I highly encourage you to read the rules before you request with me, sweetheart. *(I do take prompts btw <3)
please have your age in your bio. I would appreciate if minors didn’t interact with my work. Not all of my work is nsfw but when it is I put it. This is your first warning of many so please respect that<3
working on… nothing, just a few things on queue taking a little break <3 sorry love bugs
★ all work belong to @xochiackiller, please do not copy or plagiarize! ★
Synopsis: Toji, the TA, won't bump up your latest essay a couple marks, not with just some begging at least, so you try a different method:
good ol' pussy persuasion
Warnings: toji art by @/youKa.i on insta, smut, porn with a lil plot, nerd!toji, a couple years older than reader but both students, reader harasses him but don't save him he's right where he wants to be, some comedy aspect, college au, non curse au, f!reader, blowjob under the desk, unethical behaviour, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, briefest choking, sex against the window, pússy inspection, belly bulging, overstimulation, spitting, a little fisting I guess or almost, Toji's poor so this is canon compliant jkjk, creampie and unprotected sex, brief pussyjob, size kink/difference, hidden sex, not proofread
Word Count: 10.7k
“For the last time,” he drawls, “I’m not bumping you up a grade.”
You groan, pushing your legs to catch up to him faster.
“Come on, I need this. I’m not asking you to break the rules. All I want is for you to reread my essay and find extra marks, which you will!”
Toji Fushiguro is a tough nut to crack, though he doesn’t look it — one glance at him and one would think he’s a laidback TA. He’s the exact opposite; he takes his job a little too seriously.
For days now, you’d been hounding him, pleading with him and degrading yourself all for him to ‘remark’ your last paper and ‘coincidentally’ find a few extra marks that would push you to the top performing spot you’d been eyeing since forever. Each time you rushed into his office, waited for him after his classes, and followed him to his apartment, he’d shrugged you off with the same ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ look in his eyes.
Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”
Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”
He stops.
Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness.
His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”
A frown graces your features.
“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”
“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”
He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway.
You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”
Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”
Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope.
“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”
A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.
“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”
Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”
Everyone walks past without another look at you.
Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
His eye twitches.
As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”
“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."
He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.”
That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him.
God, he’s so stubborn.
It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass.
If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote.
For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.
Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition.
The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.
It’s just fun to be in the know.
Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?
Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”
No one replies.
Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?
Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.
Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease.
Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.
Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye.
“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”
Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”
You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.
“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”
The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan.
With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.
.
.
.
“Hi.”
“Fuck off.”
The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby.
Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.
An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.
So damn rude.
His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.
He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.
You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest.
“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”
Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”
He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”
Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”
Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”
You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”
Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”
The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing.
“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”
That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”
“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”
Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”
You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He’s still here when you come back.
As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.
“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”
“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses.
You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”
“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”
A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”
Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”
“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.
He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”
“Remind yourself what?”
The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”
“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”
A pat on the head ruffles your hair.
“Still a no, kid.”
.
.
.
“What if I suck your dick?”
Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”
The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture.
His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.
Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.
Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.
You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.
You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him.
“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”
“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.
“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”
He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’
Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”
Nah, you think to yourself.
With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them.
“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”
You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”
You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up.
“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”
He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base.
Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”
Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”
“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.
“Don’t wanna.”
“You’re fucking killing me here.”
A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin.
Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin.
Oh fuck, he really is big.
With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better.
Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.
“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth.
You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”
The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood.
Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”
Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”
A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time.
Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.
“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”
He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big.
Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.
The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence.
Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam.
It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat.
Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”
“Hmm?”
Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”
Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”
Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls.
“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”
“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.
“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”
A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”
He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship.
The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.
The door opens before he even finishes the word.
“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”
From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.
“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.
His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity?
“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”
Of course he did.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.
“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”
He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”
“Exactly.”
A sheet of paper slides across the desk.
“You see this one here—”
From below, you hear Toji pick it up.
“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”
There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”
“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”
“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”
Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.
“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”
“Mm.”
“I suspect the workshop helped.”
Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.
“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”
This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum.
He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood.
The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”
A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation.
A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”
“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”
He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?
“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too, Professor.”
Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.
Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”
His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear.
“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”
You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now.
Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.
“Fuck!”
Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue.
Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth.
Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”
You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.
He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”
Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”
His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.
“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”
Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”
“Fuck off before I regret it.”
“Lacy thong it is!”
.
.
.
“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”
Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in.
You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp.
His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised.
“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”
Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”
You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”
He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”
“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”
“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”
Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking.
“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.
It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame.
Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”
“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”
“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”
He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in.
Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming.
“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”
“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”
“They bother you or something?”
“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”
He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”
You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”
A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”
“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple.
Another hum.
Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.
You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”
Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”
“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”
He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”
All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.
“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”
His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”
Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”
God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.
“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.”
He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”
“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”
Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”
“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”
Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching.
Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”
“Fuck yes!”
Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”
Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?
“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”
In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.
“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away.
Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.
Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.
“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt.
You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”
In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”
His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you.
Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”
Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”
Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.
Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out.
“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”
More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits.
Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”
You do.
It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.
“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”
Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?
How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life.
Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in?
“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”
Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside.
Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble.
Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring.
Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out.
“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”
You laugh. “Sure.”
Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you.
“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”
Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”
He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”
“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.
His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder.
Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”
Then he enters you in one go.
You scream.
The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head.
You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating.
Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”
Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating.
“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.
The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in.
Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?
Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”
“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”
Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.
God, he’s dirty.
Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”
He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”
Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him.
Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”
And his lips?
They smack against yours.
He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same.
Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches.
“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”
“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”
The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this.
Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.
Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”
Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”
His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain.
“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts.
You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”
“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”
“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”
Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”
He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows.
Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!
Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you.
Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button.
“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”
“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear.
Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”
His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours.
When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream.
“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after.
Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans.
He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs.
Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy.
Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them.
“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”
Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”
“Thanks!” you chirp.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”
Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.
“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”
That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.
Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.
After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official.
In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together.
A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by.
“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.
Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”
“Mmm.”
“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”
You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”
“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words.
In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.
“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”
The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.
Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?
“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”
Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”
You go still, this time for a different reason.
Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”
The bastard’s trying to distract you…
“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”
Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?
Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you.
“Don’t mention it, Professor.”
The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants.
He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.”
Your jaw drops.
Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.”
“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.”
The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again.
“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.”
Your heart?
Drops to the fucking floor.
Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.
Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—
Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”
“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”
Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense.
Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”
“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good.
Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.
Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.
“You sneaky piece of shit!”
He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.
Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”
“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”
“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.
“Whore,” he fires back.
Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.
“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.
But somehow, waiting at the station each evening became the best part of your day.
