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saetoru · 7 months

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RATE MY PROFESSOR! — GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day one — threesomes ; find masterlist here

synopsis. you’re professor gojo’s TA—the catch? you both are romantically involved. what do you do when professor geto happens to accidentally walk in on you giving a blowjob? let him fuck you so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t tell a soul, of course

length. 5.1k words (deep, big, heavy sigh)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, college au, teacher-student relationships, prof! satoru + suguru, TA! reader, power imbalance, age gaps (reader is early twenties and satoru + suguru are early thirties), semi public sex (at campus in satoru’s office), suguru walking in on you and satoru, threesomes, fingering + blowjobs + hair pulling + throat fucking + cum swallowing (satoru), male masturbation + edging (suguru), unprotected sex + (one) clit slap + creampie (suguru), pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel, princess, pretty girl, good girl), not proof read—i am a raw dog kinda gal

notes. i would highly discourage having intimate relations with a professor—but….if your professor looks like gojo or geto, i’m blind babe. i ain’t see nothing. i won’t tell a soul

“you guys wanna get lunch?” nobara hums, “we’re all here.”

megumi, as always, looks like he’s about to say no—he probably wants to go home as quickly as possible. but that’s not an option because before he can, yuji has already piped up with an enthusiastic, “yeah! i’m down.”

you fiddle your fingers nervously—how are you supposed to get out of this one? you’d just used the excuse of grading assignments for satoru yesterday, and surely you couldn’t possibly have a fresh pile of them to grade again within twenty-four hours, right? it’d be a suspicious excuse, especially one for nobara, who seems to sniff out a lie a little too easily.

it’s not that you don’t want to hang out with your friends, you love them. really. but you promised you’d be in satoru’s office in fifteen minutes—and you’re not about to keep him waiting, so lunch will have to wait for another time.

you’re still thinking of a usable excuse when she turns to you herself, unimpressed as she dryly says, “i assume you have some midterm review to help him polish or something,” she grumbles, “gojo is so lazy,” she scoffs.

oh—well, that wasn’t very hard. she’s just made it ten times easier for you. nobara has handed you the perfect excuse right in the palm of your hand, and before you can even play it off casually, yuji cuts in and distracts her. bless yuji, you think to yourself.

“hey, professor gojo is a great guy! we all passed with an A! isn’t that great?”

“everyone gets an A in his class, dumbass,” megumi grunts, rolling his eyes, “not getting an A in his class practically means you’re deliberately trying to do poorly.”

on campus, professor gojo is a fan favorite—his rate my professor score is a perfect five stars, and most of the students around campus rave about him. why? because he gives out the letter grade A+ like it’s candy. anyone would love a professor like that.

he doesn’t ever take attendance or knock your grade down when you skip class, his assignments are always easy to google answers to, and the quizzes have unlimited time and attempts. his tests are straightforward enough that even if you never pay attention, doing the review he uploads is sure to help you cram enough to pass. and what’s better? he always adds a generous curve. not only that, but professor gojo is a friendly guy—he loves talking to his students, loves to ramble away if you stop him in the halls or visit during office hours, loves to listen to your stories and nod along in interest, loves to crack jokes and have a good laugh.

everyone loves professor gojo. and when they leave his class with an A+, they love him even more.

you had an A+ in physics yourself when you took his class—and you hate physics. you hated it in high school, and you hate it now. but for gojo satoru? you’re almost a physics enthusiast. professor gojo—or rather, satoru, as you call him now, takes a liking to you. a very…strong liking, if you will.

it all starts on a fateful monday afternoon two semesters ago—it’s one thirty pm, the busiest hour on campus. sometimes, it feels like everyone takes classes at one pm—and as such, getting a table in the university coffee shop is almost impossible. you’re just about to give up and leave with your coffee and sandwich after scanning the place when a wave of a hand catches your attention.

it’s professor gojo.

need a seat? he asks you, gesturing at the chair in front of him at his table—it’s a smooth, amused little drawl, the way he talks. it’s almost always a borderline teasing tone, and his voice is low enough that it sounds oddly enticing. you’ve heard enough girls lust over his voice in class to know you’re not the only one who sometimes appreciates the sound.

you try to insist that you wouldn’t want to intrude, but professor gojo is a nice guy; always looks out for his students and helps them out. so, when he insists that he doesn’t mind you taking the spare seat as he grades a few assignments, well…you decide to sheepishly thank him and sit across from him, finally having somewhere to sit and eat before you’re off to your next class.

and then it begins.

every now and then, you sit across from your physics professor in the crowded coffee shop on campus as you enjoy a cold brew and a sandwich before your next class. somehow, he always manages to snatch a table, and somehow, you always manage to find him. you like to ramble to him sometimes—how professor nanami is a bit too strict for your liking (he giggles at that), how professor ieri always seems too tired and miserable to be here (he nods and agrees), and how professor geto is nice, but he takes literature pretty seriously (he gives you an amused look at that as he hums.)

somewhere along the line, he asks you to be his TA for the following semester—and somewhere further along that line…well, perhaps the one-on-one talks as you sit together at a table for two felt a little too close to something of a romantic setting because you and professor gojo kiss in his office while he calls you in to explain your TA responsibilities.

that was never supposed to happen.

you don’t even remember who leaned in first, or whose arms were the first to wrap around the other, or who tugged who closer, but you both kiss. and then some. and then it happens again, and again, and again—and, well…you’re professor gojo’s, or better yet, satoru’s best kept secret.

you go to his office to grade assignments for him—in between if he steals a few kisses, who’s to know? sometimes, he’s a bit riskier, likes to spread his legs and free his cock and have your hand stroke him as he eyes the door. it’s always a nice view to watch him unbutton a few buttons of his shirt and bite back moans. other days, he likes to slip his hand past your waistband and toy with your clit—the amused glint in his eyes, as he tells you not to get distracted and keep grading when you gasp always, earns him a sharp glare.

it’s like that for the semester, just you and him in his little office where you can break the rules in the safety of secrecy.

that is, until now.

admittedly, this isn’t the best time to be doing this—professor geto likes to have lunch with satoru around this time, and you know you’re cutting it close…but he just looks so pretty like this, head fallen back against his chair as his lips part with a soft gasp.

you’re on your knees, looking up as you suck on the tip of his stiff cock before taking him down your throat, bobbing your head up and down. it’s a rewarding position to be in—to have the hot, loved, campus favorite professor that everyone thirsts over falling apart in your mouth, hands gripping the arms of his chair as he pants harshly above you.

he looks pretty—always does, always looks good enough that you can feel the ache between your legs get worse. the messy strands of his hair stick to his damp forehead, and his lips are always so pink and plump when he bites them like that, and who can forget the way his eyes turn just a shade darker of that bright blue?

you hum around him, making him groan as he mumbles, “f-fuck, you’re so good, sweetheart—always know how to make me feel good.”

you press a kiss to his tip, smearing the bead of pre cum leaking from his slit along your lips before licking them clean—he closes his eyes and groans at that. you can’t help but giggle, can’t help but press more kisses along his hardened length until you’re at the base of his cock.

“pretty little lips,” he hums, reaching to rub his thumb over your bottom lip as you open your mouth, letting him slip into your mouth—he hums approvingly as your tongue swirls around the digit, sucking slowly. “‘s like you were made for taking me, huh?”

“‘course i was,” you grin cheekily—and then you’re back to sucking on his cock, tongue rubbing over that thick vein you love to trace and reaching a hand to play with his balls. he moans—it’s low but still whiny enough that you can’t help but feel so proud at how needy he is, how desperately he always wants you. no matter the risk.

except the risk is probably not the wisest one to test today because just as satoru lets out a particularly loud whine when you swallow around him, the door clicks open and…

oh.

oh no.

this…this isn’t good—this is terrible, in fact. this is the worst possible outcome to the worst possible thing you’ve done, and now you’re screwed. entirely destroyed, in fact—the both of you. here goes your admission and your progress on your degree, and here goes satoru’s entire career and everything he’s worked for, and all because you couldn’t help but give him a blowjob in the middle of his office with the door unlocked where his best friend can walk right in and get a full view.

and worse? this best friend of his happens to be another professor on campus who you happen to have had just last semester. you’re sure he knows you; you’re his former student, after all, and he must certainly know his best friend’s TA.

professor geto blinks—his eyes go back and forth between you and satoru and the still-hard cock between his legs that’s glistening with your spit as you sit on your knees. yeah—there’s no explaining this one.

“well,” he says blankly, “i guess that’s on me for not knocking, huh?”

“suguru,” satoru grumbles, “some of us are busy y’know? can’t you come back later?”

you turn to satoru in shock—how can he be so normal about this? how can he just casually act like this is some random hook-up his friend walked in on instead of a (very illegal and very unprofessional) teacher-student relationship that could get the two of you in more trouble than you can comprehend?

but professor geto doesn’t seem even the slightest bit concerned. there’s no look of disgust or panic or even anger at you and satoru for your unprofessional habits. there’s no alarm at the distasteful activities you’re doing in the middle of a university office where anyone could potentially walk in on. and then there’s satoru—he doesn’t even bother making himself decent or pulling you from your knees.

no, instead, he looks at professor geto in slight irritation as the latter stands there.

“so this is what you’re always busy doing in your office, huh?” professor geto hums, chuckling in amusement, “i have to say, you at least have good taste, satoru. she’s excellent in and outside the classroom, it seems.”

“yeah, she’s a keeper,” satoru hums, cupping your cheek as he grins down at you, “now if you don’t mind, suguru, we’re in the middle of something.”

“and what do you plan on doing if this gets around?” professor geto raises a brow, unimpressed.

you look at him in panic at that—surely…surely he can’t mean that he would be the one to spread this around, right? surely he wouldn’t throw his best friend under the bus, correct? if not for you, then for satoru’s sake, he’d never let this information find another soul. otherwise…otherwise you’ll both lose everything. all the hard work and progress you’ve made, all of satoru’s experience and years building his career, and all the future opportunities you had coming up—all of it will be for nothing if professor geto says one word.

people wouldn’t have a hard time believing it either, you think. sometimes your own friends like to poke fun at you themselves.

you’re always with him, are you sure you’re not in love with the guy at this point? nobara always likes to snort at you.

why does professor gojo even keep you around? you’re too lazy—you must give good head, megumi tends to tease as he raises a brow with amused eyes.

with how often you’re in professor gojo’s room, you might as well have a crush on him, yuji sometimes giggles.

surely, with how often you’re seen in the coffee shop with him as he grades papers and how often he likes to tease you when you show up to his classroom sometimes to drop off papers, students would certainly take the rumors and spread them like wildfire if professor geto says even the littlest thing.

you look at him with wobbly lips as you whisper, “please don’t tell anyone,” you sniffle, “i…maybe there’s something we can do…to keep you from…”

the two of them look at you in shock—they stare at you for a moment, stare at the crystalline tears welling up in your eyes, at the soft little tremor in your lips, at the sweet little sniffles you try to hide. then, as if in sync, their eyes meet each other’s before finding you once more.

“oh, that’s precious,” professor geto chuckles, “she really is a keeper, satoru—she even looks pretty when she cries. i’m almost jealous.”

“don’t look for too long, suguru,” satoru grumbles—and then, “listen, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry. suguru’s not gonna—”

“well, if there is something you’d wanna do for me,” professor geto cuts satoru off, his voice a low drawl as he walks closer, hand cupping your jaw as he tilts your face up, “i suppose i can keep my mouth shut.”

“anything,” you nod quickly.

you’re so eager to please, he thinks—so perfect and sweet and pliant, that suguru thinks he might actually really be jealous that somehow, it was satoru who caught your attention. how did this all start? when did it start? how long has it been going on? do you have real feelings for each other? or is it just a pleasurable business kind of deal? do you meet up outside of campus? does he take you to the next town over to freely walk around with you on dates? do you kiss sweetly sometimes instead of with hunger? have you ever spent a night in his bed? do you sleep better beside each other, wrapped in the other’s arms?

there are so many, many questions suguru wants to ask. the potential answers to all of them make him a bit more unhappy than he cares to admit. something in him wonders how things might’ve had to play out in order to land you in his office instead—but…but if you’re offering anything, why not take advantage of the offer?

“anything?” he asks, looking at you amused, “you know, princess, anything is a dangerous offer. what if i asked to join? what if i asked to fuck you here in this office so your secret is safe?”

you blink up at him for a moment at his words—they’re a bit shocking. professor geto…doesn’t think this is wrong? clearly, he doesn’t if he’s willing to take part. but that doesn’t sound half bad. not even in the slightest.

they’re a popular pair: professor gojo and geto are all people on campus ever talk about. those two professors who happen to be best friends. they’re not much older than you either—can’t be past their early thirties, even if they don’t look a day over twenty.

did you know they used to go to college together? i heard they’ve known each other since high school. apparently, they applied to work here together and only took the offer up once the other agreed. it’s all people ever gossip about when they mention them both. it’s always about how close they are, how deep their bond is, how there is never one without the other. and then, of course, there are those…the less than appropriate comments you occasionally hear the other girls make. i bet professor gojo gives the best head—he’s always sucking on some lollipop. i’d let professor geto do nasty things to me while i read his literature books out loud to him—he’s too fine. i can take both of them—and i don’t mean their classes.

it’s…not exactly a bad offer that he gives you, you think to yourself. it’s an enticing one, in fact. you get to have them both—professor geto isn’t any less attractive than satoru and…and well, you’d really like for him to keep this a secret, so it’s a bit of a win-win. plus, you’re sure he wouldn’t risk spilling such delicate information when it would put his career at risk, too—it seems like the perfect leverage.

you look at your old literature professor with a nod as you murmur, “then i’d say you should make sure to lock the door this time—we don’t want to make the same mistake twice, do we?”

his eyes sparkle in amusement at that, a low chuckle falling from his pretty lips as he shakes his head at you—you’re even better than he expected. satoru is so, so lucky he’s got to have you to himself all this time. it’s criminally unfair.

“hey,” satoru pouts from behind, still sitting in his chair and still painfully hard as his throbbing cock sits between his legs unattended. “you both are forgetting about me,” he whines.

professor geto—or rather, suguru, you suppose, only looks at his best friend in amusement. “now, satoru—what have i always told you about sharing? here—” he walks over and pulls satoru to stand before taking the seat himself and patting his thigh as he looks at you with a sly grin, “why don’t i get to feel your pussy, and satoru can have your mouth like before? then we both get what we want.”

“bossy as ever, suguru,” satoru chuckles, but there’s something in his eyes—something darker and more excited than you’ve ever seen them.

“get her ready for me,” suguru hums, fingers making quick work to unbuckle his belt and free his hardened cock. you can’t help but stare, can’t help but watch as he wraps his fist around his hardened length and runs his thumb through his slit with a low moan.

he’s not as long, but he’s thicker than satoru—you can easily tell he won’t be any easier to take. you watch attentively as he traces the thick vein along the side of his cock with this thumb as he strokes upward, rolling around his tip before stroking down and squeezing at the base. you watch his lips tug between his teeth, a soft moan ripping from his throat as he touches himself in the way he likes best.

you’ll remember what he likes, you think—you can sense this might not be your first and last opportunity to see suguru like this. and next time? well, next time, it’ll be your hand touching his cock and pulling those pretty little sighs and groans from him instead of his own.

“eyes on me, sweetheart,” satoru hums, pulling you to stand before gently guiding your back to fall against his desk, fingers looping into your waistband and pulling your pants down your legs. you can hear the sharp inhale suguru takes as soon as the wetness of your folds is on display, as soon as your puffy clit and dripping pussy are there for him to see so clearly. “watch carefully, suguru,” satoru grins, “she’s pretty when she cums.”

“i can imagine,” suguru muses, “alright then. show me.”

instantly, satoru’s fingers are intruding into your cunt—it’s familiar, the sensation of his digits bullying past your folds and curling against your sweet spot. he’s already knuckles deep, already pressing the tips of his fingers into the back of your walls as far as they’ll go, spreading you open and scissoring you apart. it feels good—it always does, and when his palm rolls across your clit? you can’t help but let out a whiny moan that earns a groan from suguru as he fists his cock tighter.

