, a whispering would be louder than you in this moment.

"Oh, I am." He murmurs, gaze dropping blatantly to your lips before flicking back up. "I'm very good at memorizing things when you're the one teaching me."

With a stomach tied up in knots you shake off the weight of his words. What does he mean by that? You want to ask him, but now was certainly not the place for that. "You missed another inconsistency," your voice is hoarse as you point to another section of his text.

Giyu picks up his paper, spinning away from you for the slightest moment. Your eyes follow him, but when he turns back to face you his eyes make your thighs squish together. "Maybe you should… walk me through it." The deliberate pause is heavy, his tone coaxing, like he's offering you more than listening to your notes on his essay.

"Nope! I think you got it!" You almost yell too excitedly. Get out! You shouldn't be having these thoughts about a student! Having him this close to you was obviously a horrible idea. Maybe you should lock your office and never let him back in.

"Yeah, I think I do." He turns on his heel, waving his paper in his hand as he exits your office. "Thanks for the notes, Sensei."

All those mind blowing orgasms were obviously making you go crazy because why were you wet after that? You groan into your hands, kicking your feet around in frustration. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."

...

Crimson_Margin: I can't stop thinking about you

Crimson_Margin: can't stop thinking about how pretty you looked tied up

You: sounds like a you problem

You: I'm busy, remember?

Crimson_Margin: you're not too busy to clench your thighs reading this

You: …

You: you're unbearable

Crimson_Margin: you've been thinking about me since you woke up

Crimson_Margin: tell me I'm wrong

You: this is getting out of hand

Crimson_Margin: No. This is me keeping my hands to myself

Crimson_Margin: for now.

You roll your eyes.

You: keep dreaming

Crimson_Margin: careful, after all dreams can come true

Students shuffle into your class and you slip your phone into the pockets of your coat. There's a certain chill in the room, the mid-autumn slump settling into their bones. "Welcome students! I hope you're ready for The Collector."

You: you know… I was thinking

Crimson_Margin: uh oh, that's dangerous

You: shut up

Crimson_Margin: yes ma'am

Crimson_Margin: what's on your mind?

You: well… is it wrong the lesson today made me want to try something?

You: something… maybe a little dangerous?

Crimson_Margin: oh?

Crimson_Margin: do tell

Crimson_Margin: dangerous is my middle name

You: is that what the '_' stands for?

Crimson_Margin: exactly

Crimson_Margin: now out with it

Crimson_Margin: I'm dying

You: you ever read one of those books where the guy chases the girl through the woods with a mask and knife? When he catches her it's the kind of primal sex that makes you squirm in your seat? That.

Crimson_Margin: fuck

Crimson_Margin: now I have to hope no one sees how hard I am

Crimson_Margin: leave it to me, just come over Saturday night

There's a knock against your office door and you startle, straightening your back as you turn to see who needs your attention. "Hello Professor Y/n." A familiar voice carries through the room. "It's been a while." The salt and pepper haired man brows politely before stepping through the threshold of your office.

You swallow down the nerves that decided now is the right time to zap through your veins. Just a few weeks ago you had his son in this very room and inappropriate wasn't the right word to describe what was going on. "Hello Dean Tomioka." You put on the biggest smile you can muster.

He takes an elegant seat in one of the chairs across from you. "How has this semester been treating you?" He questions, straightening out your name plate.

A nervous laugh bubbles out of your mouth. "Good. Your son is in my class." Is your smile too big? What if he thinks you're a little too excited to have his son in your class? Instead of flipping your desk over in outrage a fatherly grin slides across his mouth.

"I hope he hasn't been giving you too much trouble." He trails off, tilting his head slightly before folding his hands in his lap. "Tell me professor, are you busy Saturday?" Your blood chills as the most polite smile you can muster takes place contorting your lips into a lie.

"No." The Dean smiles at your answer.

"Good. My wife and I wanted to invite you to our family dinner." His deep voice feels like claws against your ribs.

"Family dinner? Like…all of you?"

The Dean lifts his stormy blue eyes to meet your unwavering polite expression — failing at hiding the worry bleeding out of your eyes. He pushes himself into a standing position, brushing his suit into place. "Yes," he stops in the doorway. "All of us. See you Saturday, I'll send you the details."

This moment and the urge to scream into a pillow will haunt you forever. Fucking Tomioka men.

…

All he has to do is get through this hellish meal and then he can go meet you. Giyu is sat in his normal chair for dinner, but there's one problem.

An extra place has been set.

His skin crawls when there's a knock on the door, shuffling feet moving to greet whoever is there, and the bravado of his father's laugh. He can just make out the delicate voice his mother put on when other people were around. "We're so glad you could make it! The dining room is this way." Giyu wants to sink into his seat, disappearing from whatever frustratingly annoying guest his parents had invited to dinner.

"Here, let me take your coat." He's never heard his father's gruff voice soften in such a way. He presses his cold fingertips into his forehead, shutting his eyes for the last moment of peace he'd have before this foolish attempt at a family gathering. Why they insisted on showcasing it to their friends was beyond him, but at least he had something to look forward to after this.

Their footsteps reach the room, the sound of chairs scooting out to be seated grates against Giyu's thinning patience. "Giyu, welcome our guest." There's a hint to the strict, snapping voice of his mother.