At precisely 6:01 p.m., the train from Tokyo’s business sector pulled in with a quiet rush of steel and breath. Commuters spilled out in waves—tired, glazed, half-wired on vending machine coffee and burnout.
And then came Nanami Kento.
Always in the same suit. Tie neat. Shoulders square. Eyes scanning the platform until they found you.
He never smiled too widely. But the shift in his posture was subtle and unmistakable. Like something heavy lifted when he saw you there—still waiting.
You didn’t talk much, at least not at first. Some evenings you’d walk home together in silence, coffee cups warm between your hands, shoulders brushing lightly with every step. Other times, he’d offer a quiet observation about his day—sharp, dry, softly bitter—and you’d listen.
It was a ritual built in small comforts: the second sugar cube he always dropped in your drink when you weren’t looking, the way he stood on the side closest to the tracks, or the familiar brush of his hand grazing yours when you paused at crosswalks.
Nanami wasn’t a man of grand gestures. But you felt his care in everything he didn’t say.
And then one Thursday—he didn’t come.
The train pulled in, 6:01 on the dot. You searched the crowd, heart pacing faster with every passing second. No blonde hair. No pressed coat. No warm gaze sweeping the station.
You waited.
6:05.
Maybe he was late.
6:10.
Maybe he took a different line.
6:17.
Maybe—maybe he wasn’t coming.
Your hands tightened around your coffee cup until it bent slightly. You stared down the tracks like they could give you answers. Your mind churned with thoughts you hated—missions gone wrong, curses stronger than expected, the kind of danger that didn't wait for a second coffee.
He was supposed to text. He always texted.
You took the next train home, staring at the empty seat beside you like it had betrayed you somehow.
That night, you left your hallway light on.
Just in case.
The next day, you didn’t go to the station. You couldn’t. Not again.
You were halfway through your own shift—filing reports with more force than necessary—when your phone buzzed.
[1 New Message – Nanami]
I’m sorry.
It wasn’t safe to contact you until now.
Are you free after work?
Your breath caught.
You didn’t respond right away—your hands were trembling—but eventually, you typed:
I’m always free at 6:01.
That evening, you stood at the station again.
The train was late.
The seconds dragged.
And then—
He appeared.
Not pristine this time. His shirt was untucked, his coat draped over one arm. A shallow cut marked the edge of his cheekbone. His hair was tousled, and his tie had a stain that looked suspiciously like blood.
But he was there.
He spotted you before you could say anything, his eyes drinking you in like he wasn’t sure you were real.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, stepping closer. “It wasn’t supposed to take this long.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
“I waited,” you said.
He exhaled. “I know. That’s what scared me.”
You stepped forward. He didn’t flinch when you touched his face, brushing your thumb over the cut. He leaned into your hand.
“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.
“You won’t.”
There wasn’t a kiss. Not yet. Just his hand curling around yours, steady and firm, like the first train after a storm.
And this time, when you walked home together, he didn’t let go.
Author Note: : thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy & request are open <3
"Just tired," he insisted, brushing off your concern for the third time that morning.
You’d raised an eyebrow when he refused breakfast—especially considering he’d packed a full bento the night before. You noticed the way he leaned harder against the wall after standing, how he squinted more than usual at his phone screen, how his voice came rougher than usual.
Still, he showed up to work on time, pressed and punctual, suit only slightly askew.
Which was why, hours later, when you opened the door to his study and found him slumped over the desk, fast asleep amid half-signed paperwork, your heart sank.
You stepped in quietly.
The sight was… rare. Nanami didn’t do “slumped.” He didn’t do “unguarded.” But there he was—brow creased in sleep, mouth faintly parted, breathing uneven. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose.
You pressed a palm gently to his forehead.
Hot. Too hot.
You frowned and whispered, “Kento.”
He stirred, groaning softly. “M’fine… just need a moment.”
“Liar,” you said affectionately.
His eyes blinked open blearily. “You’re supposed to be at HQ.”
“Left early. Something told me someone wasn’t taking care of himself.”
He sighed and tried to sit up straighter. You pushed him back with a gentle hand.
“Don’t make me fight you,” you said. “You’ll lose. You’re weak right now.”
He gave you a dry look, then winced. “I’m not… weak.”
“Okay, tough guy. Let’s get you to bed before you collapse again.”
It took some coaxing—okay, dragging—but you finally got him out of the chair and onto the bed. He muttered about inconvenience and productivity the entire way until you tossed a blanket over him and shoved a thermometer in his mouth.
“38.8,” you read. “Kento, you’re burning up.”
“I’ve worked with worse.”
“And now you’re resting with me, which is better.”
He groaned again, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Well, mission failed. You worried me into cutting my meeting short, and now I’m here. Making soup.”
You turned to leave, but his fingers caught yours.
“…Thank you.”
You looked back, softening. “You're welcome. But if you try to stand before I come back, I’m tying you to the bed.”
“…Tempting.”
You blinked.
Nanami turned his head, already flushed, and murmured, “Ignore that.”
You grinned, squeezing his hand. “Sleep, Kento. I’ll be back with something warm.”
When you returned fifteen minutes later, he was half-asleep, hair a mess, one arm reaching for your side of the bed in his sleep.
And for once, you let him have it.
You curled in beside him, bowl of soup forgotten on the nightstand.
Because sometimes, the best medicine was just being held.
Even if he grumbled about germs the entire next morning.
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy & request are open <3
I read your rules and I believe my request will abide by your rules!
I wanted to ask if you'd write a villain Katsuki x pro hero reader smut. Obvi a time skip-so maybe they're 24-25 y/o. Anyway, I'm not sure if you take prompts or just write it yourself but I'll provide a prompt anyway if you do use them. ⍢⃝
Prompt here!!: Reader is patrolling and runs across an "old friend" causing mischief throughout the city. Katsuki went to the 'dark side' after the paranormal liberation war. Reader finds themself in a sticky situation..
I wanted to ask if you'd do oral (fem receiving) and rough sex😁👍
Anyway, if you don't want to do it or you aren't feeling up to writing it, that's completely fine! Take your time and don't forget to stay healthy! ☆
a/n: ahh ily tysm! stay hydrated and healthy hun! I love love love ur prompt, so here you go bookie butt <3
Pairing: Villain!Katsuki(25) x Pro-Hero!Reader(24 | MDNI - 18+ | total wc: 794
You weren’t supposed to be patrolling this sector.