“god, she even sounds so pretty,” he pants, watching as satoru’s fingers slip in and out of your pretty cunt, at the way it all but sucks them in itself as it flutters around him. everything about you is perfect—but your face is by far suguru’s favorite. the way it twists with pleasure as satoru slams his fingers against your spot mercilessly with every thrust of his wrist has him fighting off his orgasm—his fist slowing down to a teasing edge as he grunts at the way he lets his pleasure die down for the sake of really feeling you.

“that feel good, angel?” satoru asks, grinning down at you.

you nod quickly, head thrown back against the wooden desk as you stutter, “y-yes…s-so good, toru.”

“toru?” suguru asks, “do i get a nickname too? make sure you come up with one for me, yeah?”

it’s almost like you don’t hear him, too busy on the way satoru drags along your walls with every time his fingers sink into you. “toru, toru—s-slow down, ‘m g-gonna…”

“slow down?” satoru gasps—his pace only quickens at that as he gives you a mocking pout, “you want me to slow down, sweetheart? you never ask me to slow down, it’s always faster, toru. faster, please! from you. you don’t wanna give suguru the wrong idea, do you? he’ll think i haven’t taught you how to take it like a good girl.”

suguru snorts at that, slowly dragging his hand up and down his sensitive cock—it’s red at the tip, flushed, and leaky enough that it’s easy to tell he’s aching for release.

“hurry up, satoru,” he grits, biting his lip as he fights back another orgasm and stills his hand, keeping it tightened around the base of his length, “we haven’t got all day.”

“can’t rush making my pretty girl cum, suguru,” satoru gasps, “she deserves the best. look at this pussy—” he gives pulls his fingers out to give your clit attention, rubbing your slick over the sensitive bud as you gasp, writhing over his desk, “—see how perfect it is? you gotta treat it like that too.”

as if from his words alone, as if you get off on the way satoru praises your cunt to his best friend who watches you get stuffed to the brim with his fingers, you whimper before cumming—your pussy fluttering around nothing, walls spasming and dripping with slick as he toys with your clit.

“toru—toru, ‘m cumming…cumming—oh,” you babble, thighs quivering as his thumb doesn’t let up from your abused clit, watching as your hand reaches for his wrist weakly to halt his movements. “‘s too much,” you sniffle.

“too much?” suguru gasps, “how will you take me, then, princess? don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?”

“nah,” satoru grins, chuckling, “she’s got plenty left in her. she can take it.” with that, he hooks an arm under your waist and helps you sit up, leaning down to kiss you softly as you let out a muffled whine against his lips. “you’re ready for suguru, aren’t you, baby? prepped you nice and good to take him, didn’t i?”

you nod, mumbling a soft, “uh huh,” in agreement.

“that’s my good girl,” he coos, grinning as he presses a wet kiss to your forehead.

suguru, patient as ever with a stiff, aching cock standing between his muscled thighs, holds an arm out for you as he murmurs, “c’mere then, princess. can’t back out of our deal yet, can you?” you walk over to him on wobbly legs, letting him pull you to sit on his lap, back flush against his chest as his hands guide your hips. he taps the head of his cock against your clit as he lines your entrance up with his length before pulling you to sit, slowly inching you down on him bit by bit as he gasps at the way you squeeze around him instantly. “h-holy—fuck, such a tight fuckin’ pussy. ‘s like i can barely even move,” he grunts, chin resting on your shoulder as he pants.

satoru walks over, staring down at you as you’re seated on suguru’s lap before cupping your cheek and rubbing over the soft skin with his thumb. “you can take both of us, right sweetheart? you’re just too good not to, aren’t ya?”

you nod eagerly, letting the tip of his cock tap against your lip, tongue moving to lick across his slit and make him groan. he’s painfully hard—cock swollen and neglected for so long, you almost forgot that he’s been waiting for your mouth to take him again after being interrupted. your jaw slacks as you let him thrust his hips and fuck his length into you, tip hitting the back of your throat as you choke around him.

“fuck,” satoru hisses lowly, biting his lip as his hands grab your hair and keep you in place while he ruts into your mouth, “fuck, baby. never get tired of how good this mouth feels—takes me so fuckin’ well. jus’ love feelin’ me down your throat, huh?”

you can’t do anything but let out a muffled cry, feeling the fat tip of suguru’s cock nudge against your sweet spot—it’s just as effortless: the way he finds your most sensitive part. just as effortless as satoru. maybe that’s why they get along so well, maybe they’re connected in that way.

“oh, princess,” suguru moans, panting against your ear as he lets out a breathy moan, “fuck, that’s good—so, good. can hardly move with the way you’re squeezing me. greedy little pussy, isn’t it?”

you whine as you feel his arm wrap around you, finger rolling over your puffy clit as his hips snap upwards and fuck into you, cock dragging along your walls and stretching you enough that you can hardly think straight. he’s big—it feels like he’s almost splitting you open with his girth as his hips roll up and sink him deeper into your cunt.

“she’s…she’s perfect,” suguru pants, “keepin’ this all to yourself? how selfish of you, satoru.”

“she’s mine,” satoru whines, cock pushing past your lips as he speaks, the way your tongue glides along his vein making his cheeks flush as his eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open with a breathless moan. “she’s too good to share with you. you d-don’t deserve her.”

“yeah? and you do?” suguru chuckles—it sounds more like a labored pant, his breath harsh as he groans into your neck when you flutter particularly tightly around him, forehead falling to dig into your shoulder, “she’s suckin’ me in. think she wants me. don’t you, pretty girl? you want me to cum inside you, right? make you mine too?”

“y-yes,” you mewl, popping off satoru’s length as you whimper when suguru chuckles and gives your clit a light slap, back arching against him as he pushes his cock past your folds again, “yes, wan’ it. wan’ it so, so bad—need it.”

“see,” he raises a brow towards satoru, “knew it.”

you can see the way satoru’s cock twitches at that—at the way you fall apart on suguru’s lap as the latter digs his head into your shoulder as he breathes harshly, chasing his release desperately as he ruts into your slick pussy. you can see the way satoru’s tip is flushed a harsh red, leaking with pre cum as he aches to spill cum down your throat, so you let him push past your lips once more—but not before giving his tip a delicate kiss.

“she’s my girl,” satoru grunts, “mine, mine, mine—knows how to make me cum. kn-knows how to take me so good, right baby?”

and as if to answer him, you suck around his tip, swallowing around his length and making him groan as his hips stutter and cum paints your throat white as it fills your mouth. you try to swallow every drop, try to take what he gives you as he fucks into you desperately and chases the pleasure of his high. thick, hot ropes of cum spill from the corners of your lips as satoru fucks his load into you, panting as his hips sloppily roll and work himself through his orgasm.

“that’s right, sweetheart,” he groans lowly, “take it, yeah? god—fuck, feels so good, baby. ‘m c-cumming.”

you make a sound between a choked whine and sharp gasp as suguru’s thumb rubs harshly against your swollen clit, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he groans, hips just as sloppy as satoru’s in his pace that it tells you he’s close too—and then he twitches into your pussy, cock burying into you once, twice, three more times before he groans too.

“gonna cum, princess? ‘cause ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum—fill you up and make you mine. you want that right? want me to—f-fuck, fuck ‘m close, so close,” he cuts himself off with a gasp, letting out a needy whine into your skin before spilling into you. you can feel hot, thick ropes of cum paint your walls as his tip nudges back into you and pushes his load as deep as he can.

and you fall apart too, coming undone a second time as your walls hug around him tightly, head falling back as you mewl a high pitched, “s-sugu—c-can’t…’s too much—”

“you can take it, pretty,” he hums, “know you can. you’re too precious not to, right?”

it’s messy—it’s downright filthy, in fact, the way his cum and your slick mix and drip along your inner thighs, making a mess on satoru’s chair. you pant as your pussy pulses around him before coming down from your high, falling slack in his arms against his chest as he chuckles and presses a kiss to your jaw.

“fuck,” he breathes, “you’re something else. who’d have thought my favorite little student from a previous semester could do all that?”

“isn’t she a dime?” satoru chuckles proudly, reaching for the corner of your mouth with his thumb, collecting a stray drop of cum and pushing it back past your lips and onto your tongue, humming approvingly as you swallow. “precious, isn’t she?”

“of course,” suguru nods, with a grin, leaning to peck your shoulder, “so, tell me. which professor would you take again?”

satoru purses his lips as he glares. “this isn’t rate my professor, suguru. and don’t get used to thi—”

“well,” you hum, interrupting as you bat your lashes sweetly at both of them, “why i can’t just take both of you again?”

guess who’s posting their october first kinktober fic literally 40 mins before it’s october second ?? if it’s not procrastinated, it’s not reached its full potential

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reasonsforhope · 2 months

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"In response to last year’s record-breaking heat due to El Niño and impacts from climate change, Indigenous Zenù farmers in Colombia are trying to revive the cultivation of traditional climate-resilient seeds and agroecology systems.

One traditional farming system combines farming with fishing: locals fish during the rainy season when water levels are high, and farm during the dry season on the fertile soils left by the receding water.

Locals and ecologists say conflicts over land with surrounding plantation owners, cattle ranchers and mines are also worsening the impacts of the climate crisis.

To protect their land, the Zenù reserve, which is today surrounded by monoculture plantations, was in 2005 declared the first Colombian territory free from GMOs.

...

In the Zenù reserve, issues with the weather, climate or soil are spread by word of mouth between farmers, or on La Positiva 103.0, a community agroecology radio station. And what’s been on every farmer’s mind is last year’s record-breaking heat and droughts. Both of these were charged by the twin impacts of climate change and a newly developing El Niño, a naturally occurring warmer period that last occurred here in 2016, say climate scientists.

Experts from Colombia’s Institute of Hydrology, Meteorology and Environmental Studies say the impacts of El Niño will be felt in Colombia until April 2024, adding to farmers’ concerns. Other scientists forecast June to August may be even hotter than 2023, and the next five years could be the hottest on record. On Jan. 24, President Gustavo Petro said he will declare wildfires a natural disaster, following an increase in forest fires that scientists attribute to the effects of El Niño.

In the face of these changes, Zenù farmers are trying to revive traditional agricultural practices like ancestral seed conservation and a unique agroecology system.

Pictured: Remberto Gil’s house is surrounded by an agroforestry system where turkeys and other animals graze under fruit trees such as maracuyá (Passiflora edulis), papaya (Carica papaya) and banana (Musa acuminata colla). Medicinal herbs like toronjil (Melissa officinalis) and tres bolas (Leonotis nepetifolia), and bushes like ají (Capsicum baccatum), yam and frijol diablito (beans) are part of the undergrowth. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

“Climate change is scary due to the possibility of food scarcity,” says Rodrigo Hernandez, a local authority with the Santa Isabel community. “Our ancestral seeds offer a solution as more resistant to climate change.”

Based on their experience, farmers say their ancestral seed varieties are more resistant to high temperatures compared to the imported varieties and cultivars they currently use. These ancestral varieties have adapted to the region’s ecosystem and require less water, they tell Mongabay. According to a report by local organization Grupo Semillas and development foundation SWISSAID, indigenous corn varieties like blaquito are more resistant to the heat, cariaco tolerates drought easily, and negrito is very resistant to high temperatures.

The Zenù diet still incorporates the traditional diversity of seeds, plant varieties and animals they consume, though they too are threatened by climate change: from fish recipes made from bocachico (Prochilodus magdalenae), and reptiles like the babilla or spectacled caiman (Caiman crocodilus), to different corn varieties to prepare arepas (cornmeal cakes), liquor, cheeses and soups.

“The most important challenge we have now is to save ancient species and involve new generations in ancestral practice,” says Sonia Rocha Marquez, a professor of social sciences at Sinù University in the city of Montería.

...[Despite] land scarcity, Negrete says communities are developing important projects to protect their traditional food systems. Farmers and seed custodians, like Gil, are working with the Association of Organic Agriculture and Livestock Producers (ASPROAL) and their Communitarian Seed House (Casa Comunitaria de Semillas Criollas y Nativas)...

Pictured: Remberto Gil is a seed guardian and farmer who works at the Communitarian Seed House, where the ASPROL association stores 32 seeds of rare or almost extinct species. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

Located near Gil’s house, the seed bank hosts a rainbow of 12 corn varieties, from glistening black to blue to light pink to purple and even white. There are also jars of seeds for local varieties of beans, eggplants, pumpkins and aromatic herbs, some stored in refrigerators. All are ancient varieties shared between local families.

Outside the seed bank is a terrace where chickens and turkeys graze under an agroforestry system for farmers to emulate: local varieties of passion fruit, papaya and banana trees grow above bushes of ají peppers and beans. Traditional medicinal herbs like toronjil or lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) form part of the undergrowth.

Today, 25 families are involved in sharing, storing and commercializing the seeds of 32 rare or almost-extinct varieties.

“When I was a kid, my father brought me to the farm to participate in recovering the land,” says Nilvadys Arrieta, 56, a farmer member of ASPROAL. “Now, I still act with the same collective thinking that moves what we are doing.”

“Working together helps us to save, share more seeds, and sell at fair price [while] avoiding intermediaries and increasing families’ incomes,” Gil says. “Last year, we sold 8 million seeds to organic restaurants in Bogotà and Medellín.”

So far, the 80% of the farmers families living in the Zenù reserve participate in both the agroecology and seed revival projects, he adds."

-via Mongabay, February 6, 2024

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marigoldenblooms · 1 month

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An Important Lesson - One-Shot

Pairing: Professor!Wanda x Fem!Reader (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Prompt: After years of rigorous study, you were nearing the end of your graduate program. Companionship had become a figment of your imagination, until your film professor caught your eye. Taking something from her desk, you hope you could catch hers- and you got more than you bargained for.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Who is Y/N I don’t know her, Dom!Wanda, Sub!Reader, Porn with plot, teasing, orgasm denial, vibrator use, thigh riding, Mommy kink, Professor kink (sparingly), no aftercare, slight dub-con, dumbification, praise, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance (professor/student), age gap (Reader is 26 while Wanda is 34), brat taming if you squint.

A/N: Holy balls, I did not realize smut was so hard to write. Major kudos to all who seem to do it so effortlessly! I know I envy ‘em. This is my first foray into writing this kind of fic (my university’s spring break has brought a lot of writing firsts), so if you have any feedback I’d love to hear it! This is also vaguely proofread! Wanted to do some practice before the evental sex in Unica Sempter Avis (Because USA is certainly an Abbreviation of All Time), and other ideas I’ve got cooking up. I'd love to write another part to this, if y'all would be down! Thanks y'all again! Edit: An Important Lesson is getting a second part! Read a teaser here! >:)

Word Count: 2.5k - Read length: 9 minutes, 5 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners! ~~~

The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, and yet here you were.

Professor Maximoff’s classroom was overwhelmingly quiet, dark and empty with familiar rows of tables curved in a half arc around her desk, pushed off to the side. She’d always pace within the front few rows where you sat, and you’d have to crane your neck to keep her in view when you weren’t scribbling down paraphrases of what she said. She taught Advanced Film and Media Critique, which generally lended itself to analyzing the shit out of old TV shows. Maximoff was a difficult professor, but you weren’t looking for easy, especially in your graduate program. After a few years of working your ass off to make enough money, you’d wiped the floor with your bachelors and now you were vying for your masters, in your last few weeks of grad school. And you knew Professor Maximoff liked you, which didn’t make it so bad.

You knew other things about her too - for instance, there was no way she wasn’t a lesbian. Whenever you’d raise your hand her eyes would snap to you, and you swear her face would curl into a smile that was beyond professional. You’d catch her staring in your direction during exams on multiple occasions (to be fair you did the same when she wasn’t looking, but that’s besides the point), and you swear up and down that she winked at you during your midterm. She’d hold onto your hand a little too long when you turned in papers, and always offered ‘tutoring’ sessions which you humbly declined in the beginning of the semester, your grade being nigh perfect in her course. Between that, the short nails, tailored suits, and the rings- oh, so many rings- there was no way your professor wasn’t gay, and possibly had the hots for you. Your studies had been your priority over companionship for so long, And now, within a few weeks of your final, why not make a move?