He groans, lifting his head and his jaw nearly drops open.

You sit across from him in the most stunning blue evening dress even his fantasies couldn't have conjured up. It's so tight he could make out every curve of your body he's seen before. A lump forms in his throat as his eyes scan the dainty straps that pass over your cleavage, only excentuating them more. "Sensei." His voice is tight and so are his fucking pants.

Bowing your head politely you raise your head with a faux smile. "Good evening Giyu." What he would do to hear you moan out his name.

The steak tastes great when you have a beautiful woman across from you, bashfully meeting your gaze every once and a while. Giyu shifts his leg, grazing your calf. The touch sends a jolt through your body and your eyes meet his with a pleading look. If only you knew what he was willing to do.

His father has been rambling about his school, the board of directors, and every other boring conversation topic. "I think you bring out the best in my son." His eyes are on you and for once Giyu couldn't agree more with his father. Though, the urge to turn that sentence filthy lifts his tongue but he feels you lightly kick him under the table like you could read his mind. "Are you done with The Collector yet?"

You shake your head, happy to talk about your class. How adorable. "No, it's a book worth savoring."

Giyu's lips curl into a smirk. "Some things are better savored slowly," your eyes meet. "You have to earn the ending." Your eyes fall to the plate in front of you, but he can see the way you squirm in your chair. It's the same way you writhe around when you're turned on.

There's a loud ringing that sounds from the end of the table and the Dean excuses himself profusely. His wife follows behind him. Now it's just to two of you. "Well, I should probably head out," you mummer.

"Why? Have somewhere else you'd rather be?" With him? Enjoying your fantasies. You glare at him while standing up and you've never looked so dominating. It curls around his cock, squeezing the life out of it.

"Careful, Giyu." He smirks — controlled and calculated. With lips pressed into a thin line you find your way back to the front door, reaching for your coat — but he's right behind you. "What now?" You're exasperated and he can tell.

"I just wanted to know if I'll be getting an A." His breath fans against your cheek as he corners you against the door. The air is tense, filled with this unrecognizable feeling that you've heard that somewhere. Your eyes fall to the dark navy suit Giyu has on and a breath nearly shudders out of your throat.

No. There is no way. There must've been a sale. A simple coincidence. If you started trying to put things together the water would get murky faster than you want to get out of here.

He's hovering against you and for a beat you think he might fully lean in — pressing those delectable lips to yours in a kiss you shouldn't want. Your eyes flutter shut and against every fiber of your moral reasoning — you wish he'd just do it. A soft teasing chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Cute."

"Giyu?" He flips around, spotting his mother turning the corner looking for him. When he turns back around you're already out the door. Giyu can't help but deflate with a sigh, glancing back at his mom.

…

Unless there is some mode of teleportation you would get to the meet up point before Giyu. If you walk through those doors and no one is there, your suspicions would be confirmed. But if there is someone then you can go on your merry way to orgasm heaven with Crimson.

The cab screeches to the side of the street. You step out, still dressed in heels and the dress you'd bought to match the blue of Crimson's suit. It ended up pairing perfectly with the suit Giyu had on tonight. What kind of mind games was he playing with you? Who would do something so messed up?

You greet the doorman with a small nod, making your way to the elevators. They hum around you, the mirrored panels catching the nervous flicker in your eyes. Your fingers clutch around your phone, every second coiling your gut tighter. The numbers tick upward.

Ding.

The hallway is too quiet, save for the hammering thumps against your ribcage and the click of your uncomfortable heels. Placing your hands against the door you push them open. There's a warm glow from a single lamp pooling across the space you've been in countless times but never got to actually study.

You're about to call out for anyone, but a figure moves deeper in the living room. You shut the door behind you, feeling caged in. The next breath catches in your throat when Crimson steps into the dim light, ghost face mask covering his head. He's in a black hoodie, leather jacket thrown over it. Dark jeans with silver chains and black combat boots. He looks every part of the psycho killer and the throbbing in your lower region almost makes you forget about the worries of before.

That is until he lazily twirls a knife in his leather clad hands. Arousal runs through your veins. "Crimson?" You tentatively take a step forward, leaving the light of the lamp behind. The black eyes of the mask stare back at you. Everything is so still, until he tilts his head.

"Run."

You bolt away quickly, making a break for the only room you really remember — the guest room; your room. It lies just down the short hallway. You duck inside, closing the door without a sound, your back pressing to the cool wood.

Heels off, you crouch to slip them aside, grateful for the hush of bare feet on carpet. You ease toward the bed, keeping your breathing shallow despite the hammering in your pulse. Ears straining for any sound beyond the door. Nothing. For a long, taunt minute, you wait. Then — footsteps unhurried, like he already knows you won't get far.

The shadow of his body glides past the crack beneath the door. You make a break for it, stairs looming ahead — you take them two at a time, cursing about your tits almost catapulting out of your dress. When you make it to the landing there's a moment of panic because you have no fucking clue where you are. There are two hallways and a relatively large sitting area up here as well.

You pad toward a door, opening it just enough for you to slip past. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the room you're in — which appears to be an office of some kind. The smell of leather and a nice floral scent assault your nose. Your nose crinkles as you drop low, tucking yourself beneath the wide mahogany desk. The shadows swallow you whole, only the muted hum of your breath keeping you company.

