mika-writes-fanfics

[mika-writes-fanfics]

trick or treat

Trick or Treat

Ghost/Dabi x fem!Reader x Konig/Shigaraki

⇢ word count: roughly 3.2K ⇢ plot: It's Halloween and you make the mistake of knocking at the wrong door.  ⇢ warnings: Minors DNI, tw smoking, consensual rough sex, rough kissing, rough manhandling, a bit of degradation, slapping, oral sex (m receiving), deep throating, cum in throat, unprotected PIV-sex, anal fingering, deep creampie, Ghost and Konig aka Dabi and Shiggy are actual sweethearts and take care of the reader later ⇢ A huge shoutout to my beta @blankexpressions-and-falsefires. without you, this wouldn't happen. without you, this wouldn't be as great. i am forever grateful for your help!

You and your friends were on your way to a Halloween party, which was going to take place in an old warehouse. The invites had been distributed months ago already, and everyone had been looking forward to it. 

What you were wearing wasn't very unique at all: Black high-heel boots combined with a short, ruffled red velvet skirt, a black petticoat underneath, and a matching red underbust corset. It pushed your boobs up so high that they nearly popped out any time you bent over. Thankfully, a white, off-shoulder blouse helped to keep a little bit of your decency intact. The last finishing touch was a red velvet cape. 

You guessed it—you'd picked the Little Red Riding Hood as this year's costume.

Getting off the subway station, your group walked down the dimly lit street, the wind blowing leaves and scraps of garbage along the street. The clacking sound of your high heels echoed off the walls and you wrapped your cape tighter around you and hoped that the warehouse would offer some shelter from the cold. Trying to avoid the cracks in the concrete with your pointy heels, you followed the rest of the crowd—as something off to the side caught your attention. 

A lone, lit pumpkin sat at a shabby door, a flickering lamp above it shedding just a bit of light.

“Hey girls!” you called out. “There's someone inviting trick-or-treaters over here!”

Your friends stopped and looked at the door you were pointing at. Nonetheless, they turned while your best friend called over “It's just a prank, forget about it!”

“I want some candy, though.” Pursing your lips into a pout, you stalked over to the other side of the street, calling over to the rest of your small crowd, “Go on ahead. I'll catch up to you later!” 

You didn't mind them rolling their eyes at you—cause you have been known to have the sweetest tooth of them after all.

Taking a deep breath you raised your hand and knocked on the door. Once. Twice.

No answer. 

Okay, you reason, it was just a prank. Just as you were about to turn, you heard voices closing in behind the door.

"Didn't think anyone would fall for this shit.” A dark voice hissed. “What kind of dumbass are they?"

"Beats me." Another husky voice spoke.

The door swung open and you inhaled sharply. Before you stood two men dressed head to toe in combat suits, one of them wearing a sniper hood, the other a Balaclava complete with a hard plastic skull attached to the disguise. 

Each of them was a character from the game Call of Duty– Konig and Simon “Ghost” Riley. 

The one dressed as Ghost casually leaned against the door frame. His eyes scanned over you, and your gut tightened, watching the brilliant cerulean of his irises take you in. His skull Balaclava, obscuring any other feature on his face, sent chills down your spine. The other's smoldering amber gaze grazed the curves of your body and lingered especially long on your décolleté before stopping back at your face. As far as you could make out, they both looked well-toned, and your gut instinct told you that they were stunningly attractive underneath those masks. Your heart started beating faster.

“Oh, look what we have here.” The man dressed as Konig mused in a sneering tone. “If it ain't Little Red Riding Hood.”

“What a coincidence—" his friend chuckled, his voice low and husky. "Cause you can consider us the Big Bad Wolves—”

It sent goosebumps crawling up your spine,  but you still bravely muttered with a shaky voice, “T-trick or t-treat?”

Konig and Ghost looked at one another, chuckling, before their gazes went back to you. 

"You really looking for a treat, little red?" Ghost cocked his head, brilliant blue seemingly burning into you.

Both men's lustful stares were unmistakable as they looked at your body with a desire mirroring the feeling that rose quickly in your chest.

"U-uhm, I guess?" You stuttered, heat rising into your ears now.

“Treat it is,” he said. With that, his strong fingers circled your wrist and he pulled you inside, Konig slamming the door shut behind you.

A shriek left your throat when he pressed you against the wall, his ghostly mask hovering right in front of you.

"You really want this?" He asked, tilting his head, "We'll only proceed if you do."

One hand propped him against the wall, the other trapped your jaw between thumb and forefingers. His hips wedged you in place and it sent a jolt of pleasure right between your thighs. You shamelessly squeezed them together, cheeks starting to glow with fear—and excitement.

"I-I don't know," you licked your lips as subtly as you could, and you could swear you felt him twitch in his pants. 

His eyes fixated on your lips as he pulled the Balaclava down from beneath the skull, tucking the fabric under his chin to reveal the lower half of his face. His lips alone, sharp and sultry, had you aching for more.

"I think you do," Ghost chuckled, his warm breath fanning your lips, the hard plastic of his mask almost brushing against your nose. His fingertips felt scorching yet delicate when he pulled you in for a kiss.

His tongue pushed past your lips, moving languidly around yours. The kiss turned raw and bruising, growing rougher by the second. His cold mask dug into your skin but the thrill of it all made you forgive it easily. Groaning into his mouth, your hands ghosted over his chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath his clothes. Your legs buckled, but Ghost was quick to react and slip a leg between your thighs to hold you in place. His firm thigh pressed right against you, delivering much-needed friction to stimulate your growing desire. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, half-lidded eyes smoldering with desire when he broke the kiss. He pulled the Balaclava back and straightened up, chuckling at the sight of a wet spot left on his pants. "You really love this, don't you?"

You nodded hazily. You were given no chance to catch your breath as he dragged you to a small, square table nearby. His grip was rough but gentle enough not to hurt you. You shrieked again when Ghost pressed your chest flat against the surface. Konig stepped close, his hand stroking the heavy and full shape of the growing bulge beneath his clothes. Ghost clasped his hand tightly around your wrists, pinning them against your back, holding you down. 

“P-please be gentle,” you pleaded, having seen both outlines of their dicks —not small in size—  strain against their boxers, ready to be strangled by your tight pussy.

"Don't be a chicken. You agreed to this.” Konig rasped. “So, we get to destroy you, corrupt your little pussy—" 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and your heartbeat started to pick up as you struggled against Ghost's iron grip.

"Aw, don't scare our little bunny, Shigaraki" Ghost tutted, stroking your back with his free hand. "We aren't gonna hurt you, doll."

Something in his voice made you feel like you could trust him — you felt that he meant it — and your body relaxed, your breath evening out.

"Party pooper–" Konig grumbled behind his hood, as he rounded the table to stop right in front of your face. 

"W-what are you gonna do to me–" You swallowed thickly, thrill shooting through your body in a rush of  adrenaline. 

“You want us to be gentle,” his voice suddenly deepened, “Or should we treat you like the little tramp you are?” 

“I am no tramp—” you replied breathily.

“Hm— Am I wrong to think that this turns you on?” Ghost chuckled. “The idea of getting fucked by two strangers just like this?” 

Ghost's hand trailed up your thigh, hiking up your skirt and petticoat to reveal the curves of your perfect ass cheeks. A growl erupted in the back of his throat at the sight, his hand stroking the soft skin he found there. The coil inside your stomach tightened as you felt his crotch grind against you from behind. You realized he was giving you a small taste of just how much of a treat you would be getting. Trying to push yourself back against his thick meat, though, earned you a harsh slap against your ass with his tactical leather gloves.

“Ow!” you cried out, the stinging pain driving tears to your eyes.

"Fucking lay still." Ghost growled and you instantly froze at the sheer authority in his tone, a hot pulse shooting straight between your legs.

He leaned over, whispering against the shell of your ear. "So, little Red, what's it gonna be for you?”

Your lips parted in a strangled whimper. You didn’t want them to be gentle. You didn’t want them to be respectful. This was thrilling, you've always dreamed about being roughly taken, about being manhandled. 

“Fuck me, please.” You pleaded.

“It's Sir to you!” Ghost slapped you again, the pain searing this time.

"Yes—Sir—treat me like your cumdump!” You choked out, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes.

"Atta girl." He purred and you could almost hear the amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Ghost pulled your soaked panties down until they dangled between your ankles and dropped to the floor with a wiggle of your heels.

"Why do you always get to use the pussy, Dabi?" Konig whined, annoyed even as he unzipped his combat pants.

"Cause you only know how to fuck, boss." Ghost chuckled behind you. "Not how to please."

You swallowed thickly, feeling your heart beating so fast.

His hand gently stroked your ass again as he hummed. "This is supposed to be a treat after all."

A sense of comfort washed through you but you knew better than to rely on it. And oh boy, were you right.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, moving to stand in between them as you eagerly complied.

Konig freed his hard cock from his pants. It was so thick and heavy that it was hanging low even though it was fully erect. 

"Open up. I’m gonna fuck your face," giving it a few lazy pumps, he closed in on your face. His shameful words sent electricity to your nerves, and your mouth started to water as you opened it in eager anticipation.

Konig slipped the fingers of his free hand into your strands, holding your head still as he slotted himself at your lips before pushing his length between them. His spongy tip quickly slipped in and he let it rest on your tongue for a brief moment before pressing deeper.

Groaning against Konig's cock, you barely made out the sound of a zipper being undone behind you. Ghost lined up his cock with your soaked cunt, gathering your slick on his spongy tip, and only then was it that you knew that this really was going to happen. He snapped his hips forward without warning, quickly hitting resistance. 

The force pushed you down on Konig’s length further until its tip hit the back of your throat. He was breathing hard, bucking his hips forward, loving the way you loosened your jaw and let him fuck your mouth.

The man behind you slowly started thrusting into you, the metal barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder continuously stroking your insides, his Prince Albert piercing kissing your cervix and making you tighten and flutter around him. Each time he pulled out, his cock was covered in more of your glistening juices.

“Ah—fuck—look at that dripping cunt—” Ghost growled, rocking his hips against your behind, watching how your greedy, sloppy pussy kept taking him, even if he could only fit halfway.

They filled you up so perfectly—Ghost’s thick, pierced cock stretched your whole pussy without getting close to being balls deep, Konig’s heavy one sitting deep in your mouth, his fat testicles slapping against your drool-covered chin with each thrust forward. A gargled moan bubbled up your throat, feeling so stuffed from both ends, with Ghost's piercings rubbing perfectly against the spot that made stars erupt before your eyes.  

Goosebumps erupted all over your body as your mind began to swim.

"Aw, are you enjoying yourself?” Ghost leaned forward. "We'll make you feel even better soon...”

Then he started pounding into you, again and again until your brain was shut down. You choked between gasps as every thrust he made knocked the air from your lungs and forced Konig’s cock to slide deeper than before– until it was buried deep down your throat. You struggled to take it, breathing heavily through your nose, pleading watery eyes shooting up to his face to silently beg for a second of reprieve. 

"You look so beautiful, stuffed with my cock like this–” Ghost said in a voice that was just a low rasp. 

You were dizzy, breathless as he kept filling up your pussy with short, harsh strokes. He watched you writhe in pleasure on the table, your sloppy mouth stuffed with Konig’s dick. Ghost bent his head down and you could feel his breath on your neck as he inhaled your scent. 

"You're taking both of us so well, little cockslut." Konig's words made you whimper even louder, glistening eyes meeting his as you struggled to breathe.

With Ghost’s hand still pinning your wrists behind your back, there was no escaping the assault. He slammed his hips harder against your pussy until you mewled out in pleasure, his piercings rubbing your g-spot just right.

The feeling of both men relentlessly working themselves in and out of you was overwhelming. Heavy grunts and growls accompanied the wet sounds of your sloppy holes getting fucked as they worked themselves into a frenzy. Ghost's cock drove deep, but you knew with a little effort, you could accommodate more of him. You parted your legs further to give Ghost even more access to your cunt. His dick began to throb and twitch, his hips bucking back and forth to find the perfect angle to thrust into you. 

And he did find it. Your body shook with pleasure, making you squeal deliciously around Konig's length. Ghost let out a breathless chuckle and spread your ass cheeks, wetting his thumb before sticking it into your puckered hole.

His friend watched the scene before him, half-lidded crimson eyes glazed with lust and desire. The sight before him turned him on so much that his hips stuttered and he came without warning. He let out a strangled groan, his hand grabbing your hair tightly as he forced you to take his entire length, his tip slipping past the back of your throat. You moaned, feeling him twitch on your tongue, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you. His free hand rose to massage your throat, savoring the way you gulped and swallowed around his twitching meat.

“That's it, baby, take every drop of his cum," Ghost praises you. "Fuck– you're such a good girl.” He looked down to where you two were connected, his thumb buried deep in your ass, a sticky wet mess covering the base of his cock.

You tried to breathe but Konig didn’t budge, staying buried deep inside of you as Ghost picked up the pace now. He gave you strong thrusts that grazed the right spot, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. You moaned, your vision turning blurry. The lack of oxygen, the continuous onslaught from behind— it was too much. it pushed you over the edge and you came, clamping around his dick while your sounds of pleasure remained muffled by Konig's cock still buried deep inside your throat. 

Ghost kept pounding into you while you rode out the high of your orgasm and finally, Konig pulled his softening cock from your mouth, letting you sputter and gasp for the air he'd denied you. He let himself fall back against the table behind him, his flaccid, drool-covered cock still massive in size and twitching slightly. Reaching out, he pushed your hair behind your ear before wiping off the saliva dribbling down your chin as you frantically gasped for air.

Ghost behind you kept up the pace, rutting his thumb in and out of your little pink hole in a contrasting beat to his thrusts. It became too much— you completely lost it, overstimulated and moaning unabashedly like a porn star now. Your cunt spasmed around his cock for a second time and you threw your head back in ecstasy, crying out through your climax.

“There you go, you're so fucking hot coming for us, doll." Ghost praised, continuing to rock his hips against yours. His deep thrusts grew messier and messier, being himself close to his release. 

Konig watched, eyes glowing with re-awakening desire as he tucked himself away.