The rest of your team had rotated off hours ago, the city's smoky skyline blanketed by the last breath of twilight. You’d stayed behind—just in case. Old instincts. Stubborn heart. A hero to the end, even if the world barely knew what that meant anymore.
It was quiet… until it wasn’t.
A shockwave rattled through the buildings five blocks east. A plume of dust rose into the air like a firework with bad intentions. You didn’t hesitate.
Your boots hit pavement fast, slicing through alley shadows and cracked pavement. Your communicator crackled, but you ignored it. The moment you turned the corner, your stomach dropped.
Boom.
Smoke. Flames. Heat simmering in the cracks of the concrete.
And him.
He stood in the middle of the destruction like he’d been born from it. Katsuki Bakugo. Not the boy you once trained beside, but the man who now lived in headlines labeled "missing" or "turned rogue." His hair was longer, wild. Black tactical gear clung to his frame, half-unzipped at the throat, sleeves torn.
He turned slowly. Crimson eyes locked on you.
“Well, fuck,” he muttered. “Didn’t think they’d send you.”
“They didn’t,” you said, voice tight. “I volunteered.”
His smirk cracked like lightning. “Still the overachiever, huh?”
You stepped closer, your hand flexing near your thigh. "You're supposed to be underground. Off the grid. Not blowing holes in midtown."
“You always did like bossin’ me around,” he drawled.
“Katsuki—”
“You gonna stop me?”
The air sparked. Your heart beat faster—not with fear, but with memory. You’d seen him like this before. Back when you both bled for the same side.
“I should.”
“But you won’t.”
And maybe he was right. Because when he took a step toward you, you didn’t back down.
“You still wearin’ that hero name like it means somethin’?”
You glared. “And you’re still hiding behind fire.”
His grin sharpened.
You moved first. Quirk lighting in your fingertips.
He dodged, faster than you remembered, grabbing your wrist and pinning it over your head before you could even react. Your back slammed against the alley wall, breath knocked from your chest.
“I fuckin’ missed you,” he growled.
You should’ve pushed him away. Arrested him. Called for backup.
But his mouth was hot on yours before your logic caught up.
You moaned into him—sharp, unrestrained—and he groaned like he’d been starving. His hand slid beneath your top, dragging it up with desperate fingers until his palm met bare skin, warm and trembling. His fingers trailed downward, over your ribs, across your waist, and lower—between your legs, through the thin seam of your soaked underwear. When he felt the damp heat there, his breath hitched.
“You’re soaked,” he hissed.
“Rain,” you gasped.
“No,” he corrected, eyes blazing. “That’s you.”
He dropped to his knees.
There was no gentleness. Just hands tearing at your suit, exposing your thighs to the cold air and his burning breath. He licked you once—slow and deliberate—and your knees buckled.
“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Still taste so fuckin’ sweet… like I could live between your legs and never get tired of it.”
Your hands found his hair, tugging as his tongue flicked over your clit. He groaned and buried his face deeper, the bridge of his nose grinding against you as he worked your body with unholy skill.
“Still so loud,” he growled against your heat. “You always were my favorite sound.”
You came hard, breath breaking, hips jerking.
Before you could recover, he stood, mouth slick, eyes darker than smoke.
“I want you,” he growled. “Here. Now.”
Your back hit the wall again, your legs wrapped around his waist. He undid his belt with one hand, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself.
You were already dripping when he thrust in.
The stretch stung. The depth made you see stars.
“Katsuki—”
“Say it again,” he rasped, slamming into you. “Say my fuckin’ name.”
“Katsuki!”
His mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking, bruising. His pace was brutal—fast, relentless, wild. You clawed at his back, your body shivering with each snap of his hips.
“Still mine,” he grunted. “Even now.”
You came again, crying out, your walls clenching hard around him.
He cursed and spilled inside you, hips grinding deep.
He stayed like that for a moment—panting, forehead pressed to yours.
Neither of you spoke.
Eventually, he pulled out, adjusting his pants, eyes never leaving you.
You slid to your feet, shaking. He helped you balance without comment.
“What now?” you whispered.
Katsuki smirked. “Guess that depends. You gonna turn me in?”
You stared.
“No,” you said.
“Didn’t think so.”
He kissed you again—slow and possessive—then vanished into the smoke.
And you let him.
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy babes! request are open <3
✮ PAIRING: Soft!Bakugo x Fem!Reader | One Shot | FLUFF ✮
The pain didn’t register until hours after the mission.
That was the thing about adrenaline—it made you think you were fine. Until the room tilted sideways and your knees buckled beneath you, and suddenly, everything hurt.
You woke up in the U.A. infirmary. Sterile light. Soft sheets. The faint scent of antiseptic.
And Bakugo.
Sitting in the chair beside your bed.
Arms crossed. Legs spread. Head tilted back against the wall with his eyes closed like he’d just forced himself to stay awake.
You blinked at him, dazed.
“…Bakugo?”
His eyes snapped open immediately. “You’re awake.”
You tried to push yourself up but winced at the pull in your side. Bandages wrapped tight across your ribs. You groaned.
“Don’t move, dumbass,” he muttered, already leaning forward. “You split your side open like a goddamn amateur.”
You huffed a soft laugh. “Nice to see you too.”
He didn’t smile—but the edges of his scowl softened. Just a little.
Silence settled for a moment before he stood and reached for the wash basin beside the bed.
You raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing?”
“What does it look like?” he grumbled. “I’m cleanin’ you up. They told me to make sure you didn’t rip your stitches again. Dumbass.”
He wrung out a cloth and sat back down, and suddenly the air felt heavier.
The first touch was tentative.
He brushed the cloth gently across your temple where dried blood had crusted along your hairline. His hands were warm, steady. Unusually careful for someone who normally threw punches and explosions without blinking.
You didn’t speak. Didn’t want to ruin it.
His hand drifted lower, wiping the smear of dirt from your cheekbone. He exhaled slowly.
“You scared the shit outta me,” he muttered.
Your eyes flicked to his. “I’m okay.”
“That’s not the point.”
He set the cloth aside and reached for your bandages. “I need to check these.”
You nodded, lifting your arm slightly. His fingers were slow, precise, unwrapping the gauze inch by inch. His brows furrowed at the healing wound along your ribs, already redressed by Recovery Girl but still raw.
“Fucking reckless,” he muttered under his breath. But his touch remained gentle.
His thumb grazed your side, right above the line of injury. You sucked in a breath.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” you whispered.
His eyes lifted to yours.
The room felt warmer. Smaller. He didn’t move.
“You gonna stop scaring me like that?” he asked quietly.
“Only if you stop pretending you don’t care.”