You count each heartbeat, listening. The door creaks open and you clamp both hands over your mouth. His boots are deliberate on the hardwood — thunk thunk thunk. A squeal nearly comes out of your mouth as the chair shifts in front of you. The desk above you groans faintly, the air becoming to thick to breathe. Then… silence. You chance a slow inhale — only for his hand to snake down into the dark, fingers closing around your ankle.

This time a sharp yelp makes it past your lips as you try to scramble away from him. To your benefit you do manage to make it to your feet, but Crimson is quicker, grabbing hold of your waist before you can shoot past the door. He holds you tightly to the firm wall of his chest, both of your breathing rampet and uncontrolled.

"Running again, Sensei?" He huffs, voice molten and dark. You want to deny his accusation, but you're startled by the sharp cool kiss of steel against your skin. Crimson drags the dull edge of his knife languidly along your cheek. "Do you know what I do to prey that runs?" The knife tilts your face up, forcing your gaze to his shadowed one.

Your pulse stutters, thighs pressing together instinctively. He hums low in his throat, almost pleased. The blade drifts lower to trace the line of your throat, resting just over your pounding pulse. "Oh," he mummers, "I think you do."

The hand not holding the knife slides up to grip the base of your throat after moving the knife to where it hovers over your heart — tip pressing into the plush skin of your chest. You hiss with satisfaction, watching as a small drop of blood trickles down your cleavage. Crimson is hard and heavy — straining against the fabric between you.

He lowers his mouth to your ear. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to run away ever again."

Every part of your body is buzzing with the need to be dicked down so good that you forget the anxieties pumping through your veins. You lean into his touch, brushing your fingertips against the white plastic cheeks.

A sharp stecato laugh pierces the room. His grip on your throat tightens and your eyes roll shut — the knife lifting from your chest. You're unsure where it is until you hear a schhhhkk, the part of your dress that was hugging your thigh now slit up to above your waist. Frayed threads almost wave at you from where they've been cut. "Don't worry," he says low, nearly conversational, "I'll buy you another. Exactly the same. Just so I can rip it off you again."

The steel traces up the inside of your thigh, controlled enough to be torture. He halts just before your panties, the air between metal and skin is so thin you swear you can feel the cool ghost of it against your heat. Your breath hitches.

"Jumping already?" He questions, tilting the knife so he can tap the flat of the blade lightly against the tender crease where your thighs meet your pussy. "You afraid I'll slip? Or are you wet enough to like it?"

A dark chuckle leaves his masked mouth when you can't answer. Suddenly the clatter of the knife against the ground startles you almost just as much as when Crimson replaces it for his hand — hot and rough even through the leather of his glove, cupping you over the thin fabric. He squeezes once, firm, and your knees nearly give out. "Mmm," his black eyes seemingly bore into yours. "That's not fear." You can hear the smirk in his voice.

Frustration creeps through you, but he doesn't allow you a moment to get caught up in anything other than desire because he shifts, using his grip on your throat to turn you so you're facing him now. His covered gaze is blatantly tipped downward, ravaging the swell of your breasts.

Crimson uses the spanse of his palm to lift your tits with a punishing squeeze. He molds them through the fabric, greedily pressing you into the edge of the desk. "Fuck, these drive me crazy," he growls, voice breaking rough. His thumb circles your nipple through the thin material of your dress until it's pebbling hard.

He pauses, lifting his head in a torturous movement that leaves you in a guessing game of what he could be planning. That's when he grips the delicate neckline of your dress and pulls. It wasn't that expensive, but to see it fall down around your ankles in shreds was a little disheartening. You open your mouth to protest, but he's already pushing the straps of your sky blue lingerie bralette down your shoulders. "Wait— I," he lifts the mask just enough to reveal the scruffy edge of his jaw, mouth just covered by the black fabric of his mask. He bites down on the excess tip of his gloved middle finger, yanking the leather off in an impressive motion. He does the same with his left hand.

A shiver runs through you at this small reveal. His fingers hook into the cups of your bralette and shove them down, baring your breasts to the cool air. "S'ruined anyway," he's musing. His unmasked voice sends another shiver that laps at your hungry cunt. Crimson bends, catching one nipple between his lips without preamble. The wet heat of his mouth makes you gasp, but then his tongue is swirling slow, deliberate circles, dragging saliva over the sensitive peak until it's slick.

Giyu sucks, hard enough to pull a breathless sound from you, and his hand comes up to squeeze your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers in a perfect counterpoint to his mouth. A groan rattles out of his chest — he feels like he's dying. You're so perfect in his hands, how could you get better? Impossible.

You arch into him as his teeth graze — just shy of a bite — before closing fully around the ample skin of your tit. "Mm, that's — it, shit," you moan, pressing the back of his head into your chest. Ah, obviously Giyu had been to quick to judge. Apparently you were an endless spectrum of perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect for him.

He switches sides, lavishing the other nipple the same hot, wet attention. His stubble scrapes lightly, just enough to sting before the flat of his tongue soothes over it. "So sensitive, yeah? Bet I could make you cum just from this." The vibration of his baritone voice against your nipple sends you into a trembling mess. That's when he smirks with your fucking boobs in his mouth, saliva dripping down from the abandoned one.