"I'm gonna fucking cum inside of you." Ghost let out with a low growl in his throat, sending goosebumps along your body. “Gonna fill you up, gonna breed you so good—”

He gained speed and with a final snap of his hips, he groaned out loud when he came, his hips stuttering as he shot ropes of hot cum against your womb. You could feel his cock throb with each shot, before he plummeted forward, breathing heavily. His chest pressed against your spine, and you felt his semen seep out, dripping onto the floor below. Silence took over the room while all of you tried catching your breath, hair sticking to sweaty foreheads, cocks sticky with release. 

Ghost started chuckling, pulling out of you with an obscene pop. His eyes were still glazed with desire as he watched how your pussy struggled to contain the load of his release. "You look so damn pretty filled up with my cum." he said with a hidden smirk as he kept pushing it back into you with his fingers. 

He stepped back to tuck himself away, and you stood back up on wobbly feet, brain foggy from the orgasms. Carding your fingers through your messed up hair, you reached for your panties but Ghost was quick to grab and stuff them into his pant pocket.

"Nu-uh," he tutted, his brilliant azure eyes twinkling with mischief. You sighed in defeat, trying your best to smooth down your skirt.

He pulled his balaclava down, slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, and lit himself one. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled slowly. “So, what were you doing here anyway?”

“I was on my way to a Halloween party with my friends.” You coyly replied, carding your fingers through your hair. 

“Ya still wanna go?” He cocked his head, smoldering azures taking you in.

“What do you mean?" You looked up at him through thick lashes, still damp with the heavy tears that had sprung from your eyes in the struggle to keep down Konig’s cock.

“What Dabi wants to know is if you wouldn't rather continue our little party.” Konig snickered.

“Oh.” Was your simple reply. 

“C’mon doll, let's get ya cleaned up," Ghost pressed a kiss against your forehead. "In the meantime, Shigaraki is gonna get us some  drinks.” 

He swung an arm around your shoulder, leading you toward the door next to the dimly lit bar on the far side of the room. “We still have more treats for you…”

Happy Halloween and thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! If you comment or reblog, you'll make my day!

#*frothing at the mouth* #COD MEN AND DABI??? #good lord I’m in heaven #Liz you have fucking FED us with this #dabi smut #dabi x reader smut #dabi x you smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader smut

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Relax (It'll hurt less)

Yandere!Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 2.3K

⇢ plot: Dabi only knows of one way to make you remember his name

⇢ warnings: Minors DNI, NONCON, use of fire quirk, arrogant and cocky Dabi who is a virgin (fight me over it) and fucks for the first time, user is tied up (bondage/rope play?), size kink, no prep, unprotected penetration, Dabi is a bit rough towards the reader, creampie, lots of cum

⇢ thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for being my beta again!

⚠️This fiction contains yandere-themed dark content! Proceed and read at own discretion⚠️

If you'd known that the night would take this turn, you'd have chosen to stay home.

After missing the last bus home due to running late and then not having enough money to call a cab, you are forced to walk home. As a gust of wind blows some leaves across your path, you imagine what might happen if some thug jumped out with the intent to rob you... But stuff like that only happens in movies, don’t they? You quietly laugh. The thought is a bit silly. You'll probably just continue walking alone down the murky street like you always do, with nothing happening. Reassured, you stick your hand into your pocket and focus your attention on the pavement below, occasionally checking on the map to make sure you're still heading the right way. 

You blindly follow the directions on your cell phone, completely oblivious to what part of town you are passing through. It’s not like there are any signs warning you "Stay the fuck out, villains ahead!"

You make the foolish decision to try and comfort yourself during the tedious walk home. Popping your earbuds in, you put on your favorite music to drown out the sounds of the night around you.

A quick movement ahead catches your attention. Your eyes snap up, your heart suddenly beating frantically as you spot the cause of the abrupt motion. A man stumbles backward from a door with a terrified expression on his face, followed by an enormous blue flame billowing towards him which engulfs him completely within seconds. The force of the sudden combustion knocks you right off your feet and you fly backward, a weightlessness encompassing your body before gravity cruelly pulls you back down.

Your back and head crash against the blacktop street and everything instantly fades to black. You don't know how long you'd been unconscious, but as you open your eyes, all you see is darkness and streaks of blue. The stench of burnt flesh creeps up your nostrils, making your stomach churn. You struggle to get up but your body doesn't respond. Instead, you hear a man's husky voice speak near you. "Well, well, well, who do we have here? Such a pretty little thing."

His voice sounds muted like he’s talking through a wall. That's all you hear before nausea and pain take over and the world around you fades again.

You stir awake with a jostle, a thin mist clouding your vision. Your body is cradled against another. It’s warm, but smells of burnt hair and smoke. It would be comforting if only you would know whose arms you are in. You try to move, but a pain instantly shoots up your spine, overwhelming you until your vision goes dark again. 

As you regain consciousness this time, your eyes slowly adjust to the low light, dimmed to almost nothing. Your head still slightly throbs, but the worst of the pain is gone. Blinking a few times, the foggy veil lifts from your eyes and you start to take in the details. You're in a small room. Despite the lack of any decoration, it is very tidy and clean. 

Then you notice him and freeze, the fog in your mind instantly clearing. 

He stands a few feet away. He is tall, dressed in black pants with stitching and a white shirt. Raven hair standing in spikes, marred skin under his eyes and from his cheeks down to his chest. The tip of a cigarette glows an eerie red as he takes a drag and slowly exhales again. His teal eyes, bright in the dark light, pierce through the smoke, taking you in.

"Finally awake, huh?" He rasps.

Frantically, you try to get up but a sharp pain shoots through your arms as the ropes around your wrists dig painfully into your skin. To your horror, you realize that you're tied up to the rods of a rusty bed frame, immobilized with your wrists pulled taut, lying on a shitty, sunken mattress.

"Just some precautionary measures, sweetheart." He cocks his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Please, untie me!" You stammer but he just flips the bud of his cigarette across the room and ignores you.

"Man, killing always makes me so tense." Interlocking his fingers, he raises his arms, his obliques tightening and biceps bulging as he stretches until his knuckles crack.

Cocking his head left and right, he slowly lowers his gaze. His bright azure irises focus back on you as a cheeky smirk starts to form on his face.

"Sir, please let me go.” You whimper as your hands tremble violently against the bonds. 

"Sir?!" A brow quirks as he clicks his tongue. "I think you know my name."

He takes a few steps, closing the gap between you and him. Leaning forward, his long finger trails along your cheek with false affection. "Say it."

You writhe, eyes pricking with tears. "Mister, I-I can't–"

"Don't piss me off." His expression turns sour. "You seriously don't know who I am? Don't you watch the news?"

"I-I don't have a TV," you stammer, your cheeks burning at his harsh tone.

"Well, that's too bad." His hand slips into your hair, yanking your head back, forcing your gaze to meet his. He's so close, that you smell the stale cigarette tainting his breath, the faint scent of burnt flesh on him is almost nauseating.

"I'll tell you, then. And I’ll make sure you never forget it." He spits, crystalline blue eyes so cold that they send a shiver down your spine.

It's then that a pertinent memory comes flooding back to you– you’d overheard some people chatting on the train. A villain. Black spiky hair, scars all over his body, and eyes like the endless depths of the ocean. One with a quirk that summoned blue flames so hot they melt the flesh right off of bones. His name–

–Dabi.

Your throat tightens, and you gulp as your eyes widen in recognition. 

Dabi notices, causing his lips to curl into a smug smirk. "Ah, so you’ve figured it out, huh?"

"Y-yes Sir–or, no– Dabi!" You almost scream out his name, "I promise, I'll never forget, please untie me!"

But he doesn't seem to hear your words, his gaze is far away, an impassive expression on his face.

"Man, I really need to unwind." Lolling his head to the side. "Sako always says the best way to blow off steam is to shoot a load."

His eyes fall back to yours while his smirk widens, showing his canines. A pit forms in your stomach as it dawns on you where this is going to lead.

"I know of a way to make sure you'll never forget my name–" Dabi kneels beside you, the cheap bed dipping and squeaking under his weight. He's looking down on you in a way that makes your hair stand on end. As he reaches for your legs, you're trying your best to keep them closed. But he is much stronger, spreading them with ease.

Positioning himself between your legs, he moves his body close, his hips pressing against your core. It's then when you feel the heat from something huge – a bulge – in his pants, right underneath the stitches. You gulp in disbelief.

"I have to admit, I've never done this before," he chuckles, hooking his thumbs under the seams of his pants, slowly pulling them. "So, cut me some slack, will ya?"

A thick, pierced cock slaps against his abdomen, enormous in length and girth. Your eyes feel like they’re bugging out of your head as you look at his engorged member. Shaking your head, you plead, "It's too big, it won't fit!"

Dabi's gaze drops to evaluate his throbbing dick and he laughs. "Yeah I know, the Doc kinda went overboard with the replacement."

His eyes snap up to your face, his smile vanishes as he hums in that sickly sweet voice. "Regardless, better too much than too little, right?"

His large calloused hands wrap around your hips and you fidget and try to squirm out of his grip but it only strengthens as he pulls you back towards him. Your arms straighten out, painfully so, straining against the ropes cutting into your skin. 

Panic sets in, making your blood rush and your limbs shake, as he lays a hand flat on your mound, blue flames starting to flicker across the fabric of your pants and then undies, incinerating them. The pain from the burn loosens the tears as they start streaming freely down your temples now.

Accompanied by your sobs, he takes his thick length in his palm, his free hand sliding over your now exposed folds, calloused fingers spreading your cunt. 

"Damn, what a sight.” He chuckles as he aligns himself at the entrance of your quivering cunt. "Hope I'm doing this right." 

You sob as he drops a gob of spit on his cock and edges against your entrance, shushing you. “Relax, I know you can take it.” 

Without further warning, he plunges the fat tip of his cock into you. You cry out at the stretch, your dry walls burning without any preparation. You try to get away, to lessen the stretch, but he has your petite body pinned beneath his larger, muscular one. 

With an enraptured expression on his face, he watches his dick inch its way in. His thick, rough fingers dig into your squishy waist, as he continues pushing his way into you. You whimper when Dabi stares at your soft tummy, admiring the bump that forms where his dick bullies against your cervix. 

"Well, fuck me, ain't this the shit?" he chuckles, slightly breathless already.

The grip on your waist remains firm as he pulls out his cock, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. But before you have time to react, he’s slamming himself back into you again. 

Then his hips start moving at a slow and gradual pace, pulling you back each time to meet his thrusts. The lewd sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. your whimpers seem to only spur him on as he continues thrusting into you.

"Oh fuck, this is amazing. I'm gonna—" Dabi groans, slamming his cock into you even faster, "—shit, if you keep gripping me like this, I’m not gonna last."

“Please, stop!” You sob, but he is beyond listening. With his eyes closed, sweat dripping down his temples, he is lost in delirious pleasure.

“You're so tight, taking me so well, doll." He laughs when you whimper in response.

Involuntarily clenching down on his cock, you squirm each time he bottoms out. He makes sure you can feel each barbell of his piercings, every pulsing vein of his thick cock. The harsh force of his quick, rough thrusts makes your mind go blank.

"Gonna cum soon. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I won't be able to pull out." He groans, smooth and deep, admonishing you as if any of this is your fault.

All you can do is respond with a whine, your body completely helpless.

“I’m close, baby, look at me,” he digs his fingers into your flesh, pulling you even closer. "What's my name? Say it!"

"Dabi– please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but you're hurting me!" You beg between sobs.

He doesn't hear your words, or he doesn't care. He's slamming into you now, his thrusts growing deeper and harder.

"Oh yeah, take it –fuck– I'm gonna fucking fill you up so good–" Dabi gasps, groaning unabashedly.

Then he tosses his head back, and with a low growl and a last stuttering thrust, he shoots his white release inside, coating your inner walls with his cum. You feel him twitch inside you, feel his warmth filling you up and seeping out, it's so much.

Dabi collapses on top of you, breathing hard. His head falls forward to rest against your cheek, the sweat from his forehead mixing with the tears on your damp skin.

After his breathing evens out, he pulls back to face you, strands of his black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. "Shit, that was so fuckin’ good.”

He stays like this, his cock slowly shrinking inside your sore cunt, while his hot cum drips down your ass.  The feeling of it creeps through your spine, making your face glow with hot shame. You turn your head away, closing your eyes in defeat. His weight on you suddenly feels suffocating, adding to the crushing, inescapable heft of anxiety on your chest. It feels like an eternity, with him draped over you, both of your breathing starting to even out. Eventually, you muster the courage to speak.

"C- Can I go now?" You whimper, hopefully. 

"Yeah, yeah…" he sighs and moves to pull out. Using the bedsheets to wipe the remnants of his release from his skin, he continues by tucking himself away.

Finally, you think of going home, for this nightmare to be over and to forget this god-awful night. A sharp-edged euphoria washes through your limbs and your eyes flare with excitement as hope spirals up inside you.

"On the other hand–" he stalls, contemplating. "This definitely helped me wind down."

Stepping close, he lowers his face to brush his lips against the rim of your ear and dashes whatever hope you had left with a final, whispered sentence. "I think I'm gonna keep you."

#LIZ OMFG THIS #I liked that line about the doc going overboard #I just love tidbits of the canon!! #dabi smut #dabi x reader smut #dabi x you smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x female reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha dabi #bnha dabi #tw: smoking

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Grimetown's Worst Postman

Slutty Postman! Suguru Getou Headcanons

Warnings: nsfw towards the end, some gender neutral reader x getou, theft, slimeball AU, grimetown AU

Author's note: For @bastardblvd 's Slimeball AU.

Slutty!Mailman Getou who…

Is the worst mailman

Will steal anybody’s mail if he feels like it. Doesn’t matter if it’s family, close friends, or somebody he really shouldn’t cross. He WILL steal your packages

Klepto with taste. He doesn’t collect and steal junk after all. So he opens all packages before stealing!