His jaw flexed. His hands stayed where they were—one hovering at your waist, the other resting on the bed.
“I do care,” he said, voice low. “That’s the fucking problem.”
Your heart stuttered.
“Then show me.”
For a moment, he hesitated. Then he leaned in.
The kiss wasn’t explosive like you imagined. It was soft. Hesitant. Like he’d been holding it in for too long.
His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and he kissed you again—deeper this time, with a low groan that vibrated in his chest.
You pulled back just enough to breathe. “You’re supposed to be taking care of me.”
“I fuckin’ am,” he murmured against your lips. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time since you’d been brought into the infirmary, you believed it.
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy & request are open <3
| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY: Out on patrol, storm traps you both in a cabin.
Dripping wet clothes, shared body heat, and Joel trying so hard to be a gentleman. Until you make the first move. “Jesus... you sure?” A smut with emotional tension and slow undressing by the fire. total wc: 1.1k
The rain started as a whisper, then turned into a roar.
What was supposed to be a quick perimeter check along the northern edge had turned into a soak-through-your-bones disaster. You’d barely made it to the abandoned cabin half a mile from the post. Joel had muttered something about a “shit forecast” and you’d laughed—until the thunder cracked loud enough to make your heart jump.
Now, the two of you stood dripping on the cabin’s creaky floorboards, your breath fogging in the chilly air.
Joel shut the door behind him and turned to look at you.
“You alright?”
You nodded, brushing wet hair from your eyes. “Cold. But alive.”
He scanned the room—a small fireplace, a stack of dry wood by some miracle, and one broken cot.
“Get that fire goin’. I’ll hang our shit to dry.”
You worked in silence. Fingers numb, you fumbled with the matches and coaxed a weak flame to life, feeding it kindling until the warmth slowly filled the air. Behind you, Joel peeled off his soaked jacket, hanging it near the hearth. Then his flannel. Then the shirt beneath.
You turned your head just slightly—just enough to catch the bare stretch of his chest, the way the firelight kissed the muscle and scars that mapped his body. He caught you looking. Said nothing.
You turned back to the fire.
Your own clothes were soaked through. Shivering, you peeled off your jacket and hoodie. Joel didn’t say anything as you stripped down to your undershirt and leggings, but his eyes didn’t leave you.
He dropped onto the rug near the fire, sitting cross-legged. “C’mere. You’ll warm up faster.”
You hesitated.
“You sure?”
He nodded. “Ain’t no point freezin’ to death just to be polite.”
You sat beside him. Close. Too close.
The heat from the fire helped, but it was his body beside you—solid, warm, safe—that made your pulse tick faster. Joel didn’t speak. Just rubbed his hands together and stared into the flames like they had answers he didn’t.
You watched the firelight dance across his jaw, the curve of his shoulder, the bare skin still glistening with rain. And something deep inside you tugged—something warm, aching, old.
“You’re tryin’ too hard to be a gentleman,” you said, voice low.
Joel stiffened. His eyes met yours.
“I ain’t tryin’—”
“You are. And it’s sweet. But… you don’t have to.”
He blinked, and something cracked in the air between you.
You shifted closer, knees touching, your fingers grazing his thigh.
“Jesus,” Joel whispered. “You sure?”
You nodded.
Then kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. Not at first. It was cold mouths and hot breath, a clash of want and restraint. Joel cupped the back of your head, tongue sweeping deep, his body already trembling—not from cold, but from effort.
“I’ve wanted to,” he whispered against your lips, “so badly hun.”
“Then do it.”
His mouth met yours again, slower this time. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. Your soaked clothes clung to you like a second skin, but you didn’t care. You ground down against him, gasping at the friction.
Joel’s hands skimmed beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your spine. “You’re still freezin’. Let me—”
He pulled the shirt over your head. His eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin, reverent, hungry.
“You’re beautiful.”
You smiled. “You’re sweet.”
“I’m serious.”
You leaned in, kissed his neck, nipped at the pulse point beneath his jaw. Joel groaned, hips bucking. You reached between you, palming the hard line of him through his pants. He caught your wrist.
“Let me see you,” you whispered.
Joel nodded and let you work his jeans down. His cock was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroked him once—slow, firm—and watched his jaw go slack.
“Goddamn,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You kissed his chest, slid your hand lower, teasing.
“Not yet.”
He laughed—then groaned when you sank down and took him into your mouth.
The rain battered the windows, but inside the cabin it was just heat, breath, and the wet sound of your mouth working him slowly. Joel’s hands tangled in your hair. He cursed under his breath, hips jerking.
“Fuck—fuck, baby, stop—I’ll come if you keep—”
You pulled back with a grin, wiping your mouth. “That’s the point.”
He dragged you up into his lap, kissing you hard.
“No,” he growled. “Not like that. You’re gettin’ more outta this.”
He laid you back on the rug, the fire crackling beside you.
“Take these off,” he said, tugging at your leggings.
You did, revealing bare skin slick with heat. Joel groaned.
“God, you’re soaked.”
You smirked. “It’s not the rain.”
His mouth crashed against yours again, and then he was sliding down, kissing your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He didn’t stop until his mouth found you.
You cried out as his tongue swept across your clit—slow, thorough, devastating.
Joel was patient. Focused. Like nothing else in the world mattered but you coming apart beneath him.
“Joel—please—”
“Say it.”
“I need you.”
He came up, kissed you deep, lined himself up.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He pushed in.
The stretch burned in the best way—filling, thick, perfect.
You clung to him, gasping, biting into his shoulder as he began to move. Each thrust slow, deliberate. Every drag of his cock lit you up from the inside.
“God, you feel good,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good.”
Your nails scraped his back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.
“Harder,” you begged.
Joel grunted and obeyed.
The rhythm built, sharp and fast, until you were gasping, crying out, the fire beside you flickering wildly with every rock of the floorboards.
Joel’s hand found your clit, rubbing fast.
“Come for me,” he groaned.
You shattered. Body shaking, clenching around him, your orgasm tearing through you like lightning.
Joel followed—hips snapping, breath breaking, spilling inside you with a growl of your name.
He stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. He kissed you slow—softer now.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
You smiled, cupping his face. “You have me.”
He pulled out slowly, helping you clean up with a torn piece of old cloth he soaked near the fire. Then he lifted you gently, settling you against his chest with the blanket wrapped tight around both of you.
You lay there listening to the storm, your hand splayed across his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.
“We’ll head back in the morning,” he murmured.
You kissed his collarbone.
“Take your time.”