Gazing down you can make out the stupid grin on his mouth as he nuzzles against your chest. "S'my pretty girl," he plants a sloppy kiss between your breasts like he was promising to visit them again — then trails ticklish kisses down your abdomen, sliding to his knees.

The ruined fabric of your dress is shoved up, matching panties peeled down, and the cool air on your bare cunt lasts only a heartbeat before his mouth is there, replacing it with heat and obscene hunger — one tantalizing lick from the base of your slit to your clit. Your knees buckle, nails digging into the wood of the desk as you use it for support. He must sense your unsteady balance because he lifts one of your legs over his shoulders. His tongue moves with purpose, broad and heavy, before narrowing to push inside of you.

A ruined noise squeals out of your mouth — his nose pressing against your blown out clit. The dual stimulation of your weeping cunt is abhorrent because you can't even think. There are zero thoughts in that big beautiful brain of yours, except don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.

Giyu makes a hungry noise, a deep graon in his throat like he's savoring the taste. It vibrates through you, eliciting a feral half moan half scream from you. His thumbs spread you wider, his mouth working you open until you can hear how wet you are for him. It's hands down the sexiest thing you've ever heard and it makes you grind down on his nose.

"Sweetest fuckin' thing I've ever had," he pants against your skin before bruisingly cucking your clit, hard enough to make you cry out. "Gonna get you drippin' for me, I want you begging." He uses the flat of his tongue to lap at your juices like a popsicle he was enjoying. "S'if you can speak." He teases, a boyish grin appearing on his mouth — which has your arousal smeared everywhere.

What a fucking sight. "Al—already, please…" you pant, feeling light-headed. "Want you inside." Another suck of your clit has you doubling over to press his face into your greedy cunt. You yelp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes — Giyu sliding two fingers inside of you without warning, curling just right. Your hips jerk forward, but he hauls you back with a grip that borders on bruising. He keeps his mouth locked on your clit, tongue flicking in time with the thrust of his fingers, and the tension in your belly winds impossibly tight.

You're gasping, trembling, barely keeping from cumming all over his face. As if reading your thoughts he releases your clit with a sickening pop. "N'yet, baby. M'gonna make sure the first time you cum is stuffed full of my cock." Giyu rises to his feet, brisking undoing his zipper to free his throbbing cock — thick and flushed, already leaking precum. "Tell me you wan'it. Say it, say you want all of me."

All you can manage is a whining nod, gripping his shoulders like you were trying to pull him in. "Use your words, baby. Say it." His voice is calm, sweet even.

"Want you s'bad — been thinkin' 'bout this since — ha — we met. M'all yours, please don't — ngh — stop. M'yours, all yours, take me…" You trail off, innocent eyes blinking up at him in such a way that every rational thought in his head snaps.

He plants a veiny hand on either side of your hip — a dangerously familiar scenario. The first thrust is brutal. Deep. Claiming.

A strangled sound rips from your throat, your nails biting into his shoulder. He's so deep it's dizzying — every inch pushing into places that have you clinging to him for balance. "Fuck," he hisses against your ear, his voice strained and hoarse, "this pussy was made for me." He huffs, licking the shell of your ear, nipping at it lightly — before leaving sloppy wet kisses against your neck.

You don't have time to think before he's lifting you — while still inside you. His massive hands splay over your ass, biting down onto the junction of your neck and shoulder. You wrap around him instinctively, desperate to keep him buried. A low chuckle against your ear nearly drives you to the edge as every step out of the office drives him impossibly deeper, his cock hitting that spot over and over until you're moaning needily into his neck — incoherent babble.

By the time he drops you onto the bed, you're already shaking, dress shredded, panties somewhere on the office floor, thighs slick with arousal. Your back arches, shoulders pressing flat against the cool sheets as you teeter on the very edge of the mattress. He stands firm between your legs, towering, hips driving into you with a relentless rhythm that leaves no room to think — only to feel.

His hands grip your thighs, pulling them wider and hooking them around his waist, anchoring you to him as his cock buries deep inside your dripping heat. Each thrust is a brutal claim, hitting you so hard it feels like he's trying to carve you into the mattress. "God, you feel s'fucking good," he growls, ragged tones to his words as he slams into you over and over. "Like you were made to take me like this."

You can't stop the mewling moans that escape your mouth in a symphony of high pitches breaking off on the edges. They fray just like your dress. Hitching away with every punishing stroke of his cock. "S'so deep — can't take n'more." You whine, squeezing your eyes shut.

Crimson's body presses yours down, hands twisting in your hair to keep your head tossed back, exposing your throat — bare and vulnerable. He leans down, a burning stretch folding your body into a mating press as his teeth graze your pulse. "Look at me, Sensei. Watch how I fuck you."

That fucking nickname. Your eyes flutter open just as he slams forward again, deeper and harder than before. The mattress creaks beneath you, a steady soundtrack to the desperate sounds of your bodies colliding. "You're gonna cum f'me," he promises, rough fingers digging into your thighs in a delicious contrast to the burn of his cock burrowing into your cunt. "And m'gonna make sure you never forget whose pussy this is."

Your hands claw at his shoulders and the veins along his neck protrude. Every bundle of nerves in your body was tying taunt, a chord of ecstasy. It roars hotter with the bruising snap of Crimson's hips. His own moans blanketing you in a pricking sensation. "M'so wet, jus'f'you — right there, fuckin' me s'good." You babble.