Heist films had been the topic of last week’s lecture, and so nicking something small would be a good segway, right? You’d return it to her tomorrow after class, mention something flirty (perhaps about stealing her heart), and see where it went. If you were lucky, you’d have her number by the end of the course, and perhaps take the older woman to coffee after your final exam. You’d bring her to the movies, but that might turn into more of a lesson than a date.

As you’d pluck a pen from one of her desk drawers, you notice that it was slightly heavier than most. You clicked it once, then a second time- and nothing happened, so it went into your pockets. You’d move to exit the dim room, before a plaque caught your eye- her degree. It was neatly pressed into its frame: Wanda Maximoff, Masters of Arts in Film and Media Studies. You remembered her mentioning she was working on her doctorate, a proud grin sparking at that. Perhaps you’d get to know more about her dissertation and herself shortly. ------------------------------------------

Class went by faster than most, although it didn’t help that you were anxiously awaiting the end of Professor Maximoff’s lecture. She had worn a trim fitted sleeveless blouse and buttoned pants, both beautiful shades of burgundy. A myriad of gold rings decorating her hands as she’d motion with them through her talk. You’d have to keep your eyes off her fingers, nose deep in notebooks as you’d scramble to collect her words before your incoming final exam.

“And what is the significance of I Love Lucy’s laugh tracks?” Wanda would ponder aloud before your hand immediately shot up, the lone attempt out of your fifty or so classmates. She’d grin at you, “Yes, dear?”

You almost forget what you were about to say, holding onto the vestiges of it as you’d sputter, “Oh, uhm- yes, well, I Love Lucy didn’t have laugh tracks, mostly- they were the first sitcom to have a live studio audience.” Her eyes would crinkle with mirth, and you could tell immediately that you had the right answer. You tuned out her words as your mind would swim, thinking back to the weighted pen in your jeans pocket. The pet names were new, settling a joyous fuzz both in your mind and between your legs. It was things like this that had you on the back foot- this was your chance to get her back.

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

“And I’ll see you all in two days,” Wanda would return to her desk, sitting atop it rather than in the chair behind it. One of your classmates had asked why in an icebreaker towards the beginning of the semester, and if you remembered correctly she said ‘Just like the view from up here,’ or the like. If you’d been on the same track mind as now, you probably would have noticed how she stared at you during her spiel, a detail only discovered in hindsight. Now, you had all the pieces.

You pack up slowly, shimmying your belongings into your overly stuffed bag. Hanging back until there were few students left, you flag her gaze with a hand and an upturned smile, “Professor, I was wondering if I could..” Your words would halt in your throat, thoughts thickened and syrupy as she’d look down to you, head tilted a degree off kilter. Would it be embarrassing to admit you’d never been this close to her before? Her lips would be pursed, but would break into a wild grin, and you felt yourself melt right there. You weren’t a teen anymore goddamnit, focus- “Talk-” you’d squeak, clearing your throat hastily to camouflage the blunder, “Talk with you, after class. Professor.”

Her brows would raise, and you could almost see the cogs rotating in there. Her eyes would dart within the now-empty room, adjusting her position on the desk- and it’d become increasingly obvious (you can deny it no longer) that you were standing directly in between her slightly parted legs. This wasn’t how you were expecting it to go, but here you were. She’d start taking off her rings. “Of course, darling,” she’d tease again with a roughened lilt. Those damn pet names. “What do you need?”

“I think I have something of yours, Professor-” Your mouth would open a few seconds before you’d speak, and you swear she’d smirk at how she had you, devoid of any thought. Something about her had you smiling and kicking your feet, and boy did she know it. Without any further bravado, you’d pull out the pen, “I hate to say it, but I think you’ve stolen-”

“Oh,” She’d breathe, Wanda’s face tinting with a pinkish hue, yet her smile only grew larger. Her gaze would narrow, voice dripping with a sultry air that almost knocked you off balance, “I didn’t let you borrow that, did I?”

“No Professor,” you admit, beginning to launch into your story, before she’d shush you- shush you, words piling up into a lump in your throat.

“And do you know what it does, darling?” She asks, her tone a breathy whisper now. You swallow, shaking your head no. She fucking giggles. She takes the pen from your hand, clicking it three times, and it’d start to buzz. Oh, my god. It was a fucking vibrator.

“Too dumb to even recognize what this is? And I thought you were so smart..” She’d tease, a flush forming on your face in tandem with a shiver down your body. You open your mouth to speak, and yet her warm, calloused fingers would clasp your jaw shut. “Shhh, don’t want your pretty little head to even think, darling. How about Mommy show you how it works, hm?”

You’d nod immediately. She’d abandon the toy, clicking it off as her hands would slip beneath your shirt, and it felt like time had frozen. She was so soft, and your mind glazed over. Your breath hitched as she’d trail upward, palming your skin before running her fingers over your bare breasts. You’d watch as Wanda’s pupils would blow in seconds, a devious smile bubbling into view, “No bra?” She’d murmur lowly shaking her head as she’d start to knead your flesh, “Just couldn’t remember it, hm? My precious student, too busy thinking of me to get dressed, were you?” You nod again, a pitiful mewl escaping your throat.

“Yes- Yes, Professor..” You arch into her touch, although that bliss was short-lived as you feel her dig her hands further into your tits, sharper than you’d like. She’d tsk at your reply, and you look up to meet her eyes- oh, that was the wrong answer.

“Did you already forget my title, baby?” She’d ask almost tauntingly, her gaze sharpening as she’d shift her hands from your skin. You’d chase her warmth, dazed as your skin would flush and tremble, slotting yourself up against her. She’d run her thumb over your lips, crooning at your immediate submission. She could use that.

“It seems Mommy has a lot to teach you, dear..” Her touch would ghost across your exposed forearms, her feather-light touches only stuttering your breath further. “And I think you’re ready for your first lesson. Think you can handle that, darling? Keep your eyes on me,” Her hands would dig into your jeans, rougher against the hem’s fabric, “Think you can take this off for Mommy?”

“Please..” You beg, raising your hips to strip yourself bare, your glance trained on her. You don’t miss how her eyes darted down to your bare cunt, having slid off your panties too, or how she licked her lips at the sight of your slick. Her hands would hold your legs open, the cold lecture hall’s air chilling your exposed skin. Still staring at Wanda, you’d discard your shirt in the same breath, her jaw clenching as all of you felt the cool air. Feeling exposed, the urge to flee ebbed away some of your arousal. Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom? Your focus was immediately drawn again as she’d capture your chin in her hand, pulling it harshly to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dilated, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as she’d pant, both from your disobedience and your thighs rubbing against hers. “Look at me,” she’d hiss, taking your lips into a searing kiss. Your answer? Fuck. Yes.

Your cunt would grind against her leg as Wanda would pull your hips up and onto her thigh, grip bruising as your lips would crash together. You could smell her vanilla perfume as she’d tug at your bottom lip with her teeth, a familiar buzzing sound heard but not registered before you felt it on your clit. “Mommy- yes, Fuckin’ christ, there-” You’d keen, lurching back as Wanda’s hand would rest on your hip, keeping you from escaping her touch.

Wanda would groan at your words, voice a little breathier as her hips would stutter against yours, “There’s my good girl..” Teasingly, she’d circle your clit with the pen-shaped toy, gasping herself as she’d feel the aftershocks of its pulse on her clothed cunt. “Taking Mommy’s toy so well..such a sweet girl for your Professor-”

You’d rock your hips against her, the friction from her dress slacks and the vibrator’s pulse bringing you to the edge embarrassingly quick. Wanda wouldn’t notice your frenzied breathing or how you lost your rhythm, but she would hear your words; drawn between husky whines, “Mommy, please, I’m so close, fuck-” Your face would flush, legs beginning to tremble before the whole feeling was ripped away from you, Wanda’s grip leaving as the buzz would click off. With shaky breaths, your eyes would rise to meet hers- only to see a teasing grin. She’d pat your arms, gently coaxing you off of her thigh, the few sparks of friction from that not enough to bring you anywhere close to your release. You’d blink, thoughts thickened and reeling, brow furrowed ever so slightly for her- and Wanda loved it.

“You did so well for your first lesson, dear..” She’d croon, brushing herself off as she’d rise to her feet, leaving you on her cluttered desk. “But, Professor, I didn’t-” You’d begin and she’d silence you right there, hand rising to close your jaw shut again.

“And you won’t come unless you call me by my title, darling. You’ve received your correction for your first mistake- and for stealing from me,” You nodded slowly, absorbing her words as though they were molasses, and her smile only widened at how dazed she’d made you. “And if you disobey again when you’re with me, alone- then I’ll lower your grade by five points. Understand?”

If you were in any kind of fog before, you cleared it from your thoughts immediately. “Yes, very clear- uhm,” You pause, noticing the stain on her pant leg where your pussy had ground into the fabric, and you feel your face warm. Wanda would shift her stance and you’d look up- she leaned above you, a single brow raised. You’d swallow, keeping your eyes on her completely, “Yes, Mommy- I understand.”

“Good girl.” That was the right answer. She’d smile at you, her praise going straight to your cunt. Could she not have given you a few more seconds? Maybe you could’ve gotten off without her noticing. She’d interrupt your mind with a quick peck on the lips, and you felt your wits slow, swimming with thoughts of her mouth. Oh, that was why- couldn’t get away with anything if you didn’t think anything at all. Wanda’s grin would only intensify as she’d watch you dress, clothing rumpled from the haste it had been taken off. After a few minutes, you were back to prim and proper..besides your racing heart and flush whenever Wanda so much as moved. “This was great..” You’d murmur, pressing the wrinkles from your shirt, gaze flicking back up to Wanda’s- your professor still watching you with a smooth, secretive smirk.

“Of course it was, dear..but it’s still nice to hear you say that. Anything for my best student,” She’d wink at you and you’d fold, feeling your palms clam up. Since when were you this weak in the knees? She’d settle at her desk again, her hands clasped together on its wooden grain. You’d be taller than her now, with her sitting down- and yet there was an aura she commanded that you couldn’t outdo. You turn to leave without any further fanfare but her voice would seize you again, just as warm as her touch. “I’ll be expecting you after tomorrow’s classes, then? I think some…after-hours remedial work for my course would do you well.”

Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom, again? You’d leave her hall with a bright smile, a reply, and a secret. Your answer? The same as before - Fuck. Yes.

And your secret?

You’d stolen the ‘pen’ again.

#bearrrwrites #minors dni #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda smut #dom!wanda #sub!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #college au #one shot #smut fic #wlw ns/fw #god why was this so hard #once again #fuck it we ball

771 notes · View notes

mitsies · 7 months

Text

❊ shootin' hoops! - childe . . ajax can't get enough of you. meanwhile, you've definetely had it with him.

ajax is 19 when he falls in love with you.

he meets you in his second year of college, in a stupid, annoying, lame sociology class which he's only in because it's a requirement to his major. why else would he be in a dank room at 8 in the morning? oh, he hates it. the class is slow-paced. his professor is even slower. an old, little man. ajax bets that he could bench his weight. and maybe a little more than that, too, without breaking a sweat.

the class sucks, and it's not even hard, and he would probably skip every single one and pass with a hundred and ten percent. and he really, really considers this course of action, too. until, he sees you in the back of the classroom. he doesn't think he's seen you before. he'd remember if he did.

wow, you look pretty. wow, you're cool. and wow, maybe he'll stick around for the lecture tomorrow after all. ajax grins to himself. and maybe he'll bench his professor, too, if you'd think that was cool. would that make him look strong, and show off his muscles? then he might really try.

after the class lets out (which takes light years, he's convinced) he makes a beeline to where you're packing up your notebook and stationary. "lame class, huh?"

you turn at his words, eyes wide as you take him in. ajax smiles with his teeth, and he can imagine all the girls and guys in the class swooning, he can practically hear their thoughts; 'oh, who's that cute guy? his dimples are so adorable! oh, wow, i should ask his number. he looks like he would be the star player of our college's basketball team! so muscular, and cool!'

and if they're all thinking that, oh, he can't even conceptualise what you must be thinking. he feels butterflies, and a little dizzy, and a lot anxious— but in a cool way, of course— when you open your mouth to respond.

"i thought it was cool, actually."

he's breathless for a second because wow, woah, oh god, your voice is just as nice— no, it's better, than he'd imagined it. and then he registers what you'd just said and it takes everything in him to stay composed as his brain short-circuits looking for something to say in response. so-long to his ingenious plan of bonding over mutual hatred of your professor. hm. he's kind of backed himself in a corner. oh, well, it seems like he'll have to rely on his massive charm to get him through to you. not a problem!

"really? you've got awful taste."

your face sours. his heart thunders— oh, you're so, so cute. he likes it when you look at him like that. actually, he likes it when you look at him in general. he likes the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you're irritated. the way you look like you've tasted something bitter makes him think— would your lips taste sour, too? like lemons, and limes? like biting into a cardamom pod?

before he can think about it too much, you speak again, and he's entranced— again. "just my thoughts."

"well clearly, you don't think much."

you blink at him. your eyelashes frame your eyes so nicely, too. he wonders if there's a colour that encapsulates the shade of them. ajax thinks that your eyes are like the rest of you— indescribable. and then you scoff, and walk away with your bag slung over a shoulder, and he can't wait to see you tomorrow.

three weeks go by. ajax doesn't think he could be more in love.

he's showed up to sociology every single day, just for the sake of seeing you. lighting up like a match the second you show up in the doorframe, and going out in a similar fashion once you're gone. he relishes every single second in your company. he carves every half-smile and every grimace, and every time you purse your lips in confusion and every time you nod along to the professor when you understand. oh, he's in love. and it's bad. it's so bad.

"don't tell me you're actually doing the extra credit work," he says, staring at open laptop on your desk. it's work time, and while ajax could hypothetically leave, you're staying, so he's staying too.

you glance up at him. lord knows how you've put up with him for so long. he's annoying, he's bothersome, he does not leave you alone, not for a second. the only time he sees you is sociology so he's got to make the most of it. "i've got nothing better to do, ajax."

oh, he loves, loves, loves it when he says your name. it might be his favourite sound in the world. "you could leave. it's a free class."

you raise a brow— "you could leave too."

"i could. but what'd you do without me?"

you laugh the littlest bit, and he feels a dozen times lighter. maybe your laugh is actually his favourite sound, he can't decide. "probably be a lot more productive."

he likes what you have. he likes this friendship-ish kind of thing. he likes that you only hate him sometimes, and that you can stand to be around him other times. that's not to say he's satisfied. oh, not even close. 3 weeks were enough for ajax to imagine it— a lifetime. he imagines holding your hand at graduation. and he imagines movie nights turned sleepovers, and he imagines what colours you'd choose for the bedsheets of your first house together. he imagines lists of names. he imagines forever. but this is a good start. you're 50-50 now, he's just got to work on that hundred percent.

and, in his opinion, 3 weeks is a long, long time. that's 7 whole days of 24 whole hours. and only god knows how many minutes are in those hours. way too many, he thinks. he's smart enough to know that good things take time, but he doesn't think that he can be only your classmate-sometimes-friend for any longer. he wants more. needs it.

you speak before he can reply, "you really have nothing to be working on?"

he probably does. a lot of business homework, something math related undoubtedly. but that wouldn't take him too long. so he opens his mouth to say as much when he remembers— he likely wouldn't have time later tonight. oh, but he's already not been doing his work— would it be embarrassing to start now? would you think he's stupid? he's so cool, and he'd hate if you didn't agree. in any other situation, he'd pop open his notebooks and get to work. but you make him all conscious, and nervous, and hot in the face. and how long has it been since you asked? he should probably respond. you stare expectantly and he feels warm all over, maybe almost as hot as he looks. (you'd agree. right? you would.)