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3
For my first request, can you write a oneshot featuring Aizawa with mummification, chastity and gags please? In the fic, he goes to a love hotel for a bondage session. In it, hes stripped naked, has his mouth tape gagged and his cock in chastity. But he learns too late that it's an escape challenge and if he can't escape, he'll stay locked for a week. So now he has to try and escape while feeling orgasmic. What do you think?
A/N: Yes sir, I can—and I did! This was such a fun and unique request to bring to life. To the lovely person who sent it in, I hope it scratches the itch you were hoping for. And to all my readers: I hope you enjoy this one just as much.
HEADS-UP❗️: This story features themes of restraint, denial, and intense scenes of control and power exchange. Please make sure you're in the right headspace to engage with this type of content.
minors, please do not interact.
Thanks as always for reading and supporting my chaotic little corner of the internet ₊˚ෆ
Bound and Denied | Shouta Aizawa
| MDNI - 18+ | total wc: 1.2k+
The soft click of the door behind him was oddly final. Shouta Aizawa stood in the dimly lit room, the scent of sandalwood and leather wrapping around him like a second skin. A red envelope lay on the back-lacquered table in the center of the room, marked only with the initials he had scrawled himself when he booked the session two weeks ago: S.A.
This wasn’t new to him—playing with restraint, with silence, with submission—but this was the first time he was giving himself over to someone else’s design. He’d selected everything beforehand: the materials, the limits, the challenge. Full mummification. Chastity. Mouth gag. One hour. No safeword. Just the lock.
A camera blinked in the corner. They were watching.
More specifically, you were watching.
You stood behind the tinted glass in the control room, arms folded, sipping your coffee as the other hotel attendants lounged beside you, eyes glued to the monitors. Your job tonight was more than just supervision. You were the orchestrator of his descent into denial—the voice he’d hear, the pressure he’d feel, the one who’d decide just how long the tease would linger.
And you intended to make it unforgettable.
You watched as he opened the envelope.
Welcome to the Silk Binding Suite Mr. Aizawa.
Your session begins now.
Objective: Escape within 60 minutes.
Succeed: Earn another bondage session of your choosing.
Failure: Seven days in your chosen chastity device.
Aizawa exhaled slowly. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing with practiced focus. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only calm acceptance of the challenge ahead.
The assistant entered then—tall, masked, and deliberate. Wordlessly, Aizawa began to undress. Each article of clothing was removed with quiet precision, as if this too was part of the ritual. His toned body, sculpted from years of discipline, was revealed in layers. Dark hair framed skin already tinged with heat. His cock, semi-hard, gave a slight twitch—eager, restrained, aching for what was to come.
Without a word, his clothes and belongings were placed neatly into a decorated bin.
The gag came first. A thick strip of industrial-grade silver tape was pressed over his mouth and then wrapped securely around his head—tight, final, silencing.
Next, the chastity cage. Cold. Gleaming. Unforgiving.
He flinched slightly as the assistant guided his arousal into the confining metal. His body responded involuntarily—tensing, twitching—before a soft metallic click echoed in the room. Locked.
Then came the bindings.
Layer by layer: gauze, latex, leather. Each one wrapped expertly around him—arms pinned to his sides, legs fused together, chest compressed, thighs pressed firm. His tender feet were left bare, his hair untouched, cascading freely while the rest of him vanished beneath the silver cocoon.
When the assistant stepped back, he looked less like a man and more like a masterpiece—helpless, bound, and breathtaking.
Only his eyes remained visible, locked onto the glowing countdown clock.
60:00.
The assistant exited. And now, the real game began.
You leaned into the microphone.
“All set, Mr. Aizawa?”
A muffled grunt—“Mmmph!”
“Remember what you signed up for. Escape, and you get the privilege of being restrained again.. Fail, and the little cage stays shut for seven days.”
“Mmmnn—mmph!” he replied, struggling to nod, eyes flaring with arousal and anticipation.
You grinned.
“Let’s begin.”
The lights dimmed. The matt beneath his feet glowed faintly, slow and warm.
The first few minutes passed in silence. Aizawa tested the bindings—rocking forward, leaning back, shifting side to side. All futile. You had made sure of that.
He shifted his weight too far, misjudging his center of balance. Bound tight and unable to counter the momentum, he toppled backward—landing ass first onto the soft mat with a muted thud.
A grunt escaped behind the gag. Embarrassed, perhaps—but still determined.
Each squirm after that only made it worse. Every movement sent a jolt through his restrained body, his cock flexing helplessly inside its cage. Frustration mounted.
“He’s already hard,” one of the younger attendants murmured. “This’ll be brutal.”
You chuckled. “Exactly how he wants it.”
You tapped a button. The mat vibrated beneath him—just enough to simulate simulation, to give him the illusion of pleasure. You saw him jolt, hips bucking reflexively.
“Mmmmphhh…!”
“Enjoying yourself, Shouta?” you said into the mic, tone dripping with amusement. “That vibration won’t get you off. But it’ll sure keep you close/”
Another desperate moan—”Mmmghh!”—rumbled through the gag. His hips rocked harder, and you could hear the strained effort in each sound. Gagged as he was, he tried to speak, to beg, to curse you through that infernal layer of tape.
You increased the pulse frequency. He arched, trembling now. Sweat trickled along his temples. He rolled, trying to grind against the mat, desperate for friction. But the cage was merciless. He could do nothing.
“Look at him,” one of the women whispered, biting her lip. “He’s gorgeous like this.”
“To think that this was the underground hero who struck fear into the hearts of criminals.”
“Now a desperate mess of man.”
“And we’re just getting started,” you muttered.
45:00.
He had no progress. His wrap was still pristine. But his body was soaked, chest rising and falling quickly, muscles trembling under the strain. You could almost hear his breath hitch each time the cage pulsed against his sensitivity.
“Mmmnnff—!”
You leaned into the mic again. “Getting needy, Aizawa? Imagine this, for seven days. Waking up hard. Going to sleep harder. Teased. Denied. Helpless.”
His hips jerked. Another moan—”Nnnhh, mmphhh!”
You pressed the secondary button.
Tiny nozzles activated within the mat—spritzing a barely-there mist of synthetic pheromones, designed for sensory enhancement. His pupils dilated.
He began to murmur through his gag. Then came the heavy breathing.
“That’s right,” you purred. “Don’t resist. This is all part of the challenge. Let the scent drive you deeper.”
30:00.
His body was convulsing lightly with each pulse of stimulation. His thighs flexed against the wrap, his hands twitching within their bonds. You knew that frustration was like fire under his skin. The denial wasn’t just physical now—it was mental. Emotional.