An animalistic growl vibrates through his chest, pounding into you harder, faster. "Ahh ah ah, m'gonna— ngh — cum," he pulls your body flush against his.

"M'cock's made for your pussy, cum for me." His breath is hot against your neck. "You're s'perfect, gonna make me lose it." The walls of your pussy are clenching and twitching around his length, sucking him in with wicked wet noises. "You feel that, yeah? That you, m'girl, all mine."

Broken whimpers and moans crack out of your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as with one last push into your beautifully full pussy — you come undone. A silent scream makes your jaw drop as you practically sob into his chest. "S'it, ride it out," he praises, kissing your tears away.

Giyu is full of desperation as he ruts into you, burying himself to the hilt, balls slapping against your ass with a raw schlack! "Never letting go," his head is buried in your neck as he slams into you — aimlessly chasing his high. "Gonna lose my mind — all because of you," he loves the feeling of your twitching cunt dragging him inside. You're nerves feel like they're going to burst with how much he's overstimulating you — ramming into your sweet spot. "Fillin' this pussy up."

You're a mess underneath him and then — as he whimpers into your ear — he shoots hot ropes of cum deep in your pussy. "Fuck, s'good — did s'good f'me. Fuck y/n." He shivers as every part of you meld together in a hot mixture.

Wait. Your body instantly cools, a trembling hand lifting absentmindedly. What did he…? Crimson lifts his head from your neck, mask falling off to the side of your head. He runs a hand through his disheveled appearance, deep stormy eyes raking over your body.

"What did you just call me?" You swallow, even though you have eyes. You could see. You knew. There's a twist in your gut as the realization hits Giyu now. His cock is still pressed into your cervix.

"Fuck, Sensei…I didn't want to tell you this way—" He starts, reaching out for your cheek but you slap his hand away. It's such a burden to go from thoughtless pleasure to the heavy weight of all of these thoughts.

"Don't touch me." Your voice is cool and calm despite the rage boiling in your chest. "What the fuck have you done? I could lose my job." You hiss, shoving at his hips. You want to run away. Giyu stares down at you with wide eyes, his jaw clenched shut. "Ha…" You run an angry hand through your hair, moving enough to slip off his cock. Your skin crawls as his cum starts to flow out of you. "Nothing to say, huh?"

Somehow — with trembling legs — you slide off the bed. Now that you're standing Giyu tries to reach out for you, most likely to make sure you don't fall — but you side step his advance. "Congratulations, Giyu. You fucked me and everything I've worked for."

A new reason for tears slips an ache into your veins. Your chin wobbles as you watch him raise a hand like he wants to say something… but as it falls to his side he inevitably lets you walk out the door.

And never look back.

...

You almost feel bad for stealing his clothes. Almost. The man ripped apart your fucking dress. What were you supposed to do? The email you'd gotten back from the Dean was the only thing that made you smile.

Professor Y/n L/n,

I understand, please enjoy this time off to feel better. The university needs their best Lit Professor in top shape. I await updates on your condition.

Best of health,

Dean Tomioka

At least one of the Tomioka men never lied to you. Still cared about you as a person. Your eyes narrow into slips as you shut your laptop, tossing it to the end of your bed. You thought distance would dull it. It didn't.

No matter how many cups of coffee you nursed until they went cold, no matter how many hours you scrolled aimlessly, no matter how many books you tried to concentrate on, the memory of him was everywhere.

In your bed, in your head, in the low ache between your thighs that you hated yourself for. The first two days, you couldn't even get out of bed without wanting to scream. Every part of you felt used. The worst part was the gnawing truth that you'd let him. You had your suspicions, but you carelessly shoved them to the side because of your desire — your attraction. You welcomed him, drowned in him like it was the only way to breathe.

"Fucking idiot," you mutter at your reflection, palms braced on the bathroom counter. Your eyes are red and puffy, skin blotchy and hair greasy. The sound of your own voice was bitter enough to make you wince. How could you have been so blind? So willing?

Fresh tears and a whirlwind of hurt stream down your cheeks. Every time you replayed the moment — the exact second he said your name — your chest twists like a knife. Not the kinky type either. Like a huge cleaver right through your chest.

The absolute worst part was how happy you'd been when the mask finally slipped off. Giyu's dark eyes staring down at you, sweaty hair sticking to his face as his fingers dug into your skin. It was so wrong, but your thighs clenched tighter when you saw him. The undeniable attraction and pull you felt toward both student and partner was sure to get you the sack.

How could you have let this go on for so long? All the signs were there and you chose to ignore them like a horny idiot. There were so many instances that had new meanings.

Take the vibrator for instance. Giyu, disguised as Crimson, sat in your class — controlling the vibrator in your pussy. He watched you wiggle your ass around like a damn fool. He knew what he was doing. And those papers! You didn't even want to think about the hidden meanings you brushed off as creative license! He played you like a fiddle and you let him.

You tore through your apartment that afternoon, shoving the spare clothes he'd left you into the back of a drawer — including the ones you had on. After going insane because you swore the smell of him was still permeating through the wood of your dresser and attacking your nostrils — you did two loads of laundry.

Sometimes the anger came out hot, fast — pacing the floor, muttering curses, wanting to throw something just to hear it shatter. Other times, it was quiet and cold, like a heavy stone pressing into your ribs. Most nights you sobbed yourself to sleep, kicking at your blanket like it was the dark ravenette that had somehow seduced you into not feeling nearly as much anger as you should be.