"maybe just a few small things," he grins at you, "but i can squeeze them in before my game tonight."

you hum in response. "i forgot there was one tonight. against our rivals, right?"

his heart warms— you remembered who it was against. you might've forgotten about it in general, but you remembered it. that must be a good sign. oh, he's got this in the bag.

"yeah. at 7."

you smile at him. he thinks he might die right there. "well, good luck. i'm sure you'll do great."

he beams at the compliment, heart thundering like a caged bird between his ribs. compliments always meant more from you. he could probably definitely recall every single one you've ever spoken to him, if he tried. (and probably even if he didn't.)

ajax doesn't miss a beat, this time. "i'd probably do a lot better if you were there cheering me on."

he doesn't miss it. he doesn't miss the way your mouth twists a little bit in surprise, because this was really not what you were expecting. and he definitely, doesn't miss the way your eyes slide over to your hands, and your fingers which are suddenly all too fidgety. he's embarrassed you. his boyish grin grows tenfold. "don't tell me i've got you going shy on me."

you roll your eyes in mock annoyance, and he knows you well enough at this point to know you're trying to hide your bashfulness. "oh, you wish."

"you're right. i do."

you freeze. he doesn't think he could hide his joy at your embarrassment even if he wanted to, even if he tried. it's hard for ajax to pinpoint his favourite one of your feelings— he thinks you're cute all the time. he thinks it's funny when you're disgusted, or annoyed. he thinks you're adorable when you're happy, and especially so when you're sleepy. but he's beginning to suspect that he's especially fond of you when you're flustered like this.

the professor speaks. ajax's mood is instantly a little more sour because god, even the man's voice is slow and boring. the free class was officially dismissed, and students were free to go. under any other circumstances, ajax would be happy about this. but he really does have to go. he wishes you could come with him. he wishes you could come with him everywhere, really.

"are you serious?"

your question catches him off guard. you're looking at him again, with those pretty eyes, and you have a familiar expression on— it's one he recognises as confusion. you're confused. he softens, more than he thought possible. it takes everything in him to resist pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek, the crease of your furrowed brows, the corner of your lip where an unconscious pout makes itself known. and he realises he might've been unclear with his advances. so he meets your eyes and says, "of course i am. i'm serious about you if you are about me, yeah?"

it's some kind of consent, or acknowledgment. that what you both have can and probably will evolve. you're smart enough to know that he knows, and he's smart enough to know that you know. and you nod softly, and smile like flower petals, and he decides he'll never get over you. he'll never need another.

"i'll see if i can go tonight. but if not, i'll text you."

he thinks he's the happiest person alive. he could kiss you right then, right there, but your wrinkly old dustbag of a professor is still in the room and he won't entertain the geezer. "i'll see you."

he doesn't see you until the final quarter of the game, but you've been there the whole time.

his team is winning, of course, because they have him, but he's been out of it all game. any moment he can, he's scanning the stands with a watchful eye. it's one of the biggest games of the season. he knows he should be laser-focused, but he's not and it's all your fault. there must be hundreds of faces pressed together and he can't seem to find yours. until he does.

you're closer to the ground than he thought you'd be. hiding in plain sight. and when he sees you, he swears he might start floating. there are flowers in his chest, blooming an ache deep inside. something so disgustingly sweet, so addictingly sickening is awoken at the sight of you in his team's colour. he thinks you'd look beautiful in his spare jersey. he smiles, and it's all teeth. a vicious kind of adrenaline fills him as the next play is called to begin. he thinks he'll give it to you after he wins.

and wins he does. with flying colours, really— the other team didn't really stand a chance to begin with, not as soon as he saw you there cheering him on. his teammates flock to him like sheep, piling on him and shouting things he can't really hear over the general public's applause of the home team's victory. and everything is happening; his coach is slapping his back, his teammate is dragging him somewhere, someone's handing him water, people are screaming his name, yelling about his winning shot, and all he hears is his breathing, and all he sees is you, standing with your hands clasped and lips pressed together in a smile. all he sees is you, so you're the first person he runs to.

since you're in the first stand to the bottom, it's easy for him to clear the guard rail and get to your side. someone in the background shouts his name. he doesn't care. the people who were previously next to you are shoved aside— he doesn't care at all. he's right there with you.

"you came," his breath comes raspy, dry. "you came to see me."

you shrug nervously, "i guess i did."

so he kisses you. ajax is 19 when he falls in love, for the first and last time. ajax is 19 when he kisses you, and he's young, and he's stupid, and he will never regret this, not ever, not when you kiss him back almost instantly, pulling him close by his jersey. it feels so right, it feels too real to be true. he's got to be dreaming. any second now, he expects his daft old professor's voice to scold him for falling asleep during a lecture. but the voice never comes, and you really do taste like lemons and spice, and he hears phone cameras clicking and cheering grow tenfold and he doesn't care because he gets to kiss you.

at some point, you break away. your face is red-hot and he can feel the warm blood flooding your cheeks with how close your faces remain. he ikes it when your lips are swollen because of his. he likes it when your eyes are fixed on him. he likes you. he thinks he was doomed to like you from the start.

when the background finally fades back in, he sees his teammates cheering and ooh-ing like stupid junior high boys. you seem a little disoriented, so he laughs and pulls you away from the stands, helping you climb down the safety rail with a hand in yours and another on the small of your back.

ajax hates his sociology class. he hates the lectures, his professor, the subject— but something good came of it. because he really loves you. with your cardamom tongue and smile lines, and the crease of your eyebrows when you're annoyed, and all of it, and more. he loves you the most. more than anything.

flowers chosen: small sunflower & pink camellia . . adoration & longing for you

❊ send a request! ❊ 5k masterlist ❊ event info ❊

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star-anise · 9 days

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are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

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hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard · 2 months

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Fun fact: almost all of the apples you eat are clones!

You see, apples have extraordinary variety in their phenotypes. Just like dogs, their fruit can vary so much that it’s hard to believe that they even come from the same species.

Except unlike a dog (where if you breed two boxers together, you’ll get another boxer), apple genetics have so much variety that every single seed planted will sprout into something completely new (and likely foul-tasting).

Even if you pollinate an apple tree with its own pollen, enough genetic re-combining will happen so that the resulting tree will produce fruit that is absolutely nothing like the fruit of its singular parent.

This makes apples (and other tree fruits) extremely difficult to selectively breed, so almost every single apple variety simply… isn’t selectively bred! Almost all apples, save for GMOs, were basically spontaneously generated by nature and simply propagated by humans.

But how do you propagate a set of genetics that doesn’t grow “true to seed”? Easy.

You graft.

Plants, unlike animals, are eager to accept any marginally similar flesh as their own.

You can cut off a branch of a tree (or a stem of almost any plant), affix the branch of a different tree (called a scion) over top the newly-created wound, and the base tree (called the rootstock) will heal them together and incorporate the new branch into its vasculatory system.

Not only will a tree willingly incorporate tissue of any member of its species, many trees will also take on the tissue of other species!

If it’s done while the tree is young enough, you can get a tree with very sturdy roots AND nothing but perfect apples from the waist up.

Grafting is the oldest form of cloning. It’s an agricultural practice with evidence of practice as far back as 2,000 BCE

Could you imagine if animals were like that? You could just stick something on and it would just work?

(I can’t help but wonder if ancient people ever tried grafting livestock together after seeing that it works with crops)

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deepdreamnights · 1 year

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The Return of Johannes Factotum

Is the Professor of (Practically) Everything back? Has he finally escaped the Ultramerican judicial system? Only time will tell!

Prompt: a chubby man with glasses in a tweed jacket leaps over a glowing chasm full of grasping hands, comic book cover painting in the style of bill sienkiewicz and jack kirvy, many small details --ar 2:3

#johannes factotum #professor of practically everything #self portrait #unreality #midjourney #midjourney v5 #ai artwork #art by op #generative art

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senmiyaazx · 8 days

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SOLIVAN X READER

“Wanna be your muse ...”

cw: none // not fully proofread

Scratch, scribble, scribble .....

Hm, that's not quite right.

Using the end of the pencil, you rubbed away at the paper— erasing the imperfections in your art.

You were completely distracted. Whatever your professor was saying, you didn't care. It's boring and you could probably just search it up the next time he gives you homework.

You yawned, looking down at your drawing. A blush crept to your cheeks as you realize you've been drawing him for the past few days.

Him— your partner and new friend, the guy whose existence you weren't even aware of until a few days ago, the one who went unnoticed by everyone and you despite him being in the same class as you. Solivan Brugmansia, or rather, Sol.

He's pretty darn cute. Despite his intimidating appearance — from the black clothing and that scary gaze he had — he was actually really sweet, and kind. At least to you.. and Hyugo. But he's softer towards you.

You've noticed the way he stared for longer than he should, lingering touches that shouldn't be there, his dark gaze whenever he sees you interacting with Crowe, or anyone else for that matter. He also seems to like you a lot. Perhaps too much, but you don't really mind. Not when he's been oh so generous to you.

You groaned. No, that doesn't look like him. Try again.

Right. After you became partners, you couldn't help but continue to draw him even if it was unrelated to the project you both worked on. At first, it was mere excuses — you told yourself 'It's just for practice'. It's totally not because he's so pretty you can't help but want to admire him! Sounds weird, doesn't it? That's why it's for practice.

Fuck it. He's so damn pretty.

But your memory sucked, and you need a reference. How though? It's not like you can just ask him for a selfie, that'd probably sound suspicious. Plus, you're in class right now, and you really want to finish this sketch.

You sucked in a breath. Surely one look will be enough. Just one quick look?

You purposefully dropped your eraser on the floor, pretending it was an accident. You took a moment before picking it up, and as you did, you subtly turned your head to where Sol was— though to your surprise, he was already looking at you. Your gaze locked with those vermillion eyes, your own ones widening slightly before you immediately sat back up with an embarrassed blush.

'Can't believe he was already looking..' You sighed. 'This is so embarrassing.'

At least you managed to get a look. You can already envision his image in your head. It wasn't long before you got back to sketching.

You finished after a while. A smile was brought to your face as you stared at your creation, proud.

You rested your head on the desk, using your arms as a cushion. You closed your eyes, feeling tired. Just a few more minutes until..

...

Someone was shaking you awake. When did you fall asleep?

You raised your head from your desk, blinking sleepily.

"Sol..?" You mumbled.

"Morning, sleepyhead. You fell asleep." Sol's voice rung in your ear like a melody. You never realized how soothing his voice sounded, despite the teasing tone it held. You thought about how nice it'd be to hear it every morning.

"Did you get enough sleep last night? You look really tired." His tone switched to a concerned one, more like a doting mother.

"Yeah, just forgot to have my morning coffee." You grinned sheepishly, grabbing your things. "Thanks for waking me up."

He only gave a hum before a shy expression took over his features, a hint of blush blossoming on his cheeks.

He seems to be holding something in his hands before giving it to you. Is that your test paper? No, wait, is that the sketch you made earlier?!

"A-ah! Sorry-" You quickly took the paper from him (albeit rather aggressively), immediately shoving it into your bag as hot shame washed over you.

He chuckled which only served to stir your embarrassment even further.

"It's fine." He sucked in a breath. "You're really cute." He mumbled.

"What did you say?" You perked up, still trying to calm your racing heart. Why were you so flustered anyway?

"Nothing," He smiled shyly. "You know, if you ever need... references, you could always ask me. I don't mind.. I'd do anything for you after all." He whispered that last part to himself. You didn't even care - or notice it, you were too embarrassed.

Your eyes widened. Wait, was he serious? He's being for real?

Nonetheless, you couldn't bring yourself to deny because you probably would've never had the courage to ask. "Right, aha, I'll definitely take you up on that offer, thanks, uh.. bye!" You rushed out of your seat, the paper nearly crumpling in your hands.

Sol watched as you bolted away. He's completely aware of the way his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He couldn't help but grin. How could he not? You were thinking about him. That alone, is enough to make his heart flutter and yearn for more.

He smiled shakily, leaving the classroom after a while, thoughts filled with you as he walked through the hallways.

You're.. so cute. So damn cute.

———

a/n: this was supposed to come with three characters: sol, crowe and casper (date with death), but it's 4am and I'm not sure when im able to write for the other two since i have a busy schedule. i already have an idea though, just need to write it out :)

#solivan x reader #solivan brugmansia #solivan brugmansia x reader #the kid at the back sol #the kid at the back vn #the kid at the back fanfic #tkatb x reader #tkatb sol #tkatb vn #visual novel #male yandere

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sttoru · 2 months

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 '𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒, CHAPTER I: you finish your last lecture of the day and head to get dinner before returning to your dormitories. you stumble upon an injured figure on your way home, laying in a dimly lit alley. despite the fear in your heart, you decide to reach out towards the unknown man in need of help.

wc. 3.7k

tags. assassin!toji x female reader. sfw; fluff-ish, angst. reader's best friend oc appearance (yona). mentions of murder, blood, knives, anxiety. general warnings for all parts of the series: size difference. age gap (reader early 20's, toji early 30's).

ten seconds. you shut down your laptop and close it. nine seconds. you put your laptop in your tote bag. eight seconds. you close your books and do the same. seven seconds. you put your coat on. six seconds. you check your phone for any messages.

five seconds. you’re thinking about what to eat once you arrive home. four seconds. you decide on a pack of noodles. three seconds. you realise that you’ve ran out of them. two seconds. you make up your mind to go to your local supermarket. one second. you stand up from your seat.

“..that’s all, students. have a nice day and i’ll see you at our next lecture.”

a sigh of relief escapes your lips. you’re finally freed from the shackles of your statistics class. not like you’ve paid much attention to what your professor had been yapping about anyway. it was too boring. the daydreaming you did about your potential future boyfriend and all the cheesy romantic stuff you’d do together was all the more important.

“earth to my best friend,” your friend’s voice snaps you back into reality. you look to your side and find yourself apologising for not hearing her the first time. yona chuckles and waves her hand dismissively.

“i asked if you had any plans after the lecture,” she continues whilst scrolling through her phone. you take a peek at her screen and notice that she’s already looking up available restaurants in the area.

you’re grateful that she’s looking out for you in her own way, but you’ve already made up your mind. a pack of your favorite ramen noodles will fill you for tonight. you’re low on cash this month anyway. a fancy restaurant would have you surviving on water for the rest of the week.

“ah, i actually do. gotta go grocery shopping ‘n stuff,” you pout apologetically before buttoning up your coat. yona nods in understanding, knowing the struggles of being a college student.

“aww, all right. we’ll go next time then,” she replies with a smile.

you walk out of the building with your friend by your side, chatting about how boring the lecture was. of course, you also learn all about the recent gossip around campus. yona is practically your plug for that.

“did you hear about that one girl that allowed her boyfriend to stay with her in her dorm room for a whole month and then got snitched on by her roommate?” yona snickers, not caring if anyone around you could hear the gossip.

you raise an eyebrow in surprise. your university has strict rules about guests staying over in the dormitories. they can spend a day or two, but you’d have to sign them in. plus the resident assistants usually check the rooms for any unusual activity every other week.

to hear someone had gotten away for a whole month is quite a surprise.

“he could’ve stayed for longer if it wasn’t for the roommate snitching,” yona continues and rolls her eyes. she takes a quick snack from her bag and bites into it.

you shake your head and shrug, making sure you don’t trip and fall down the stairs whilst you’re talking, “guess the roommate got enough of the random man in their room. i mean—they pay for that room as well. not like the girl is the only one living there.”

yona nods and turns a right. you follow, your eyes scanning the busy hallways. some students are rushing between the crowd to catch their train and others are making their way to their next two hour lecture. those poor souls.

“mhm. i wouldn’t wanna live with a man i don’t know either,” yona eventually adds after swallowing the last bite of her snack, “let alone for a whole month.”

she throws the wrapper in a nearby garbage can—which is overly full already. talk about a ‘hygienic’ school.