“What would it take,” you whispered, just loud enough, “for you to beg?”
“Mmmmph!” he shouted through the gag, the sound cracked and raw. His cock flexed wildly within the cage. He was so close—yet completely unable to do anything about it.
20:00
You watched him squirm, hopelessly. You saw the exact moment his resistance faltered—when he stopped fighting and just felt it. Every pulse. Every hum. Every forbidden urge.
10:00.
You knelt in front of the glass, eyes inches from the screen.
“You did beautifully,” you said, low and sincere. “But not even close.”
He moaned—long, slow, desperate. “Mmmmhhh…nnnphh…”
00:00.
The lights turned on. The door slid open with a hiss. Two assistants walked in, followed by you.
He lay there, stil bound, still gagged, still hard. His body was trembling, slick with sweat. His cock was deep purple, caged and swollen.
You crouched, brushing the hair from his forehead.
“Seven days. No release. No mercy. We’ll check in. Maybe tease you more.”
“Mmhph…” A somber moan leaked from his gag. But you had another surprise for him.
“One more thing I forgot to mention.”
He turned his eye, his head barely moving.
“When I said you’d be bound by the chastity device, I wasn’t referring to just the cage on your cock.”
His eye widened with the realization.
“No. I was referring to the bindings that keep you chaste.” He patted the tape on his chest.
“Mmmghh…!” he whimpered.
You pressed a soft kiss to his temple, your gloved fingers trailing down the curve of his jaw.
“You’re mine now, Aizawa.”
You stood. The assistants began resetting the room.
And you walked out, leaving him wrapped, aching, and completely, blissfully denied.
Exactly how he begged to be.
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3
| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY: Jackson bar, Tommy’s been introducing you to new patrol recruits. Joel watches a little too long before dragging you home, voice low, eyes dark. “You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” Leads to possessive, rough sex with soft aftercare. total wc: 963
“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?”Leads to possessive, rough sex with soft aftercare.
The bar was buzzing, warm with the hum of voices, laughter, and the clink of glass against wood. Jackson always felt alive this time of night—like the walls of survival could ease for just a few hours while the town exhaled.
You were leaning on the bar counter, half-laughing at some dry joke one of the new patrol recruits had made. Tommy had dragged you over a few minutes ago, introducing you to a few fresh faces joining the evening rounds. They seemed nice—young, eager, trying hard to impress, though one of them tried a little too hard.
You didn’t notice how close he’d gotten until he complimented your aim and reached to brush your forearm.
“Gotta say,” he said, lips curling, “you sure know how to handle a rifle. Bet you’re good with other things too.”
Your eyes narrowed—not offended, but unimpressed. You chuckled dryly and stepped back, letting the distance speak for itself.
But someone else noticed.
Across the bar, Joel sat hunched over a half-empty glass, one hand gripping the edge, knuckles white. He wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t talking. He was watching.
Watching you.
And when the recruit leaned in again, his expression darkened.
He stood.
The sound of his boots striking the floor was a thunderclap in your spine. You turned just as he reached you, hand slipping low to the small of your back.
“Say goodnight,” Joel said, voice like a growl pressed through grit.
You blinked. The recruit took a step back. Tommy raised a brow.
“Everything alright?” he asked.
Joel didn’t answer.
He just led you out the door, his grip firm but not harsh. You didn’t resist—not with the way his jaw was locked, not with the fire behind his eyes. Your heart pounded as he led you down the back path toward your shared home, the quiet between you sharp with tension.
You stepped inside the cabin. He kicked the door shut behind you.
“Joel—”
“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” he snapped, voice low and trembling with restraint.
You tilted your head. “Joel, he was just being—”
“Don’t.”
He stepped forward, backing you into the wall. His eyes burned. “You think I didn’t catch how he touched your arm? How he kept lookin’ down at your mouth like he was thinkin’ about kissin’ you?”
You swallowed hard. The tension in the air wrapped tight around your throat, hot and thrilling.
“He was nothing,” you said. “Just a boy playing soldier.”
Joel leaned in, breath fanning over your jaw. “Didn’t look like nothing. Looked like someone who wanted what’s mine.”
You smirked. “You jealous, Miller?”
He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. “You think this is funny?”
“No,” you whispered.
“Good.”
Then he kissed you—hard. His mouth was all heat and possession, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the wall. His hands roamed down your hips, gripping tight, fingers digging through your clothes like he wanted to brand you.
“I’m gonna remind you,” he growled against your mouth, “what happens when someone else looks at you like that.”
You gasped when he spun you around, walking you backward toward the bedroom. You tripped over your own feet laughing breathlessly, but Joel didn’t let you fall—just shoved you gently to the mattress.
He was on you a second later. His hands tore at your jeans, tugging them down, lips dragging fire up your thighs. His breath was ragged.
“Joel—”
He yanked off your underwear, flinging them somewhere behind him. Then he licked a slow stripe up your center.
Your moan punched the air.
“Still think he could’ve made you feel like this?” Joel murmured between kisses.
“No,” you gasped.
He groaned and dove back in. Tongue relentless. Fingers digging into your thighs to hold you open while he worked you over, wet and messy. His nose brushed your clit just right, and your legs trembled.
“Joel—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he growled. “Come for me. Show me who makes you fall apart.”
Your back arched as you shattered on his tongue.
He didn’t wait. Didn’t stop.
He climbed up your body, lips slick, eyes blazing. He undid his jeans with one hand, letting them drop enough to free himself. His cock was hard, flushed, heavy.
“Turn over.”
You obeyed instantly, face down, hips up.
Joel lined himself up, teasing your entrance with the blunt head of his cock.
Then he pushed in.
The stretch was fast, unforgiving. You cried out as he filled you in one deep, brutal thrust.
“Mine,” he hissed. “You hear me?”
“Yes,” you moaned.
He started to move—rough, deep, no patience. His hips slapped into yours with force, hand gripping your waist so hard it bruised.
Every thrust punched a moan from your lips. You felt used, worshiped, owned.
“Say it,” he panted, fucking into you so hard the bedframe creaked.
“I’m yours, Joel—I’m yours, I’m yours—”
His hand came down on your ass, a sharp smack that made you cry out and clench around him.
“You’re goddamn right you are.”
He reached around, found your clit, and rubbed fast and rough.
You came with a scream, body seizing, vision white.
Joel wasn’t far behind.
He groaned, slammed into you one final time, and came with a strangled moan, spilling deep inside.