Every time, your thoughts circled back to the same, shameful truth — you missed him. And that pissed you off most of all.

…

The bar was too warm, too loud, and smelled faintly of spilt beer and piss — but it beat sitting alone in your apartment with your thoughts. Your thoughts that were mostly filled with him.

"You're telling me," your best friend starts, leaning across the table with a skeptical squint, "that you didn't even suspect?"

You throw your head back, groaning. "I know, okay? Just stamp world's dumbest bitch on my forehead and be done with it." You knock your fist into your head, then dragging it down your face.

"Babe, I'll stamp it in glitter." She smirks, trying to hide the obvious sympathy in her doe eyes. The two of you laugh, but it's a hollow one, one that has the edges of your smile twitching.

You drown the feeling with another gulp of cheap beer, the burn making your voice gravely. "You're way too hot to be crying over some guy," she tries.

"Mhm." You jab a skewer into the piece of meat sizzling only the grill like it had personally offended you. It did look oddly Giyu shaped. "Too bad I let him rearrange my organs before he decided to fuck me over."

"Jesus, you're dramatic."

"I'm dramatic? He—" You stop yourself before you let too much slip out, because you hadn't exactly told her every single detail. Not the blindfolds. Not the knife. Not the mask. Definitely not how your body still reacted just thinking about it.

Instead, you toss back the rest of your drink and order another. And another. By the time the clock hits midnight, the bar lights are blurring, your laughter is spilling out too easily, and every time your phone screen lights up you half expected to see his name.

You were in the middle of telling Mika about this awful annotation one of your students had turned in when your chest tightens — a sharp, aching twist that has nothing to do with the alcohol. You miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss him so much it makes your hands shake.

Mika excuses herself to go to the bathroom. Maybe that's why you pick up your phone, scrolling aimlessly through your student's contacts. Nothing to make you feel like an even bigger pile of shit. The next moment you have your phone to your ear, heart pounding in your throat.

He picks up on the second ring. "Hello?" Your eyes flutter shut at the sound of his deep voice.

For a second you almost hang up. "You're an asshole." You slur.

There's only silence on the other end. "…Where are you?" The dip of his voice and tones of concern make you want to throw your phone onto the grill.

That is, until a laugh bubbles up from your chest — a broken, bitter thing not even alcohol could conceal. "Nowhere you get to be." And you hang up before you could hear whatever came next.

…

You wake up Monday with a headache full of regrets. Has drinking ever helped people solve an issue? You groan into your hands, rubbing your eyes to stop the sleep demons from trying to capture you again.

It takes you an hour long shower and a warm cup of tea before you feel ready enough to breathe. Yawning, you slip into your apartment elevator — headed to your mailbox. It's easy enough to grab a few envelopes and ride the elevator back up to your floor. Inside you toss the mail onto your kitchen table, shuffling to make another mug of tea.

Once you have another warm beverage in your hands you peer down at the white envelopes. Some are bills — sigh — but there's one that sticks out from the rest. One that has a very familiar return address line.

Either rage or curiosity causes you to tear into it, a simple white piece of parchment fluttering to the table below. You snatch it up, glaring at the beautiful scrawl of red ink.

Sensei,

I told myself I wouldn't write this. That I'd leave you the dignity of forgetting me without interference. But every time I try to let you go, I remember the way your voice sounded the moment I ruined everything — and I know I have to at least tell you the truth about my part in this.

I crossed a line I had no right to cross. I betrayed your trust and put you in a position that could cost you more than I can ever repay. I hate myself for it.

This letter isn't to ask for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. It's just to say I am sorry — deeply, entirely, and without excuse…sorry.

— G

Your eyes narrow before crumpling up the letter and tossing it into the garbage behind you. Jerk. The handwriting is neat — infuriatingly so, like he sat there and calmly put these words together while you've been drowning in anger for days.

A sigh escapes your lips as you fish the ball of paper and flatten it out. "Just know I still think you're a jerk, but… the letter is a nice touch." You say…to the piece of paper. Gosh, you really must be losing it.

Tuesday another letter arrives. You hate to admit it, but it's the first envelope you tear into when you reach your apartment.

Sensei,

Yesterday's letter was the facts. This one is the part I tried to keep out.

I didn't call out your name because I was careless. I said it because for that moment — with you — I wasn't the man I pretended to be. I wasn't hiding. I was just… me. And you were the only person I wanted to see me like that. You let Giyu and Crimson merge into one. Crimson has been my dirty little secret I don't let see the light of day because of who my father is. He's the real Giyu, the shameful bits that I tuck away. There you were, so elegant and everything I'd ever want. I couldn't let you slip through my fingers so easily.

That doesn't make what I did right. It only makes it harder to live with losing you.

— G

Your jaw clenches with an unbearable burn — cinching so tight it may never come loose again. Everything I'd ever want. Words so easily written down on this piece of paper. Words that you couldn't help but wonder — were they written on his heart as well.

The undeniable truth to this whole situation is that you're in love with him. Crimson…Giyu…that's what makes this all so difficult. Giyu broke your trust and put you in a situation so dangerous that it was hard to even think of forgiving him — yet your heart still aches for him.