If you don’t have something he wants, your mail is shoddily taped back up after he’s obliterated that package 

If you ask him about it, he gives you some bullshit like: “Oh it had to be inspected by customs” or “Yeah there was contraband inside” 

Bought a nice snack crate? Yeah, he’s eating it while he’s driving his route. The rest of your mail is delivered with crumbs all over it

Slutty!Mailman Getou who…

Is not above corruption

Will kick packages labeled ‘fragile’ right out the door to his truck if it’s for someone who’s pissed him off

Will steal the mail of his enemies and throw it in their own garbage cans to ‘send a message’

You just can’t send money in Grimetown. Not while Geto’s working at the mail center. Pockets all cash. Takes checks even though he can’t deposit them, just out of spite

Gojo resorted to putting money in his mailbox, effectively bribing Getou to stop stealing his mail. Getou continues to steal anyways but still pockets the money, blaming it on the other post workers even though he’s literally the only guy on the route

Slutty!Mailman Getou who…

Cannot mind his own business

Opens everyone’s mail and bills just to see what’s going on. Wants to get in on all that drama 

His nosiness is insurance. Trying to complain about your packages that never arrive? Or the many dents in your mailbox? No you aren’t! He’s got dirt on you, don’t even think about it

Also helps him to score with you. Signing up for dating websites? Ordering from spicy websites?  He already knows, and he’s gonna use it to get into those DMs (or preferably in those pants)

Slutty!Mailman Getou who…

Is not well dressed

Walking dress code violation. Top is always unbuttoned. His tiddies are on full display. Rolls up the uniform shorts until they’re booty shorts. Man’s is always double-cheeked up on the clock

Gets away with it because none of the supervisors say anything. They’re too busy ogling his ass and tits

When it’s real hot outside and in the truck, he completely unbuttons his shirt, legit is just half naked in there, delivering mail like that

He uses his job to pick up chicks, without shame. Handsome/pretty new grimetown resident moves in? He’s hand delivering their mail to make his move

Slutty!Mailman Getou who…

Uses his job to get in your pants. 

Gets added to your route as soon as you move in, making him the first slimeball you meet

Makes you sign for all your packages even though you definitely don’t need to

The fucking sign sheet is a blank copy of a lease agreement, pilfered out of Sukuna’s mailbox, but you don’t notice. Your focus is all on this slimeball in uniform

Complains that the packages were super heavy (they weren’t) and the heat is killing him, prompting you to invite him into your home to cool off

One thing leads to another and the sexual tension rises dangerously high between you and him

Dips his fingers in you... and your wallet on his way out, robbing you of both your dignity and your cash

No one in Grimetown is safe from Slutty Postman! Getou. 

Not even you.

#simeball au #grimetown #grimetown collab #getou suguru x reader #slutty mailman geto #getou suguru #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk suguru #suguru x reader #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #slutty mailman getou headcanons #slutty mailman geto headcanons #grimetown headcanon #jjk #gender neutral reader #gn reader x suguru geto #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader x getou

[mika-writes-fanfics]

send this to ten other bloggers you think are wonderful, keep the game going and make someone smile 😚💜

Liz omg you’re so sweet 😭😭😭

Thank you, love seeing this pop up in my asks 🥹

[mika-writes-fanfics]

I appreciate the tag, Liz!

It me!

Anyways, there’s not many ppl I can tag so if you see this in your feed, feel free to do it!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(⊃´｡• ᵕ •｡`)⊃ humor me, pals!

check it. this dope picrew!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀now, lookit me!!

make one!!! or don't, am not your boss <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚ some sweet starstuff

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀@em1e @zeltqz @hintson @pupicunt

⠀⠀@bimbohub @187-mg @medusashima @tetsutits @kazushawty @dabisbratz

[mika-writes-fanfics]

I gotta know what my grimetown job would be. I’m just wondering what slimeballs I would run into while tryna work 🤔

you're delivering mail for the grimetown post office! finding love in this slimy city won't be difficult when you have your soulmates home address! this also means your coworker is slutty postman!getou suguru.

#/me and mailman geto shaking shipping boxes that say ‘fragile’ together #fucking grand slamming all of grimetown’s mail boxes on the ground #I casually go through everyone’s mail just to get in on all that drama #slimeball alley on bastard blvd #grimetown event #slutty mailman geto

[mika-writes-fanfics]

The blocking spree will happen Thursday. Either put your age in bio or pin a post, you’ll get blocked otherwise.

Yo can some of you designate if you’re not a minor, these blank blogs following are making me nervous.

You guys got 2 weeks to put SOMETHING in your bios. I don’t care if it’s “not a minor” “adult”, a specific age, or like “90s/80s baby”, just as long as I can tell you’re not a literal child.

If you can’t, I will have to block :(

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Source: This

#I’m so sorry I’m having writers block

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Yo can some of you designate if you’re not a minor, these blank blogs following are making me nervous.

You guys got 2 weeks to put SOMETHING in your bios. I don’t care if it’s “not a minor” “adult”, a specific age, or like “90s/80s baby”, just as long as I can tell you’re not a literal child.

If you can’t, I will have to block :(

#reminder!

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Tacking onto this to say if you don’t want to put it in your bio, I am also okay with users pinning a post to say their age. Just give me something guys

Yo can some of you designate if you’re not a minor, these blank blogs following are making me nervous.

You guys got 2 weeks to put SOMETHING in your bios. I don’t care if it’s “not a minor” “adult”, a specific age, or like “90s/80s baby”, just as long as I can tell you’re not a literal child.

If you can’t, I will have to block :(

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Yo can some of you designate if you’re not a minor, these blank blogs following are making me nervous.

You guys got 2 weeks to put SOMETHING in your bios. I don’t care if it’s “not a minor” “adult”, a specific age, or like “90s/80s baby”, just as long as I can tell you’re not a literal child.

If you can’t, I will have to block :(

[mika-writes-fanfics]

I wanna make a Personal request for your take on Dabi being in a relationship with a slutty dressing reader (only for him ofc 😏) that always wears really short skirts and matching panties~ 🙈🥴❤️‍🔥

●════════ ⋆☆⋆════════ ●

⋙ If you think Dabi is like those men who will make a fuss about their women putting on revealing stuff, then you’re wrong.

⋙ He wants to see those curves of yours, that soft skin, the way your tits flash at him when you bend over to talk to him as he’s sitting down on the couch.

⋙ What he loves the most about you is when you wear those pretty short skirts with frills and some thigh highs with ribbons, that kiss the plush of your thighs so perfectly and makes him salivate. Wear that shit around him and you won’t live to see the day (or won’t walk).

⋙ His cerulean eyes never leave your ass as he casually gives you a spank in front of everyone, loving the way your butt jiggles and the way you get so flustered. The others better mind their own business and not stare too much at you, especially if he is not around.

⋙ Or when you wear fishnets, god he fucking loves it, it makes his cock rock hard at the sight of you walking around, either with a skirt on or a pair of super short pants, revealing your asscheeks ever so slightly.

⋙ Casually manspreads and pats his lap, suggesting for you to sit on him. And you do, getting yourself comfortable as both of his hands fondle your breasts or butt. Skirts are better for easy access, as he usually says. Especially when you’re on his lap, he can grind his hardened bulge on your clothed cunt, your pink panties with such thin material you can feel everything.

⋙ Casually drops things on the ground, waiting for you to pick them up. You bend over, a lazy grin is plastered on his face as you flash your ass at him. If he is in a playful mood, he’ll get behind you and slam his hips against your ass as if he’s fucking you.

⋙ Always makes sure to steal pick the most cute, slutty outfits for his girl. Swimwear that is too small for your size? He takes them. Wants you to wear them, loves to see the way your boobs are almost exploding out of that small fit because they’re too big and the size is extremely small. Shirts that are revealing, he wants you to wear them often, he likes eye fucking you so much throughout the day, until you two end up alone and finally after being edged for too long he fucks the soul out of you.

⋙ Makes you do a spin for him, looking at you head to toe with a blush on his cheeks and heart eyes. He is lovesick, extremely needy and horny for you, how dare you be so fucking perfect in such slutty outfits?

⋙ Shigaraki has kicked him out of the meetings multiple times because Dabi can’t keep his dick in his pants. Always has you on his lap, then his hands move your hips, make you grind on him as he grunts softly in your ear, humping on your ass. But it doesn’t go unnoticed by the boss, he also tells you to not wear such revealing outfits for the simple fact that Dabi is insufferable and gets so distracted by you, not that he has something against it heheh, you do you girly.

⋙ Dabi loves biting on your bare thighs, on your tits, your cute outfits always revealing his love marks all over your body.

⋙ Dabi hates winter cause it is too cold for you to wear revealing outfits, all you wear is baggy comfy shirts. Still fucks you in it though.

⋙ He loves watching your collection of panties, some of them are sexy and some of them are simple and cute, with flowers and bunnies and ribbons. Makes you try them all in front of him, kissing your cunt through them and teasing you. Tears them apart because he gets too riled up from watching the little show you give him.

⋙ Dabi loves when your panties match your bra and your socks, ugh you are so cute he wants to tear you apart already. He specifically gets thrilled when you let him guess which panties you are wearing, as you walk around with your short skirt and he tries to catch a glimpse of what you’re wearing down there.

⋙ Loves bending you over on his lap, spanking you for fun and making those cheeks red, he worries he might get too rough with you because he can’t get enough, he wants to abuse those soft cheeks and loves to hear you whimper.

⋙ If he can’t resist throughout the day, he simply grabs you and throws you in an empty conference room, fucking you on the table and filling your cunt with his warm seed over and over. Too bad Skeptic witnessed almost everything, you guys always forget there are cameras around!

●════════ ⋆☆⋆════════ ●

#oh my GOD #I be dressing like this all the time for him #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha dabi #touya todoroki #dabi #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #Dabi smut #dabi nsfw #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Now for our scrawny/petite babies who deserve some loving too.

Dabi with a scrawny S/O will absolutely love you. He doesn't care that 'ya don't got much to show' this fucker is grabbing whatever plumpness you have and making a big deal out of it. He is making you feel gorgeous no matter what, being on the lanky side himself? He can understand some of your insecurities, especially if you're femme and are insecure about not having feminine curves. He will grab your hips, push you towards a mirror and slowly undress you. His hands cupping at your sex as he mutters praises against your skin. He will fuck you from behind in front of that mirror until your sobbing from how full you feel, literally pounding it into you that you're stunning to him.

If you're insecure of not having muscle mass however, he will absolutely not take that shiiit. He's gonna push you into the mattress, stroke his hands down your body and mutter praises at how strong you are. Even of you're not, he'll make sure you feel strong under him or above him if you decide to ride him. Anytime you begin to carry things around? Hes whistling at you and grinning ear to ear, maybe even letting you carry stuff for him to make you feel strong and capable. (HE'S THE SAME WAY, IF YOU LET HIM BE HELPFUL FOR YOU?? HE'S MELTIIIING. He wants to be seen as capable and worthy of you too so he understands how you can feel inferior for not having strength.)

Now if your on the side of where you're secretly strong with a scrawny build? He's absolutely loving it, he loves taunting you until you have him pinned to a wall. Your hands digging into the flesh under his armpits as you hoist him up. He gives you a sheepish laugh but the swell in his pants at your display of strength is undeniable. He just hopes you won't tease him. (Liar)

Now if you're a petite thing, short and thin? He is bullying you with his size, always poking fun at it until you pout at him. He likes sneaking up on you and scooping you up into his arms, looking like a little doll on his arms. Size difference makes his head whirl with arousal when he sees how much smaller you are than him.

Feisty, innocent, etc. He loves all sorts of short ones, however if you find yourself being the sweet/innocent type? Oh his corruption kink is leaking out to the max, he will ruin your cute little face and clothes with his spunk any chance he gets. If you're a little fireball however, hell make sure to pound that attitude of yours out with either overstimulation or orgasm denial~

He'll make sure that bratty mouth of yours feels sore and is full of his cum before the night ends ♡

#THIS IS ME I LOVE THIS #smol petite and weak #I have noodle arms I can’t do shit #dabi x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi fanfic #reader insert

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Thinking of Dabi with a buff/broad S/O [not gender specific.] He'd fucking love their hugs, especially if they're taller than him. Looord does he just love it when you lift your shirt to wipe your brow and show off your toned body a little. He's constantly got his eyes transfixed on the way your muscles flex and move around when you're doing tasks especially if they're things like heavy lifting or need a lot of labor.

Something about your strength just absolutely attracts him to you, he's curious about it mostly. He wants to see if you're all show, so when you pin him quickly and use your brute strength on him? God his stomach is doing flips.

Just saying, if you hoist his ass up from the bottom of his thighs and make out with him against the wall? Hes creaming his fucking pants ♡

He wants you to squeeze his head between your strong thighs as he pleasures you, he wants you to crush it like a watermelon.

WHICH BY THE WAAAAY, he totally asks you to do it as a joke one day. The face he makes when you take his challenge and manage to crush it between your thighs? PRICELESS

It's a mixture of shocked, impressed, and aroused.

#I am NOT built like this but love the representation #giving me sub!Dabi vibes #mha dabi #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #Dabi smut #dabi #bnha dabi #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Having fun with character.ai when this happened

Dabi AI is a New Yorker apparently

#he wears timbs now #bnha shitpost #mha shitpost #Dabi character ai

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Make it up to you

Professor!Touya x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You're assigned to be the teaching assistant for the new, attractive instructor at your university. His name? Professor Touya. Ever the good student, you hope to maintain a professional relationship with him and stay in good standing, but when he publicly embarrasses you in front of the entire class, all that is thrown out the window. 

Warnings/tags: Colleg AU, quirkless AU, older Touya (coded to be in his 30s), female reader, student/teacher's assistant reader, professor/student relationship, dumbification, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), public sex, usage of sir, public embarrassment, lots of dirty talking, messy sex 

Author's note: Huge shoutout to @dabisqueen and @history-be-written for being my beta readers and giving me good suggestions. I appreciate you guys sm!!! This fic truly wouldn't have turned out the way it did without you two. 

Word Count: 7.9K

“So,” Your friend turns to you, asking you in piqued interest, “Who’d the department put you with? You know who you’ll be an assistant for yet?”

“Yeah, I was told I’ve been placed with ‘Professor Touya Todoroki’,” you answer. The name is completely unfamiliar to you, though, you’re hoping she has at least heard of him before.

It’s your turn to ask her a question, and you choose to say, “Have you ever had him?”

Much to your dismay, she shakes her head no.

“Nope, never had him,” she replies. You frown slightly at her answer. Turning to  your friend’s roommate, you hope  to find that she has had some sort of interaction with him. 