“right,” you shiver as the thought gets put into your head. a random man living with you. . . sounds like a nightmare. you’ve heard enough stories about how dirty they can be. in both the physical and mental aspects.

after some walking - and getting annoyed by random people who block your way due to how slow they’re moving - you reach the exit of the building. yona stretches her arms and grabs her phone before turning to you.

“anyway, see you later, hun!” she enthusiastically gives you a hug. you return the affectionate gesture with a gentle smile, rubbing her back. you exchange your last words before both going your own ways.

music plays in your ears as you walk down the street. the wind blows against your face. it’s a cold day. you wouldn’t be surprised if it were to rain in a bit.

‘gotta be fast’, you think. you are not carrying an umbrella with you, so you’d have to hurry back with your groceries. your legs pick up their pace and pass all traffic as fast as they can.

it takes you quite a while to get to your destination. that’s the drawback of living in such a packed city like tokyo. there is no way to move, especially in the evening, when everyone is returning home.

you reach a crosswalk and wait for the light to turn blue. whilst you’re waiting next to a bunch of people, your eyes wander across the scenery. from the huge billboards to your right to the multiple cars to your left.

your gaze stops at one specific billboard. it’s playing some of the latest news. a recent incident had taken place just a few kilometres north from your university. three people had been found cruelly murdered in their apartments.

the definite cause of their deaths is still unknown. there wasn’t any sign of a forced entry, even when reports say that all three victims had been killed in the same way.

they speculate that the person involved must have been quite skilled—someone who’s done this multiple times before. there are absolutely zero traces of them left neither. the only reason they’re able to conclude that it is indeed a homicide, are the similar wounds left on the victims’ bodies.

another comment from the investigation team shows that there might be a survivor who’s escaped the cold blooded killer. that person is now considered missing.

the police are still thoroughly investigating the matter; that’s all you get to know before the news reporter moves on to the next subject.

you look down at your shoes. such scary stuff does make you afraid. you’re living on your own after all. you’d be less scared if you had a roommate, but you currently don’t.

some call you lucky for that since it’s a rare occurrence, yet you still wish you had someone living with you. that would make walking back home at night less stressful.

the increase of footsteps around you makes you realise that the light turned blue—a sign for you to cross the street. you eventually reach the other side. you tilt your head back, anxiously staring at the sky.

‘please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,’ you chant in your head. like the weather is going to listen to your desperate pleas. you rush inside of the supermarket.

you’ve been here often enough to know which products are in what aisle. you scurry over to the ramen, grabbing two packs. you get a few snacks along the way. unhealthy crap, that’s what you’re surviving on.

you stand in line at the cashier. you tap your shoe and bite your lip, your gaze fixated on the sky outside. you beg god to give you just a few more minutes. a few more minutes of drought.

you check your phone and go through your recent notifications to kill time. you swipe left on almost all of them—none being time sensitive or urgent anyway.

you greet the cashier politely once it’s your turn and allow him to scan your products for you. you await for him to announce your total before handing him your debit card. your eyes flicker over to the television hanging right behind the cashier’s head.

that gruesome news again. twice in a row. you shiver and try not to think about it. your mind is already overthinking the entire thing; what if you’re next?

well, that should be the least of your worries. you grab the plastic bag and walk to the exit of the supermarket, taking a deep breath. what you actually should be worried about is getting home dry.

“just my luck,” you mutter under your breath. your prayers are left unanswered as the first few drops of rain fall on your head. you kiss your teeth in annoyance.

you can’t help but silently agree as a couple walks past you, complaining about the sudden change of weather. you watch as a few more people rush past you with their bags above their head.

looking at the bright side of things, you won’t be the only one who’s running home with a bag as a shield against the rain and wind.

you take a deep breath again and mentally prepare yourself for the quick journey you’re going to make. you look to the left and then the right. when the coast is clear, you dash into the direction of your dormitory.

the rain is not letting up. you rush past a few people, those carrying umbrellas walking the slowest of them all. ‘damn them’, you think, ‘they have it the easiest right now.’

you turn a corner and nearly bump into a woman. you politely apologise before continuing your little run home. damp droplets run down your forehead. the rain is already starting to block your vision.

you tightly hug your tote bag to your chest with one arm. the last thing you want is for your laptop to get water damage. you’ve wasted tons of money on that thing to help you get through college.

you look down at the plastic bag with your food. that’ll survive. at least you think it will.

you squint. the rain is only getting worse and thus your blurry vision will as well. you try blinking the water away, but end up making it worse for yourself.

great.

your shoes are going through it. the deep puddles you’ve run through leave the material moist and you can already feel the droplets seep into your socks.

greaaat.

you turn a left. this narrow street is one you hate to be near when it’s dark. it’s a fast shortcut, but also a scary one since it’s isolated from the bustling main streets.

you think back to the cruel news you’ve heard earlier. scary images flash through your mind. your heart races a thousand miles per hour. you once again make up a doom scenario that could possibly happen.

what if the killer on the run is going after you next?

it doesn’t make sense, logically, but everything is possible now that your anxiety has overtaken your rational thoughts. you have no connections to those victims and yet you think you’re next.

you are next.

you whimper out of fear. it feels like the walls of this narrow street are closing up on you the faster you run. you look over your shoulder, excepting someone to be there—following you.

no one is there. you turn your head again and run as fast as you can. if only you had someone with you. someone who’d console you and tell you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

that’s the worst thing about the entire situation: nobody seems to pass by this backstreet. the only things that could possibly give you any sense of comfort are the random boxes and trash laying around.

time seems to slow down once you see the end of the backstreet. there’d actually be people once you make it through. you gulp and give yourself the motivation to get over there without scaring yourself any further.

the shadows looming over you due to the lack of lightning in this alleyway creep you out. the entire atmosphere is eerie—like something or someone can jump out of those shadows and grab you by the ankles. drag you into the darkness and finish you off there.

you want to return to those vibrant lights you know so bad. you do.

your eyes are so intensely focused on the end of the streets to the point that you forget your surroundings. it’s already too late to realise that you’re tripping over something. you process that you’ve lost your balance when you’re already mid-fall.

your body lands on the wet ground with a loud thud. luckily enough, your hands touched the concrete first, softening the fall for your head. you grunt and groan; it still hurt.

your ears pick up on the sound of running water. your head lays right next to a broken pipe that’s leaking water onto the pavement. cold droplets fall in a rushed rhythm.

“ah, fuck.”

your eyes widen. the sound of a man behind you sends a shiver down your spine. is that why you tripped? did he make you trip?

‘i’m so done,’ you conclude quietly. it’s probably the killer you’ve heard about—the one who’s coming for you next. just like you had thought.

you shut your eyes tightly, awaiting the strike that would finish you. like the wounds that had finished the other victims. though, it never comes. the stabbing doesn’t happen.

the only thing you can pick up on is heavy breathing. low grunts, barely audible. the sound of cloth ripping. a man mumbling under his breath.

you sit up on your knees and look over your shoulder. slowly, little by little.

the revealed sight is like a dream. or a nightmare. you don’t know which it is. perhaps a mixture of both.

all you know is that this is the last thing you expected to see. the last thing you expected to experience today. you feel your heart drop and you freeze in place.

you’ve seen your own fair share of blood, but this is simply too much. it’s like time has stopped for you. like time has stopped inside of this backstreet.

the world outside of this alleyway continues moving. the people keep walking, chatting and living their lives. the rain keeps falling. as if nothing is occurring at the moment.

as if there is no bloodied man on the dirty ground, leaning against the wall, with crimson stained hands clutching his abdomen. his wet bangs cover his eyes which makes his identity even more mysterious.

you probably tripped over his leg that’s stretched out in front of him; also bloody. you feel bad for not noticing him earlier. your own selfish desires to get out of this alley caused you to overlook a person in need of urgent aid.

you don’t think twice before reaching out towards him. it’s like your body moves on its own command—not waiting for your brain to figure out what to do.

“oh my god,” you’re shaking badly, but your body crawls closer to the injured figure. you don’t think twice. something you have always taught yourself to do before diving into unfamiliar situations.

not right now, however. you don’t hesitate to check up on the stranger. if you didn’t see his chest moving with each shaky breath, you’d have concluded that he’s dead.

“s-sir?” you panic. what do you do? you’ve never landed in such a predicament before. you look to your left and then to your right. no one to help you nor the bloodied man.

he doesn’t reply to your voice. that further worsens your anxiety. your eyes wander down towards the man’s abdomen. the wound was deep and painful, that much you can tell from the way he’s holding tightly onto it.

a bullet wound? you’re not sure.

right—the piece of cloth he’s keeping against the wound. that’s what you do to try and stop the bleeding. the warm red liquid stains the man’s baggy pants. his black shirt is nearly ripped to shreds, the material hanging on by a thread. literally.

“uhm, uh,” you look around and spot your bag on the floor. in a puddle. you pray that your laptop has made it. you don’t recall having anything with you that could help treat wounds.

you gulp and hastily take off your scarf. you carefully kneel in front of the half-conscious man. his head is held low. you don’t know if he can even hear you.

you reach your hand out towards him, aiming for his own bloody hands that hold onto his abdomen. you cringe due to the sight, but try your best to be of assistance.

the man hisses the moment you touch the his hand. your fingers stop mid-air, not wanting to touch him if he didn’t want to.

what am i thinking?

now is not the time for that. he’s bleeding out and you have this urge to get him to safety as soon as possible. even if you’re internally panicking because of the huge responsibility that fate has suddenly assigned you.

“i’ll call an ambulance. please hold on,” you try to be reassuring, however your choked up voice betrays your true feelings. you change the old cloth with your scarf, pressing it tightly against his injury.

you fish out your phone from your pocket using your other hand. the rain makes it hard to do anything. your screen is wet, your vision blurry. you type in the first number of the emergency services.

suddenly, a bigger hand swats yours, causing your phone to go flying to the other side of the street. you watch with wide eyes as your cellphone comes to a stop right next to a big puddle of rain.

you whip your head to the direction of the injured figure in front of you. the man tries to lifts his head, slowly, so he could look you in the eye. your heart stammers in your chest.

“sir, you’re bleeding out, you need to—“

“i don’t need anythin’.”

you don’t dare to move nor let out a single breath. you can feel the tip of a sharp blade rest under your chin—nearly penetrating the flesh. one wrong move and you will lose your life.

the man had moved too fast for you to even process. you don’t know how you even ended like this. with a bloody knife to your throat and an unknown man’s face right up against yours.

“leave,” the stranger demands. you know he’s not to be messed with, even in his weakened state, “i don’t need y’r help.”

his voice sounds rough. deep and raspy. it shakes you to your core—makes you listen to what he has to say. it’s hypnotising. a gust of wind blows over the both of you.

his bangs move and your gaze finally meets his. the background noises fade for a split second. your entire focus is on those beautiful emerald orbs staring into your own eyes. they’re gorgeous.

they're gorgeous; even if they lack that sparkle of life. his eyes tell stories—the rough journeys this man probably had to endure throughout the years. you’ve never seen such a sight. it tugs at your heartstring and urges you to help him.

you don’t know where these feelings came from, but amidst your anxiety, there’s an underlying desire to take care of him.

you shake your head, showing your unexpected defiance. you’re playing with fire. you know that all too well and yet you don’t care.

“no. i won’t leave,” your breath hitches. you notice the dangerous glint in the man’s eyes. he looks like he’s going to lose consciousness any second now. though his grip on the knife tells another story, “i won’t leave you alone. not like this.”

the injured stranger grunts in annoyance, but also in pain. your persistence makes him want to shove you to the side. to leave this place already and find a way out on his own. he doesn’t want your help.

he may actually need it, but he does not want to accept it.

despite those thoughts, he’s too weak. way too weak. he doesn’t like being weak. feeling weak is not his thing. vulnerability doesn’t suit him.

“you have a fuckin’ death wish,” the man scoffs. he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto consciousness, but that is the last thing he cares about. he wants you gone. out of sight.

you stay in place. even through his chilling death threats. you can feel the blade start to invade the first layer of your skin. it hurts already. normally, you would’ve run. you want to. your mind tells you to get the hell out, but your heart and body yells at you to stay.

“i’ll give ya three seconds,” the stranger continues. he’s close. so close that you can feel his hot breath against your freezing cheeks. it’s intimidating, however not enough to scare you away.

the tighter your grip on the scarf against his abdomen, the tighter his grip on the handle of the knife. time will tell who’ll win this battle.

“three.”

the countdown starts. you swallow your own spit. the rain has you completely drenched. you catch a glimpse of the puddle underneath you both. the colour of it a light red as the man’s blood flows and mixes with the clear water.

“two.”

his voice is quieter than before. he’s losing his strength, but is stubborn enough to firmly keep the knife below your chin. you’re sure that your own blood is already trickling down the shiny metal.

the man’s lips part to announce the last number. your last chance. your final opportunity to escape and act like you have never seen him. you can go back to your normal life—continue living in your own world. the one you are familiar with.

one without this unknown man. this man with an aura of a cold hearted killer.

you fingers curl tightly against the scarf pressed against his wound. you refuse to let up. even if it means your own death. your eyes close—cold damp droplets roll down your cheeks. you don’t know if they’re your tears or if it’s just the pouring rain.

you hear a low, frustrated groan. he sounds so close yet so far from you. you can feel the man’s arm move to adjust his grip. probably to try and flawlessly puncture your jaw.

if only you accepted to eat out with your friend. if only you turned around and went back to your dorm the moment you knew it was going to rain. if only you didn’t take this shortcut today.

if only your fates hadn’t clashed.

“one.”

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk x y/n #toji x you #please give it lots of love 🙇🏽‍♀️

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xervn · 2 months

Text

like a french girl 🎨

part 1 - paint me | part 2 | art major ellie x dance major reader | ellie photo

ao3 link

summary: ellie had been struggling with finding the perfect model for her art final. that was until she saw you.

18+ MDNI | 2.2k words | tags; college au, pining, only a little explicit, no use of y/n, not proofread

disclaimer: not an art or dance major, don't shoot!

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Scribble, scratch, throw. This has been Ellie’s routine since she moved onto campus.

Why? Her professor told her that she draws the human body like it’s lifeless. Ranting about how they’re too one-dimensional and have no depth, her lines are too sharp or not sharp enough; flat and boring in looks and in feeling.

Now listen, Ellie has nothing against criticism. She respects her professor and she’s aware that her drawings lack “vitality”. It’s been something she’s struggled with for a while now, an effect of some recent events and overall adjusting to college life.

Ellie isn’t unable to grasp the anatomy of the body, in fact it’s the opposite. She knows the human body is complex and needs thorough observation. The way the sun hits the skin, the hairs on a knuckle, the creases of a smile. Wide, small, big, tall; no two bodies are exactly the same.

Really, the imagery is so clear to her, but she finds it impossible to transfer the life and motion of the body onto a piece of paper without truly understanding the person. The way she sees it, every body has a story, and in order to make a good piece she needs to know that story.

Since art school is filled to the brim with inspiring, exciting, and vibrant people, she has, of course, tried to talk with them. She attempted to get to know the models, ask them general questions and hope something clicks. Unfortunately, that has yet to happen. She can’t really ask her friends either without it getting awkward. Imagine, “ Oh, hey guys! Can you guys get naked and pose in one spot for my homework?” Hear how weird that sounds? Even though she’s sure Jesse would definitely be down, she values her eyes.

Any “muse” she could possibly ever want was right in front of her, so why was it really impossible for her to find one?

Well, because Ellie didn’t find anyone interesting enough. She’s not shallow or anything, it has nothing to do with how the model looked, Ellie has had several good-looking models. It was more about how she perceived them. It’s just that she hasn’t seen a model that made her ask questions like: “ How’d they get that scar?” “ What does that tattoo mean?” Stuff like that.

The last interesting model she had was probably a fucking homeless guy she shared a blunt with outside a gas station many moons ago. Till this day, he might be one of her best pieces. There’s not a lot of moments like that here.

Nonetheless, Ellie saw this developing– extremely lame— personal requirement of hers annoying as shit. It’s holding her back big time, but she couldn’t help it even if she really wanted to.