You collapsed together, panting.
Minutes passed.
Then Joel pulled out slowly, murmuring a soft “Shh, I got you.”
He cleaned you up with a warm cloth, pressed kisses to the curve of your spine. His voice, when it came again, was quiet. Raw.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.”
He lay beside you, pulling you close.
“I just... hate when other people see what’s mine.”
You kissed his jaw. “I’ve always been yours.”
He smiled, finally. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t share.”
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3
close enough to burn ft. BAKUGO — A sparring match turns heated when stubborn pride gives way to something neither of you can ignore. One hit, one kiss, and one hell of a challenge.
infirmary tension ft. BAKUGO — After a mission injury, Bakugo stays to care for you. Bandage checks turn tender, and unspoken feelings finally come to light.
| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY: After a long, labor-heavy day in Jackson, Joel returns home aching and exhausted. You offer to massage his sore shoulders, knowing exactly what he needs. But when the tension melts and slow touches grow hungrier, Joel makes good on a promise: “You start touchin’ me like that again and I ain’t gonna stop.” total wc: 1.6K+
The sun was just starting to dip behind the mountains when you heard the front door creak open.
You didn’t look up right away—just stirred the beans in the cast-iron pan, letting the warmth from the wood stove seep into your spine. The cabin smelled like cedar, earth, and that old tobacco Joel never smoked around you, but always carried in the lining of his jacket.
Heavy boots hit the floorboards behind you.
“Hey,” you said softly.
There was a long sigh before he answered. “Hey.”
You turned then. Joel looked wrecked.
Hair matted with sweat, shirt clinging to his chest, dirt streaked across his jawline. The sleeves were pushed up on his flannel, revealing forearms corded with effort, veins raised from hours of swinging a hammer or hauling something heavier than he should’ve. His hands flexed at his sides like they ached.
“Jesus, Joel…”
He shrugged off the compliment—or maybe it was concern—and dropped onto the couch like his knees had given out. “Shitty lock on the east fence broke again. Took me and Tommy damn near all day to fix it.”
You moved toward him slowly, wiping your hands on the towel at your hip.
He tipped his head back to look at you. The way his eyes softened then—how he always looked like he saw you, not just the day—sent a slow warmth curling through your stomach.
You stopped in front of him and brushed a thumb over the sweat-darkened spot on his collarbone.
“You want a massage?”
Joel blinked. “Huh?”
You smiled. “Your shoulders. Your back. You’re wound up like a bowstring.”
He opened his mouth—maybe to argue—but then his eyes dropped, and his jaw worked like he was chewing on something he didn’t want to spit out.
“…Please.”
You nodded and moved behind the couch.
Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, letting you settle in behind him. You knelt on the cushions, legs tucked under you, and rested your hands on his shoulders. The heat of him pulsed through your palms. Thick muscle, tense and unforgiving, lay beneath your fingertips.
You started slow. Kneading the base of his neck, dragging your thumbs down between his shoulder blades.
Joel exhaled hard, like you’d knocked the air out of him.
“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re good at that.”
“Had practice,” you teased, leaning in closer.
He hummed, low and rough. Your fingers moved lower, kneading the ridge of muscle along his spine. The worn flannel softened under your touch, but you could feel the solid heat of him underneath.
“Fuckin’ back feels like a load of bricks.”
“I can feel that.”
Your hands glided upward again, thumbs pressing deep circles into his shoulders. He let out a sound—half sigh, half groan—that made something pull tight between your legs.
You leaned down a little more, chest brushing his back.
“Joel.”
“Yeah?”
“If I keep touching you like this…” you whispered, voice low and warm, “are you gonna fall asleep, or are you gonna do something about it?”
Joel stiffened under your hands. Then slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder. One brow raised. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You start touchin’ me like that again,” he rasped, voice dark and thick, “and I ain’t gonna stop.”
You met his eyes—slow burn behind his pupils, the kind of promise that always made you wet—and let your hands drift lower. Not just kneading now. Teasing.
Joel sat up fully and turned, his knees bracketing yours, one big hand resting on your thigh.
“Come here,” he said softly.
It wasn’t a request.
You shifted into his lap easily, straddling him on the couch. His hands settled on your hips—rough, warm, grounding. You felt the scrape of his callouses through your thin cotton sleep shorts.
You’d done this before. Many times. But something about the quiet after the long day, the way he was looking at you now—worn down but hungry—made it different.
Joel’s hands moved slowly, fingers sliding beneath your top, palms grazing your spine. His mouth found your collarbone. He kissed a slow trail toward your neck.
“We’ve got time,” you whispered.
His voice rumbled against your skin. “Not gonna need much if you keep grindin’ on me like that.”
You laughed breathlessly and kissed him, deep and familiar. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel him, hard against your core.
He pulled away, forehead pressed to yours.
“Get these off,” he muttered, tugging at your shirt.
You nodded and peeled it off. Joel’s eyes dropped, mouth parting slightly as he took you in. No rush. Just him looking—like you were something worth worshipping.
He ran a hand over your ribs, your waist, cupping one breast gently before dragging his thumb across your nipple. You gasped.
“Lie back,” he said.
“What—here?”
He nodded. “Couch’s seen worse.”
You grinned and leaned back as Joel followed, one hand bracing beside your head, the other trailing down your stomach.
He kissed you again—slower now, deeper—like he had nowhere else to be. And as his hand slid between your legs, you sighed into his mouth.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispered.
You arched into his touch.
“I already am.”
Joel’s fingers curled beneath the hem of your shorts, dragging them down your legs with a practiced slowness that had your breath catching in your throat. He kissed a trail from your navel downward, his stubble rough against your skin, the heat of his breath teasing just where you wanted him most.
He paused, looking up from between your thighs with that quiet, unreadable expression he wore before doing something that would ruin you.
“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he murmured. “Every time I bent down, or felt my shoulders crack, I thought about comin’ home to this.”
Then he lowered his mouth.
His tongue flicked slow at first—just enough to tease, to test. You squirmed under his grip, moaning softly. Joel’s hands pressed your thighs open wider, and he buried his mouth deeper.
Each stroke of his tongue was methodical. Patient. Worshipful.
“Joel—”
You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. The only thing you could do was curl your fingers in his hair and hold on as he worked you open with lips and tongue, coaxing you closer to the edge.
He groaned against you when your hips bucked, like he liked how desperate you were. Like he needed this just as much.
“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he muttered between licks, voice gravel and honey.
Your back arched as the pressure coiled, tight and blinding, and then it snapped—your cry breaking free as Joel held you down and helped you ride it out.