“What about you? Have you had him before?” You question her. Just like your friend, she shakes her head, much to your disappointment. 

“I haven’t,” shesays. “I don’t even think anyone else has talked about him before either. I’ve never heard his name in my life.”

Damn. 

You were wanting to hear your peers' experience with your soon to be ‘boss’ of sorts, so that you could prepare yourself, but it seems you’re shit out of luck. You’ll just have to go in blind.  

“You know, they hired a new professor this semester. It might just be him,” your friend points out. She smiles at you mischievously before adding, “And rumor has it, he’s hot as fuck.” 

“Ooooh, how lucky. I’m jealous,” your friend’s roommate giggles. You scoff at the reaction. 

“No reason to be. He’s my professor, ‘s not like I can, you know, do anything with him,” you counter. 

You check your phone, seeing that the time to meet the new professor has come. “I gotta head over to his office before his lecture starts. I’ll catch you around.”

“See you later then. Have fun~” your friend farewells in a singsong voice. 

You chuckle at her antics and make your way over to the department building and to his office. When you get there, you stop to peer through the window on his office door, trying to see if he’s inside. Luckily, he’s there, looking down at a paper in his hand, unaware of your presence. 

You notice right away he doesn’t look like the rest of the university staff. He looks quite a bit younger than the rest of the aging faculty. Though, he was still a couple years your senior, in his early thirties at least. What makes him really stand out to you, apart from his piercing cyan eyes and dark, shaggy hair, is the way he dressed. He’s wearing tight black jeans, a form-fitting white button up, an expensive wristwatch, and black Converse. You can’t help but admire his intense, blue eyes as he studies the sheet of paper in his hand, too focused to notice your staring. Your eyes travel the expanse of his face, taking in his features. 

You remember your friend’s words, her little comment echoing in your brain. ‘Rumor has it, he’s hot as fuck,’ you’re reminded. For once, it seems her gossip is true. Even you can’t deny it; Professor Todoroki is very attractive. 

But you won’t act on your feelings, you can’t. You’re supposed to be his assistant after all! And so, with that thought in your mind, you snap yourself out of your daze. You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves and suppressing your desires, before knocking on the door.

He looks up from his papers and glances at you through the window in the door, before beckoning you inside his office. You swing open the door and take a few tentative steps into the room. He quickly looks you up and down, just for a split second, only for his eyes to settle back on your face and look at you expectantly. You hate how his overt glance at your body flusters you and makes you feel hot all over. 

“Excuse me, are you Professor Todoroki?” You ask with a soft voice. 

“Yep, that’d be me. Although, you can just call me Professor Touya. I don’t use my father’s last name,” he explains. His deep, smoky voice worsens your nervousness. The way his voice drawls has butterflies swarming in your stomach. He tosses the papers he was reading off to the side and approaches you, smirking down at you. “But what can I do for you, sweetheart?”

The pet name is something you’re surprised to hear coming from your professor. It borders dangerously on unprofessional, and yet, you find yourself letting it slide. Hearing him say something like that to you sends a wave of heat between your legs. 

Keeping your cool around him is not going to be easy, especially if he keeps calling you that. 

You start by introducing yourself and telling him your name before continuing. “I’m sure the department informed you already, but I’ll be your TA for this next semester,” you start. “I look forward to working with you.”

He hums in response. 

“So you’re my little assistant? Gonna help me with all the long hours grading, hm?” He asks. 

“Yes sir,” you answer. There’s a darker expression that flashes on his face, but it passes just as quickly as it appeared. He narrows his eyes slightly and lazily leans against his desk, supporting his weight using his forearms. Underneath the fabric of his button-up, you can see the muscles of his arms flexing. 

Oh god. 

He’s fucking ripped too. 

“You know, the other faculty told me about you,” he mentions. You can’t help but quirk up at the comment, feeling curious. What did the other teachers say about you? 

“Nothing bad, I hope,” you joke. 

“They all said you were a good student. Never a rule breaker, always professional. Top of your class too, I heard,” he starts. It fills you with a sense of pride and accomplishment, to hear your hard work has gotten you some recognition. You’re practically preening at the praise. And yet, it feels like there’s something else he wants to add. He straightens up and leans off of his desk. The space between you closes as he stands dangerously close to you. 

“But there’s one thing I think they got wrong,” he counters.

You tense up as your mind reels. His voice lowers and he adds, “I’m willing to bet you’re not as good as they say you are.” 

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his bold claim. Just who does he think he is? 

You clench your jaw, biting down the urge to snap back. He’s your superior. You can’t just yell at him and let him have it, not this early in the semester at least. Thus, you settle for tense questioning. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” he insinuates and takes a step back. The distance between the two of you gives you space to breathe, space to fume. “We’ll meet an hour before class to go over the lesson plan. I give a lot of tests over the semester, so come by every afternoon to help with grading.” 

Oh great. 

You’ll be spending most of your week nights with this hot asshole. 

“Understood?” He asks. His cobalt eyes bore into yours as he looks at you expectantly, waiting for your response. 

“Yes sir,” you answer flatly. Despite your lack of enthusiasm, he seems to grin at your agreement. 

“Hm, sir. That’s not something I’m used to hearing from my students,” he teases. There’s a darker look in his eyes that disappears as quickly as you notice it. “Your underclassmen tend to be more… casual around me.”

“And does that bother you?” You ask, suddenly feeling a bit awkward at your apparent odd choice of words. 

“No,” he says, quickly denying it. His voice seems to drop an octave, and he adds, “I prefer it, actually.”

There seems to be something off about the situation, something greater lying behind the surface of his words, but you can’t seem to figure out what greater meaning lies underneath something as simple as an honorific to him. 

The tension is broken after he clears his throat and leans off of the desk upon looking at the clock. “But enough of that,” he starts. “Our first lecture is scheduled to start soon. Let’s start talking about the lesson plan.” 

If there’s one thing you've learned about Professor Touya over the course of the next few weeks, it’s that he’s both fun to talk to yet incredibly strict. He has a penchant for teasing you and the two of you often banter with one another, but despite the growing bond forming between the two of you, he still insists on you calling him sir. 

You suppose he still wants to maintain at least a bit of an aura of professionalism between the two of you. And so, despite how awkward it feels, you continue to address him as such, unaware of the little quirk in his smirk that always follows. 

In speaking with him and sitting in during his lectures, you find yourself being intrinsically drawn to him like a moth to a flame. You reason it’s because you admire his remarkable intelligence, amongst other enigmatic qualities.

He’s driven. Witty. Mysterious. Captivating, even.

With how much he has going for him, it’s no mystery why the university hired him; he’s easily one of the brightest minds in his field, and an engaging professor as well. You could learn from him. 

Yeah. 

That’s all it is. 

You just want to learn from him, is all. 

That’s why you’re gravitating to him.

You don't want to think about him outside of class.

You don’t want to think about the way his attractive smirk gives you butterflies.

You don’t want to think about kissing those soft lips of his as you stare at him speaking.

And you definitely don’t want to think about his fingers descending down your body and touching your aching core. 

You try to avoid thinking about those less than pure daydreams you have about him, both out of self respect for yourself, considering the insulting implication he threw at you during your first meeting, and out of aversion to entertaining lewd ideas about your professor. However, despite this conscious decision, your subconscious has other plans. You find yourself often stealing glances his way, admiring his attractive features, much to your own dismay.

Today is another instance of your subconscious betraying you, and your eyes are now fixated on him, taking in the frustrated scrunch in his brow and tensed shoulders. He abruptly stops setting up the presentation on the computer and walks over towards the windows in the classroom. In an attempt to get respite from the rising heat in the room, he cracks open all the windows. 

“You’d think with the high tuition they’d have enough money to fix this damn AC already,” Professor Touya scoffs. The building’s lack of cool air is a well-known problem, which is why you wore such a thin, short dress today in the first place. It was too damn hot to show up to class wearing much else.

He sighs in annoyance as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls up the sleeves, revealing something that has your breath hitch in your throat.  They start from his wrists and travel up his arms. Shades of purple and blue accent his black ink work, the hues of blue matching his mysterious, cerulean-colored eyes.  From what you’re able to discern, his tattoos go even farther than just his forearms. You wonder just how many he has, and where. The curiosity makes your mind entertain some less than pure ideas, picturing his bare skin and imagining just what kind of ink work he hides underneath his clothes. You try to reign in these fantasies of yours, but you’re too busy drooling over him.

Too busy to even notice that he’s caught you staring. 

He smirks to himself upon seeing you ogling him. His hunch was right, there was something more between the two of you; an unspoken, mutual sexual tension. Though, you seem to be fighting your apparent attraction to him, he could see it in the way you quickly caught yourself and looked away, avoiding looking at him much more at all. He’s hoping he can change that. Maybe he can make you see there’s no shame in it. He’d be more than happy to indulge your naughty fantasies. 

He lazily glances at the clock, seeing how the scheduled lecture will start shortly. It’s then that he remembers something. He leans closer to you and taps the desk, startling you and flustering you with his sudden closeness, and requests, “Hey, I had some handouts for today’s class printed out upstairs. Will you go pick them up for me?”

“Yes sir, I can do that,” you agree. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. And with that, you leave the class and head to the printing room. Shortly after you leave, a couple students trickle into the room, all belonging to the same close-knit clique of fraternity members. They each take their usual seats and continue to talk amongst themselves freely. Their conversation is painfully loud. He can hear them all the way from the front of the classroom, even though they sit far in the back. 

“Aw man, that hot TA isn’t here today,” one of the frat boys bemoans. “She’s usually around before class.”

“Fucking bummer,” another complains. “Was hoping to get her number.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t mind getting a piece of that,” the other agrees. “She’s a total fucking nerd but I bet she’d be a decent fuck.” They all loudly laugh at that comment and continue making their comments about you. 

He knows their type, and just how it would end for you should you associate with them. Besides the fact that they’re all idiots and that alone would be enough to disappoint you, you would be wasted on them. Those frat boys wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you. They wouldn’t know how to make you cum. They wouldn’t make you completely dumb with pleasure. There’s just something special about getting a normally smart girl to completely fall apart for him, to give a girl so much pleasure that everything else melts away. And truthfully, he wants to take you there. He wants to see just what it would take to fuck you stupid. He has to know, just how much pleasure does it take to turn your brain to mush.

His desire for you is why these frat boys irk him so much. They casually talk about seducing you into their bed like you’re an easy lay. But the fun that comes with you is the cat and mouse game, the deliberation in your brain between suppressing your attraction towards him and wanting to cave into your own desires. Your little errand couldn’t have come at a better time. He’s glad you’re not here to give them an opportunity to make a move on you, but he can’t keep sending you away before class starts to spare you the misfortune of these idiots making a pass at you. 

No.

He needs to send a little message to the competition. 

And lucky for him, he’s got just the idea. 

More students start filing in as he makes his plans. He has everything thought out, and all that is left is the final piece: you. But shortly before Professor Touya starts the lecture, you make it inside the classroom, papers in hand. You attempt to start passing out the handouts, when he stops you in your tracks. He takes the stack of sheets from your hands and haphazardly tosses them aside.

“I thought they needed that for today?” You ask, thrown off by the apparent change in plans. 

“Nah, we’ll just have them copy the diagram themselves for today. I saw some research that suggested it helps more with memorization. You’ve seen their test grades, the students need all the help they can get,” he lies. You can’t help but genuinely chuckle at his light jab at his own students. As much as you think it’s a waste to discard the handouts– if Professor Touya believes it’ll help the students, you won’t argue with him. 

“Alright, whatever you say, sir,” you laugh. The lecture starts as it normally does and follows the previously discussed lesson plan, until it comes time to show the students the diagram. He turns to you mid-lecture, about to ask you for some sort of assistance. 

“You’ve got better art skills than me. Draw this diagram. Top of page ninety,” Professor Todoroki instructs. He slides over his copy of the textbook, pages turned to a rather complicated figure. It’s far too much information to draw from memory. 

“Sure thing,” you answer. You pick up a marker and uncap it, before holding the textbook in the crook of your arm. You’re about to start copying the figure near the bottom of the board when he interrupts you. 

“Ah, I’m going to write more notes there in a minute. Why don’t you put it over here instead?” He points far up the whiteboard to some blank space tucked in the upper corner. Your stomach sinks at seeing where he wants you to place the diagram. You’re regretting wearing such a short dress today. But still, short dress or not, you have to do this. Maybe… Maybe you can manage it, without flashing the entire class? 

Without much of a choice, you study the diagram, balancing the heavy textbook in one hand while you reach up the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker in hand. You start to stand up on the tips of your toes and you try to aim for a slightly closer area of blank space, all the while your mind is preoccupied with the hem of your skirt. You’re dangerously close to accidentally erasing all of his previous notes, something you’re not too keen on doing given his strictness. 

“Having trouble?” Professor Touya teases, with an amused grin on his face. 

“No, ‘m fine,” you lie. Not that you would admit it to him, but it’s more than just a bit awkward to both hold onto the book and stand up high to draw the figure. 

“Here, let me,” he insists. He comes up behind you, his crotch just barely brushing against your ass. Your breath gets caught in your throat at your body involuntarily stiffens. You internally cringe at how something so simple as a passing touch makes your body feel hot. 

He plucks the textbook from your hands, allowing you a bit more freedom of motion to stand up higher and draw with precision. He sidles up next to you and holds the book open for you. Still, even with his help, it’s still hard to draw exactly where he wants you to. Your dress already feels rather high on your legs as is, you’re sure disaster would happen should you stand up higher. 

“Come on, you’re almost there, just stand up a little more,” he encourages and goads. You almost jolt when you feel a warm hand touch your waist, egging you on to push the envelope just a little further. Not wanting to disobey him, you do as he says, though the regret is instant. The skirt of your dress hikes over your hips and reveals the curve of your ass. A sharp, hushed silence sweeps over the room. Your ears feel like they’re burning and tears are welling up in your eyes at the sheer humiliation you feel in this moment. You draw the figure anyways, albeit carelessly and sloppily. 

You just want this to be over. 

But since your back is turned to the class, you’re completely unaware of the silent exchange happening between Professor Touya and the frat boys in the back row. While you are doing as he asked, ever his obedient assistant, he’s busy glowering at his competition. 