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It’s practically useless to keep trying. The tiny voice in Ellie's head presses her to keep going, keep failing, but enough is enough. She is seriously burnt out and any more of this might kill her. The only thing that could help right now is a meaty slice of pizza and a blunt as soon as she thought of it.

Ellie clears out her desk, knocking the stack of crumpled paper into a conveniently placed trash can; a placement made from her constant trials and errors. She pushes up, and stretches widely, obnoxiously groaning like an old man by the end of it. She quickly tidied herself up, tying up half of her hair into a ponytail and throwing on a dark-green flannel shirt she had to sniff before wearing over her plain white tee. She takes a quick look into her floor-length mirror, making sure she looks presentable before grabbing what she needs to head out.

Just as her hand reached for the silver knob, Ellie felt this overwhelming urge to look back. God, she knows what she is going to look back at, but she really hopes she doesn’t. Unfortunately, her eyes land on her sketchbook, laid flat on the desk underneath a lamp’s warm light. She shouldn’t.

She needs a break. She knows she needs a break, but there is a twinge of hope, faith, lodged somewhere inside her. The same faith that’s kept her from dropping out every day for the past four months. Ellie groans as she drags her feet to her desk where she whisks up the brown book and shoves it in her tote bag with an accompanying pencil. She swivels back to the door and strolls out, silently praying her mood improves in the next hour.

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The cafeteria was surprisingly crowded, but Ellie managed to get her pizza without saying ‘fuck it’ to the line. Still, the thought of eating between this buzzing mess when she was in such a shitty mood turned her off. Thankfully, she knew that everyone would be everywhere but the upstairs balcony, especially during this chilly time of year. No sane person would eat out there, and she’s not particularly sane. Ellie saunters off to the balcony and sits herself at a small table facing the view.

It only took a glance around before she came to the realization that the view is not really a view. There’s only a dorm a few feet away, directly across. It’s a large brick-laid, generic building with wide windows. If it weren’t for the blinds, the view into a room would probably be good enough to read a label on something. Ellie’s freckled face grimaces at the thought, imagining what it’d be like if someone watched her rage as she messed up her homework over and over from this distance. Despite that, she thought it’d probably be a pretty good spot to live in. It’s close to the cafeteria and probably a lot bigger than her 1x1 dorm.

With a twinge of curiosity piquing her mind, Ellie glimpses over the windows, and for the most part, they are all closed.

All closed, but yours.

Yours doesn’t even have blinds. You’re on the 3rd floor and almost completely unobscured in a black camisole, sitting on your questionably roomy windowsill with a leg perched up. Ellie can see the fairy lights strung up in your bedroom, and a line of succulents closer to the window; ordered by size, which she briefly thought was cute.

You aren’t facing the window, so she can only see your back. What she could see, though, is you doing your hair, occasionally swaying to what she can only imagine is music. Your room is high, but low enough for her to identify you if she had the pleasure of knowing you. Knowing you, reverberates in her head. Does she know you? Has she met you before? Amongst that babble, there is one more question she is slowly trying to gather an answer to.

Time passes, most definitely shorter than Ellie would have thought passed. Her eyes have been glued on you the whole time, she even forgot about her, now freezing cold, pizza just so she could gawk at you. She still hasn’t seen your face yet, barely even a glimpse, but she already thinks you are stupidly beautiful just by the way you move.

From the graciousness of your movements alone, she thought there was no way in hell you didn’t know she was watching. At some point, your arms got tired, so you smoothly rolled your aching shoulders back; stretching into an arched, effortlessly perfect posture. Ellie’s eyes traced that slight curve of your back as if you’d disappear if she broke off from you.

There is no way it gets better from that, is what she thinks to herself, only to be shut up immediately after when she sees that perfectness of your back stay as you bend over and shift onto both knees to grab something far away, bringing your shorts in view. So short— so tight , they could easily be mistaken for panties.

It was unexpected to say the least, Ellie could feel her face heating up and had to look around her to see if anyone else could see what she was seeing right now. Ellie wondered about the practicality of those shorts, wondered what exactly they were supposed to cover, leering at the plush of your ass peeking out. She thoughtlessly lets her jaw drop before muttering out a low, impressed, and barely over a whisper, “Well, fuck.”

You must’ve noticed your shorts riding up, since you quickly pulled them down after you grabbed what you wanted. Ellie clears her throat, internally scolding herself for being so gross— so perverted. Her brows furrow in embarrassment from all the dirty thoughts she brewed up in that moment. But for some reason, she still doesn’t look away. Well, there’s a list of reasons for her to look away, but she feels like ignoring it.

Then a cold gust of wind bites past her face, clearly a sign from the universe that she should snap out of it, and snap out of it she does.

What the hell happened to her? What is it about you that she keeps leaning into? Suddenly something clicks in her brain. After months of creative agony, something finally clicked. She has sat here completely fascinated by you and she couldn’t tell sooner?

In all honesty, to say she is just “interested” in you would be an understatement. Yeah, now she thinks you’re the perfect model for her final, but she wants to know you beyond just the drawing. A plus is that you just happened to be hot, and Ellie has never been attracted to a subject before, so the whole thing was new and exciting to her. Just the thought of drawing you made her remember why she loved art so much. Ellie reaches for her tote bag sitting in an empty seat beside her, pulling out her sketchbook with more enthusiasm than she probably ever has. She sets the book down, opening up a blank page with one hand and tightening her grip on her pencil in the other.

She looks back up at your window, ready to sketch your life onto paper and.. Shit. You’re looking back.

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Today has been a good day for you, your teacher chose you to teach the choreo you’ve been working on for weeks to your classmates. It was an obvious ego booster for you. You felt good and you wanted to look good too, even if you weren’t going out anywhere. It was just one of those nights. You wanted to experiment with your hair, thinking maybe you’ll do something new before your next practice. Dye it, cut it.. something.

It’s been a while since you started, and after several wrist and shoulder cramps, you were finally finished. You take a look into your hand mirror, peering at your reflection. You’re satisfied now, looking exactly how you’re feeling if you minus the dingy sleep clothes you’re in.

♫ My heart, I never be, I never see, I never know. ♫

Grimes? Really? You pout, upset that your playlist didn’t magically read your mood. What you need is real 2000’s hot girl music. Britney Spears, Nelly Furtado, or Beyoncé for crying out loud.

“Alexa, skip!” You shout across the room, just loud enough for the device to hear.

The stupid thing doesn’t even light up, so you call out a few more times but to no avail. Isn’t the whole point of that thing to be voice automated? You sigh and look around for your phone, and seeing it’s nowhere in front of you, you figure it’s behind. You twist your torso to find your phone behind you and luckily you do. As you pick it up, you casually glance out the window without any expectations.

Did you see a figure in the blur as you looked away? You question your eyes, but you decide to take another look and just find out for yourself.

You peer back down and your eyes meet with someone else’s. The sudden eye contact between you and this woman instantly mortified you. Your heart sunk, and all you could do was raise your brows stupidly. She was surprised too, even in the dim light you could see her shocked expression boring back at you. Not only that, it went on for way longer than it should have. Any normal person would’ve looked away, but her eyes lingered on you before she hastily turned away.

You’ve been sitting here, dressing up your hair, listening to your music without a care in the world. Far too absorbed in yourself to realize there’s someone outside your window. You slide off your windowsill and out of sight. Just as your bottom finally hits the wood floor, you feel the coldness of it against your skin and you’re immediately conscious of the fact that your ass was literally out at some point.

The poor girl was trying to eat her food and you were bending over in front of your window like a harlot. It certainly didn’t help that she looked kinda hot. Did she? You peeked over your windowsill, hoping to get another look to really assess her hotness, but she was already gone. Whatever, maybe she didn’t see? But she looked embarrassed… embarrassed for you probably!

You hide your face in your hands and topple to the side, letting out a fake sob. Oh, god. You can already imagine Dina’s face when you tell her. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that thought. That was humiliating as shit, but it’s whatever. It’s not like you’ll see her again.

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side note: if you have any tropes you'd like to see w/ this universe pls do drop an ask 🤭

click 4 more!

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #lesbian #ᝰ like a french girl

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hanjisunglover · 2 months

Text

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒

𐙚 pairing: volleyball player!han jisung x nerdy fem!reader

𐙚 genre: smut, high school au, strangers to ??, angst, fluff

𐙚 word count: 6.7k

𐙚 warnings: reader is a virgin, jisung it's kinda an asshole, he's also lowkey manipulative, dirty talks, dom! jisung, sub! reader, jisung it's kinda needy at the end, fingering (f!recieving), oral recieving ( m! and f! receiving ), eating cum, penetration, unprotect sex ( stay safe y'all), semi-public sex (people walking down the hall) spank kink ( f! receiving), breeding kink. Jisung's friends bullies reader, ji it's pretty jealous.

𐙚 summary: y/n has the best grade in history, jisung is just a volleyball player that can't keep himself out of challenges, so why not seducing the pretty y/n?

𐙚 members mentioned: minho, bang chan, hyunjin

[ jisung 02:34 am ] what are you asking me to?

[ minho 02:38 am ] you want the money? fuck her then :)

[ jisung 02:39 am ] why her? com'on you can think someone else

[ minho 02:40 am ] because her brother is in the team that we need to piss off for the next game, we need to win this time, that's why

You love History, you like the feeling of knowing things more than the others. You always been intelligent and smart, above the people. Never been out with a guy, never really trusted yourself enough for a relationship with anyone more than your own brother. Chan always been the extrovert in the family: you loves books, he loves volleyball and parties. You never complained to see him jumping around as the captain of the Lokeys and as setter.

That's how jisung started to ask you some help with history. You were so surprised when he stopped you from going out the class after the long and super interesting lesson from Mrs. Yang, that woman showed you the best way to love the Roman Empire. His cheeky smile and his strong cologne made your mind spin, but you tried to keep it cool to refuse. Until he talked about paying the extra sessions, and then.. how can you refuse it?

Extra money, talking about your favorite subject, that's the jackpot for a nerdy like you. You still don't trust him to make him come to your house to study, that's how you end up in the car of your big brother.

"Why you didn't refuse to help him?" Chan pinch his bridge of the nose, sigh lightly, he doesn't like the idea of her little sister with Jisung. He doesn't really know him, he doesn't know that much to let her sister go with a guy like him. For Chan you're still his baby sister, to protect from the world.

"it's gonna be fine, I'll keep my location on in case, don't worry okay? it's just study at the library." just study at the library, that's your thoughts. But you have the feeling of something else happens in your head, the drive to the school it's quiet enough to let you think.

Jisung, Han Jisung, the best setter that your school ever had before. He's good, he practice so hard everyday, he loves volleyball more than everything and you unfortunately knows. You know because Chan is the captain of the Lokeys, team that wins against them every single time. The difference now?

Jisung is in the team. And he talks with his members without even explain anything, he can read people in the best way possible, he can gets the opponents' moves even before they make them. It's just a genius in his game

Your brother drops you off and as you walk out he stops you holding your wrist a little, "hey, call me if he's being an ass, kay? I still can wait in the parking lot until you're done."

"hey, I got it." You smile softly at him as he waves at you from the window of the car as he speed right in front of you, just to make you laugh. You look at the doors of the school with a big breath.

The people around there are just some professors, some crazy kids that loves the book at the school and the sport clubs with the training hours, you never understood why put so much effort on your body. You hates sweating. And moving, in general it's not your favorite thing in the world, that would be diaries from the 40' about the WW1.

You try to find a quiet spot in the library, with your bag on your shoulder and the books against your chest, you need to find the perfect table to not have too many people around. Perfect to low talk and not being caught by the hateful librarian, who frankly - hates you. The reason? You may or not have held about ten books from the school on the industrial revolution.

I mean, who would blame you? they are good books, at least for you, and some other nerds. That you don't know, you don't talk to many people, you're voice it's so quiet that everytime people ask you to repeat yourself, at least three times.

As your turn the corner you notice a little table, not bigger than one seat each side, perfect. You fix your clothes as you sitting, putting the books and the conceptual maps that you like to make, your handwriting is delicate, neat and everything is divided down in color due to your visual memory. You are envied for your notes, which are going around to your classmates every time for classwork.

You waited for two hours there. Any reasonable person would have already picked up their things and gone. Not for you. You, you stayed there, studying anyway. You tried not to waste time and clear your thoughts as you finished your notes from the last lesson. When suddenly your phone rings.

[ Channie 18:21 ] are you guys almost done? :D

[ y/n 18:21 ] he never show- As you type the text Jisung gets inside the library, a grin in his face that makes every girl turn her head to look at him, he's wearing his classic uniform to training for volleyball. His movements are full of confidence as he looks around for you, as he stands up in front of the table he start to chuckles.

"Hey beautiful."

[ y/n 18:24 ] nope, but I text you when we are ♡

"my name is Y/n," muffled words gets out your mouth as you look over him, his tonic body gets right in front of you and your side of the table.

You bow a little as you press your lips together in an awkward smile, he chuckles as he cross his tonic arms against his chest. "I know, but names are not my favorite. I like nicknames, so.. you took this thing serious I see," he murmurs.

Jisung take his seat right next to you, his sweaty body makes you feel almost dizzy for how hot he looks, shiny tears of sweats driving down his neck, going inside his shirt. You're trying to not stare, but it's really hard when you have a good looking guy next to you. "So where you lack the most?" You says clearing your throat with a light cough, moving your hair behind your ear as you look at the chapters in the book in front of you. His eyes are on your lips are you talk.

"Right, of course." he nods once and gives you a charming smile as he looks down, trying to focus on the book. Jisung smirks as he watches you blush.

"Now, now… why should I be focused when I have you next to me, looking all cute and gorgeous?" He chuckles in amusement and leans closer toward you, his arms crossing over his chest. "Would be hard to concentrate on anything else, really." he winks at you and runs a hand through his hair.

You blush hardly to find him so close to your face, try to muffles some words but everything that comes out from your mouth a some gasps, he's being clearly flirty and that makes you flustered already, "book, study, please?"

He chuckles as he presses his index finger against your cheek, the sudden contact makes you confused but you manage to control it, "why don't we play a game mh? Simon says. one each."

You sigh, because you think it's the best way to make him focus. "okay, who's start?"

"Ladies first," he moves his hand over you almost brushing his fingers over your arm and you shiver at the light touch, Jisung can read your face and your thoughts as if your internal dialogue is speaking to him.

"Simon says open your book and take notes," your light order make him chuckles, but he listen and he grab his own book opening at the same page as you.

You breathe a sigh of relief as you begin to highlight important points about the book, his focus lasts for about half an hour before he places both hands on the table and looks at you intently with a smirk.

"Simon says, let me kiss you," you almost choke yourself with his words, you shake lightly your head, "no com'on.. please.. it's-it's enough."

Jisung smirks when you turns your head a bit, getting closer again and nudging your jaw with the tip of his thumb. "I think you don't know the game, sugar. You have to do whatever Simon says. Otherwise your turn is lost." Jisung chuckles softly and raises a brow again, his other hand drifting to your thigh, right under your skirt. He keeps teasing you and playing with your mind.

You squeeze your thighs together as she whine a little, looking at him lightly as she glance at his lips, sighing deeply, "Are we gonna back to study after?"

"Yes, promise." Jisung chuckles softly and raises a hand to your face, stroking your cheek softly and tilting your head back toward him. "Can I have your answer now, sweet thing? Or do you need me to make this harder for you?" The hand on your thigh squeezes your leg gently, making you squeal, and he leans in to breathe in your scent. Jisung's lips are just inches away from yours now, his breath hot on your skin. The tension is thick as he lean on you.

He kisses you softly, biting your bottom lip with determination, he's running too fast for you; it's your first kiss. Your eyes are closed as he keep kissing you with transportation. The moment breaks as you get breathless, your cheeks red like cherries and your eyes locked in his. "it was your first kiss, isn't it?"

As you nod he chuckle like a kid, This is gonna be easier than I thought, jisung is thinking about. You cover your face with your hands he moves his hand on your thigh again, "oh don't worry angel, I'll be gentle next time, but I can't promise anything."