He didn’t stop right away. Didn’t pull away until you were shaking.
When he finally did, his lips were slick, his eyes dark, and the bulge in his jeans looked painful.
You barely caught your breath before he leaned over you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your mouth.
“I told you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, “you touch me like that, and I ain’t gonna stop.”
He didn’t wait for you to answer. He kissed you hard and pushed his jeans down with one hand, just enough to free himself. You helped, fumbling slightly as your hands brushed his hips.
He hissed when your fingers wrapped around him, and you felt just how much he’d been holding back.
Joel lined himself up, his hand on your thigh, steadying himself.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
You did. And he sank in slow.
The stretch stole your breath. The weight of him, the heat—familiar but always overwhelming. His jaw clenched as he bottomed out, staying still, forehead still pressed to yours.
“Goddamn,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”
You clenched around him. His breath stuttered.
Then he moved.
Slow at first. Dragging out, then thrusting back in deep, grinding. Every stroke built the tension back, until you were gasping under him, fingernails digging into his shoulders.
Joel’s hand slid between you, his thumb finding your clit, circling with perfect pressure.
“Come for me again,” he growled, his voice rough and low like it had been dragged through gravel.
He rolled his hips with more intent now—no longer slow and reverent, but deeper, hungrier. His thrusts built to a rhythm that made your breath hitch with every grind, every sharp snap of his hips. Sweat slicked your skin, the soft creak of the couch beneath you matching the sounds of skin on skin, of breathless gasps and bitten-off moans.
Your legs trembled as he moved faster, his hand tightening at your hip, the other never leaving your clit. The friction was maddening—his thumb circling you just right, his cock stretching and filling you until the pressure inside you crested sharp and bright.
“Joel—fuck—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he panted, his forehead pressed to yours. “You can take it. Just a little more. I got you.”
You cried out again, the orgasm crashing through you like a wave ripping your lungs inside out. Your hips jerked, your body seized, and you shattered under him, clenching so tightly around him that he groaned deep and guttural.
“Fuck, that’s it—that’s it, baby,” he hissed, voice ragged, and then he was coming too. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, his hand bracing beside your head as he buried himself to the hilt.
Joel cursed, voice breaking, and came with a shudder that rocked his whole frame. He stayed buried deep, panting into the crook of your neck as the tremors rolled through both of you.
It wasn’t just sex anymore. It never had been. And now, it couldn’t be anything less.
He stayed there, panting above you, then kissed you—soft, almost tender.
“Still think you’re just here to rub my back?” he teased.
You laughed, breathless, your fingers threading through his hair.
“Let’s call it… mutual relief.”
Joel groaned and buried his face in your neck.
“I’ll build and fix fences every damn day if this is what’s waitin’ for me after.”
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3
here is the bonus scene to Static and Smoke | Bakugo Katsuki
(minors CAN interact)
You walked into HQ the next afternoon with your arm still bandaged and a lopsided grin from caffeine and endorphins. Bakugo was already inside, arms crossed, leaned against a wall near the mission board.
"Heyyy, hospital girl!" Kirishima called out from the side of the room with a teasing smile. "What'd we tell you about picking fights with dudes twice your size?"
"She picked a fight with death," Sero added, laughing. "And still didn't get a thank-you kiss from Dynamite, huh?"
You flushed. "Shut up—"
Bakugo's voice cracked like thunder. "What the fuck did you just say?"
The room went quiet.
Bakugo pushed off the wall and stalked over, heat in his eyes—not the explosive kind, but protective. Possessive. "She almost died. Don't act like it's a fuckin' joke."
The others blinked.
"We didn't mean—"
"You don't joke about that," he snapped, stepping in front of you. "Got it?"
Kirishima held up his hands. "Yeah. Loud and clear, bro."
Bakugo didn't move until they dispersed.
You reached for his arm. "Katsuki—"
He turned, looking at you with tight brows. "I know they were jokin'. But I'm not ever gonna be chill about what happened."
You stood on your toes and kissed his cheek. "Then don't be chill. Just be mine."
pairing: Bakugo x Fem!Reader-One Shot!
word count: 453
minor CAN interact!
The training room echoed with grunts, fists, and impact.
You’d been sparring for nearly twenty minutes, drenched in sweat and pride, refusing to be the one who tapped out. And of course, the idiot across from you had the same idea.
“Katsuki, give it up,” you snapped between breaths, blocking another one of his blows with your forearm. “You’re slowing down.”
“Tch—like hell I am.” His voice was gravel, low and feral. “You’re the one gasping like a goddamn fish.”
You ducked, swept his leg—but he jumped. Countered. His hand grazed your ribs.
Shit.
You pivoted and sent a charged punch toward his side. He caught your wrist.
“You're sloppy,” he growled, yanking you forward.
Your body collided with his, and for a second, everything halted.
You were chest-to-chest, breath-to-breath. Your arm was pinned behind you, his hand braced on your lower back. Your pulse spiked. Not from the fight—but from the heat rolling off him. From the way his lips hovered just inches from yours.
“You done showboating?” he muttered.
You scoffed, trying not to look at his mouth. “You wish.”
Then you surged forward—using your knee to break the hold and twist your way out. His grip slipped. You spun him and slammed him down onto the mat with a thud, straddling his waist, pinning his wrists above his head.
Victory. But it didn’t feel like one.
Because now you were the one on top, caged by your own stubborn will—and those fucking eyes. Crimson. Dilated. Fixed on you like you were both the problem and the solution.
His chest rose sharply beneath yours.
You should’ve said something. Should’ve gloated. But your words caught behind your tongue.
“You gonna finish this or just sit there lookin’ at me like that?” he rasped, voice rougher now.
You swallowed hard. “Like what?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at your lips. Then your eyes. Then your lips again.
Your breath hitched. Every inch of your body burned. Neither of you moved.
“Say it,” you whispered.
His brows twitched. “Say what?”
“That you’ve wanted to do this for weeks.”
You felt his hands twitch in your grasp.
“Fuck it,” he muttered.
And then he surged up, just enough to meet you halfway.
Your lips crashed into his like lightning—sudden, sparking, fierce. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was months of banter, bruises, and biting tension combusting in a single moment.
He kissed you like a challenge. You kissed back like a dare.
When you finally pulled away—breathless, dizzy, eyes still locked—he smirked.
“Round two?” he asked.
You leaned in, lips brushing his again.
“Winner gets top,” you whispered.
“Baby, I am the top.”
You shoved him back down with a grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open