The message is clear. 

You are off limits. 

When the diagram is finally drawn, you straighten back out and place your feet flat on the ground. You should be a bit relieved when your dress finally covers your body once more, but you’re unable to feel that respite. The damage is done, and you’re now left to simmer in your own embarrassment. 

“Is that all you needed from me, sir?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper and thick with emotion. There’s a lump in your throat forming as you fight back the urge to cry. 

“Yeah, that’s all, sweetheart,” he answers, in a manner that’s almost a subtle attempt at soothing you. You let out a shaky, uneven breath. 

“Okay,” you say through a tense sigh. Your voice cracks when you speak once more, “I-I’ll be in your office to… get started on grading.”

You dismiss yourself and nearly rush out of the classroom, all too eager to distance yourself from the source of your shame. Once you’re in the safety of the hallways, you freely let the tears flow down your face. You’re at least thankful the halls are somewhat sparse, meaning that few are able to see you fall apart like this. The last thing you can handle emotionally is someone asking you what happened or if you were okay. Talking about it would just make the humiliation much more real.  

When you finally reach Professor Touya’s office, you close the blinds on his door behind you and prop yourself up against the desk with your hands. You try to recollect yourself, to no avail. Your shame just eats away at you. But at least with his office so far out of the way of all other classes and the blinds drawn down, no one can see you fall apart like this. You can stew in your emotions somewhat privately, at least until Professor Touya gets back. 

Professor Touya.

You want to sneer at the thought of him. The more you think about what happened during the lecture, the more you can’t help but assume he wanted to embarrass you on purpose, like the asshole he is. He enjoys toying with you too much, but this time, he really went too far. You think you’ve been much too cordial with him. When he gets back, you swear you’ll give him a piece of your mind. Fuck professionalism, that was thrown out the window when he forced your hand and caught a peek up your dress. 

Speak of the devil, or rather, think of the devil, and he appears. More time than you thought must have passed while you were smoldering in your feelings, as Professor Touya leisurely strolls into his office, now apparently finished with the lecture. You wipe your tears on the back of your hand, trying to make yourself look a little less weak in front of him and steeling your nerves to tell him off. 

“So what the hell was that about, huh? Why do you get off on being an absolute dick to me? I know you did that shit on purpose,” you accuse. He makes his way over to you and stands in front of you, partially caging you against the desk. The close proximity to him makes you feel hot with what you assume is indignation.

Yeah, that’s what this feeling is.

You despise him.

He doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to let you vent out your frustrations, taking the spite you hurl at him. You’re very much angry at him, filled with so much frustration that your voice is unsteady as you yell, “You’re such a fucking ass. And for what! I did nothing to you, I’ve been nothing but helpful and polite. What could possibly make you want to humiliate me like that? What have I done to make you hate me like this?”

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t hate you,” he soothes. His voice sounds much more husky when he adds, “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Well I still think you’re an asshole for that little stunt you pulled, even if it wasn’t because you hated me,” you counter, speaking in between breaks in your voice. There’s still tears breaking past your lash line as a consequence of feeling so heated. Your emotions are only further worsened by the confusion you feel. If it wasn’t a malicious attempt to knock you down, why would he do such a thing to you? 

“I know, I know,” he agrees. “How about I make it up to you then?”

“How could you possibly make it up to me?” You question as your voice cracks under the weight of your emotions. You move to wipe your face when he beats you to the punch, brushing away the tears falling down your cheek with his thumb. His hand stays on your face and he tilts your chin to him, angling your face closer to his.  

“Well, I could start by making you feel good, give you something else to think about,” he insinuates. Your breath gets caught in your throat at his implication. “I know you feel it too, this tension between us. I’d love to indulge your fantasies about me, if you’d let me.”

You part your lips, searching for the right words and the strength to reject him, but with his face hovering tantalizingly close to yours, lips mere inches away, you realize you don’t have it in you. 

Fuck. 

You want him so bad. 

“P-please,” you whisper. He has a shit eating grin on his face at your meek and embarrassed begging. 

“What was that? You’ll need to speak up, sweetheart, I can’t hear you,” he teases. You swallow the lump in your throat, and lock eyes with him. 

“Please, make me feel good,” you say again, this time with a little more conviction. 

“Atta girl,” he praises. And with your agreeance, he closes the distance between the two of you and slots his mouth against yours. A gasp escapes you at the feeling of his lips working against your own. Your yearning and daydreaming didn’t prepare you for the intensity of this, for the pure wanting behind every movement of his lips. 

The kiss becomes more and more heated as he presses his body further against yours, leaving little space between the two of you. His tongue dips out from his mouth and runs along the seam of your lips and you part slightly, allowing him the space to slip the wet muscle inside. You find yourself shuddering at the contact and gripping onto the fabric of his button up as a way to tether yourself in this moment. It’s almost a bit embarrassing just how much you’re melting into his touch from something as simple as kissing. Your body is eating it up regardless, sending waves of warmth throughout your entire being and pooling between your legs. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, after parting from the kiss, his breath fanning over your lips. Although you’ve been dreaming about this moment, and you desperately want to feel his touch all over you, your mind can’t help but chime in; you shouldn’t. 

You really shouldn’t. 

But with his hardening cock pressing up against your stomach and professionalism now abandoned, you throw caution to the wind and give in. You give him a nod and allow his hands to roam over your body. It’s almost dizzying to feel his touch, especially when his hands palm your chest and grope your ass, squeezing the plush flesh in his hands. He dives back in to press his lips up against yours in an intense, crushing kiss once more. You whimper against him, flustered at the feeling of his hot touch over your clothes. You’re becoming drunk on lust just from touches alone. 

Your arousal is heightened as the hands at your ass trail to the front, reaching your hips, before snaking up your dress. His fingers press against your clothed mound. He smirks into the kiss upon feeling the wetness already clinging against the fabric. 

You whine at the loss of friction when his fingers pull back, but the absence of his touch is short-lived. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and tugs the clothing down your thighs. You part your legs to allow him to completely rid you of them, leaving your cunt now bare before him. You’re glad the blinds on his door are drawn, preventing anyone else from seeing the debauched sight of your panties on the floor in front of your professor. 

The pads of his fingers teasingly trace up your inner thighs, slowly inching bit by bit up your legs and making his way to your aching core. You let out an involuntary gasp when he finally grazes your pussy, his touch now no longer separated by a layer of clothing. 

His fingers run up and down your folds, spreading your juices over yourself and teasingly avoiding sinking into your eager hole. You squirm and jolt every time the tips of his fingers brush against your clit. His warm touch on your engorged bundle of nerves sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. The embarrassment and shame melts away into pure, unadulterated desire with every drag of his fingers over your slit, leaving you wetter and wetter. Your slick coats his fingers as he grazes over your hole. He looks down to see his skin glistening with your wetness, causing him to suck in a breath at the sight. 

Realizing he’s teasing himself by waiting any longer, he decides to give you what you’ve been wanting. Two fingers finally dip inside of your heat, slowly at first. You let out a breathy moan as his digits sink into you. When they bottom out inside of you, you want to squirm at how full you feel with just his fingers alone. They’re the perfect combination of long and thick, stretching out your cunt with ease. 

A sharp inhale escapes you when he slowly pulls out, almost entirely, before pumping back inside of you. He sets an agonizingly slow pace at first as he watches your every reaction, studying what movements and angles have you panting for him. Ever observant, he effortlessly finds your most sensitive spots and hones in on them before quickening his pace. 

Your legs tremble and shake with every harsh thrust of his fingers, bringing you closer and closer to cumming with little effort on his part. He knows just how to curl them up, just how to press the ball of his hand against your clit, just how to get you panting for him. The relentless pumping of his fingers in and out of your hole sends floods of wetness to your core, coating his fingers with your slick. Moans loudly tumble out of your mouth when he slips another into your heat. Though as much as he’s enjoying hearing your slutty moans, he seems distracted. 

He puts his palm over your mouth and leans into your ear. “Shhh, someone’s coming,” he hushes. “Might wanna quiet down unless you want your classmates to barge in and see your pussy full with my fingers.”

You don’t have to see him to know he’s smirking at the comment, feeding off of your apparent embarrassment. The sounds of footsteps and talking nears closer and closer to the door. Knowing your classmates are nearing the door while your legs are obscenely spread for your professor and stuffed full of his thick fingers makes you feel hot with humiliation and overwhelmed with panic, but the pleasure Touya gives you is too much to give up. And so, you bite back your moans in an attempt to stay completely silent. Your body tenses with the risk of getting caught, causing you to clench down even tighter around his fingers. But even though you’re desperately fighting back the urge to whine and wail for him, with very obvious strain, the bastard keeps pumping in and out of you. You just hope the sound of wet squelching isn’t audible through the door.

“I can’t see in, the blinds are closed. Is he not here today?” A student asks, her question partially muffled through Touya’s office door. 

“No, he’s here. My roommate just left his class a while ago,” another student replies. The door knob jiggles as she tries to open the door. You hold your breath, expecting it to swing open and to be caught in the act. 

Only, it never happens. 

The knob refuses to yield to the student’s attempts. She mutters out of frustration, “Damn, must be in a meeting right now. His office is locked.” 

“Huh, I guess we’ll come back tomorrow,” the other classmate shrugs.

You sigh in relief, letting some of the tension dissipate. So long as you’re quiet, you can make it through this without anyone knowing what went on in his office. Still, even that is proving to be a challenge with the way his fingers continue to slam in and out of your pussy. Your knuckles turn white as you grip onto the desk like it’s your lifeline, pouring all your urge to moan into tensing your hands. His half-lidded, cobalt eyes stay trained on your face, seemingly searching for something, while a lazy and smug expression plasters his own face. 

A change in the angle of his fingers sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body and a stifled squeal wrangles past your lips. He snickers at your failed attempts at staying quiet. You instantly feel yourself sweating, either from the anxiety or from quickly racing towards your peak, you’re unable to discern. Hopefully the students didn’t pick up on it.

Much to your horror, one of the students speaks, “Wait, did you hear that?”

“No? What’d you hear?” The other asks in confusion. You cringe, worrying that their curiosity will lead to your social downfall. If they know someone is in there, they’ll demand you answer them. Should that happen, you’re sure Professor Touya will make you answer the door. Not only that, but with the way he’s eating up your embarrassment, you worry he’d make you answer their questions, all the while he still fingers you out of view.

“It was like… a squeak or something,” she explains. 

“Might have been a mouse, this building is super old ya’ know,” the other offers. 

The suspicious student laughs and says in disgust, “Ew, let’s just get the hell out of here. Lab starts in 5 minutes anyways.”

You can’t seem to hear the sound of their footsteps leaving over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the wet noises of your cunt gushing around his fingers. Evidently, Touya hears. “They’re gone, sweetheart,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. The feeling of his breath against your ear has you shuddering in response. His hand retracts from your face, no longer muffling your sounds. “Since we’re alone again, why don’t you let me hear those loud, slutty sounds of yours, yeah?” 

He starts to mouth your neck, intermixing his kisses with rougher bites against the delicate skin of your throat, leaving behind blooms of teeth marks and hickeys in his wake. It’s almost as if he wants everyone on campus to talk, like he wants your classmates to know you slept with him; the marks all over your neck damning evidence of your hookup. The sensation of his lips all over you  and the curving of his fingers against that bundle of nerves inside you has you keening for him, whines now freely escaping your mouth. 

“A-ah, feels so good,” you moan with a drawn out voice. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you in earnest, spurred on by your sweet sounds echoing in his office. You let out a choked noise upon feeling him speed up, and your walls clench down on his fingers, sucking them further into your heat. He can tell you’re quickly nearing your peak with the way your pussy flutters around him, contracting wildly.  

He pulls away from your neck and mutters against your skin, his breath fanning over the sensitive flesh, “Yeah, my fingers fucking your cunt feel that good? Gonna come on fingers then?”

The sound of his deep voice spewing such filthy words pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes into you like a harsh wave, stealing your breath away at the impact. You loudly moan as your cunt contracts around his fingers, all the while he continues to pump in and out of you, working you through your release. True to his orders, you gush around him, and your slick freely leaks from your sensitive hole. He finally relents and pulls out of you when you squirm from the overstimulation, attempting to wriggle away from the excessive pleasure. A pleased smirk paints his face upon seeing his fingers glisten with your wetness in the light. The sight gives him an idea, one that goes straight to his cock just at the thought.

“Open up,” he commands. The fingers wet with your juices hover over your lips, waiting for you to follow his demands. You shyly part your lips, allowing his fingers to slip into you. The tang of your own slick touches your tongue and you hold eye contact with him as your mouth closes around his fingers. 

The feeling of your tongue swirling around his digits and the sight of your lips closing around him has his mind racing. He can’t help but think of how your mouth would feel on his cock and how filthy you would look on your knees for him, pretty face nestled against his pelvis and teary doe eyes looking up at him. But he’ll save that for another time.

He needs more than just your mouth right now. 

Once his fingers are sufficiently cleaned off by your tongue, he pulls them out. He surges forward and kisses you, sliding his tongue past your lips. The taste of you still lingers in your mouth. He lewdly moans into the kiss, feeling that much hornier upon sampling your taste. 

“Shit,” he curses against your lips after pulling back. “You taste so good.” He dives back in, passionately kissing you once more and tangling his tongue with yours. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’d bend you over this desk and devour this cunt, but I’m just dying to be inside you.”

“I need it, I want it too. Please, take me,” you beg. Never once did you anticipate you’d be begging for your professor to fuck you in earnest. Never once did you think you’d see the smirk on his face at your lewd pleading. And you certainly didn’t believe you’d ever feel his hands slide under your dress and lift it over you, unclasping your bra along with it, leaving you bare before him. 

He pulls back from you and starts to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the metal clinking in the room makes your ears burn at the lewdness and your pussy clench in anticipation. He frees himself from the confines of his dark jeans, leaving you salivating at the sight of him. 

You want to drool upon seeing how he’s quite thick and long, with prominent veins running along his shaft. You’re then pushed down flush against the top of his desk, splayed over a mess of papers, and he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders. Your breath hitches when he positions his cock in between your folds with his other hand and runs the head up and down your slit, collecting the slick dripping from you and lubing his cock. 