You tuck this letter next to the pile of clothes in your drawer — right on top of the first one. Your fingertips linger longer than you would like on the wood of the drawer after you shut it.

On Wednesday you don't get back until late, having gone out with Mika again to simply get out of the house. When you open your letter box his mail is the only thing to flutter out. This is one of those times you'd wish the elevator would go faster — when you have to piss and when you really want to open a letter from a hot guy.

Every inch of your body is thrilled when you practically run to your door, slamming it shut behind you while tossing your purse onto the small side table next to the entry way. You slip out of your shoes and into your slippers, fingers tracing the edge of the envelope.

Sensei,

I tried to convince myself that I wouldn't use these letters to make you feel anything but disgust toward me. But that's a lie. I want you to know that you meant so much more to me than a warm body.

I miss the way you challenged me. I miss how you made me forget the weight of my own name. I miss how perfect you felt in my arms. I miss gazing at you during class — the way your eyes sparkled with the same passion I feel for Literature. I miss you in ways that are almost physical — like something that has been torn out of me.

I'm still the worst human alive, but do you think I'm more despicable because I can't stop wanting you?

— G

The contents of this letter are harder to swallow. Partly because you resonate with them and partly because they're wearing you down bit by bit. You should be furious, tear the letter to shreds, burn it — but you stand there, still as can be, just bathing in the fact that he misses you. He's not despicable…he's…he's the secret notes you scribble on the pages of your books. The journal entry that is practically a part of your heart. The skip in your heart when you look at someone you love.

Damn it. You love him. You love him. You love him.

Thursday is a fresh morning and like a kid on Christmas you bolt down the stairs — quicker than the elevator — and yank everything inside your mailbox out.

Back in your apartment, the early morning light pools over your couch where you're sat. You almost don't open the letter. How could you? The burn was healing and for some damn reason you wanted to work things out.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing, and his vulnerability is like a blade pressed to your skin — just enough to sting with recognition.

The discarded envelope flutters to the ground as you take out the letter.

Sensei,

I've spent my entire life keeping my feelings quiet — folding them away to they couldn't be used against me. You didn't just open that lock; you broke in and carefully peeled away all my inner demons.

You've been in my head every hour since the moment we met. It's pathetic, I'm pathetic — I know. But when I picture the rest of my life, it's your voice I hear in it.

You're the only person who's ever made me want to stay. To keep being my truest self. I cannot thank you enough for that.

— G

Your hands fall to your lap, head hanging back with your eyes squeezed shut. There's a flutter in your chest — one that crawls into your throat and forces your mouth to curl up in a smile.

Dammit Giyu…he has you yearning to slap him but then kiss him fiercely. A realization dawns on you all too swiftly. Holy shit. You and Giyu haven't kissed on the lips yet — at all.

A short giggle rattles around in your mouth. You have an idea, one that will make Giyu regret not kissing you when he had the chance.

...

Last Friday there was no letter, which upsettingly made you frustrated. It felt like he was edging you again.

When you walk into the lecture hall, every head turns. Giyu's included. The girl he was talking to tries to get his attention again, but you're walking right past him. You smile sweetly, almost innocently — and then cross the room with unhurried steps that make every click of your heels echo through the lecture room. His eyes are eating you up as he takes in the oversized brown cable knit sweater that you covered up with an incredibly similar leather jacket to the one he wore last time you saw each other. You had a mid-length creamy skirt on while sheer black stockings travel down your legs, feeding into elegant heels.

Always with the fucking heels.

You take your seat at the front desk, crossing your legs over one another. It's not like Giyu hadn't seen you before — he knows how sexy you are, but there's something about your small motions that draws him in without you even trying.

"Ah, seems like it's time to start." You clap your hands together, standing from your spot sliding off the leather jacket. Giyu's eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he realizes it's some kind of tank-sweater mix. Your arms — the ones that had been wrapped around him a few weeks ago — are right there.

Jeez, here he is pathetically lusting after your arms. They were a part of you which made them a turn on. Everything about you was a turn on.

Time ticks by impossibly slow — he's not sure if he's glad or if it's some form of torture. He's lost in the curves of your body, shifting in his seat due to some… difficulties. "Mr. Tomioka," your voice is smooth as you call out to him. He swallows, desperately meeting your gaze. You were speaking to him — him — and he wasn't paying fucking attention. "Would you care to explain the author's use of repetition in this passage?" You tilt your pretty head, lips twisting in a smile.

Giyu clears his throat, caught mid-thought of how great your tits felt in his hands. "Uh—" He swallows again. "It… builds emphasis. Creates rhythm."

"Mm," you hum approvingly, "Rhythm. A very useful thing indeed. Thank you."

He feels his skin flush as your eyes linger, then you're moving to another student. Each moment was a push, making him remember what it felt like to want you, to have you. Judging by the tension in his shoulders… you were doing an excellent job.

His mouth twitches into a smirk. Although his erection was painful, the pride in his chest helps ease the strain. Not only were you talking to him, but you were exacting a torturous revenge on him. And as everyone knows, revenge can easily bleed into love.

By the end of class, he was the first to pack up, as though escaping early would save him from the heat you'd poured over him all hour. As you watch his retreating form you only smirk, leaning back in your chair — already planning Thursday's outfit.