Next time? oh you're totally losing it. He talks about a second kiss? you only saw those kinda of things in movies or tv series that you cry yourself on during the night when you feel that you need to 'suffer' about a relationship - that frankly, you never had. But that's not a problem for you, you never expected someone to loves you like the movies, or loves you like the songs that you always listen and fills your playlists.

Between the lessons in the days after, Jisung started to talk to you, to even say hi between the periods, also doing small chats between you two.

"hey y/n!" "can you help me with the study after?" "let me buy you some coffee," "we should hang out soon."

the kiss, the kiss, the kiss. That is the only thing that run through your mind, every time he is around. You can't stop think about it! it's all over your head, as soon as you close your eyes you can feel his lips against yours again, and just the thought makes your panties extremely wet. For God sake, you're lucky that he didn't touched you in the library, you're not sure that you are capable enough to shut your mouth. He's so attractive, walking around with his confidence that build just insecurities to the people in the hallways, so hard to get it for you. But hey, you're not in the same level as him.

He's a 10, you're a 6. Your brother would say a minus 8, but it's your older brother, so his vote doesn't count. Because he would say anything to make you genuinely happy, he loves you unconditionally it's impossible for him to not give you a right number. But still, you don't believe him.

During the middle school, your class listed the girls from the prettiest, to the ugliest. Just a funny game, but you hated it, all of the competition that shouldn't be in a bunch of 16 years old girls made you feel more and more uncomfortable. With your body, your extreme intelligence, made you ended up in one of the last positions.

You started to believe it, because if everyone agree, why it shouldn't be the truth? So you started to act like one, eating alone during lunch, your assignments with a group of people you decided to made your part by your own, your friends started to hang out with other people so; why force something that already is done.

Walking down the hall, by yourself and your eyes focus on the floor, Jisung is sneaking from behind, putting his arm around your shoulder, "hey beautiful."

"uh! hi, hi jisung," You mumble as you almost drop everything that you're holding in your arms, his eyes are traveling from your eyes to your lips, the tension building up inside you. "how are you doin? still too busy to hang out with me?"

He never asked you, "you never asked me."

Your sudden change of tone makes him giggle, holding you tightly against himself, your face get dangerously close to his, "so you would've say yes? Look at you y/n, all confident to talk back to me."

Cheeks getting red, makes him just more giggly and happy, because he knows that his friends are looking right at the end of the hall, where they can see how much he has you under his power. The deal with them is simple: fucks her, bring a proof and the proof can only be her underwear, dirty of his sperm.

In his head he already created the perfect occasion for that, how to make you beg for him, to gets on your knees just because of him. Just the thought of taking your virginity makes him hard, he clear his throat, "so wanted to ask you for, another lesson. maybe somewhere else, you know.. not in the library."

You feel your body slightly tensing up, feeling your legs almost numb for his words, "where? I'm just.. see my schedule and see if I can make it."

"my house. today, after my practice." Your eyes goes wide open, your surprise make him giggle as he nods,"yes angel, my house."

"I said I need to check my schedule, don't.. don't hope too much."

"Oh but I know you're coming princess, you can't say no to me."

You know jisung's house like one of the most beautiful - also richest - spot in the city, his father is a really important manager for one of the biggest volleyball team in town. His parties are always big and always loud, nothing in compare to what you do on Saturday.

But you also know, that he never invites girls over, that something that a lot of girls - specially the female volleyball team - complains all the time in front of you instead of listening to the history lessons. The talk, and talk and talk about him, and the only occasions when girls can get in his house.. is to hook up.

And that's how you ended up in his room, waiting for him to finish his shower, a book in front of your eyes but your head fill with thoughts.

"Simon says, tell me your dirtiest fantasy," he says clicking the pen in a almost rhythmic way, his eyes on your blushing. Because even if you're just a virgin, your head always fantasized about so many things. You guys are been studying for two hours now, he's overworked to let you talk for that long, when his only thought has been bending you over and take you right there. right now.

He try to push your to the limit until you spill it out, "okay, fine. fine I'll tell you," you mumble as he chuckle happily, his hand finish on your thigh, making you blush even more, "I think.. I think I like it rough. I mean, it's just an assumption, because I'm still a virgin."

"you know what I like?"

His question doesn't sounds like one, but you let him finish talk, his hand travels up and down from your knee to your inner thigh. Your skirt moves with his touch, "I like to make happy pretty girls like you."

Your cheeks get red as cherries just making him smirk like a cheeky kid that just had the answer that he wanted, "I think I.. could make you happy, angel, if you just.. let me." You can feel your heart bouncing in your chest when he starts to kiss your neck, his hand finds his way on your panties, feeling the wetness against the thin fabric.

"So fucking wet already."

You can't actually tell how you ended up on his bed, your thighs spread open and his face right between them. "jisung.. jisung please.."

Jisung chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. He takes a moment to tease you, licking and kissing your inner thighs before finally placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss on your swollen pussy lips. His tongue darts out to taste you, his lips parting yours with one swift motion. He starts by licking you labia before sucking on your clit gently, groaning in approval at the taste of you. "So sweet.. just for me."

"Oh my fucking god," You says breathless, your back arching just at the gentle touch of his lips against your cunt, it's incredibly good to feel.

Chuckling again, Jisung complies. He slides his hands up to your hips, holding you in place as he slowly pushes his tongue into your tight entrance. He groans as he feels how wet you are, his eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure. "Fuck.. you taste amazing - want more, give me more."

He breath heavily against your skin as he continues to pleasure you. He adds a finger to her tight pussy, stretching her slowly while sucking on her clit. "You like that?”

Every single movement gives you a wave of pleasure that makes you moan so loud that his brother down the hall probably heard you. You moves your hips against his face, needy for more of his wet and warm licks, “o-oh fuck i love it! m-more!”

Jisung groans as he takes in you desperate cries. He pushes your boundaries further, adding another finger in your tight slit. His tongue works overtime on your sensitive spots, driving you wild. He has no intention of stopping until she begs for his cock. “imma gonna make you cum so hard.”

He can feel you, feel your excitement growing. He moves his fingers faster inside of her, hitting your g-spot, rubbing his fingers against it to let her reach the highest pleasure possible while still sucking on your clit. Your juices taste so sweet and he just wants more. “Fuck, your pussy is so wet, you're my good girl aren't you? so good for me.”

Jisung moves from your pussy just to change position, letting you sits on his face, your blush is heavy. He grunts as you rides his face, your pussy juices dripping down onto his tongue. He reaches up to grab your ass cheeks, spreading them apart as he continues to lap at your sensitive spots. “Fuck, you’re such a slut.”

You whine loudly as you try to keep it quiet, your hips are moving faster and faster trying to find the best friction possible. “i can’t wait to fuck you,” his muffled voice makes you clench around his fingers, he roll his eyes for pleasure.

“i want your cock in my mouth first.”

Jisung chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust. He moves from under you, sitting right in front of your sore but still shaky body. His fingers moves quick on his jeans to unzip them down and to let his hard length free. He grabs you by the hair and pulls your head towards his cock. "You're such a dirty girl," he murmurs before pushing inside your mouth roughly.

You moan deep throating his cock as you look at him, you has tears on the sides of your eyes for the sudden moves and your saliva dropping down your chin. You never had a sensation like this, so filled. so big.

Jisung fucks your mouth roughly, his hips slamming against your face. He reaches down and starts to finger your wet pussy, adding another layer of pleasure to your already overwhelmed senses. "You're going to cum for me, aren't you?"

You nods on his cock, closing your eyes to feel every inch of his dick deep down your throat, you clench lightly around his fingers but you starts to bounce in them desperately.

Jisung pulls out of your mouth and watches as you bounces on his fingers, eyes filled with lust. He slaps your ass hard, "You like this dirty stuff, don't you?” You find yourself squirming under his touch, almost purring like a cat for more attentions.

Feeling your walls clenching around his fingers, Jisung growls low in his throat. He pulls his cock out of your mouth roughly, leaving your gasping for air. "wanna get fucked angel?"

"yes jisung, please."

Jisung chuckles as he spreads your legs wide, positioning himself at your entrance. He teases you by rubbing his tip against her slick folds before pushing inside. "You're so wet for me, just for me right baby? so wet.. just for my cock."

You nods gasping for air, your head moves backward as you moan louder, "f-fuck it's too big," you whine loudly when you clench around him, trying to adjust as quick as possible, his hands goes on your waist to lift you and let you stay on his lap, your faces are so close are you stare in each other's eyes.

Jisung's hands move to grip your hips more firmly, guiding your movements on his cock. He can't get enough of the sight of you bouncing on him, your breasts jiggling with each thrust. He watches you with hooded eyes, drinking in the sight of you writhing on top of him. "you’re taking it so good for me.”

"jisung.. oh j-jisung I wanna cum.."

Jisung tightens his grip on your hips, pushing himself deeper inside you. He groans in pleasure as he feels your walls clenching around him. "Oh fuck, baby. That's it. Keep riding me like that."

“a-ah! ‘m so close!” You says breathing heavily, your eyes half closed as your legs’s muscles are burning for tiredness but you are too desperate for an orgasm to stop. Jisung's thrusts become more forceful, matching her desperation. His hands move to cup her chubby cheeks, slapping them gently in time with their rhythm.

"God you're... you're so big.."

Jisung groans softly, his hips jerking forward as he tries to thrust deeper into you. He pulls away from your neck and kiss you passionately - almost desperately, your tongues dueling. "You make me so fucking hard." He holds onto your throat, pulling you onto his mouth to kiss you again.

"More jisung.. please more.." Jisung smirks, his thrusts becoming even rougher as he grabs you legs and lifts them up, holding them against the wall of your abdomen. He starts to bite down on your neck, his hips bucking wildly. "I love hearing you beg."

Feeling your orgasm, Jisung picks up the pace even more, he reaches down to rub his cockhead against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Jisung grunts, his hips bucking against you once more. He pulls out of you slowly and watches as a trickle of semen drips down your thigh. He smirks, his eyes fixed on yours. "Is that what you wanted, my pretty?"

Your blush makes him chuckle, nodding lightly as your squeeze your thighs again, breathing heavily and your expression of totally fucked. Tilting your head aside, hearing someone walking down the hall and your panicking expression just makes him more and more amused.

Jisung chuckles softly again as he looks at you still laying there. Then he tries to pull himself together and stand back up, only to moan softly as his legs are a bit shaky after everything that happened. “I know, right? It felt so good to know that someone could be right outside the door and could hear me making you beg like the little slut you are."

You hits playfully his chest as he lay right next to you, your body is incredibly sore, his arms slowly moves around your waist, pulling you against his chest. "Oh shut up."

"make me," he whispers teasingly in your ear, making you chuckle as he massage your hips with his hands, his head rest on your shoulder as you close your eyes, feeling your body slowly resting against the mattress. "are you sore?"

"yeah, I'm not even sure how I am managing to talk."

"get used to it," Jisung murmurs as he buries his face on your shoulder, "I'll do this, again.. and again.. and again." closing his eyes as you feels his breath getting more steady. Your eyes gets even heavier as you feel the warmth of his body curling behind you.

Something is sure though, he never lets the girl that he fucks in his bed after, not even for sleep.

He had the perfect plan, exactly knows how and when to expose you and your no-more-virginity. He knows what he would say, even what he wanted to say.

So why now, that he's with his friends during the last practice of the week, he feels like a shit to talk about it? the balls are bouncing on the floor of the gym and his mind is just full of thoughts, mostly about you. That afternoon wasn't the only one, after that you guys started to be even closer, hanging out creating excuses with studying, procrastinating homework, a lot of love making sessions. His friends keep provoke him, asking for pictures of you after sex, every single sign of you two together. But he always respected you with this, because it's too much, he starts to like to feel you with him. Letting you sleep with him after, even cuddle and he's not a cuddler, it's just.. he feels and act different with you. It hurts, because he knows that soon or later he needs to talk with you about the challenge and the deal.

"So, did you fuck her?" His friend asked as he jumps for spiking the ball that he just sett in the perfect spot for him, Jisung groan nervously, he doesn't want to talk about it.

He doesn't want to because it felt too good to spill every single part of it, his focus are on the ball and how to serve on the other side of the court, getting ready for the match against y/n's brother. "oh, is someone too into her now?"

Another teammate tease him playfully, the spank on the ball gets louder, every time that it hits the ground jisung feels his blood burning in his veins, "shut up."

"did you fell for her?"

"love at first sight!"

"oh she probably do good blowjobs."

"should I try her now?"

"you took the deal too seriously now?"

Jisung serve the ball, hitting the floor with a loud sound that makes everyone stops whatever they are doing, because that wasn't just a serve. That was almost a punishment serve, "I said shut up, I did it for the deal, for the money. stop talking about it."

The thing that jisung didn't expect it was you, right on the corner of the gym, you were ready to talk to him and tell him how much you liked it, how much you loved slept in to his arms and waking up with him right beside you. How his kisses and his caresses made you feel alive, loved, desired, accepted. The way that the same morning you needed to sneak out from his house because he didn't wanted to let you talk with his father and his brother; "precaution." Yeah, precaution. Now you know, know you know why he didn't wanted it, why he didn't came to you this morning as he did for the last three months, he didn't smiled, he didn't waved. he didn't hugged you, he didn't try to steal a kiss from you. It was.. nothing. Like nothing happened.

The steps of your shoes echos in the hallway, jisung turn at the sound, he was sure that you heard, he knows it was you. His mind gets blurry and he let his volleyball, his team. Right now he doesn't care if he lose the practice, he doesn't care if he needs to train hard to beat your brother, he teased him enough.

You're crying, walking fast and almost not standing in your own feet, it was all a deal; all for money. You stop walking when you feel that your lungs are not functioning anymore, you feel your mind spinning. Your sobs are echoing in the hall as you sits against the cabinets, why he would do that?

Then the reality hits you hard, like a bullet in your chest.

"You."

You hiss when jisung enter in your sight, he stops his walking almost feel shaking, he knows that you're judging him now, "please let me explain-"

"you did it all because of a stupid deal! you did.. you did it to piss off my brother, because.. because you're gonna play against him next month. You.. You used me." The truth starts to pass in front of his eyes, because it's damn true.

"That was before," you can't even let him finish before stepping up from your spot, stomping a little to face him, your eyes are still tearing up and he can stop the urge to wipe your tears away. "before what? before what jisung?"

Your tone it's hard, and he feels like a kid that gets scolded, "before I started to like you." his hand try to reach your cheek but you spank it first. He's shocked by your gesture, it's not in you, is not something that you would do.

Not to him, not to anyone.

People starts to get out the classes, you are still in the middle of the hall as students stops to listen and more to watch the fight, "like me? you.. Han Jisung. like me, now this is another one of your tricks."

"y/n please calm down," his warm voice makes you almost trip in your thoughts, his hands finish on your shoulders and for a second you're back of the night before, when you went over at his place, when he was touching you so firmly for the first time.

"do not tell me to calm down! I don't wanna see you ever again." Jisung's heart almost breaks, people start to whispers and he see only you walking away from him, too distant. He doesn't like it, he doesn't want you distant anymore.

Jisung doesn't stop though, he knows that if he lets you walk out of his life now, you are never gonna be back to him. "angel, let *me* talk, let me explain."

"You had enough power over me."

You moved.

Moved school, changed your way to be, you decided to cut everything that could remind you him. Jisung was and always be someone that took something to you, something that you wanted to keep safe and always for someone special. He was special, that's for sure, but you knew something like this would happen. So when you changed school to go in your brother's high school, you're not surprised of the amount of popularity that you started to have all of a sudden, because Chan never hide your sibling ship. He never lied to anyone about you. You started to officially be the little sister that he keeps close and tight.

Jisung broke you but you decide to grab the pieces that he left and create a new shape of you, getting out more, making friends and even hang out with boys.