He locks eyes with you as he finally pushes the tip in, relishing in your expression as he slowly slips in, inch by inch. Meanwhile, your full attention is focused on the way his thickness stretches you out and how the veins on his shaft drag against your walls as he sinks into you. You feel a bit breathless when he finally bottoms out and his tip kisses your cervix. 

He starts to pull his hips back until his cock nearly slips out, before pushing back into you and filling you up once more. You feel completely stuffed. True to his words, you can’t think about anything else, the embarrassment you felt frowning more and more distant in your mind and being replaced by sheer, mind numbing pleasure. 

But when he really starts rutting in and out of you? 

Your brain is filled with cotton. He can tell by the way your eyes glaze over and soft moans sound from your parted, panting lips that he’s slowly fucking you stupid. It fills him with a bit of pride to see you being reduced to a brainless, horny mess for him, and the realization goes straight to his cock. 

“T-touya,” you stammer and moan upon feeling his thrusts increase in tempo. You never called him by his first name before, but now that he’s inside of you, it was reasonable for you to believe the two of you are well past formalities. 

“It’s still sir to you,” he growls, correcting your slip up. He punctuates his statement with a hard and deep thrust, making you sharply gasp. His stern voice draws a shudder out of you and you find yourself clenching down on him. 

“‘M sorry, s-sir,” you apologize. You can feel his cock throb in your walls at the honorific. Even through your lust clouded mind, you put the pieces together. 

Oh.

That’s why he liked you calling him sir. 

“Yeah, that’s better,” he breathes. “Like the sound of that out of your mouth more than my name. Keep it up, sweetheart.”

Spurred on by your words, he hooks your other leg over his shoulder, slightly raising you off of the desk and angling his thrusts to hit even deeper inside of you. You grip onto the edges of the table as he fucks into you harder. 

He’s canting into you so deeply and sharply that the desk shakes with every harsh clap of his hips against your thighs. Papers scatter onto the floor, picture frames fall flat on the table top, pens spill out of their holders and clatter onto the ground, all the while he chases one goal: to make you a stupid, incoherent mess from his cock. 

His pace quickens and you bite down on your knuckle in an attempt to muffle your whines and moans, not wanting to fill the entire wing of the building with the sounds of sex. You feel the pleasure rapidly building as he hammers into you, pressing up against that sponges bundle of nerves along your walls. It’s easy to tell he is feeling the same, as more and more deep moans and curses tumble from his lips while he ruts into you. The sound of his voice moaning out for you combined with the angle of his cock pushes you to the verge of orgasming. 

“Hah, fuck. ‘M close. Wanna cum, sir. Please make me cum,” you desperately beg. He throbs at your dumbified state and from the word sir coming out of your mouth. 

Shit, he’s getting close too. 

“Yeah? You gonna make a mess all over these papers then?” He asks, amid pants. He becomes drunk at just the thought of you cumming and dripping all over his cock. It sends a shock wave of pleasure straight between his legs and he rambles on, “Think you can squirt f’me too?” His hips brutally snap into yours, giving you the friction you need to finally be pushed over the edge. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck!” You chant, slurring each of your words in drunken pleasure. You finally fall apart with a silent scream, and just as he was hoping, you gush around him.

“That’s it, cream all over my fucking cock, sweetheart,” he encourages. Strings of your slick cling to his cock and snap with every clap of his pelvis against your skin. He continues to thrust in and out of you, recklessly chasing his own release as you lay below him, now teetering on the edge of overstimulation. 

Your pussy clamping down on him and your walls fluttering finally pushes him over. His hips stutter and he cums with a deep groan, painting your insides white. 

He stills, momentarily keeping his cock nestled in your walls, as he lowers your legs back down against the desk. Slowly, he pulls out of you, glancing down between your legs to see your combined releases leaking out of your hole. He watches, eyes transfixed, as his seed slowly starts seeping out of you and pooling on the sheets below. 

The two of you really did a number on his desk, and his entire office, for that matter. You lay there on the table, dazed and panting, attempting to catch your breath and come back down from your high. He can’t help but smugly chuckle at your dumbified state, before he tucks himself back into his pants. 

“What a mess you’ve made,” he teases. He walks off and heads to the door, about to leave, when he turns over his shoulder and adds, “Make sure to clean up after yourself.” 

You steal a glimpse at the wrecked state of the desk, partially horrified at the wetness pooling between your legs and onto the assignments and handouts. You stare at the wet spots on the sheets of paper. 

Fuck. 

Maybe it’ll dry off. 

You hope so, at least. 

Your face burns when you walk into his classroom the next day. You make eye contact with him as you go to stand near the computer, bringing up the PowerPoint for the lecture. The situation is more than just awkward. 

How do you proceed from here? 

You’re not even sure what to say to him, if you’re supposed to greet him as usual. Your mouth feels dry from nervousness, and you take a drink from your water bottle. A student then walks up to Professor Touya, thankfully taking the heat off of you to speak to him. 

“Professor Touya?” The student starts, preparing to ask him some sort of question. 

“Yes, what is it?” He answers. 

“Did you spill something on my papers?” The student confronts. You choke on your drink as he presents his graded assignment that looks to be partially sullied by water damage, only you and Professor Touya both know- that is definitely not water. 

“Hm, good question. I’m not sure, my TA graded most of these,” he deflects, feigning ignorance. He thinks for a moment, before snapping his fingers and saying, “You know what? Why don’t you ask her? She might know what happened.” 

To your horror, the student takes his suggestion, turning to you and interrogating, “What is this? Is this milk?” 

“Haha, yeah. Milk. It’s just milk,” you force out. You wish you could crawl into a hole and disappear at this moment from the sheer amount of embarrassment you feel. You awkwardly apologize, “Um, sorry about that.” 

“I mean, it’s okay I guess. Accidents happen,” the student shrugs.  

“Alright, if that’s all, we have to set up for today’s lecture. If you’ll excuse us,” Professor Touya intervenes. The student then walks off to take his seat as other students start trickling in. With the student now out of earshot, you confront him. 

“I hate you so much right now,” you say. “That was so embarrassing!” He chuckles at your situation, evidently very entertained by your dismay.

But as much as this circumstance embarrasses you, you can’t help but want more of last night, ruined papers be damned. Feeling bold, you ask, “Make it up to me?”

He gives you a cocky smirk, thrilled to know you want to be fucked dumb yet again. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” he agrees. “I’ll be waiting in my office whenever you want me.”

Tags: @the-milk-anon , @mirayasimpinghard

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[mika-writes-fanfics]

Make it up to you

Professor!Touya x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You're assigned to be the teaching assistant for the new, attractive instructor at your university. His name? Professor Touya. Ever the good student, you hope to maintain a professional relationship with him and stay in good standing, but when he publicly embarrasses you in front of the entire class, all that is thrown out the window. 

Warnings/tags: Colleg AU, quirkless AU, older Touya (coded to be in his 30s), female reader, student/teacher's assistant reader, professor/student relationship, dumbification, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), public sex, usage of sir, public embarrassment, lots of dirty talking, messy sex 

Author's note: Huge shoutout to @dabisqueen and @history-be-written for being my beta readers and giving me good suggestions. I appreciate you guys sm!!! This fic truly wouldn't have turned out the way it did without you two. 

Word Count: 7.9K

“So,” Your friend turns to you, asking you in piqued interest, “Who’d the department put you with? You know who you’ll be an assistant for yet?”

“Yeah, I was told I’ve been placed with ‘Professor Touya Todoroki’,” you answer. The name is completely unfamiliar to you, though, you’re hoping she has at least heard of him before.

It’s your turn to ask her a question, and you choose to say, “Have you ever had him?”

Much to your dismay, she shakes her head no.

“Nope, never had him,” she replies. You frown slightly at her answer. Turning to  your friend’s roommate, you hope  to find that she has had some sort of interaction with him. 

“What about you? Have you had him before?” You question her. Just like your friend, she shakes her head, much to your disappointment. 

“I haven’t,” shesays. “I don’t even think anyone else has talked about him before either. I’ve never heard his name in my life.”

Damn. 

You were wanting to hear your peers' experience with your soon to be ‘boss’ of sorts, so that you could prepare yourself, but it seems you’re shit out of luck. You’ll just have to go in blind.  

“You know, they hired a new professor this semester. It might just be him,” your friend points out. She smiles at you mischievously before adding, “And rumor has it, he’s hot as fuck.” 

“Ooooh, how lucky. I’m jealous,” your friend’s roommate giggles. You scoff at the reaction. 

“No reason to be. He’s my professor, ‘s not like I can, you know, do anything with him,” you counter. 

You check your phone, seeing that the time to meet the new professor has come. “I gotta head over to his office before his lecture starts. I’ll catch you around.”

“See you later then. Have fun~” your friend farewells in a singsong voice. 

You chuckle at her antics and make your way over to the department building and to his office. When you get there, you stop to peer through the window on his office door, trying to see if he’s inside. Luckily, he’s there, looking down at a paper in his hand, unaware of your presence. 

You notice right away he doesn’t look like the rest of the university staff. He looks quite a bit younger than the rest of the aging faculty. Though, he was still a couple years your senior, in his early thirties at least. What makes him really stand out to you, apart from his piercing cyan eyes and dark, shaggy hair, is the way he dressed. He’s wearing tight black jeans, a form-fitting white button up, an expensive wristwatch, and black Converse. You can’t help but admire his intense, blue eyes as he studies the sheet of paper in his hand, too focused to notice your staring. Your eyes travel the expanse of his face, taking in his features. 

You remember your friend’s words, her little comment echoing in your brain. ‘Rumor has it, he’s hot as fuck,’ you’re reminded. For once, it seems her gossip is true. Even you can’t deny it; Professor Todoroki is very attractive. 

But you won’t act on your feelings, you can’t. You’re supposed to be his assistant after all! And so, with that thought in your mind, you snap yourself out of your daze. You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves and suppressing your desires, before knocking on the door.

He looks up from his papers and glances at you through the window in the door, before beckoning you inside his office. You swing open the door and take a few tentative steps into the room. He quickly looks you up and down, just for a split second, only for his eyes to settle back on your face and look at you expectantly. You hate how his overt glance at your body flusters you and makes you feel hot all over. 

“Excuse me, are you Professor Todoroki?” You ask with a soft voice. 

“Yep, that’d be me. Although, you can just call me Professor Touya. I don’t use my father’s last name,” he explains. His deep, smoky voice worsens your nervousness. The way his voice drawls has butterflies swarming in your stomach. He tosses the papers he was reading off to the side and approaches you, smirking down at you. “But what can I do for you, sweetheart?”

The pet name is something you’re surprised to hear coming from your professor. It borders dangerously on unprofessional, and yet, you find yourself letting it slide. Hearing him say something like that to you sends a wave of heat between your legs. 

Keeping your cool around him is not going to be easy, especially if he keeps calling you that. 

You start by introducing yourself and telling him your name before continuing. “I’m sure the department informed you already, but I’ll be your TA for this next semester,” you start. “I look forward to working with you.”

He hums in response. 

“So you’re my little assistant? Gonna help me with all the long hours grading, hm?” He asks. 

“Yes sir,” you answer. There’s a darker expression that flashes on his face, but it passes just as quickly as it appeared. He narrows his eyes slightly and lazily leans against his desk, supporting his weight using his forearms. Underneath the fabric of his button-up, you can see the muscles of his arms flexing. 

Oh god. 

He’s fucking ripped too. 

“You know, the other faculty told me about you,” he mentions. You can’t help but quirk up at the comment, feeling curious. What did the other teachers say about you? 

“Nothing bad, I hope,” you joke. 

“They all said you were a good student. Never a rule breaker, always professional. Top of your class too, I heard,” he starts. It fills you with a sense of pride and accomplishment, to hear your hard work has gotten you some recognition. You’re practically preening at the praise. And yet, it feels like there’s something else he wants to add. He straightens up and leans off of his desk. The space between you closes as he stands dangerously close to you. 

“But there’s one thing I think they got wrong,” he counters.

You tense up as your mind reels. His voice lowers and he adds, “I’m willing to bet you’re not as good as they say you are.” 

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his bold claim. Just who does he think he is? 

You clench your jaw, biting down the urge to snap back. He’s your superior. You can’t just yell at him and let him have it, not this early in the semester at least. Thus, you settle for tense questioning. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” he insinuates and takes a step back. The distance between the two of you gives you space to breathe, space to fume. “We’ll meet an hour before class to go over the lesson plan. I give a lot of tests over the semester, so come by every afternoon to help with grading.” 

Oh great. 

You’ll be spending most of your week nights with this hot asshole. 

“Understood?” He asks. His cobalt eyes bore into yours as he looks at you expectantly, waiting for your response. 

“Yes sir,” you answer flatly. Despite your lack of enthusiasm, he seems to grin at your agreement. 

“Hm, sir. That’s not something I’m used to hearing from my students,” he teases. There’s a darker look in his eyes that disappears as quickly as you notice it. “Your underclassmen tend to be more… casual around me.”

“And does that bother you?” You ask, suddenly feeling a bit awkward at your apparent odd choice of words. 

“No,” he says, quickly denying it. His voice seems to drop an octave, and he adds, “I prefer it, actually.”

There seems to be something off about the situation, something greater lying behind the surface of his words, but you can’t seem to figure out what greater meaning lies underneath something as simple as an honorific to him. 

The tension is broken after he clears his throat and leans off of the desk upon looking at the clock. “But enough of that,” he starts. “Our first lecture is scheduled to start soon. Let’s start talking about the lesson plan.” 

If there’s one thing you've learned about Professor Touya over the course of the next few weeks, it’s that he’s both fun to talk to yet incredibly strict. He has a penchant for teasing you and the two of you often banter with one another, but despite the growing bond forming between the two of you, he still insists on you calling him sir. 

You suppose he still wants to maintain at least a bit of an aura of professionalism between the two of you. And so, despite how awkward it feels, you continue to address him as such, unaware of the little quirk in his smirk that always follows. 

In speaking with him and sitting in during his lectures, you find yourself being intrinsically drawn to him like a moth to a flame. You reason it’s because you admire his remarkable intelligence, amongst other enigmatic qualities.