…

The strapless crimson dress hugs you like it was sewn for your body, its line of tiny buttons running all the way down to the hem. A few buttons are undone — flashing your inner thighs covered with those damn black sheer tights again. Giyu is already seated when you walk in, a whimper building in his mouth. Tuesday was enough to drive him to insanity, did you plan to kill him today? The white blouse underneath softens the look, if soft is the right word for the way the crisp fabric molds to your frame.

He doesn't move for a second — like his brain is buffering while his eyes roam the line of buttons, the pop of red heels, the curve of your waist. You pretend not to notice, but there's a rush of blood to your cheeks; how nice for them to match the rest of your outfit.

Instead of canceling class to fuck Giyu where he sits, you swing your bag down, leaning over your desk a little longer than necessary while you arrange your notes. You can feel the dress ride up your ass and a triumphant feeling swells in your chest.

The lecture begins, you finding was to pass near his desk. There's a moment when a student behind Giyu asks a question about his essay and you plant a hand on Giyu's part of the counter-like desk, leaning just close enough that your perfume drifts over to him.

Another instance is for a girl sitting in the back. You'd been helping a student in Giyu's row that sat relatively close to him. With an innocent smile you lean your ass back on the desk, crossing your legs over each other.

Every time you glance his way, he's looking back — just quickly enough to pretend he wasn't. His jaw is tense, his shoulders squared, his usual cool composure cracking in ways that send a thrill through your body.

By the halfway point of class, you can feel the heat radiating off him from across the room. If the faint pink of his ears and the deliberate way he avoids looking at your legs mean anything… you'd say Thursday is going perfectly.

You're bundled in your coat walking to the street side that taxis frequent that the low purr of an expensive engine cuts through the traffic. When you bend down to see who the hell would park on the side of the street right in front of you, the tinted window rolls down just far enough for Giyu's azure gaze to sear back at you. "Get in." His voice is deep and even.

It's not a command so much as an inevitability. You hesitate only for show, tugging your coat tighter before slipping inside. The leather interior smells faintly of him and the heat hums softly around you. He doesn't say where you're going and you don't ask. His hands stay steady on the wheel, his profile set in quiet determination.

The city falls away, replaced by bare trees, snowflakes glittering across the car window. Giyu pulls down a long gravel road, swinging into a parking spot before disengaging the engine. He gets out of the car — opening your door before you even have the chance to question his actions.

There sits his hand, extended in the air for you to take. You tentatively take it, lashes fluttering against your cheek. The surrounding area is lit up with string lights and winter yard decorations. "Where are we?" You gently prod, Giyu leading you down a pathway already covered with a light dusting of snow. It crunches under your heeled feet.

"Somewhere nice." He grumbles.

This makes you roll your eyes. "Y'know for someone so good at writing you really don't have a way with words." A long sigh draws out of you — puffing out in the cold air — and Giyu pauses, a smirk playing with the corners of his mouth.

"That so?" You furrow your brows as he continues down the path until the trees part to reveal an icy lake. A tiny gasp falls from your lips, following Giyu to the middle of a stone bridge that overlooks the expanse of beauty.

He reaches into his coat, fishing out a folded sheet of stationery — the same kind he's used before. Your eyes dart from it to his eyes. He lets out a groan before passing it to you. "I wanted to hand this to you… just so if you want to slap me you can." He mumbles, avoiding your gaze.

Trembling — you're trembling as you unfold the letter. You try to convince yourself it's from the cold, but the hefty coat on your shoulders begs to differ.

Sensei,

I've been trying to think of the right words all week. There aren't any. There's only this: I am in love with you. I am so far gone that nothing else feels real without you in it.

You can hate me. You can never forgive me. But don't ask me to stop loving you. Don't ask me to forget what it feels like to have you in my arms.

I would rather spend the rest of my life wanting you from a distance than touch anyone else. That's how bad you've ruined me.

If you told me to jump, I would. No questions. No hesitation. All you'd have to do is ask.

— Yours, always,

Giyu

When you look up, your vision blurs with the sting of tears. "You—" your voice wavers as you shove him lightly in the chest. "I love you too, you absolute—" Your words trip over themselves, tangled in emotion. "It's messed up, Giyu. So messed up that I do." Sobs rack through you, jolting your body in a way that makes you stumble backward. Giyu immediately catches you, holding you tightly to his chest as you cry out.

"Say it again," he whispers against your hair. "Please."

You scoff, blearily blinking up at him. "This is not what we should be focusing on."

His eyes are soft as he stares down at you. "Y/n, I'll make sure nothing happens to you. I'll protect you. I'll drop out of school. I'll-"

"Shut up," you laugh, a moment filled with so much unsaid passing in a flash. "I love you," your voice is steadier this time — and that's when his control slips just enough for his other hand to drip your hip, pulling you flush against him.

"I love you. Fuck, I love you." He breathes against your lips before melting into you. The kiss starts gentle, but the moment you kiss him back he deepens it — teeth catching your lower lip, his breath hitching like he's been starving for this. Your breath mingles together as he slips his tongue past your lips, tasting your mouth with a low groan. You feel limp in his arms as the swell in your chest fights to explode in happiness. Here you are, kissing Giyu...and nothing else really matters. In the end... you feel tethered to him.

The snow falls thicker now, muting the world around you, leaving only the heat between your hearts.

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