Like now, that you're hand by hand with Hwang Hyunjin, walking inside on a party. Never expected about celebrating after Chan's team won the volleyball game against your old school, but going to an after party? That's wasn't in your plan.

"Com'on don't be so tense," Hyunjin whispers in your ear as he walks behind you, one hand in yours and the other placed on your hip, guiding you though the crowd of people from both of the schools. You don't pay that much attention of the house, but it's okay. You're there to have fun, just that. "I'm not tense!"

"Y/n, babe, I can see your shoulders moving up every single time you talk, don't close yourself I'll be with you the whole time."

"all the time?" you murmurs trying to search for a confirm, your eyes lands on his and his smile makes you feel less anxious. You don't want anyone see you like this, specially from Jisung's team, you're freezing scared just to think about them. To see his eyes again on you. "Let me get you a drink."

"She doesn't drink." His voice reach you fast, but the grab on your wrist it's tight enough to make you turn to his direction, seeing his mad face toward your best friend.

"Are you sure?" Hyunjin bark back, almost ready to pick up a fight with him just to defend you, your eyes run from one guy to the other, stepping back and clearing your throat enough to make both of them turn in your direction. "I don't need someone to talk for me, and I don't need someone to tell me what to do, I'm fine like this." They both back off from each other, walking in different directions.

You follow your friend, and as soon as you guys step inside the kitchen he burst into laugh, his hand over his mouth, "Oh my god! he was so mad!"

"you guys won today right?" You scoff chuckling and getting yourself a sip of water from the fridge, his eyes on you as he nods, your eyes travel down his chest lightly seeing the little open of his shirt. Some buttons are undone and that makes your cheeks grow red, "where are you staring angel?"

You take a longer sip that you expect as you shrug your shoulders, moving down the dress on your thighs with a shy behavior, it's clear that you're not usual to wear dresses, they are not exactly your type of dress code - in any way. The nickname that he gives to you makes a run of chills down your spine, sighing lightly, "nothing.. your.. your shirt. it's unbuttoned." He nods as he glance down his own black shirt, he chuckle lightly, "why don't you do it for me? I'm too lazy."

You roll your eyes as you leave the glass of water in the already full sink of glasses and plates, walking close to him enough for do this favor to him, "come closer, I don't bite." The tension between you two is building up quicker than you expect but his hands that travel from your waist to your hips, pushes you against his chest, your eyes are on his and you're that close to feel his breath against your face. His eyes are slowly closing, leaning for a kiss that you're to exactly refusing.

His eyes were cold on you. "y/n, with me." His voice kills the mood of the room, making you jump lightly backward with your cheeks red like cherries, "man, she can choose." his grip on your waist get tighter, you know he's not gonna let you go, but your instinct it's running away from both of them. Your eyes are on Jisung, his presence it's charming as usual.

"Not with you holding her that tight, let her go, she needs to talk to me." Hyunjin let you go with a grunt, he's not happy about it but you walk quietly toward jisung, his body shift and he turn towards the stairs. You follow him silently as your hand it's intertwine with yours, his touch it's still delicate with you. He lead the way to a specific room and then you recognize everything, every single second of it. His house.

You're back in Jisung's house.

"sorry I, I don't have that much time I'm with my brother and his friends so-"

"why did you left?" His voice it's not hard on you, it's almost hurt, if this topic it's hurting you more than you could expect, his head is down and you can totally smell the alcohol that leave his body, making you step forward to see if he needs some help with anything, anything. "needed to."

Jisung chuckle under breath, turning and facing you, he's close to tears as he moves one hand over his cheek bushing lightly his fingers over his chubby skin, "needed to? y/n, I feel.. I feel like breaking down every second that you're not near me, I cannot breath because you left. I wanted to run, run after you. Maybe chasing you is not the best idea but I.. I wanted you to stay. Please can.. can I touch you?"

His voice is a whisper the whole time, making your legs shakes, almost melting for his sweet talks - but you're too hurt for that. "You broke me, you took something from me, don't be the victim here." Your voice it's steady but inside you your heart is shaking as much as his hands are.

"I wanna touch you wherever he touched you just to prove you that I'm better," Jisung steps closer, his hands grabs gently your waist and his touch it's 100% better than Hyunjin's, you cannot lie. You're melting under his fingertips, he's massaging your hips so lightly that makes your breath die in your throat. "Jisung we can't."

He mumble something, but his mind it's too blurry for elaborate, he lean on your shoulder as he's eyes slowly close, he takes a deep breath of your sent. "if you.. just let me.. need you so badly baby."

Jisung's lips trace his face long the nape of your neck, his hands slowly moves on your ass grabbing your cheeks in a gentle squeeze, your hands goes between his hair as you start to breath heavily, "ji we are your party."

"Simon says, let me take the dress off." His whispers makes you shivers long your spine, biting lightly your bottom lip as you let his hands grab the hem of the dress, lifting it up easily in one smooth movement - he saw you naked before but his eyes on you always make you blush like a kid. "Simon says take off your pants."

Jisung's eyes light up when he see that you are okay with that, and his hands gets busy unzipping his pants and moving down enough to let your hard length free, "com'here angel."

His hands grabs the back of your thighs, lifting you up from the floor and pushing you against the wall, you kiss him with pure passion and needs, his cockhead rubbing against the fabric of your panties.

"please fuck me Jisung," you mumble as his hand reach your panties, pulling them aside enough for him to penetrate you without a warning. Your breath catch your throat as you moan in silent, covering your mouth and laying your back against the wall, his hands grabs your thighs tightly as he moan deeply with his face buries against your neck, "fuck, so tight, thank you.. thank you baby.."

You moan shakily and his thrusts gets even more desperate, pounding in you roughly and fast, he groans and starts to pound into you, his hips slapping against yours. He holds onto you legs tightly, not wanting to lose contact with this feeling. His mouth finds yours again in a fierce kiss, his tongue invading you mouth as he takes what he wants. His pace quickens, his thrusts harder and deeper. Jisung's eyes are full of lust and desire for you.

"I love you."

𐙚 tag list: @lyramundana

#stray kids #han jisung skz #han jisung imagines #han jisung x you #han jisung x reader #han jisung x y/n #han jisung stray kids #han jisung headcanons #han jisung smut #han jisung #jixauro #han smut #jisung smut #skz smut #Han Jisung skz smut #stray kids smut #skz hard thoughts #stray kids x you

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astridthevalkyrie · 9 months

Text

tw: dubcon, noncon, bully!gojo, afab reader w/ she/her pronouns

Gojo's a sick fuck.

He corners you on campus in the strangest places, taking advantage of the fact that he's been here a year longer than you. Sometimes Getou or Ieiri are with him, but most of the time he's alone, and when he's alone he's even worse than when he's just putting on a show for his dickhead friends. They only get to bear witness to him teasing you from afar, just his general idiocy and inborn cruelty. When he's by himself, though, nothing stops him from trying to corner you literally, one hand on the wall next to your head and the other finding some excuse to touch you, either running a finger down your cheek or brushing some invisible dust from your shoulder.

And you've had enough. You just want to find a place to sit down and study or read or eat or literally anything else as long as you don't have to worry about the only guy who tormented you all throughout school continuing the cycle in university where you were supposed to be free from this, this cocky, stupid, bitch.

You're in the library today, but his approach is the same as it is in any other location. Your physics lab, outside a professor's office, the community pool, for Christ's sake. First, he makes his presence known, making you aware that he's being his usual creepy self. This time, he's leaning against the wall when you turn the corner behind one of the shelves. There's a book in his hands that has so many dog ears you think he reads one page then saves the literal next one for the following day.

He doesn't look up, not right away. Not until he feels you glare burning his skin for a good few seconds. It's when you assume the burn actually becomes painful that he looks up, feigning a surprised smirk as his icy blues practically gleam. "Fancy seeing you here," he purrs, book staying open in his hands.

"Go to hell, Satoru." There's no point engaging further with him. The only option you have is to get the hell out before he gets to touch you. If he touches you, it's all over. You turn on your heel and throw a quick thank you prayer out that you don't immediately bump into Getou, who would act as the other mousecatcher whenever Gojo decided he wanted to play.

Behind you, you hear him put the book down and your legs move faster without you even thinking about it. You don't even know how he always tracks you down. Maybe he installed some app on your phone without you realizing. You'll get a new one. Anything to just get rid of him.

Even though you've been on campus for at least a month now, virtually every building is still wholly unexplored, mostly because you're constantly trying to avoid these exact types of situations. The amount of times you could have stayed on campus but instead scurried home is already close to the triple digits. And for what? You've only avoided Gojo a handful of times and left yourself unprepared for a hasty escape too.

There's footsteps somewhere, and now that your heart is racing you can't calm down enough to pinpoint where they're coming from. It's a Friday night and not even close to midterm week, so there's a few regulars here, but not nearly enough people that someone will see you. Not that Gojo minds, you've seen him look someone dead in the eye and then squeeze your hip impatiently, as though to tell them do you mind? You don't know where he gets his confidence, but whatever it is, it's well earned. Everyone gives in to him, eventually. Even you.

You turn out of yet another aisle, and then your legs falter.

"Hey, sweetness," he grins at you. Your back hits the wood behind you and your bag thumps to the floor. On days where he wants to really torture you, Gojo acts like a charmer, kissing the back of your hand or carrying your bag over his shoulder, preening in the direction of anyone who calls him a good boyfriend, singing a sinister thanks knowing damn well he isn't your anything.

This isn't one of those days. You can tell.

Gojo doesn't want to be your boyfriend anymore than you want to be his girlfriend. He likes his lifestyle, and an average stick in the mud like you would definitely ruin the perfect image. But that doesn't mean he wants you out of his life completely. When he'd learned you'd be going to the same university as him, he'd sent you the only text message he'd ever sent you, a filthy picture captioned with a sweet and simple can't wait to have you.

And have you he will, whenever he wants. He's pretty open about that. "Are you in a rush?" His blues blink innocently. You're not sure why he keeps up the act even when no one is around, it only serves to set your nerves further askew.

"Leave..." Before you can even formulate the thought of a process, his hands are on your hips, pinky finger slipping under your sweater inconspicuously. "Leave me alone, Satoru."

"Nah," he breathes, "you look real pretty today, sweetheart."

While he doesn't make a move to take your sweater off, he does bury his face in your shoulder and inhale the scent. Then he slowly switches from the sweater to your actual skin, tucking down the fabric of the turtleneck to expose your neck, which you'd taken pains and suffered the heat to hide. Gojo moans a little at just the last remaining bruise he sees on you.

"Love when you don't try to cover it up," he murmurs, "don't need you treating me like a dirty secret."

As if you could keep him a secret. No one aside from your professors even tries speaking to you, and you have no doubts as to why. "I do try—I did cover it up."

"This doesn't count." Instead of just kissing you, because he's a bitch, Gojo kisses the inside of your turtleneck, his hair tickling your nose. "I meant makeup and crap. This? S'like unwrapping a present, baby."

"Satoru," you choke. It isn't just how he touches you, it's everything. The proximity, the casual way he says the most scummy things you've heard in your life and says them like they're just simple facts.

"Normally, I'd tell someone to stop playing so hard to get after so many times. But you're special, y'know." Two fingers push your lower lip down and slide in slowly, running over your gums before violating your mouth further. "This bitchy attitude only makes me wanna have you more." He waits, waits for you to gag, to choke on his fingers and look up at him with watery, pleading eyes before he removes his fingers and slots his lips over yours.

When Gojo kisses you, it's not demanding so much as needy. For someone who already has an ego that's sky high, he still seems to want you to stroke it, and nothing strokes his ego more than the noises you make unwillingly. Every little gasp, whimper, sharp breath, he swallows possessively, as he drags his nails gently along your lower back, making you squirm closer to his mouth to get away.

He plays you like you're his favorite instrument. And he knows exactly which strings to pluck.

His tongue nips at your teeth playfully, and that's when you pull away, summoning up whatever remaining courage you have. "Someone's going to come down this way," you beg, because the only thing you haven't experienced yet is being fucked with an audience, and you're not eager to change that. "Please, Sato—"

"It's okay." The fingers that were just in your mouth a few seconds ago now slide down your waist and under your jeans, nudging them down. "Don't need any foreplay. Been hard since you walked into the library, sweetness. And I bet you've just been dripping playing tag with me. I promise one of these days you'll get to be it," he mocks, as his other hand undoes his belt.

Tears spring to your eyes, but Gojo kisses them off your eyebags before they can fall too far. "You're so tired," his voice coos, "m'gonna make it all better. I'll make you feel so good."

His hand twists into your hair, yanking it back in a single motion that must be gentle for him, but it's rough for you. It's the sting in your scalp that you focus on as he takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, making you jerk him off in preparation. It's the one thing he always demands, claiming he can't get off unless he gets to feel your touch first. Bullshit.

Once he's satisfied, Gojo moves your hand away, intertwining your fingers and placing them on the shelf next to your head as he guides his dick to your leaking pussy, sliding the first inch in with a hiss.

Praise drips from him easily like this, when he has you between him and any hard surface. The individual shelves hurt your back, but less so when he slides an arm around you, pulling you closer as he pushes in with one lazy thrust.

"Ah!" your cry catches in your throat, but he bites you, groaning with your lip caught between his teeth. He pulls out and thrusts again, and your tear slips down to your mouth this time, where he licks it off.

"God," he compliments, developing a pace that's fast but not fast enough, not fast enough to ensure you won't get caught or to make you cum, "so fuckin' glad I don't let anyone else fuck you. This cunt's only for me, yeah? Belongs to me?" When you don't answer, too focused on the feeling of him filling you, leaving you empty, and then filling you again, he speeds up. To Gojo, the more you struggle to give him what he wants, the more fair it is to make it harder.

The shelf shakes as he loves you against it, it won't fall but you fantasize about him being crushed under it anyways. Then you think about being buried under with him, completely in his clutches with no telling when you'd be able to get out, and you clench around him, eyes rolling back.

"You think there's cameras in here?" he pants, digging his nails into your skin again. The pads of his fingers press roughly under your shirt, sure to leave even more bruises for him to lavish with his tongue later, whenever he pleases. "Think someone'll see you getting railed and jack off to it? I know I would, baby. If I only got you on camera I'd be fuckin' my hand and coming on your face every night. Lucky me," he gasps, and you feel him swell inside you, "that I got the real thing all to myself."

You hate how much his voice and his words affect you, how much each filthy thought of his makes your pussy practically gush for him as one of your own fingers rubs over your clit frantically. Each squelching sound makes him more feral, till he's rattling you against the shelf, every thrust of his hips growing more frantic and more desperate.

"I'm almost there, sweetness." Gojo reaches up and squishes your cheeks together, blues blown out as he kisses your puckered lips one more time. "Answer my question, baby. Tell me whose cunt this is so I can blow my load in it. C'mon, fuck, tell me."

You let out a sob that hiccups into a moan, force out, "Yours," and cum.

Gojo whines, thrusting one, two, three more times before he's coming too, filling you up with each jerk of his hips. His head falls onto your shoulder, panting on your neck. Your turtleneck is entirely too warm now, and useless to boot. Cum drips from your pussy; Gojo slides two fingers against your hole as he pulls out, sticking them in your mouth, just at your tongue this time. You taste him and yourself, and even though he's not forcing them in further this time, you still feel like gagging.

He takes them out, then places them in his own mouth, sucking them off and groaning at the taste.

As he tucks himself back in his pants, he runs a hand through his hair, setting it back into place before dropping a kiss to your cheek. Your tears have dried now, and you're trying to ignore his cum leaking onto your panties as you pull your jeans up. You don't even want to think about how you look, or about how you'll bring yourself to another orgasm tonight thinking of this, albeit not one as good.

Patting your hip, Gojo flashes you his best grin. "See you next time, sweetness. Maybe tomorrow?" Without waiting for your reaction, he strolls off, a single hand raised in goodbye.

Wiping at your cheeks and taking out your phone, you release an angry sniff, penciling it in.

#i have never ever written for gojo idk how this happened a charlie puth song really put me in a mood #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #valkyrie stories

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