He’s driven. Witty. Mysterious. Captivating, even.

With how much he has going for him, it’s no mystery why the university hired him; he’s easily one of the brightest minds in his field, and an engaging professor as well. You could learn from him. 

Yeah. 

That’s all it is. 

You just want to learn from him, is all. 

That’s why you’re gravitating to him.

You don't want to think about him outside of class.

You don’t want to think about the way his attractive smirk gives you butterflies.

You don’t want to think about kissing those soft lips of his as you stare at him speaking.

And you definitely don’t want to think about his fingers descending down your body and touching your aching core. 

You try to avoid thinking about those less than pure daydreams you have about him, both out of self respect for yourself, considering the insulting implication he threw at you during your first meeting, and out of aversion to entertaining lewd ideas about your professor. However, despite this conscious decision, your subconscious has other plans. You find yourself often stealing glances his way, admiring his attractive features, much to your own dismay.

Today is another instance of your subconscious betraying you, and your eyes are now fixated on him, taking in the frustrated scrunch in his brow and tensed shoulders. He abruptly stops setting up the presentation on the computer and walks over towards the windows in the classroom. In an attempt to get respite from the rising heat in the room, he cracks open all the windows. 

“You’d think with the high tuition they’d have enough money to fix this damn AC already,” Professor Touya scoffs. The building’s lack of cool air is a well-known problem, which is why you wore such a thin, short dress today in the first place. It was too damn hot to show up to class wearing much else.

He sighs in annoyance as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls up the sleeves, revealing something that has your breath hitch in your throat.  They start from his wrists and travel up his arms. Shades of purple and blue accent his black ink work, the hues of blue matching his mysterious, cerulean-colored eyes.  From what you’re able to discern, his tattoos go even farther than just his forearms. You wonder just how many he has, and where. The curiosity makes your mind entertain some less than pure ideas, picturing his bare skin and imagining just what kind of ink work he hides underneath his clothes. You try to reign in these fantasies of yours, but you’re too busy drooling over him.

Too busy to even notice that he’s caught you staring. 

He smirks to himself upon seeing you ogling him. His hunch was right, there was something more between the two of you; an unspoken, mutual sexual tension. Though, you seem to be fighting your apparent attraction to him, he could see it in the way you quickly caught yourself and looked away, avoiding looking at him much more at all. He’s hoping he can change that. Maybe he can make you see there’s no shame in it. He’d be more than happy to indulge your naughty fantasies. 

He lazily glances at the clock, seeing how the scheduled lecture will start shortly. It’s then that he remembers something. He leans closer to you and taps the desk, startling you and flustering you with his sudden closeness, and requests, “Hey, I had some handouts for today’s class printed out upstairs. Will you go pick them up for me?”

“Yes sir, I can do that,” you agree. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. And with that, you leave the class and head to the printing room. Shortly after you leave, a couple students trickle into the room, all belonging to the same close-knit clique of fraternity members. They each take their usual seats and continue to talk amongst themselves freely. Their conversation is painfully loud. He can hear them all the way from the front of the classroom, even though they sit far in the back. 

“Aw man, that hot TA isn’t here today,” one of the frat boys bemoans. “She’s usually around before class.”

“Fucking bummer,” another complains. “Was hoping to get her number.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t mind getting a piece of that,” the other agrees. “She’s a total fucking nerd but I bet she’d be a decent fuck.” They all loudly laugh at that comment and continue making their comments about you. 

He knows their type, and just how it would end for you should you associate with them. Besides the fact that they’re all idiots and that alone would be enough to disappoint you, you would be wasted on them. Those frat boys wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you. They wouldn’t know how to make you cum. They wouldn’t make you completely dumb with pleasure. There’s just something special about getting a normally smart girl to completely fall apart for him, to give a girl so much pleasure that everything else melts away. And truthfully, he wants to take you there. He wants to see just what it would take to fuck you stupid. He has to know, just how much pleasure does it take to turn your brain to mush.

His desire for you is why these frat boys irk him so much. They casually talk about seducing you into their bed like you’re an easy lay. But the fun that comes with you is the cat and mouse game, the deliberation in your brain between suppressing your attraction towards him and wanting to cave into your own desires. Your little errand couldn’t have come at a better time. He’s glad you’re not here to give them an opportunity to make a move on you, but he can’t keep sending you away before class starts to spare you the misfortune of these idiots making a pass at you. 

No.

He needs to send a little message to the competition. 

And lucky for him, he’s got just the idea. 

More students start filing in as he makes his plans. He has everything thought out, and all that is left is the final piece: you. But shortly before Professor Touya starts the lecture, you make it inside the classroom, papers in hand. You attempt to start passing out the handouts, when he stops you in your tracks. He takes the stack of sheets from your hands and haphazardly tosses them aside.

“I thought they needed that for today?” You ask, thrown off by the apparent change in plans. 

“Nah, we’ll just have them copy the diagram themselves for today. I saw some research that suggested it helps more with memorization. You’ve seen their test grades, the students need all the help they can get,” he lies. You can’t help but genuinely chuckle at his light jab at his own students. As much as you think it’s a waste to discard the handouts– if Professor Touya believes it’ll help the students, you won’t argue with him. 

“Alright, whatever you say, sir,” you laugh. The lecture starts as it normally does and follows the previously discussed lesson plan, until it comes time to show the students the diagram. He turns to you mid-lecture, about to ask you for some sort of assistance. 

“You’ve got better art skills than me. Draw this diagram. Top of page ninety,” Professor Todoroki instructs. He slides over his copy of the textbook, pages turned to a rather complicated figure. It’s far too much information to draw from memory. 

“Sure thing,” you answer. You pick up a marker and uncap it, before holding the textbook in the crook of your arm. You’re about to start copying the figure near the bottom of the board when he interrupts you. 

“Ah, I’m going to write more notes there in a minute. Why don’t you put it over here instead?” He points far up the whiteboard to some blank space tucked in the upper corner. Your stomach sinks at seeing where he wants you to place the diagram. You’re regretting wearing such a short dress today. But still, short dress or not, you have to do this. Maybe… Maybe you can manage it, without flashing the entire class? 

Without much of a choice, you study the diagram, balancing the heavy textbook in one hand while you reach up the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker in hand. You start to stand up on the tips of your toes and you try to aim for a slightly closer area of blank space, all the while your mind is preoccupied with the hem of your skirt. You’re dangerously close to accidentally erasing all of his previous notes, something you’re not too keen on doing given his strictness. 

“Having trouble?” Professor Touya teases, with an amused grin on his face. 

“No, ‘m fine,” you lie. Not that you would admit it to him, but it’s more than just a bit awkward to both hold onto the book and stand up high to draw the figure. 

“Here, let me,” he insists. He comes up behind you, his crotch just barely brushing against your ass. Your breath gets caught in your throat at your body involuntarily stiffens. You internally cringe at how something so simple as a passing touch makes your body feel hot. 

He plucks the textbook from your hands, allowing you a bit more freedom of motion to stand up higher and draw with precision. He sidles up next to you and holds the book open for you. Still, even with his help, it’s still hard to draw exactly where he wants you to. Your dress already feels rather high on your legs as is, you’re sure disaster would happen should you stand up higher. 

“Come on, you’re almost there, just stand up a little more,” he encourages and goads. You almost jolt when you feel a warm hand touch your waist, egging you on to push the envelope just a little further. Not wanting to disobey him, you do as he says, though the regret is instant. The skirt of your dress hikes over your hips and reveals the curve of your ass. A sharp, hushed silence sweeps over the room. Your ears feel like they’re burning and tears are welling up in your eyes at the sheer humiliation you feel in this moment. You draw the figure anyways, albeit carelessly and sloppily. 

You just want this to be over. 

But since your back is turned to the class, you’re completely unaware of the silent exchange happening between Professor Touya and the frat boys in the back row. While you are doing as he asked, ever his obedient assistant, he’s busy glowering at his competition. 

The message is clear. 

You are off limits. 

When the diagram is finally drawn, you straighten back out and place your feet flat on the ground. You should be a bit relieved when your dress finally covers your body once more, but you’re unable to feel that respite. The damage is done, and you’re now left to simmer in your own embarrassment. 

“Is that all you needed from me, sir?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper and thick with emotion. There’s a lump in your throat forming as you fight back the urge to cry. 

“Yeah, that’s all, sweetheart,” he answers, in a manner that’s almost a subtle attempt at soothing you. You let out a shaky, uneven breath. 

“Okay,” you say through a tense sigh. Your voice cracks when you speak once more, “I-I’ll be in your office to… get started on grading.”

You dismiss yourself and nearly rush out of the classroom, all too eager to distance yourself from the source of your shame. Once you’re in the safety of the hallways, you freely let the tears flow down your face. You’re at least thankful the halls are somewhat sparse, meaning that few are able to see you fall apart like this. The last thing you can handle emotionally is someone asking you what happened or if you were okay. Talking about it would just make the humiliation much more real.  

When you finally reach Professor Touya’s office, you close the blinds on his door behind you and prop yourself up against the desk with your hands. You try to recollect yourself, to no avail. Your shame just eats away at you. But at least with his office so far out of the way of all other classes and the blinds drawn down, no one can see you fall apart like this. You can stew in your emotions somewhat privately, at least until Professor Touya gets back. 

Professor Touya.

You want to sneer at the thought of him. The more you think about what happened during the lecture, the more you can’t help but assume he wanted to embarrass you on purpose, like the asshole he is. He enjoys toying with you too much, but this time, he really went too far. You think you’ve been much too cordial with him. When he gets back, you swear you’ll give him a piece of your mind. Fuck professionalism, that was thrown out the window when he forced your hand and caught a peek up your dress. 

Speak of the devil, or rather, think of the devil, and he appears. More time than you thought must have passed while you were smoldering in your feelings, as Professor Touya leisurely strolls into his office, now apparently finished with the lecture. You wipe your tears on the back of your hand, trying to make yourself look a little less weak in front of him and steeling your nerves to tell him off. 

“So what the hell was that about, huh? Why do you get off on being an absolute dick to me? I know you did that shit on purpose,” you accuse. He makes his way over to you and stands in front of you, partially caging you against the desk. The close proximity to him makes you feel hot with what you assume is indignation.

Yeah, that’s what this feeling is.

You despise him.

He doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to let you vent out your frustrations, taking the spite you hurl at him. You’re very much angry at him, filled with so much frustration that your voice is unsteady as you yell, “You’re such a fucking ass. And for what! I did nothing to you, I’ve been nothing but helpful and polite. What could possibly make you want to humiliate me like that? What have I done to make you hate me like this?”

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t hate you,” he soothes. His voice sounds much more husky when he adds, “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Well I still think you’re an asshole for that little stunt you pulled, even if it wasn’t because you hated me,” you counter, speaking in between breaks in your voice. There’s still tears breaking past your lash line as a consequence of feeling so heated. Your emotions are only further worsened by the confusion you feel. If it wasn’t a malicious attempt to knock you down, why would he do such a thing to you? 

“I know, I know,” he agrees. “How about I make it up to you then?”

“How could you possibly make it up to me?” You question as your voice cracks under the weight of your emotions. You move to wipe your face when he beats you to the punch, brushing away the tears falling down your cheek with his thumb. His hand stays on your face and he tilts your chin to him, angling your face closer to his.  

“Well, I could start by making you feel good, give you something else to think about,” he insinuates. Your breath gets caught in your throat at his implication. “I know you feel it too, this tension between us. I’d love to indulge your fantasies about me, if you’d let me.”

You part your lips, searching for the right words and the strength to reject him, but with his face hovering tantalizingly close to yours, lips mere inches away, you realize you don’t have it in you. 

Fuck. 

You want him so bad. 

“P-please,” you whisper. He has a shit eating grin on his face at your meek and embarrassed begging. 

“What was that? You’ll need to speak up, sweetheart, I can’t hear you,” he teases. You swallow the lump in your throat, and lock eyes with him. 

“Please, make me feel good,” you say again, this time with a little more conviction. 

“Atta girl,” he praises. And with your agreeance, he closes the distance between the two of you and slots his mouth against yours. A gasp escapes you at the feeling of his lips working against your own. Your yearning and daydreaming didn’t prepare you for the intensity of this, for the pure wanting behind every movement of his lips. 

The kiss becomes more and more heated as he presses his body further against yours, leaving little space between the two of you. His tongue dips out from his mouth and runs along the seam of your lips and you part slightly, allowing him the space to slip the wet muscle inside. You find yourself shuddering at the contact and gripping onto the fabric of his button up as a way to tether yourself in this moment. It’s almost a bit embarrassing just how much you��re melting into his touch from something as simple as kissing. Your body is eating it up regardless, sending waves of warmth throughout your entire being and pooling between your legs. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, after parting from the kiss, his breath fanning over your lips. Although you’ve been dreaming about this moment, and you desperately want to feel his touch all over you, your mind can’t help but chime in; you shouldn’t. 

You really shouldn’t. 

But with his hardening cock pressing up against your stomach and professionalism now abandoned, you throw caution to the wind and give in. You give him a nod and allow his hands to roam over your body. It’s almost dizzying to feel his touch, especially when his hands palm your chest and grope your ass, squeezing the plush flesh in his hands. He dives back in to press his lips up against yours in an intense, crushing kiss once more. You whimper against him, flustered at the feeling of his hot touch over your clothes. You’re becoming drunk on lust just from touches alone. 

Your arousal is heightened as the hands at your ass trail to the front, reaching your hips, before snaking up your dress. His fingers press against your clothed mound. He smirks into the kiss upon feeling the wetness already clinging against the fabric. 

You whine at the loss of friction when his fingers pull back, but the absence of his touch is short-lived. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and tugs the clothing down your thighs. You part your legs to allow him to completely rid you of them, leaving your cunt now bare before him. You’re glad the blinds on his door are drawn, preventing anyone else from seeing the debauched sight of your panties on the floor in front of your professor. 

The pads of his fingers teasingly trace up your inner thighs, slowly inching bit by bit up your legs and making his way to your aching core. You let out an involuntary gasp when he finally grazes your pussy, his touch now no longer separated by a layer of clothing. 

His fingers run up and down your folds, spreading your juices over yourself and teasingly avoiding sinking into your eager hole. You squirm and jolt every time the tips of his fingers brush against your clit. His warm touch on your engorged bundle of nerves sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. The embarrassment and shame melts away into pure, unadulterated desire with every drag of his fingers over your slit, leaving you wetter and wetter. Your slick coats his fingers as he grazes over your hole. He looks down to see his skin glistening with your wetness, causing him to suck in a breath at the sight. 

Realizing he’s teasing himself by waiting any longer, he decides to give you what you’ve been wanting. Two fingers finally dip inside of your heat, slowly at first. You let out a breathy moan as his digits sink into you. When they bottom out inside of you, you want to squirm at how full you feel with just his fingers alone. They’re the perfect combination of long and thick, stretching out your cunt with ease. 

A sharp inhale escapes you when he slowly pulls out, almost entirely, before pumping back inside of you. He sets an agonizingly slow pace at first as he watches your every reaction, studying what movements and angles have you panting for him. Ever observant, he effortlessly finds your most sensitive spots and hones in on them before quickening his pace. 

Your legs tremble and shake with every harsh thrust of his fingers, bringing you closer and closer to cumming with little effort on his part. He knows just how to curl them up, just how to press the ball of his hand against your clit, just how to get you panting for him. The relentless pumping of his fingers in and out of your hole sends floods of wetness to your core, coating his fingers with your slick. Moans loudly tumble out of your mouth when he slips another into your heat. Though as much as he’s enjoying hearing your slutty moans, he seems distracted. 

He puts his palm over your mouth and leans into your ear. “Shhh, someone’s coming,” he hushes. “Might wanna quiet down unless you want your classmates to barge in and see your pussy full with my fingers.”

You don’t have to see him to know he’s smirking at the comment, feeding off of your apparent embarrassment. The sounds of footsteps and talking nears closer and closer to the door. Knowing your classmates are nearing the door while your legs are obscenely spread for your professor and stuffed full of his thick fingers makes you feel hot with humiliation and overwhelmed with panic, but the pleasure Touya gives you is too much to give up. And so, you bite back your moans in an attempt to stay completely silent. Your body tenses with the risk of getting caught, causing you to clench down even tighter around his fingers. But even though you’re desperately fighting back the urge to whine and wail for him, with very obvious strain, the bastard keeps pumping in and out of you. You just hope the sound of wet squelching isn’t audible through the door.

“I can’t see in, the blinds are closed. Is he not here today?” A student asks, her question partially muffled through Touya’s office door. 

“No, he’s here. My roommate just left his class a while ago,” another student replies. The door knob jiggles as she tries to open the door. You hold your breath, expecting it to swing open and to be caught in the act. 

Only, it never happens. 

The knob refuses to yield to the student’s attempts. She mutters out of frustration, “Damn, must be in a meeting right now. His office is locked.” 

“Huh, I guess we’ll come back tomorrow,” the other classmate shrugs.

You sigh in relief, letting some of the tension dissipate. So long as you’re quiet, you can make it through this without anyone knowing what went on in his office. Still, even that is proving to be a challenge with the way his fingers continue to slam in and out of your pussy. Your knuckles turn white as you grip onto the desk like it’s your lifeline, pouring all your urge to moan into tensing your hands. His half-lidded, cobalt eyes stay trained on your face, seemingly searching for something, while a lazy and smug expression plasters his own face. 

A change in the angle of his fingers sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body and a stifled squeal wrangles past your lips. He snickers at your failed attempts at staying quiet. You instantly feel yourself sweating, either from the anxiety or from quickly racing towards your peak, you’re unable to discern. Hopefully the students didn’t pick up on it.

Much to your horror, one of the students speaks, “Wait, did you hear that?”

“No? What’d you hear?” The other asks in confusion. You cringe, worrying that their curiosity will lead to your social downfall. If they know someone is in there, they’ll demand you answer them. Should that happen, you’re sure Professor Touya will make you answer the door. Not only that, but with the way he’s eating up your embarrassment, you worry he’d make you answer their questions, all the while he still fingers you out of view.

“It was like… a squeak or something,” she explains. 

“Might have been a mouse, this building is super old ya’ know,” the other offers. 

The suspicious student laughs and says in disgust, “Ew, let’s just get the hell out of here. Lab starts in 5 minutes anyways.”

You can’t seem to hear the sound of their footsteps leaving over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the wet noises of your cunt gushing around his fingers. Evidently, Touya hears. “They’re gone, sweetheart,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. The feeling of his breath against your ear has you shuddering in response. His hand retracts from your face, no longer muffling your sounds. “Since we’re alone again, why don’t you let me hear those loud, slutty sounds of yours, yeah?” 

He starts to mouth your neck, intermixing his kisses with rougher bites against the delicate skin of your throat, leaving behind blooms of teeth marks and hickeys in his wake. It’s almost as if he wants everyone on campus to talk, like he wants your classmates to know you slept with him; the marks all over your neck damning evidence of your hookup. The sensation of his lips all over you  and the curving of his fingers against that bundle of nerves inside you has you keening for him, whines now freely escaping your mouth. 

“A-ah, feels so good,” you moan with a drawn out voice. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you in earnest, spurred on by your sweet sounds echoing in his office. You let out a choked noise upon feeling him speed up, and your walls clench down on his fingers, sucking them further into your heat. He can tell you’re quickly nearing your peak with the way your pussy flutters around him, contracting wildly.  

He pulls away from your neck and mutters against your skin, his breath fanning over the sensitive flesh, “Yeah, my fingers fucking your cunt feel that good? Gonna come on fingers then?”

The sound of his deep voice spewing such filthy words pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes into you like a harsh wave, stealing your breath away at the impact. You loudly moan as your cunt contracts around his fingers, all the while he continues to pump in and out of you, working you through your release. True to his orders, you gush around him, and your slick freely leaks from your sensitive hole. He finally relents and pulls out of you when you squirm from the overstimulation, attempting to wriggle away from the excessive pleasure. A pleased smirk paints his face upon seeing his fingers glisten with your wetness in the light. The sight gives him an idea, one that goes straight to his cock just at the thought.

“Open up,” he commands. The fingers wet with your juices hover over your lips, waiting for you to follow his demands. You shyly part your lips, allowing his fingers to slip into you. The tang of your own slick touches your tongue and you hold eye contact with him as your mouth closes around his fingers. 

The feeling of your tongue swirling around his digits and the sight of your lips closing around him has his mind racing. He can’t help but think of how your mouth would feel on his cock and how filthy you would look on your knees for him, pretty face nestled against his pelvis and teary doe eyes looking up at him. But he’ll save that for another time.

He needs more than just your mouth right now. 

Once his fingers are sufficiently cleaned off by your tongue, he pulls them out. He surges forward and kisses you, sliding his tongue past your lips. The taste of you still lingers in your mouth. He lewdly moans into the kiss, feeling that much hornier upon sampling your taste. 

“Shit,” he curses against your lips after pulling back. “You taste so good.” He dives back in, passionately kissing you once more and tangling his tongue with yours. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’d bend you over this desk and devour this cunt, but I’m just dying to be inside you.”

“I need it, I want it too. Please, take me,” you beg. Never once did you anticipate you’d be begging for your professor to fuck you in earnest. Never once did you think you’d see the smirk on his face at your lewd pleading. And you certainly didn’t believe you’d ever feel his hands slide under your dress and lift it over you, unclasping your bra along with it, leaving you bare before him. 

He pulls back from you and starts to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the metal clinking in the room makes your ears burn at the lewdness and your pussy clench in anticipation. He frees himself from the confines of his dark jeans, leaving you salivating at the sight of him. 

You want to drool upon seeing how he’s quite thick and long, with prominent veins running along his shaft. You’re then pushed down flush against the top of his desk, splayed over a mess of papers, and he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders. Your breath hitches when he positions his cock in between your folds with his other hand and runs the head up and down your slit, collecting the slick dripping from you and lubing his cock. 

He locks eyes with you as he finally pushes the tip in, relishing in your expression as he slowly slips in, inch by inch. Meanwhile, your full attention is focused on the way his thickness stretches you out and how the veins on his shaft drag against your walls as he sinks into you. You feel a bit breathless when he finally bottoms out and his tip kisses your cervix. 

He starts to pull his hips back until his cock nearly slips out, before pushing back into you and filling you up once more. You feel completely stuffed. True to his words, you can’t think about anything else, the embarrassment you felt frowning more and more distant in your mind and being replaced by sheer, mind numbing pleasure. 

But when he really starts rutting in and out of you? 

Your brain is filled with cotton. He can tell by the way your eyes glaze over and soft moans sound from your parted, panting lips that he’s slowly fucking you stupid. It fills him with a bit of pride to see you being reduced to a brainless, horny mess for him, and the realization goes straight to his cock. 

“T-touya,” you stammer and moan upon feeling his thrusts increase in tempo. You never called him by his first name before, but now that he’s inside of you, it was reasonable for you to believe the two of you are well past formalities. 

“It’s still sir to you,” he growls, correcting your slip up. He punctuates his statement with a hard and deep thrust, making you sharply gasp. His stern voice draws a shudder out of you and you find yourself clenching down on him. 

“‘M sorry, s-sir,” you apologize. You can feel his cock throb in your walls at the honorific. Even through your lust clouded mind, you put the pieces together. 

Oh.

That’s why he liked you calling him sir. 

“Yeah, that’s better,” he breathes. “Like the sound of that out of your mouth more than my name. Keep it up, sweetheart.”

Spurred on by your words, he hooks your other leg over his shoulder, slightly raising you off of the desk and angling his thrusts to hit even deeper inside of you. You grip onto the edges of the table as he fucks into you harder. 

He’s canting into you so deeply and sharply that the desk shakes with every harsh clap of his hips against your thighs. Papers scatter onto the floor, picture frames fall flat on the table top, pens spill out of their holders and clatter onto the ground, all the while he chases one goal: to make you a stupid, incoherent mess from his cock. 

His pace quickens and you bite down on your knuckle in an attempt to muffle your whines and moans, not wanting to fill the entire wing of the building with the sounds of sex. You feel the pleasure rapidly building as he hammers into you, pressing up against that sponges bundle of nerves along your walls. It’s easy to tell he is feeling the same, as more and more deep moans and curses tumble from his lips while he ruts into you. The sound of his voice moaning out for you combined with the angle of his cock pushes you to the verge of orgasming. 

“Hah, fuck. ‘M close. Wanna cum, sir. Please make me cum,” you desperately beg. He throbs at your dumbified state and from the word sir coming out of your mouth. 

Shit, he’s getting close too. 

“Yeah? You gonna make a mess all over these papers then?” He asks, amid pants. He becomes drunk at just the thought of you cumming and dripping all over his cock. It sends a shock wave of pleasure straight between his legs and he rambles on, “Think you can squirt f’me too?” His hips brutally snap into yours, giving you the friction you need to finally be pushed over the edge. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck!” You chant, slurring each of your words in drunken pleasure. You finally fall apart with a silent scream, and just as he was hoping, you gush around him.

“That’s it, cream all over my fucking cock, sweetheart,” he encourages. Strings of your slick cling to his cock and snap with every clap of his pelvis against your skin. He continues to thrust in and out of you, recklessly chasing his own release as you lay below him, now teetering on the edge of overstimulation. 

Your pussy clamping down on him and your walls fluttering finally pushes him over. His hips stutter and he cums with a deep groan, painting your insides white. 

He stills, momentarily keeping his cock nestled in your walls, as he lowers your legs back down against the desk. Slowly, he pulls out of you, glancing down between your legs to see your combined releases leaking out of your hole. He watches, eyes transfixed, as his seed slowly starts seeping out of you and pooling on the sheets below. 

The two of you really did a number on his desk, and his entire office, for that matter. You lay there on the table, dazed and panting, attempting to catch your breath and come back down from your high. He can’t help but smugly chuckle at your dumbified state, before he tucks himself back into his pants. 

“What a mess you’ve made,” he teases. He walks off and heads to the door, about to leave, when he turns over his shoulder and adds, “Make sure to clean up after yourself.” 

You steal a glimpse at the wrecked state of the desk, partially horrified at the wetness pooling between your legs and onto the assignments and handouts. You stare at the wet spots on the sheets of paper. 

Fuck. 

Maybe it’ll dry off. 

You hope so, at least. 

Your face burns when you walk into his classroom the next day. You make eye contact with him as you go to stand near the computer, bringing up the PowerPoint for the lecture. The situation is more than just awkward. 

How do you proceed from here? 

You’re not even sure what to say to him, if you’re supposed to greet him as usual. Your mouth feels dry from nervousness, and you take a drink from your water bottle. A student then walks up to Professor Touya, thankfully taking the heat off of you to speak to him. 

“Professor Touya?” The student starts, preparing to ask him some sort of question. 

“Yes, what is it?” He answers. 

“Did you spill something on my papers?” The student confronts. You choke on your drink as he presents his graded assignment that looks to be partially sullied by water damage, only you and Professor Touya both know- that is definitely not water. 

“Hm, good question. I’m not sure, my TA graded most of these,” he deflects, feigning ignorance. He thinks for a moment, before snapping his fingers and saying, “You know what? Why don’t you ask her? She might know what happened.” 

To your horror, the student takes his suggestion, turning to you and interrogating, “What is this? Is this milk?” 

“Haha, yeah. Milk. It’s just milk,” you force out. You wish you could crawl into a hole and disappear at this moment from the sheer amount of embarrassment you feel. You awkwardly apologize, “Um, sorry about that.” 

“I mean, it’s okay I guess. Accidents happen,” the student shrugs.  

“Alright, if that’s all, we have to set up for today’s lecture. If you’ll excuse us,” Professor Touya intervenes. The student then walks off to take his seat as other students start trickling in. With the student now out of earshot, you confront him. 

“I hate you so much right now,” you say. “That was so embarrassing!” He chuckles at your situation, evidently very entertained by your dismay.

But as much as this circumstance embarrasses you, you can’t help but want more of last night, ruined papers be damned. Feeling bold, you ask, “Make it up to me?”

He gives you a cocky smirk, thrilled to know you want to be fucked dumb yet again. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” he agrees. “I’ll be waiting in my office whenever you want me.”

Tags: @the-milk-anon , @mirayasimpinghard

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